Where Christ Was Born

Matthew 2:11-18

Christmas 1

December 29, 2019

William G. Carter

On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

Now after they had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, “Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.” Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, “Out of Egypt I have called my son.”

When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men. Then was fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah: “A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.”

It is the fifth day of Christmas. You are forgiven if you forgot your five golden rings. There has been a lot going on. Last Tuesday night, the midnight air was full of candlelight and joyful noise, the angels danced for Christ is born. Since then, some of the visitors have come and gone, the Wise Men among them.

For those of us some distance away, the question remains, “Where was Christ born?” You may think that’s a silly question, already answered. Where was he born? “In Bethlehem of Judea.” OK, fine – but where?

The children who were with us last week could not agree on a location. Some said Jesus was born in a cave They took their cue from Justin Martyr, who declared that to be so in the second century, about a hundred fifty years late. Others said Jesus was born in a barn, for he was placed in a feed trough for the cattle. Everybody knows you keep the cattle in the barn, right? Unless you are a first-century Palestinian; then you bring the cattle inside your home to keep them warm. That’s where the mangers were.

Where was he born? The wise men believed the new King of the Jews would be born in a palace. So they went to Jerusalem, the capital city. Wow, was the current king ever surprised! He had to ask the Bible scholars on the royal staff, “Where is the Messiah to be born?” They said, “Bethlehem of Judea,” just as the prophet Micah foretold. He didn’t know, because most kings don’t spend a lot of time reading the Old Testament prophets. And the wise men were six miles off.

Today, all the tourists visit Bethlehem if they can get through the checkpoint. They go to the Church of the Nativity, located (where else?) in Manger Square.  Founded by Emperor Constantine’s mother in 325 AD, that big old church took 240 years to complete. It’s a venerable old place, having survived earthquakes, the Crusades, and countless tourists.

If you go, you stand in a long line that moves slowly. A cranky priest snarls, “Be quiet, this is holy ground.” You wind down a stone staircase and there it is: a fourteen-point silver star surrounded by marble. According to Constantine’s mother in 325 AD, that’s the spot. It doesn’t look very humble. Not at all. Was Christ born there?

If you ask the scholars, they look down at their sandals and shuffle a little bit. The scholars remind us the Bible’s Christmas stories were written down 50, 60, ever 80 years after Jesus’ birth. They say, “We know he came out of Nazareth, a town ninety miles to the north.” But there’s no historical record of Caesar’s census, nor much evidence that the Holy Family spent much time in Bethlehem. So who knows? All we have are the Bible stories.[1]

Yet there is one thing we can say with absolutely certainty. Jesus was born into a world where a lot of children are still in danger.

We didn’t tell you that on Christmas Eve. No, that was the night to sing, “Away in a Manger, no crib for a bed; the little lord Jesus laid down his sweet head.” That was when we lit candles and sang, “Silent Night, holy night.” That was then; today, after the tourists have all gone, we hear about the aftermath of Christ’s birth.

The short version is that King Herod was a nut job. He was turned in upon himself. He couldn’t bear the thought of another king born in his land, on his watch. He was suspicious, fearful, paranoid, angry – and therefore murderous. The people of his land may have been waiting for a Messiah, but Herod never wanted that Messiah to come because he was in charge. He was on the throne. He was at the pinnacle of power, intended to keep it, and expected to pass that power onto his family. That’s the way power works.

We talk a lot these days about “empowerment,” about helping others to gain strength and achieve their goals. It’s a worthy aim, but do we understand the nature of power? Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. As somebody notes, “Power means that you do not want to be confront something that questions you. You cannot stand the threat, and therefore you become more and more encased in your own pride.”[2]

This is one of the moral lessons from the new Star Wars movie, “The Rise of Skywalker.” To everybody’s surprise – to nobody’s surprise - the nasty old emperor has been lurking in the shadows for years, ready to pursue his vain dream of galaxy domination. He will do anything to win. Just like King Herod.

Herod is intoxicated with power. He orders the destruction of the innocents, all because of the announcement of one Innocent Child. The sad truth is that nobody in his kingdom would have been surprised by this. They were well accustomed to his cruelty. They knew all about deprivation, poverty, and senseless destruction.

There is no need to go into further detail, especially if the taste of candy canes lingers in our mouths. The other day, a three-year-old boy and his mother were attacked in Brooklyn by a crazed fanatic. They are Jewish and were walking to a Hanukkah celebration. For no other reason, or maybe that was the reason, the assailant came out of nowhere and started hitting them. It was the latest of an increasing spree of anti-Semitic attacks in Brooklyn, where more Jews live than in Israel.[3]   

And I’ll tell you something: this is where Christ was born. It’s the same world. It’s the same place where people are threatened by people who are threatened. Some will summon their power to strike others down. Some will summon their power to hold their ground. Meanwhile the sad truth is that the world hasn’t changed much since the time of Jesus. People who are hurt will hurt other people.

Jesus is born right in the middle of all this. Matthew’s Gospel tells the truth. From the very beginning of Jesus’ life, there was a cross. He is born with complete innocence and that’s what exposes those who are guilty. In a display of moral weakness, King Herod tries to get rid of the future Messiah. He does it in the most desolate way possible, threatening all the children of Bethlehem in order get rid of the One.

God outsmarts King Herod, thanks to dreams and angels. This time, young Jesus is saved by his parents. Yet the cross still awaits him even after Herod is out of the picture. An anxious empire may exchange one leader for another, but anxiety continues if it is untreated. That is the foreshadowing of the wise men’s myrrh, a most curious gift for a child. Myrrh is a burial spice. If you ever get invited to a baby shower, don’t take any myrrh.

The wise men brought myrrh. In the case of Jesus, this “bitter perfume” is a reminder of the evil that taints our world. Cruelty is still in the air. The myrrh foreshadows how Jesus will face the cross of an anxious empire.

Yet the death of Jesus will count for something. It will flip everything. As with his life, the death of Jesus opens up an alternative to everything King Herod stands for. Instead of fear, Jesus steps out in courage. Instead of self-protection, Jesus offers himself in self-giving. Instead of creating wreckage and grief, Jesus gives life and offers healing. Instead of anxiety which is usually expressed through destruction, Jesus dies to cancel human sin and its lingering effect, and this is the will of God.

And in the greatest mystery of all, the myrrh given to the infant Christ is never used. When Jesus dies, it is the eve of the Sabbath, so he is buried quickly. When the women can finally get to his tomb to anoint him with the myrrh, Jesus has already been raised from the dead. There is a greater power at work in him, than the power of death. It is the power of life, expressed in love, lived with simplicity and honesty, for the benefit of all.

Where was Jesus born? This is the world where Christ was born. This is the world he died to save. This is the world God has raised him up to keep saving. The work goes on and he remains with us, just as he said.

All of life comes from God, and it is a ceaseless invitation to live with God, just as Jesus taught. All that Jesus did – teaching, healing, serving, restoring – all of it is a model for how we can live. We don’t ever have to be afraid. We can trust God above everything else, because Jesus has come, and he has come back, and he stays with us, just as he said.

If King Herod pokes up his head along the way, the Gospel has already exposed him for what he is: a tormented soul, less than fully human, wounded and anxious. His way is not the way to the fullness of life. We can go home by another way.

And if we get the chance, we can look Herod square in the eye and declare what the poet said long ago: “Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place.” (Zora Neale Hurston)

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] See, for instance, Raymond E. Brown, “Historically, Was Jesus Born in Bethlehem?” The Birth of the Messiah (New York: Image, 1977), 515-18

[2] James I. McCord, “Dark Night of the Soul: A Christmas Meditation on Matthew 2:16-18,” Princeton Theological Seminary, 15 December 1982. Accessed online at http://commons.ptsem.edu/id/03758

[3] “Four Jewish women targets in latest anti-Semitic attacks in Brooklyn,” New York Daily News, 27 December 2019.

Christmas on Your Knees

Matthew 2:1-12

Christmas Eve

December 24, 2019

William G. Carter

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: ‘And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.’” Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.”

When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

There are two Christmas stories in the Bible: Luke’s story and Matthew’s story. Luke tells his story among the poor. Matthew sets his story among the rich and powerful. According to Luke, Mary and Joseph are displaced in a peasant home, with no available guest room. Matthew begins with a palace. For Luke, the first circle around the child includes shepherds, unnamed and largely insignificant in their society. Matthew gives a name: King Herod, and points to the chief priests of the Jerusalem temple, the scribes who guarded the scriptures of the nation, and the unusual visitors from a far-off land who travel with wealth. The contrast couldn’t be greater.

Each of the Christmas stories reveals the larger theme of the Gospel writer. Luke speaks of Jesus as a prophet for the people. He comes to lift up those under foot. He pays attention to those too frequently overlooked. He speaks up on behalf of the last, the least, and the lost. Every day he rescues the Misfit Toys and gives them a home. Jesus comes for all the people, especially the forgotten people.

Matthew would agree with all of this, but he sees this as an issue of authority. That’s one of his favorite words: authority. Jesus teaches with authority, unlike the Jerusalem scribes. He heals with authority, unlike the healers of his day. At the end, he stands tall on the top of a mountain and declares, “All authority on heaven and earth has been given to me.” It’s no wonder that those in power shake in their boots.

King Herod is nervous. He doesn’t have to be. He could choose to ignore those strange stargazers who knock at the door of the palace. Everybody knows that if you have been chasing after a star, the directions will be vague. Those odd wise men don’t know where they are going. They are not Jews. They aren’t looking for a Messiah. Herod could brush off the whole business, snatch their gold, and send them back to Persia.

But he doesn’t do that. Herod has a crown, but he is not the king. He may live in a palace, but he doesn’t rule over very much. He has subjects beneath him and can enforce his will, but he has no real power over them. The historical record of King Herod is clear: he was a terrible person. Arrogant and vain, unfaithful to multiple wives, demanding loyalty but never showing loyalty, suspicious to a fault – Matthew says he may be the king, but he’s not really the king.

Herod knows all of this in the pit of his stomach. Pushed to extremity, he is forced to ask the Bible scholars, “Where is Messiah supposed to be born?”

Meanwhile, wise men from the East are asking, “Where’s the king? The newborn king? The real king? Where is the One who rightfully deserves our hearts?”

That’s the big question in the Gospel of Matthew: where is the true king?  After Jesus is baptized, he faces three temptations about power. Does he have the power to feed the hungry by using magic tricks? Does he have the power to command the angels to catch him when he jumps? And the big one, for Matthew: does he have the power to claim all the nations without giving himself in self-sacrificial love? Jesus sees each temptation for what it is and refuses it. He refuses to misuse his power to only benefit himself.  

You see, that’s what the kings of the world do not understand. The truly powerful Ruler is the One who gives himself away for the benefit of all. The King from heaven gives and does not grab. He offers and does not plunder. He rules with justice, multiplies the nation, and increases its joy. He is Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace – and the prophet says, “his authority shall grow continually.”

According to Matthew, the Christmas question is “Whose world is this?” Does this world belong to King Herod and all his counterfeit imitators? Or does it belong to King Jesus? This is an either-or question, not a both-and. We can’t have it both ways.

The Christ who is born in Bethlehem is remarkably different from King Herod who sits nervously in his palace. Just remember what he will teach one day from the top of a mountain:

• Be reconciled to one another rather than live in anger and insult (5:21-26).
• Pursue the truth and forego empty promises (5:33-37).
• Give abundantly and refuse to be a victim (5:38-43).
• Love all people, even your enemies, and work for their benefit (5:43-48).
• Don’t worry (6:25-33), don’t judge (7:1-5), don’t stop forgiving (6:14-15).
• Pray to God who rules over all. Live by God’s will rather than your own. (6:9-10)

The True King has been born among us. This is the Good News of Christmas. His birth frees us from the counterfeit dominions of the world. It’s refreshing, even life-giving. As a sign of this, the wise men fall to their knees. They bow down to honor him.

From the treasures entrusted to them, they give gold worthy of the Infant King. They offer incense, for this King is worthy to respond to their prayers. They bring the bitter perfume of myrrh, not only because a King like Jesus unsettles the powers on earth, but because this Christ offers life to all through his sacrificial death.

In the middle of it all, they offer one thing more. Notice what it is? Joy. They are “overwhelmed with joy.” They bend their knees in joy. All the promises that there is holiness in the heavens are revealed in the Infant King. All the hopes that there truly can be love and justice on earth are unveiled by this Vulnerable Child, and He alone has the authority to direct the stars in the sky.

So tonight, let the joy break forth like light in the darkness. We are not forgotten. Nor have we been abandoned to the worst of our human impulses. Christ the King has come. Everything can be different now.

“For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. His authority shall grow continually, and there shall be endless peace for the throne of David and his kingdom.” Merry Christmas!

(c) William G. Carter.  All rights reserved.

Hope is the Unexpected Child

Matthew 1:18-25

Advent 4

December 22, 2019

William G. Carter

Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: “Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,” which means, “God is with us.” When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus.

Christmas is a couple of days away, so we know a baby is on the way. For most people, the go-to Gospel is the Gospel of Luke. Luke tells us about the women who will give birth.

There is an old woman, Elizabeth, representing the traditions of Israel. In her advanced age, Elizabeth reminds us of all the Old Testament women who were told they could not bear children – and by the grace of God, some of them do: Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel, Hannah, and now Elizabeth.

By contrast, there is a young woman, Mary, who reveals a brand-new day. The angel of God announces to Mary she will be bear a son without the benefit of a man. After asking how this can be, she accepts her future and says, “Let it be according to your word.”

Luke says the two women are related somehow. One day they meet. Elizabeth feels a flutter in her belly and interprets it as her gestating child leaping for joy. She breaks into song, Mary breaks into song. Pretty soon, Elizabeth’s husband is singing, and then the angels are singing. The first two chapters of Luke should be produced as a musical.

But this month, we are in the Gospel of Matthew. There isn’t any singing in the Gospel of Matthew. Maybe that’s because Matthew’s story is about the men. As we will hear on Christmas Eve and the Sunday that follows, he tells about a king. In the palace, the king has men who are his advisors. The king receives guests from a far-off land who are men. The king sends out male solders after the guest depart.

Before all that happens, Matthew shines his spotlight on a very special man: Joseph, who had claimed young Mary as his future bride. We discover more about him today than anywhere else. He disappears from the story after chapter two.

The first detail we learn is Joseph is a just man. He is righteous. This is the way the Bible describes someone who is right with God. He lives according to God’s instruction. He keeps all the commandments. In the Jewish village, he is highly respected. There is nothing he has said nor done that stands between him and God and neighbor.

As it happens with many righteous people, Joseph has an unexpected problem on his hands. Mary is pregnant. They have not yet been married. She has been living in her parents’ small house, so they have not been together. The news is stated as a non-debatable matter of fact: “she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit.” And what is Joseph to do?

On the one hand, the Bible is clear. There is a law that says, “If an already-promised maiden hooks up with another man in the city, the two of them are to be put to death.” (Deuteronomy 22:23). But on the other hand, there’s no evidence of another man.

What should he do? On the one hand, he had chosen Mary. In a real sense, the whole village has chosen the two of them. They are intended for one another. But on the other hand, there is some evidence of outside intrusion.

What should he do? On the one hand, she is his intended. He is ready to promise away his life to her. But on the other hand, he didn’t sign up for this. When her pregnancy is disclosed, which will not take long in a small Jewish village, the news will be explosive. Everybody will talk. All the righteous people in town will nod their heads in shame.

For Joseph, as we have heard, is a righteous man. He lives by the Word of God. And yet, on the other hand, he lives in a spiritual tradition that knows the Word of God must be interpreted in the way we live. Yes, there’s that old verse from Deuteronomy staring him in the face. But the Bible has a lot of other verses about showing mercy. He resolves to live his righteousness through kindness. As hard as it will be, he will break it off and tell her to remain with her parents. Mary may be “full of grace,” but he will not submit her to dis-grace.

Figuring this out has been hard work for him. He is emotionally spent and mentally exhausted. He goes to sleep. We hear what happens then. Yet according to the Bible scholar Ken Bailey, we have jumped ahead a little too fast.

Our Bible translation says, “just when he resolved to do this.” Actually, he hadn’t quite resolved it; the original Greek word says he was “considering” it, “pondering” it. And that might sound like Mary’s story, over in the Gospel of Luke. When the angel appears, she “ponders” it. When the shepherds show up, she “ponders” what they say. But that’s a different word.

The word for Joseph is “enthumemai,” which comes from “thumos,” a word for anger. It’s the kind of anger that produces smoke. So Joseph is not merely pondering the situation. He fumes. He fusses. He can’t do much about it, and this annoys him.

And why not? The Bible tells us about real people, flesh and blood people, people with honest emotions. As Ken Bailey says,

Isn’t anger the natural emotion for him to have felt? Perhaps long generations of veneration for “Saint Joseph” have led to an assumption that he could not have become angry – particularly not with Mary! But this to overlook the pure humanness of the man. On hearing that his fiancée was pregnant, is he expected to sit quietly and “consider” this matter? Or would he naturally feel deeply disappointed and indeed angry?[1]

Before we rush ahead and say, “Yes, but in the end, Joseph did what the angel told him; he went ahead and took Mary and her child as his own,” let’s dwell for a bit on his very human reaction to the news of an unexpected child. Joseph was fuming and fussing.

Life doesn’t always go as we planned. Ever notice that? There are twists and turns, no matter how smoothly we plan the journey to be. The job is going well. The career is at the peak of productivity. The co-workers are getting along. Then comes the summons to the front office: “We are going to make a change.” And it does not unfold as expected. Anybody here know what that’s like?

The son comes home for the holidays. His wife does not come along. She hasn’t been coming for a few years. Always had a reason – too much work, can’t get away, other demands on her time. Late at night, after a couple of glasses of wine, the son confesses, “I have some news. She won’t be coming. Not ever. We are splitting in different directions.” Mother blurts out, “But we are scheduled for a family portrait in the morning.” That night, she tosses and turns, can’t get any sleep. She’s fuming.

We know what it's like to have our very ordered plans disrupted. This week is typically the test case. You plan the Christmas dinner for 5 o'clock, and the phone call comes that they won't get there till 7:00 and it is already 4:45. Some dinner planners have a complete meltdown over that one.

Or what about the complexities of travel? When my kids were little, they used to bust my chops when I would put the GPS unit on my dashboard and set it for my parents’ home. A little voice from the back seat would inquire, “Don't you know how to get to your mom and dad’s house?” Well, it had nothing to do with directions and everything to do with timing. I could know precisely by satellite accuracy when we would arrive. The truth is that's rarely when we arrived. There would be some detour, some traffic snafu, some kind of disruption.

I can understand my old Joseph is fussing, even in the best of circumstances. His pristine village marriage is going to be tarnished. His righteous reputation will be in tatters. There will be snickers behind his back as he walks down the street. Behold the righteous man who can't even control his own circumstances.

But who among us really can control much at all? I know a woman, an engineer, who had her babies planned on schedule. Her daughter showed up right on time. It fit perfectly with a brief pause in her career. She listens to the child psychologist who says, “three and a half years are a perfect interval,” so Number Two is planned. Nobody told them their son would show up six weeks early, and they would have him baptized in the neonatal ICU. In time, he would turn out just fine. But it was on God's time, not anybody else’s.

So back to Joseph. As he fusses about his dilemma, he goes to sleep. You may have noticed that, when we go to sleep, we can't really defend ourselves from whatever pops up. Somewhere past our conscious defenses, the messages can get in. The ancients believed, and some still hold, that dreams are a way for God to speak to us, through all the unfinished business of the day still stirring in our brains. That's what happens to Joseph. 

Now it's Joseph turn to hear the whisper of an angel. “Joseph, Joseph, don't be afraid to take Mary as your wife. The child within her is a gift of the Holy Spirit.” You didn't produce this baby because you're not in charge.

This is a most disruptive dream. And I'm sure in his first conscious response, Joseph fussed again. The gospel of Matthew doesn't say that, but I must believe it. No matter how fearsome an angel or a dream might be, it still takes some time to work things through. Real change doesn’t happen until we say so. There must come a point when we must give in and surrender. The ultimate test of righteousness is setting aside our personal agendas and accepting what God is doing right here and now, even if it demands a great deal of us.

Joseph is a righteous man. A just man. He chooses kindness even if it was an initial struggle. He chooses to trust that God is at work even if his life will be perpetually disrupted. He chooses to believe there is a fiercer grace at work even if he cannot control it. God is coming to save us through the unexpected child born to Mary. This is the hope at the heart of Christmas.

I hope you have a wonderful holiday, with whatever that means for you. Maybe it will be safe travel, or gatherings of loved ones, or celebrations worthy of the holy day. I hope it is spectacular.

But may I suggest that we also welcome the unexpected gift, whatever that might be? There may be something you weren’t seeking, something you couldn’t plan, something that invites you beyond comfort into the future God is setting before you. If such a gift should come, ask if it is the way God is calling you to trust, to believe, to hope that the world is in better hands than yours. For Christ, the Unexpected Child, is born to save us all.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] Ken Bailey, Jesus Through Middle Eastern Eyes (Downers Grove, IL: IVP), pp. 44-45.

Hope is Unexpected Mercy

Matthew 11:2-11

Advent 3

December 15, 2019

William G. Carter

When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, ‘Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?’ Jesus answered them, ‘Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offence at me.’

As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: ‘What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. This is the one about whom it is written, “See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you.” Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.

Advent is a journey of hope. We are three weeks into the season and there is a clash between hope and expectation. They are not the same thing. One of the Advent hymns speaks of Jesus as “our hope and expectation,”[1] but one is not the same as the other.  

We expect what we have experienced before. If you are here on Christmas Eve, you can expect to sing “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” “Joy to the World,” and “Silent Night,” what we affectionately call “The Big Three.” We have heard them before. We expect to hear them again.

If you are the kind of person who takes a pro-active approach to getting Christmas gifts, you have every reason to expect no surprises. Just make a list of size, color, and website address of every preferred item, then distribute the list to family members. That’s how expectations work. No surprises.

In our household, we expect to sleep in on the morning of December 25^th, especially now that the kids are grown and gone. We expect them to show up around 11 for brunch, open some gifts, maybe catch catnaps on the couch. Sometime around 3pm, I will slice chicken, peel shrimp, cut up vegetables, and make a feast of Thai food. Our family has done this a dozen times. They expect it and it will happen.

How different this is from hope! Hope is greater than expectation. The range is deeper, wider. Christians hope for the world to be saved, even if we’re still waiting for it to happen conclusively. We hope for Christ to appear again, even if we cannot expect how or when he will come. Some Christians hope in what they cannot yet see.

There is hope, and there is expectation. John the Baptist sits in a prison cell and hears what the Messiah has been doing. He has been preaching the hope of the Messiah. What he hears is not what he expects. He said the Messiah would chop down every unproductive tree and throw it into the fire. But Jesus doesn’t even have an axe. He must have given that up when he left the wood shop.

John said the Messiah would come with the burning fire of justice. He would baptize with the purging flames of God. But so far, John hasn’t seen so much as a flicker or caught a whiff of smoke. When is the fire coming? Or the winnowing fork? Jesus is not at all what he expected.  

Now, if he had been paying attention, perhaps he would have noticed some clues. John took an ascetic approach, fasting from fat foods and living with discipline. He expected the same of anyone who followed him and waited for the kingdom of God. By contrast, the disciples of Jesus lived unconstrained lives. They ate and drank like everybody else.

So John’s followers went to Jesus and said, “How come we fast all the time, but you and your followers do not?” Jesus smiled and said, “There’s a party going on. Don’t you see?” No, they didn’t see. John had taught them to turn their back on the world, and Jesus was embracing it. (9:14-17)

Another time, John got in trouble for denouncing Herod Antipas, the local ruler and son of Herod the Great. He was an unsavory character who got rid of his wife and married his half-brother’s wife. John was furious. He bellowed so loudly in the wilderness that Herod’s new wife said, “You have to shut him up or shut him down.” So Herod put him in prison, which is where today’s story takes place.

By contrast, Jesus didn’t preach against a public official. Not directly, and not like that. Given John’s pursuit of purity as a precondition for God’s Kingdom, no doubt he wondered why Jesus didn’t speak up about such things. So he wanted to know: are you the One who is to come, or should we look for another?

There is evidence that John influenced Jesus. When Jesus started preaching, he began by using John’s same sermon: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” But while John remained in the desert, Jesus left the desert behind and traveled among the villages.

John Dominic Crossan, the historian, suggests this might have been a significant difference between the two. He says, “John the Baptist had a monopoly, while Jesus created franchises.” Now what does that mean?

Well, John took a cue from Jerusalem, where the one and only temple was established. In that time, if you wanted to purify your sins or offer a sacrifice, you went to the Jerusalem Temple. It was the only show in town, the one place where you could interact with the Lord of Heaven. It was the monopoly.

John appears in the wilderness and preaches the kingdom is near. Get ready. Scrub your soul. Get your sins washed away. And if you heard the message and wanted to do that, you had to leave where you were and go where John was located. He was the prophet, the forerunner of the kingdom, the monopoly of expectation. You went out to the Jordan River. That’s where he was.

Meanwhile, Jesus didn’t sit still. He moved around. He went to this village and cured a man who couldn’t see. He went to a synagogue in another town and cured a man with a withered arm. Then he went to the seashore and fed five thousand people. Then he rode in a boat to another town, cured a wild man and let the demons kill some pigs, and then said, “Don’t tell anybody,” which is precisely the way the word spread.

Everywhere he went, Jesus started another outpost of grace, one small kingdom franchise after another. John didn’t understand. How could he? He expected a big, dramatic event – a large scale Day of the Lord. What Jesus created was a movement, one soul at a time. How are you going to usher in the Kingdom of Heaven if it’s one person at a time?

Are you the One who is to come, or should we look for another? That is John’s question.

When he reflects on this passage, scholar Dale Bruner focuses on the work Jesus was doing while John was in prison. The miracles happened in the outlying areas of Galilee, out in the sticks, what Bruner likes to call “northern Idaho.” You might expect the Messiah to go to the city, to do something big, to make a lot of noise, to set up golden flares and get some attention. That’s not the way he works.

As Bruner notes, Jesus has not yet attacked the evil forces of the reigning political or economic powers; he simply picks up the pieces left by those evil forces. Some would deride this as “an ambulance ministry, picking up the crushed victims of evil structures but failing to combat those evil structures themselves.”[2] The Christ simply drives around in his ambulance, healing this person, restoring that one, lifting up this one. For now, it seems that is the work he does.

John expects something bigger. Something grander. Something louder. He wishes his hands were unshackled, because he’d really like to scratch his head. Are you the One who is to come, or should we look for another? The question is still a live one. It lies at the heart of our Gospel expectations.

Back when I was new in pastoral ministry, I found myself surrounded by religious prophets like John. These zealots were fired up on the great issues of the day. They were going to eliminate nuclear weapons, to the glory of God. They were going to create enormous programs to eliminate hunger in the world. These friends would create rallies, go to the Capital, preside over an exorcism of a tank, preach in the words of the prophet Amos, denounce global greed and international indebtedness. Their passion was stirring.

That was thirty-five years ago. These days, most of those friends have left the Gospel ministry. A good number burned out. They couldn’t sustain the large-scale passion. They tossed in the towel. Or like John, they lost their heads.

And do you know who is still staying at it? The pastor of an 80-member church in a town nobody can find, preaching every week, making hospital calls, and taking casseroles to the homebound. He isn’t trying to change the world. No, but he’s part of a movement to give sight to the sightless, open ears of those who haven’t been listening, lift up those on weary legs, welcome home the leper, and preach Good News to people who would otherwise not get any good news. People like him offer hope through expressions of mercy.

I used to read this story and think, “Why is John the Baptist missing the point?” I’d kick him for a while and say, “Why don’t you get it?” Then it struck me one day that few of us really get it – and the reason why we don’t get it is that it’s so easy to miss.

Hundreds of years before Jesus, a prophet named Zechariah foretold a future savior: “Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Look, your king is coming… He will cut off the chariot from Ephraim. He will cut off the war-horse from Jerusalem. He will cut off the bow and arrow, and command peace to the nations.” Now, listen – that’s the kind of king we need. Nobody is going to push him around. He has a lot of power. He has a lot of authority.

And Zechariah says, “Look again!” Here comes your triumphant king: he is humble and riding on a donkey. He is not riding the white horse of battle. The victorious king rides on the foal of a farm animal.[3] It’s no wonder that people trickle away when Jesus rides into the holy city. They want power and military might; instead they get Jesus.

In my devotional reading last week, I found a few lines from J.B. Phillips. He gets right to the heart of why it’s so easy to miss that what we’re looking for is already here. He writes:

What we are in fact celebrating is the awe-inspiring humility of God, and no amount of familiarity with the trappings of Christmas should ever blind us to its quiet but explosive significance. For Christians believe that so great is God’s love and concern from humanity that [God] himself became a [human being]. Amid the sparkle and the color and music of the day’s celebration we do well to remember that God’s insertion of himself into human history was achieved with an almost frightening quietness and humility. There was no advertisement, no publicity, no special privilege; in fact the entry of God into his own world was almost heartbreakingly humble.[4]

No wonder John doubted. God’s entry into the world was so quiet that even Jesus’ favorite preacher wasn’t sure it had happened. Before we criticize John for that, take note that this is how Messiah comes to us: not among the high and mighty, although he is certainly capable of it. No, he shows up among the disappointed, the misfit, the infirmed, the poor, and those who limp. This is where the good news in announced. This is where the Christ breaks in.

And if that is so, maybe we can look at Christmas differently. Maybe we thought Christmas is God’s gift to us. What if we could make Christmas a gift for somebody else?

In some quiet way, in the name of the Quiet Christ, go out of your way for somebody else. Invite into your home someone that you would rarely think to invite. Build into your family celebration somebody who isn’t related to you. Go down to the hospital or the nursing home and visit somebody. Make a generous gift to people who have far less than you. Put on a funny hat and sing joyful songs at the dreary shopping mall. Take some joy to somebody unexpected. Let hope be born through your works of mercy.

In the quietest of ways, God entered his own world in the birth of Jesus. Jesus grew up to continue the quiet workings of grace. In the power of his resurrection, he continues hie work, though largely unrecognized. What the world needs most is already here. Hope is already among us. And hope is best received by those who see what others overlook.

(c) William G Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] “Rejoice, Rejoice, Believers,” 4^th stanza

[2] Frederick Dale Bruner, The Christbook: Matthew 1-12 (Waco: Word, 1987) 409-410.

[3] Zechariah 9:9-10

[4] J.B. Phillips, “The Dangers of Advent” in Waiting for the Light (Farmington PA: The Plough Publishing House, 2001) 22.

Hope is Replacing the Artificial

Matthew 3:1-12

Advent 2

December 8, 2019

William G. Carter

In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” This is the one of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said, “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.’” Now John wore clothing of camel’s hair with a leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey. Then the people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to him, and all the region along the Jordan, and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins.

But when he saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming for baptism, he said to them, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruit worthy of repentance. Do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. “I baptize you with water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and will gather his wheat into the granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”

We begin a second week in the season of Advent, so we will talk about hope. Advent is the season of hope.

Today we encounter John the Baptist, that strange preacher in the wilderness. He dresses in the animal skins of an Old Testament prophet. He keeps to a desert-based diet. There is fire in his eyes and there is fire on his tongue. And everybody went out to hear him.

That might be the most curious detail. Why would anyone go to hear a preacher who yells at them?

I remember the preachers I have heard. There haven’t been many screamers, but there were a few. In the preaching class in seminary, we had a Baptist from New Rochelle. He introduced us to the rhythms and tones of African American preaching. His enchanting sermon was a forty-minute journey that seemed like a few ticks of the clock. When it was done, it had reached such a crescendo, we hadn’t realized he was yelling.

By contrast, there was another preacher who took to the pulpit to denounce our school’s investment policies. I guess he must have done a lot of research. His message was full of energy. It started at high decibels and went even higher. It was a ten-minute sermon and seems like an hour. All he did was yell. Nobody was listening.

And then, there was the preacher in Scotland, on the outskirts of Stornoway. That morning’s sermon was nearly an hour. Now, I know that sounds unbearable, but in that little town, they don’t go into comparison shopping. Everybody goes to church. He stood and spoke with passion and energy, rising to a high pitch. It was in Gaelic and I didn’t understand a word – but from the fire in his eyes, I knew exactly what he was talking about. When 6 p.m. came around, we went back to hear him again.

From experience, I know why everybody went out to hear John the Baptist. It wasn’t the volume. It was the passion. He meant what he said. He didn’t waste words. He got right to the point. And everybody came.

Certainly there was the spectacle of it all. Most of the other preachers were talking in their sleep. But when John spoke, everybody was wide awake. He spoke to their memory, evoking the prophets from 500 years before. He spoke to their future, pointing to the Messiah who was already on the way. When memory and the future come together, hope is born. “Repent,” he said with fire, “for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.”

John did his work at the Jordan River. That’s about 27 miles from Jerusalem, which people would have traveled by foot. That’s 27 miles downhill, a drop of about 3700 feet in elevation – just to hear the preacher! And then you have to walk back uphill. I don’t know a lot of people who would walk eight hours (each way) to hear a nine-word sermon. That’s about an hour per word, especially if you stop to take a breath.

But the people came. They came from all over. They came from Jerusalem and all the region of Judea. They heard John preach and had their sins washed away.

We had a conversation with our men’s group on Thursday morning. What would it take for people to confess their sins? To tell the truth about what they have done wrong and what they have left undone? What would it take to ‘fess up and say what’s really going on? The guys in the group said that’s a really good question.

Many of us get to that prayer in our worship bulletin and treat it like a speed bump. Just slow down a little bit and keep going. No reason to scrape the undercarriage of your soul. I often advise our worship leaders to slow it down even more. Give them 30 seconds for the silent confession; I know what some of them have been up to. Yet even then, it’s tempting to keep it light.

I ran into a friend who is going through a terrible divorce. The Pennsylvania law may say there’s a no-fault divorce, but it’s always more complicated than that. Certainly there’s the case for my friend. Hadn’t seen him since the news of the break-up. I caught his eye when nobody else was around: “How are you doing?” With a big plastic smile, he said, “I’m doing just fine.”

I pushed gently and said, “I’m here for you if you need me.” He smiled even more broadly, “Hey, I’m doing great.”

What would it take for any of us to be honest enough to reveal our own wreckage? Good question.

Down at the Jordan River, the Pharisees and Sadducees show up. What are they doing there? They represent the Jerusalem Establishment! The Pharisees were the Bible Keepers, guardians of morality, purists in every regard – and they come to hear the preacher who dined on locusts. The Sadducees were the high brows, the liturgical elite, the religious nobility, and the families from which all the highest priests were named.

There they are – traveling perhaps by chariot, to hear John preach and step up to the river for their turn to get baptized. Clearly, they believed this was the thing to do. All the peasants were there. The whole country was abuzz with the appearance of John.

Some suggest there might have been ulterior motives at work. The Pharisees hated the Roman army that occupied their land. If John declared God’s kingdom is near, that the Messiah is coming on his white horse of power, they might want to be first in line to greet him.

And the Sadducees? They were willing to give a pass to the Romans as long they didn’t interfere in their priestly duties and the commensurate income. Perhaps they came to keep an eye on the Pharisees, to make sure they didn’t rabble-rouse around the edges. Who can say?

As we heard, John the Baptist won’t have any of it. He calls them out as snakes. He accuses them of coming only to get a pass to keep them out of hell. He denounces their assumption that privilege will put them on the right side of God. “I don’t care who your granddaddy says he was; you’re all a brood of vipers.”

At heart, what is he saying? He is saying that they are faking it. That they are going through the motions. That they show up only for the benefits of an appearance. That they really have no interest in preparing a way for the Lord to reach their own hearts.

So we dwelled with the question in our men’s group: what would it take for people to truly confess their sins? It would have to be something more than noticing it’s the next item on the worship agenda. It would have to be the clear and present knowledge that God is truly knocking at the door, that the kingdom of heaven is just about here.

To put it in Jesus-language, to wake up and realize that the Light of the World is here, and he is going to expose every dark corner in our hearts, every broken deed whether done or left undone, every foul thought and every hurtful word. We might as well say what it is, because it will all be revealed sooner or later.

Here's how Frederick Buechner once put it:

“To confess your sins of God is not to tell God anything God doesn’t already know. Unless you confess them, however, they are the abyss between you. When you confess them, they become the Golden Gate Bridge.” (Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC)

God can get to you, in other words. It requires making a way for God to come closer, removing the roadblocks, straightening the highway, lifting the valleys and leveling the mountains. No more excuses, just honesty. No more faking it or putting on appearance, just being real. This is our spiritual work for Advent: getting real. Replacing the artificial with the truth.

Every Advent, I re-read an essay from Alfred Delp. He was a Jesuit priest who resisted Hitler and the Nazis, and paid the ultimate price for it. Here is what he wrote from a prison camp, as a warning to his own nation when it was intoxicated with power and consumed with mendacity:

Advent is the time for rousing. We are shaken to the very depths, so that we may wake up to the truth of ourselves. The primary condition for a fruitful and rewarding Advent is renunciation, surrender. We must let go of all our mistaken dreams, our conceited poses and arrogant gestures, all the pretenses with which we hope to deceive others and others. If we fail to do this, stark reality may take hold of us and rouse us forcibly in a way that will entail both anxiety and suffering.

The alternative, of course, is to surrender to God, which is always a surrender to grace. We do not let down our guard and fear that heaven will hurt us. We let it down because heaven is moving toward us – and heaven can heal us. That is our ultimate hope.

So John the Baptist appears in the stark wilderness with a fierce promise. God is on the way. God will see us clearly. We cannot presume that God will take us as we are. This is the invitation to change, to drop our bad habits, to straighten out our souls, to name the brokenness that has been lingering far too long, and to present ourselves for healing.

We cannot do any of this on our own, nor do we have to. The kingdom of heaven is at hand. Help is on the way.

So rather than cross our arms and say, “John’s not speaking to me,” let us move toward the One who is moving toward us. God’s intent from the beginning has been for us to live completely in Christ’s light, with no shame, but complete peace.

This is the Advent invitation, for you, for me, for all who can hear John preach. The Lord is at hand; turn around and come home.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

Hope is the Holy Disruption

Matthew 24:36-44(51)

Advent 1

December 1, 2019

William G. Carter

Jesus said, “But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. For as the days of Noah were, so will be the coming of the Son of Man. For as in those days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day Noah entered the ark, and they knew nothing until the flood came and swept them all away, so too will be the coming of the Son of Man. Then two will be in the field; one will be taken and one will be left. Two women will be grinding meal together; one will be taken and one will be left. Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. But understand this: if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into. Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.”

Today is the beginning of the Advent season, so I want to talk about hope. Hope is a big word, so it will take a while; four weeks, in fact.  For such a time as this, there is no better word than hope.

But what do we mean by that word “hope”? What exactly is it?

Some define hope as optimism, looking on the bright side, the expectation that all will turn out well. Left to my own devices, that’s what I have commonly thought.

·        I hope the snowstorm doesn’t keep us here overnight; I can’t say for sure, but I hope to get home.

·        I hope to get everything on my Christmas wish list; to tell the truth, I haven’t bothered to make a list, not yet, but if I do, I hope to get everything on it.

·        I hope the final Star Wars movie turns out ok, that good wins over evil; that’s a reasonable expectation for the ninth and final episode of a film series that has continued through most of my adult life.

Be positive – that’s the message. It is a peculiarly American message. 

There are a lot of preachers out there who have turned the Gospel into a success story. Believe it and you can become it, they say. It’s a message that sells pretty well among the poor. See some guy in a white suit and white shoes, flying around in his own private jet, in an arena full of people who want what he has. And he smiles and says, “You can have it.” He’s selling hope; except that’s not what the Bible calls hope, and it's not for sale.

What is hope? Is it wishing for something, even if you can’t be sure if it’s going to happen?

·       When you blow out the birthday candles, make a wish, and maybe it will come true.

·       When you’re finished with the Thanksgiving turkey, extract that Y-shaped bone, the wishbone; two of you tug on it, and the winner may get what she wants. Is that hope?

·       See the scenes of people risking their lives to save their children at wartime, or to cross a well-guarded border to pursue a better life for their families. They might not make it, but they hope so. It’s a form of wishing.

I remember the Scottish proverb from 1628, when I was a little boy: “If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.” Or the wisdom of Perry Como, 1951: “If wishes were kisses, I’d still be kissing you.” Or Frank Herbert, the science fiction writer: “If wishes were fishes, we’d all cast our nets.” Sadly, wishing doesn’t make it so. It falls short of what the Bible calls “hope.”

So what it hope? Listen to Jesus describe the coming of the Son of Man, not the first coming, nor the intermediate arrivals, but the final coming: “It will come like the flood of Noah, a total surprise; people will be eating and drinking and going to weddings – and BAM, then it comes.”

“So will it be with the coming of the Son of Man,” he says. Two folks will be picking vegetables in the field; one is taken and the other is left. Two peasants will be grinding out the grain. One will be taken and the other is left. Which one do you want to be? The one who is taken or the one who is left? I don’t know. If it's like a flood, I hope to be left. Either way, that’s missing the point. Hope is not a preference. Nor is it a privilege.

No, do you know what hope is? Hope is a punctured sky. Today, that’s my definition. Hope is when we are going about our business down here, doing our chores, living our lives, thinking this is all it’s ever going to amount to anything – and God sticks a finger through the dome above our heads and we discover there’s something so much more.

Hope is hearing the Son of Man is coming. Suddenly you realize the world is not going to stay the way it is. The systems that demean and defraud are not going to stand. The flattening of human relationships into use and abuse will no longer be the rule. The reduction of human life to empty consumerism will not abide.

Here’s the real question for Black Friday: did God create us in the divine image and blow Holy Breath into our lungs, so that we could get another half-price flat screen TV? I hope not.

Christ is coming. That is the truth that punctures the sky. It rips the lid off the closed systems of human operations. It is light that floods the darkness. It is love that exposes all the hurt that God’s people have done to one another. It is the announcement that cruelty, greed, ignorance, and rebellion have run their course; now it is God’s turn to rule over human life.

If all we hope for is a pair of socks and an air fryer for Christmas, it’s not much of a hope. But if God has broken in somehow, if the Living Christ has spoken a word we can no longer ignore, if the Holy Spirit is stirring the pot and something new is bubbling up, that’s where hope comes to us. Hope is a gift from God, a summons to wake from sleep and embrace God’s future.

That’s how the prophets of Israel understood hope. Isaiah is the one we hear today. God gives him a glimpse of the day when people will take hammers and pound their weapons into farm tools. They will bend all their spears into pruning hooks that they can use to tend their vineyards. The vision punctures the status quo.

Somebody I know worked for a company that made armaments, heard Isaiah’s vision, and said, “That wouldn’t be good for business.” All I could remember was Charles Dickens and the words of Marley’s Ghost: “Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, benevolence, were all my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business.”

He pushed back and said, “OK, but do you know how disruptive that is?” Sure do; and when Jesus Christ comes in power and glory, do we really think this tired old world is going to keep going on the way it was?

This is our hope, our disruptive, holy hope: that Christ is coming, once and for all. While we wait, Christ remains with us, invisible but frequently noticeable, silent yet still speaking, comforting while yet agitating. He is like a prophet of God who is not content to let us sleep. And he is so much more than a prophet.

So take heart, my friends. Keep your heads up high. Sink your confidence into what God reveals among us. Trust what you have heard but cannot yet see, for every word is true.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.