The Cradle and the Cross
Luke 2:1-20 and Matthew 2:13-18
History is a funny thing. We can never fully know what happened in the past. Even multiple eye-witnesses to an event may recount different stories of what they each saw. When we go to the distant past, knowing completely all that happened becomes even more difficult. Often what happens is that layers of tradition build up to create a narrative, call it “what we all know about such and such,” but such and such may have little basis in reality. Take, for instance, our national history. We all know the stories about George Washington, “the Father of Our Country.” By all historical accounts, Washington was an amazing man, fully worthy of being a national icon. But by some accounts, Washington was more amazing than is humanly possible.
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The same phenomenon is found in the Christmas narrative. Please, don’t get me wrong: I am not going to cast doubt on the birth of Jesus, Emmanuel – God with us – the Son of God born of the Virgin Mary through the power of the Holy Spirit. In Jesus we look backward with joy to the coming of God into the world through the humility of a child in the tiny hamlet of Bethlehem, and we look forward with hope to the coming of God into the world through the glory of the Christ at the fulfillment of the ages. Yet, that said, if I am to be honest with you, (and what are we doing here if we aren’t willing to be honest with one another?), I have to confess that some of the Christmas story we recount from year to year is as fabulous and full of fable as the heroic lore of Washington and his exploits. So, what really happened that first Christmas? What is truth, and what is tradition?
Many of you have heard me pontificate on my favorite example of the tradition getting in the way of the truth: the delightful Christmas hymn, Away in the Manger. Truly it is a lovely song with a wonderful sentiment; truly it is so full of hogwash! In the second verse is the memorable line, “…the little Lord Jesus no crying he makes.” Excuse me? We are talking about a baby, right? “But he’s the Lord Jesus,” some might say. “And he was a baby,” I would answer. Indeed, what has Christian theology always said: Jesus is fully human, fully God. Fully. Human. A fully human baby…that doesn’t cry? I don’t think so. That’s why, when we sing this hymn in this congregation, I have us change the second verse to “…the little Lord Jesus much crying he makes.” I take comfort, and I hope you do also, in knowing that Jesus experienced our humanity, even crying when he was hungry and in need of his mama. A young Jesus who does not cry is an adult Jesus who does not suffer the cross.
Here’s another interesting bit of tradition: did you know that Jesus was not born in a stable? I can just hear some of you thinking now: “But he was placed in a manger because there was no room in the inn!” Ah, yes, the inn. Did you know there was no inn, no innkeeper, no midnight search for lodging? I hate to burst your bubble but it didn’t happen that way.
Actually, the legend of a midnight arrival in Bethlehem and a fruitless search for lodging comes from one of the first known examples of a Christian novel. That’s right, this little bit of tradition comes from a novel written about two-hundred years after Jesus. Like an ancient version of the Left Behind series, this novel popularized a scenario that has no basis in the biblical text. What the text says, and if one wants to know what the Bible says it always helps to read the actual text of Scripture, what the text says is that Mary and Joseph went from Nazareth (in the northern part of Israel) to Bethlehem (in the middle of Israel), a two to three days walk, and then “while they were in Bethlehem the time came for the baby to be born” (Luke 2:6). You know, ancient folks weren’t stupid; my goodness, they built the Egyptian pyramids and Roman Coliseum. I think they knew how long it took to gestate a baby. I can hear Joseph now, “Mary, hey honey, by my calendar you still have a week before you hit the nine month mark on the baby. How about you and I take a little three-day journey down south. You’re up for that, aren’t you?” Uh, I don’t think so.
Instead of a midnight search for lodging what is more likely to have happened is this. Joseph and Mary left a few months out in order to register. This wasn’t a problem because Joseph, as a carpenter, could find work wherever he went; in fact, tradesmen were often itinerate in the ancient world. Mary and Joseph found lodging with family; there was no inn. We know that Joseph’s family was from Bethlehem because he was “of the house and lineage of David”; it’s why they went to Bethlehem to register, right? Not only was Joseph from the area, but Mary also was from the area and had visited her nearby relatives Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Zechariah earlier in her pregnancy (Luke 1:39ff.) Given the ethic of hospitality in the Middle East, it is unthinkable, even unimaginable that Mary and Joseph would not have lodging. Even if they didn’t have family in Bethlehem, the culture of hospitality says that someone would have taken them in. With family around, this is not even a matter of debate.
“So what about the text, Brad,” you ask, “the one that says Jesus was placed in a manger because there was no room in the inn.” Ah, yes, the “inn.” Somewhere along the line, Western translators of the Bible mistranslated the Greek word kataluma. This word, kataluma, is used by Luke at the end of his Gospel, where it is translated “upper room.” The word, kataluma, means guest room; it does not mean “hotel.” There is another word in Greek for hotel and Luke shows that he knows this word by using it in the telling of the parable of the Good Samaritan when the Samaritan takes the man who had been beaten to a pandokeion, an inn. What is also important to remember is that Mary and Joseph came from the peasant class. Do you know where the peasant class kept their animals at night? In their house, which was usually a single room divided into an area for the family and an area for the animals. Peasants couldn’t afford a separate dwelling just for livestock! And they certainly weren’t going to let their animals stay outside to be stolen by thieves or attacked by wolves. And do you know where they fed their animals while the animals were in the house? In a manger.
So here is what happened. Joseph and Mary traveled to Bethlehem while Mary could still journey, maybe along the fifth or sixth month. They stayed with family, but they didn’t stay in the kataluma, in the guest room, because other family, perhaps family members who were older and therefore more to be honored, were already in the guest room. Why was there so much family around? Well, Caesar had ordered a census, so the family had returned to their roots. While Mary and Joseph were staying with family, sleeping in the main room along with their relatives, the time came for the baby to be born. Mary was exhausted; Joseph was exhilarated; the baby was placed in the warmth and comfort of the straw, in the manger. This story lacks the drama and desperation of the midnight search, which made for a great novel, but it rings true. I take comfort, and I hope you do as well, in knowing that our Lord experienced the warmth of family at his birth. The family was poor, but poverty does not deter the spirit of love.
Finally, take a look at the Christmas crèche familiar in many a front yard. Who all is present in our holiday luminescence? Why we have Joseph, Mary and Jesus, of course. And the shepherds and angels. And the cow and the goat and the lamb. Did I miss anyone? Oh, yes, the wise men, the magi. Did you know the wise men were not present for the birth? That’s right. In Matthew 2:1 it says the wise men arrived “after Jesus was born.” Not only that, but Matthew makes it clear the magi went first to Jerusalem, kibitzed around for a day or so, then made their way down to Bethlehem. They went to Jerusalem to find out about the newborn king. Why Jerusalem? Because it was the capital, of course. Where else would a king be? The magi weren’t going to look in every little hamlet and village. Little did the magi realize that they had ignited the fuse of a murderous, psychopath named Herod. Herod, who murdered his own sons because he thought they desired his throne. Herod, the insane dictator. Herod, the brutal lord of the land.
Now we see why it is so important to separate truth from tradition because the traditional Christmas story, as told year in and year out in churches around the globe, leaves out one of the most important characters in the entire narrative: Herod. Jesus is “the reason for the season,” but Herod is “the reason for Jesus.”
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We need to put Herod back into Christmas. When we leave Herod out of our Christmas celebrations we do not tell the truth about what happened at Jesus’ birth. Without Herod, the Christmas narrative is sweet and wonderful and so full of hope that is warms the cockles of our souls; indeed, it is the most delicate and beautiful story in all human history. The only problem with the Christmas story devoid of Herod is that it is only half the truth. I am disturbed, and I hope you are as well, that the Church too easily proclaims a half-truth. I am disturbed, and I hope you are as well, that we live in a world where Herod is still alive and well. I am disturbed that the Herod who so brutally slaughtered the innocent children of Bethlehem continues to slaughter innocent children and cause their suffering:
We need to put Herod back into Christmas. I would rather have a Christmas story that is true than one that is sweet, wonderful but irrelevant. You see, the real Christmas story, the one told in Holy Scripture is hard edged and brutal, but it is a story of salvation from that brutality; it is a narrative of redemption; it is a story of the light that shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot overcome the light; it is a story of Herod’s murderous desires and evil actions but of God’s divine will which cannot be defeated; it is a story of a baby born to be king but crowned with a crown of thorns, a king whose throne was a cross. I find this story, the Christmas of truth rather than the Christmas of tradition, I find this story, and I hope you do as well, to be compelling, for it is a story that makes a difference.
In the name of this story, in the name of Jesus, our youth group has committed themselves to saving children in Africa by providing AIDS related care to orphans through the Christian ministry of World Vision.
In the name of this story, in the name of Jesus, the Rev. John Both, a Presbyterian missionary in the Sudan, led warring factions from both sides of a conflict to lay down 1,300 guns in the little village of Akobo.
In the name of this story, in the name of Jesus, churches in this community will help feed nearly 20,000 families this year through the Cooperative Care Center.
In the name of this story, in the name of Jesus, this church will help Ben Perea care for the poorest of the poor through the Guardian Angels orphanage in Chihuahua, Mexico.
In the name of this story, in the name of Jesus, this church also is here for you and for me. You see, Herod is alive and well not only “out there” in the world, but also “in here” in our hearts. Everyone present this evening is, I am sure, a decent and caring human being. But who among us is so pure, so holy, so transparently spiritual and in relationship with God that we do not need Jesus? Please remember the real Christmas story, the one told in Holy Scripture is a story that invites you into God’s story and promises God’s salvation; it is a narrative of redemption; it is a story of the light that shines in the darkness; it is a story of God’s divine will which cannot be defeated; it is a story of a baby crowned with a crown of thorns, a king whose throne was a cross; it is a story for you and for me.
Next week, we will return to our lives – to our jobs, our homes, our hobbies; to Denver, to Texas or to right here in Pueblo. And when we return to our lives, each of us will have a choice: tell our co-workers about the out of control minister whose sermon wasn’t very “Christmassy,” or allow our hearts to be haunted by God’s call to holiness. If you choose the first option, nothing will change and Herod will continue his slaughter of the innocents unchallenged. If you choose the second option, it may appear as if nothing has changed, but such will not be the case for you will be changed. When you answer God’s call upon your heart you will be overwhelmed with a love that claims your soul and whispers to your heart of hearts of your eternal belovedness. When you answer God’s call upon your heart, you will be compelled to engage the world in the name of this story, in the name of Jesus. You will seek ways to make a difference in people’s lives that are near about you and also far away. You will discover compassion born of a cradle, courage born of a cross.
You will discover Jesus.