Luke 2:1-7
“In those days a
decree went out from Caesar Augustus to register the entire empire…”
I find it intriguing
how God decreed such a cosmically preeminent occasion as the incarnation of the
Son of God, having just celebrated the glad prophecy of Zechariah and the grateful
Magnificat of Mary, by placing it in
the context of “those days” of another decree.
The decree of the Roman Emperor, the most powerful human law of the
time. Even now Caesar Augustus, or Octavius,
is still considered one of the most powerful men of history, having taken
Julius Caesar’s empire to an even greater place of world dominance and
influence by stabilizing The Roman Empire for almost 20 years of peace after
decades of war.
So, when Octavius
ordered a registration for every person in the empire, Mary and Joseph
obeyed. I like to wonder, however, what
they thought of such a law. A tax law,
if you will, to fund a pagan Empire which had been hostile to the Jewish nation. Caesar was going to be assessing his coffers
and making sure that his favored city, Rome, was secured by the power of the
gladius, the centurion, and the bribe; the sword, the soldier, and the
statesmen. How do you feel when your
taxes go to fund unrighteous purposes and are bound up in the corrupt schemes
of powerful men? Some things never
change.
And this decree was
not merely a political annoyance, but because of their Jewish custom, they were
also required to return to the town of their ancestry, making this decree a
particularly burdensome life disruption.
They had to now travel from Nazareth to Bethlehem, a distance of roughly
80 miles, on their feet, two of which were pregnant feet.
How would you handle
such a decree? Such a disruption? Such governmental interference into your life
and expectations and comforts? I know when
I sit in my recliner and fill out the paperwork for my tax return every year, sipping
my favorite drink and nibbling on some chocolate...I whine about how oppressive
and unjust the government may be. The
great irony and deception of my sin reveals itself again when I sit at my
morning reading of the Exodus and wonder how the Israelites could grumble
against God when they had seen such a miraculous salvation and then I get in a
bad mood when I find a little mold on the 12-grain that somebody else baked and
bought and placed in the bread basket. “Why
didn’t I just die in Egypt?!” Blind
faithlessness. That’s what it is. Blind doubt and a dimmed view of history and
a dim-witted view of God’s grace. A
thankless heart which has forgotten its former slavery and the greatness of the
salvation which someone else secured for it.
Thankfully, God is not
impeded by dim-wits, be they in government or just grumbling cheapskates who
don’t want to pony up and hire a CPA like they should.
The amazing wisdom of
God is revealed in this governmental annoyance.
Though the most powerful government in the world, led by an impertinent
and arrogant narcissist, compelled the loathsome discomfort of a woman
stretched with child, we find that such a law was actually God’s very means of
fulfilling His greatest promise. For, it
was through this decree of Octavius, and unknown to the buyers in the markets,
to the man plowing the fields, to the woman getting her children up in the
morning after a long night of repairing the frayed edges of clothes fully
played out, that the divine Curse-Breaker was coming to Bethlehem just as He
had promised.
You see, the sage
eloquently notes that it is always God who meticulously directs history, and no
other. Though men make choices according
to their desires and based upon the short-sighted wisdom of their dirt-born
minds, it is God who directs their paths.
He says, “the king’s heart is a stream of water in the hand of the LORD;
He turns it wherever He chooses.” (Pro. 21:1)
No decree of governing powers is ever outside the sovereign power of
God. It is simply God’s means to a
greater end.
No dictator or tyrant, no
elected or appointed official, no usurper or rebel can ever direct a path for
history that is not ultimately turned or directed and sewn into the fabric of
History by the omnipotent and omniscient and good hands of the Almighty.
Therefore, this brief
note in the Christmas story informs us that we need fear no decree, imposition,
or law, whether it be just or unjust, for our God is tying together all the strands
of history, even if iron-chained or blood-stained, in order to accomplish His
great and glorious good. This decree of
the wicked Octavian was at the very root of God’s foreknowing wisdom as the
means of transporting Mary and Joseph, through their suffering no less, to
fulfill His greater and more glorious good.
What about all the other families, put out by the decree, travelling to
their hometowns around the empire? They
went for the same purpose, though they did not perceive it, caught up in the
river of God’s redemptive flow, coursing down into the ocean of God’s greatest
mercy: the advent of the
Serpent-Crusher, the Curse-Destroyer, the Death-Defeater, the Hero of
Mankind. Had they all known this great
truth, would they have rejoiced at the decree?
Would they have traveled through their Winter troubles with a Spring-ier
step?
The manner of the
incarnation tells us, then, that no matter how foolish, or even evil, the
governmental powers of this world may be, we know that God is working out His
will through them, and that no matter what we may see, we can rejoice in the
outcome that they are sure to produce:
the glory of God, the redemption of His people, the defeat of Evil, and the
restoration of Creation, all through the Christ. Will this knowledge lighten your steps, too? Will it change the way in which we respond to
the supposed history-makers in the light of the great History Writer? Consider that no-vacancy sign, that final
annoyance at the end of the long road of discomfort after discomfort, having
hoped that you finally reached a place of rest, only to find “You Can’t Stay
Here.” What no-vacancy sign do you now
see? What refusal of rest, that if you
knew its purpose in the wisdom of God would make your sufferings, both small
and great, full of meaning and significance and glory which far outshine this
present darkness? There is no such
restlessness which does not have a promise of God suitable to it and superior
to swallow it up for joy.
It is in the midst of
“those days” of annoyance and aggravation that the Maker of all which has been
made, advents to the Made. To a girl and
her fiancé, travelling amidst the throngs of other itinerants pressing in on
the road, heavy with traffic and her heavy with child.
And of course, her
shame is multiplied by this no-vacancy sign, for this unwed couple whom, in the
eyes of Bethlehem’s self-assured, was surely unrighteous. So, they were forced to take refuge in a
stall. That’s what the word “manger”
means. In fact, the use of the word most
often refers to the pen, not the feed trough.
Tradition informs us, and archeology shows us, that Bethlehem has
numerous caves surrounding it where shepherds and ranchers would stall their
animals for safety from the elements and predators. The shepherds would put feed on a raised
stone shelf. It was most likely this
stone upon which the Rock of Ages was shelved.
In fact, the Scripture
tells us of another woman in God’s story of redemption who gave birth near
Bethlehem. Rachel, Israel’s beloved
wife, fatally gave birth to her final son just short of Bethlehem. As her life fled from her, she named her son
Benoni, which means either “son of my sorrow” or “son of my affliction.” But his father named him Benjamin, which
means “son of my right hand.”
In like manner, the
Savior of the world will leave his stall on a two-fold tale of terrible
joy. His first path is that of the man
of sorrows acquainted with grief, the suffering servant of the Most High, the
humiliated horror which was rejected by men, walking the path of doom as the
one who would bear the weight of the world’s mutiny, hatred, and violence
before the burning presence of the thrice-holy God and pay it down through being afflicted by God. In His birth, the Infinite made Himself
Infant, the Vigorous made Himself Vulnerable.
While political powers deceive and hide, the Almighty God stooped in
honestly, openly, and exposed. And in
His death God doomed Himself so that He would be both just and merciful to
grant us salvation and reconciliation with Himself. He was born a son of sorrow, the Son of God’s
affliction.
Yet, the second path
is that of God’s most glorious Son, the Delight of His Father’s eyes, the
obedient one who would receive all the inheritance promised, the triumphant Champion
who gains the Triumph from Heaven, who secures the redemption of the elect given
to Him by the Father as His reward, and who would sit down…at the right hand of
God having fully completed His work. He
is the son of God’s right hand, who laid down His life and took it up again.
So he receives the twin
titles of the only Divine King: Lord of
Glory and Suffering Servant. And this
was the two-fold path which God Himself ordained for His birth of absolute
dependence. The shame of this unmarried
couple was the means of God’s self-ordination of glorious humility. His Bethlehem birth in an animal stall,
eternity bound up by strips of cloth, revealed His regal glory and His human
humility. The insignificant son of an
unwed mother and an artisan father, to a poor family from a backwards town,
nothing in the eyes of men.
God ordained such an
entry for the Son. While our birth is
our fate, His birth was His deed. And He
chose humility. He worked humility. He owned humility as His choice on the path
to glory. Lowliness is forced upon us,
but it was His trade, His craft, His artistry elect from before the foundations
of the world and brushed upon that stall.
He strove for humility and beckoned it near because He knew that’s where
he would find us. In the dung heap, with
the animals, huddled in the darkness.
Christmas is for those on the dunghill.
And that is where we
find Him in His death, too. Our death is
our fate, but His was His deed. It was
He, who in the words of the apostle, “humbled Himself to the point of death,
even death on a cross.” This King of
glory, whom Zechariah pronounced was the “horn of salvation” redefined in such
an entrance what it means to be truly human: to serve one another. God could have ordained a wealthy family, an
established family, an honorable family, a powerful family. He could have ordained a room in the house,
an open bed, a welcoming family where there was a place for him. But he didn’t. He came to where “there was no place” for
him. Christmas is for those with ‘no
place.’
Why did God do it this
way?
So that you and I
would know that our Master knows our suffering. Maybe you feel like there’s no place for
you. That you’re unwanted, an outcast, a
throw-away. So is His Son. He has cried your tears. He has winced at the sideways glances of the
haughty, the shaming wags of the heads of those who knew him as a bastard,
fatherless nothing whom they did not esteem at all. You see, it was for your sake that God chose
humility. It was for your sake that the
Almighty, with no need pressing upon Him, chose to salvage and save and
sanctify you. To come to you in the dung
heap and drag you up into His triumph.
“For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus
Christ, that though He was rich, yet for your sake He became poor, so that you
through His poverty might become rich.” (2 Cor. 8:9)
It
was for your sake that God ordained Joseph and Mary to leave their
comforts. It was for your sake that God
ordained no place for His Son in the inn.
It
was for your sake that God ordained an animal stall for His Anointed Son.
It
was for your sake that God ordained no family around to rejoice.
It
was for your sake that God ordained the humble beginnings of David’s heir and
Savior-King.
Now, this precious
grace of God, this kindness, this undeserved compassion should shame our love
of sin. It should deeply and irreducibly
humble us. You see, He is pure. We are not.
Our dung heap is our own making.
We chose it, not for love, but for spite. We would rather have our self-will and
self-deceived “freedom” on a pile of manure than submission in the household of
God. We only wanted our Maker on our own
self-centered terms. We, the creatures
made from dirt, whom a single blade of grass can destroy, who succumbs to a
miniscule germ, make demands of the Uncreated One on how he should be! How petulant!
We sought to destroy His beauty, and we did destroy the beauty of His
creation! We stole it and we ruined it. Even worse, we took His own Son, and we
killed Him! WE KILLED THE SON OF
GOD! People ask why God is angry at
sinners: the same deluded self-dependent
arrogance and carelessness which took the fruit off the tree is the same
deluded self-dependent arrogance and carelessness which crucified the Son of
God! We killed His Son. Would you not be angry? It wasn’t just a piece of fruit. It was hatred in a thin façade of leaves. And if you, being wicked, can tell that such
violence is heinous, how much more so the Father of all life in whom there is
no shadow or variation or evil at all?
And we think that we
don’t need a mediator with God, that God should just let us into His presence
and be happy about it. My friends, in
the words of Thomas Goodwin, you have a better chance of standing in the
presence of a thousand burning suns and not being burnt up than you do standing
in the presence of God without a mediator who can shield you.
So when we see the
great glory of the Uncreated God in the face of this humble peasant child, and
we know that it was His choice to take our place in such a way to redeem us, we
see the depths of His love. When we see
the holiness of this God in the face of this humble peasant child, it reveals
to us how scandalously wicked our sin really is, the frivolity of our self-ascribed
worth over such a holy God of kindness as this?! It brings us to our knees to know that we
have taken advantage of such immense grace and kindness.
And when we see the
promise of the Covenant-making God in the face of this humble peasant child,
the promise of forgiveness, the expulsion of darkness and sorrow and guilt and
shame and grief, of life for your death and glory for our transience, we
rejoice in His arrival and proclaim with the angel hymnists: “Glory to God in the highest!”
So, how shall we
respond to this kind of king? This King
of Kings, whose power is supreme over all powers, who fashioned the Cosmos by
sheer command, to whom Creation itself obeys when He speaks, yet who enters so
humbly, to be cradled by feminine hands; so self-sacrificially, to be fully
included into our shame and our guilt and our sorrow?
First, we trust
Him. The kind of God who does this, can
be trusted. He can be trusted when we
cannot see beyond the ‘no vacancy’ sign.
He can be trusted when we cannot see beyond our government’s foolish and
unjust decrees. He can be trusted when
we are called to walk the road of painful joints and swollen digits, of
cancer-cells and tragic losses. Whate’er
my God ordains is right, even when it costs me dearly. Emmet Johnson reminds us, “We when cannot
understand God’s ways, we must throw ourselves upon God’s heart…upon the heart
that so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son so that whomever would
believe in Him would have eternal life.”
So, in Him we must put
our trust. He is the sovereign
King, the Lion who tears apart, the ferocious fire who consumes all things and
in whose right arm is the power to form the galaxies. We do not come near to a mere lamb, but to a
lion capable of tearing us limb from limb.
And for now, at this
present time, we recall the moment when the Lion became a Lamb for you. When the tearing apart which we deserved, He
endured. The fearsome fury of the
infinitely holy God against the wicked (us) and evil ones (us again) who
aggressively attacked Him and ruined His creation and destroyed the life which
He created, was born by this Son of the Stall.
We killed Him and God tore Him apart so that His killers would go
free. And Jesus humbled Himself for
this, so that He might bring many sons to glory through His suffering. He, and He alone, can take your ungrateful sin,
and put it away by being torn apart for you.
In the words of
Augustine, “Man’s Maker was made man that the Bread might be hungry, the Fountain
thirst, the Light sleep, the Way be tired from the journey, the Truth might be
accused by false witnesses, the Judge of the living and dead be judged by a
mortal judge, Justice be sentenced by the unjust, the Teacher be beaten with
whips, the Vine be crowned with thorns, the Foundation be suspended on wood,
the Strength be made weak, the Healer be wounded, and that Life might die. Wake
up, O human being! For it was for you that God was made man. Rise up and
realize it was all for you. Eternal death would have awaited you had He not
been born in time. Never would you be freed from your sinful flesh had He not
taken to Himself the likeness of sinful flesh. Everlasting would be your misery
had He not performed this act of mercy. You would not have come to life again
had He not come to die your death. You would have perished had He not come.”
Therefore, O those who
have fled to Jesus, let us walk as ransomed men. Freed men.
Holy men. Let us live to boast of
our humble King, our stooping sovereign.
We are nothing but freed slaves, dead men reborn, wicked men forgiven,
and by His blood made sons of God.
And let us walk like
our Master, as humble men. Greatness,
true greatness, is not found in wealth or palaces, in airpower or valor. It is found where the Great One was
found: in the low point. The shameful place is now a place of honor,
the low point is the high point.
Can we lay aside our
rights to comfort, to honor, to freedom, to power, to wealth? Can we leave them in Nazareth and instead lay
down on the cold stone floor of the ashamed ones? Can we instead take up a cross, and die a
thousand deaths to our own glory and reputation and rightness, for the sake of
others? Can we, today, follow the humble
beginnings of our great and glorious King?
Christmas is for the
broken-hearted, the weary-laden, the humiliated and crushed in spirit. It is for the mother whose children have
rejected her, but of the God who has not.
It is for the parents whose teenager walks the shadows of death, but of
the God who walks with him to light the path.
It is for the brother whose sister is diagnosed with dementia, but of
the God who sees and knows and enters in.
It is for the lonely girl, desperate for someone to see her, who has no
place, but of the God who comes all the way into the darkness of her cave to
find her. It is for the young man,
ashamed of his weakness and failure, but of the God who assumed the shame and
dragged it down to hell for him and raised him up a new man with new life.
The Christmas story
isn’t mere mangers and shepherds, announcements of peace and travelers from the
east with unpronounceable gifts. It is
also a story of genocide and tyranny, the slaughter of innocents, the
oppression of government, the normal sorrows, and of the reality of my hardened
heart. It is the story of the God whose
death is His deed, whose suffering is His choice, who ordained humility for
Himself into the very heart of His violent rebel creation so that He might
redeem it through His own doom. What
kind of God is this? What child is this
laid upon the shelf of an animal’s stall?
The Christmas story is
far more than the sentimental swag that our culture advances with feverish
frivolity. It tiptoes into life with a
realism which is unavoidable and when truly apprehended will break the
strongest men upon the anvil of divine grace.
For Himself God
ordained an understated birth, a life with no place, in the shadow of violence,
shame, agony, terror, and death, so that you and I might give “Glory to God in
the highest” and find peace with Him and make peace with one another. His joy was to bring your joy in delighting
in God by the mercy of God for the sake of God.
May His favor rest upon you this morning as you humbly submit to the
King who loves you more than you can even imagine, rejoice in the Sovereign
King who humbled Himself for the sake of defiant invaders, and returned to
greatness so that the People of the Broken Heart might be swaddled in the
newness of His life.