STIRRING AND SLEEPING THIS CHRISTMAS

Porto Alegre is a busy place. Each weekday morning it swells with people coming in to work by the thousands. They take trains, buses, or cars. We live by a semi-highway with a bus stop, so I’ve come to recognize the commuters by our house. They arrive around the same time each morning and leave around the same time each afternoon. Each day the city stirs then sleeps.

Our apartment is on the second floor and overlooks a road tunnel. The sound of cars constantly bounces into our windows. In a bizarre twist of fate, the rumbling is louder at night when the cars can speed through and quietest at rush hour when cars creep centimeters by the second.

In the back of our apartment we have a balcony over a quiet neighborhood. No tunnels. No busses. No traffic. Just some trees, birds, and over the horizon the hills that guard over the valley of five rivers that make up our city. But alas this space is much too small to do anything other than stand and ponder.

Sometimes I spend a little time in our building’s back patio where there is shade and chairs. I always notice the quiet like the city ceased to exist. Visual reminders of where I am remain. The occasional car horn. The sound of an over-anxious motoboy. Or the sight of barbed wire and electric fences all around.

But sometimes I inhale with all my might, close my eyes, and in the stillness am taken back to a simpler life, a quieter life, a less-busy life. Outside the city. Outside the noise. Outside the traffic. Outside the unforgiving schedule that has turned my weekday life into hourly segments that come and go at break-neck speed.

Whenever I get in a city rut I absorb stress first in my neck, right where it finds my shoulders, and the pain slowly creeps down my back. Before long I know it’s time to relax. To search out quiet. To meditate. To pray. To read.

No matter where you live it’s easy to get in a similar Christmas™ rut. The dates on the calendar fill with parties and programs. The shopping list rises as does the crowds. Navigating family functions can become difficult as there are only so many slots and so many more people.

Don’t wait for the pain to find you. Instead, first find your quiet place. Take your Bible and your soul and meditate on how God has said yes to you in Jesus Christ. Read the birth narratives again, but really read them, not in a rush to precede presents but as the good news they are to weary souls like ours. Let’s look at Matthew and Luke once again.

Matthew

Matthew’s first chapter is a curated genealogy that begins with Abraham, centers on David, and skips over plenty. Raymond Brown says the entire theology of the Old Testament can be found in this genealogy, especially when you note the women in it. You have Tamar who forces Judah to be a faithful brother by pretending to be a prostitute. Rahab, an actual prostitute from Jericho who then believed in and served the Lord. Ruth, a Moabite who proves to be a faithful daughter-in-law. Uriah’s wife, not even named as Bathsheba, who lost her firstborn child as a consequence of David’s sin. And lastly there is Mary. We’ll get to her later.

But first Matthew focuses on Joseph. Joseph doesn’t say a single word in the Bible. He quietly responds instead of reacts. He’s open to God’s direction. He’s willing to look bad to others if it means being faithful to God.

Next we see the Magi, or wise men, visit. They figure a king must be born in a palace, so they visit Herod’s home. As a child I thought Herod’s decision to kill all the babies in Bethlehem was out of character, but I’ve come to learn he was a ruthless leader. He killed his own family members to gain and remain in power. He even supposedly mandated that when he died his soldiers would randomly kill dozens of people in the streets, so there would be a proper atmosphere of mourning.

Søren Kierkegaard notes that when the Magi come Herod, not himself much of a religious person, employed experts in the law who knew exactly where Israel’s Messiah would be born: Bethlehem. And yet, even though they knew this, they didn’t move. They didn’t follow the Magi. They stayed behind in the palace.

Kierkegaard lived in a time and place when everyone he knew was born and quickly baptized as a Christian, and so he lamented that in such an environment few people, maybe even no one, was really a Christian by conviction. Like the experts of law working at Herod’s palace, plenty of people knew about Jesus, but were not moved to go to him or to follow him.

In stark contrast to the experts of the law we once again have Joseph who doesn’t know, but moves. When Herod wants all babies killed, Joseph is moved to Egypt where his family becomes refugees. He once again moves when he is told that all is well. Nothing more is said about their time in Egypt, but I wonder how the Egyptians treated this secretly royal family? I’m now an immigrant by choice and couldn’t imagine leading my family as a refugee. It can’t be easy.

Matthew then explains why Joseph, Mary, and Jesus settled in Galilee and then skips ahead to John the Baptist, the adult preacher who prepares the way for the Lord. Matthew recalls Isaiah’s prophecy that there will be “a voice of one calling in the desert, Prepare the way for the Lord, make straight paths for him.”

When I was a kid I memorized Scripture, including a proverb that talks about God making my paths straight for me, as long as I follow him and acknowledge him. Last week our pastor preached on this text, and I read this phrase repeatedly: “make straight paths for him.” What does that look like? What does it mean? Have I so wrapped up my life with the cares of this world that the Lord’s path has become nearly impassible? Of course, with God all things are possible, but Jesus does say it’s easier for a camel to go through a sewing needle’s eye (yes that needle, not some gate in Jerusalem), than a rich man to enter the kingdom of God. Straight paths for earthly comfort and riches are likely not that easy for God to navigate. Yes, nothing is impassible or impossible with God, but the question remains: have I prepared?

Luke

Luke also includes a genealogy from Adam to Mary. But first he tells us about the births of both John the Baptist and Jesus. And again we find a contrast. An angel appears to Zechariah, a respected man whom the whole community admired. There was sorrow for him and his wife, Elizabeth, because they never had children and were past the regular child-bearing age.

The angel tells Zechariah that he will have a son and will give him the strange name, well strange for his family, of “John.” Zechariah wants to be sure of this, not unlike Samson’s father Manoah, and so the angel removes speech from his lips until his baby is born and he names him John.

As Elizabeth is expecting her son, family, neighbors, and friends can all celebrate with her. She’s likely the talk of the town. What a blessing! God has been great to her. And so Luke now introduces us to Mary. Elizabeth was relatively old to get pregnant; Mary was relatively young. Elizabeth was long married to a respected leader; Mary was not yet married, but was engaged to marry a good-enough guy.

An angel appears to Mary and calls her “highly favored,” prompting her to wonder what he meant by that. As angels often say, he tells Mary not to be afraid and then gives her the good news that out of finding favor with God whose power will “overshadow” her she will become pregnant and give birth to a son whom she is to name Jesus. He will rule on David, his father’s, throne and his kingdom will have no end.

As a kid I thought Mary’s response sounded a whole lot like Zachariah’s. She wonders aloud how this could be, but instead of punishing her the angel explains to her that God will do it, using her cousin Elizabeth as a sign. “For nothing is impossible with God.” And next we have the key difference between Mary and Zechariah, one I never appreciated as a kid. Her response is not unbelief or even unsurety, but acceptance: “I am the Lord’s servant,” she answers, “may it be to me as you have said.”

Zechariah had the official title of servant, but Mary had the posture. Zechariah came around, but Mary accepted it right away, even hurrying to Elizabeth who blesses her. As this story is so familiar I rarely pause to think of the scandal of Mary’s pregnancy. Joseph figured she cheated on him. Townspeople probably gossiped that at best Joseph and Mary couldn’t wait for marriage and who would believe her story that she is the world’s first and only pregnant virgin? Elizabeth gets the baby showers and praise, while Mary doesn’t even attempt to give birth in her hometown. Instead, she goes with her husband all the way to Bethlehem likely to avoid the naysayers and save face.

Luke ends the chapter with two songs, one by Mary and the other by Zechariah. We tend to always skip over them around Christmas, but we do well to pay attention to their words. Mary sings like an Old Testament prophet, reminding us that God is a God of the humble and the hungry. Likewise, Zechariah sings about God remembering his people after their long exile and the 400+ years without a prophet. Now God is speaking and is himself preparing his own way. Those smooth paths, according to Zechariah, include knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of sins. Like the last Old Testament prophet Malachi foretold, after darkness comes the dawn of the sun.

When we come to Luke Chapter 2 we find familiar content again as Joseph and Mary go to Bethlehem and she gives birth in a place for animals. Instead of dignitaries, families, or friends surrounding the newborn baby, shepherds are prodded by angels to go and celebrate Jesus’ birth. Mary ponders such things, but we are not told exactly what she ponders.

Luke then tells us about Jesus’ first visit to Jerusalem, the place where he will later be beaten, tried, and condemned. He is presented at the temple, where Luke introduces us to Anna and Simeon. Simeon is convinced that his eyes have seen the Lord’s salvation in an eight-day-old baby, born to a couple of nobodies from nowhere. He tells the baby’s mother that this baby will one day divide hearts and minds, piercing even her own soul. Now that’s something to ponder.

The chapter ends with the only story we have from Jesus’ childhood. He stays behind at the same temple in Jerusalem, discussing the Bible with the experts of the law. Just as Luke closes the first chapter by telling us how John grew, he closes out the second with Jesus’ upbringing.

Although it’s not technically a Christmas theme, linger just a little bit and begin Luke’s third chapter. After all, the genealogy comes at the end of it. Luke begins by listing a who’s who of global, national, and regional leaders at the time. Here are all the most powerful, richest, and loudest men. He names them all and then he tells us that the word of God came not to a single one of them, but to John, the son of Zechariah, and not in Rome, Caesarea, or Jerusalem, but the desert.

And just like Matthew we see once again Isaiah’s words “A voice of one calling in the desert, ‘Prepare the way for the Lord, make straight paths for him.’”

Ah, the desert. I wouldn’t want to spend much time there. I only visited Death Valley on a July afternoon for a few hours and drank more than a few liters of water. But there is something about the quietness of the desert that gives room to listen, to pray, and to meditate. There are few shadows, only sun.

We often prefer the shadows. The busyness. The bustle. The noice. The distraction. I think of Wordsworth: “The world is too much with us; late and soon,/Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.”

Christmas™ can be too much with us, that we fail to be the Lord’s servants, receiving what he has done for us in Christ. After all, the angels tell the shepherds, unto you, a child is born. As Martin Luther reminds us, it is not just that Christ is born, but he is born “unto you.” And as Paul later writes that this same Christ who loves me and gave himself for me lives in and through him.

While the world stirred and slept Christ was born unto us. Will you continue to stir and sleep with it or will you make straight paths for him?