I did a little gig today on Facebook. Here it is.
This is one of sixteen Christmas songs currently available for free download from my Reverbnation music page. If you like it, head on over to Reverbnation and listen to a few more, and download whatever appeals to you. Merry Christmas!
My sermon for Christmas Day.
My sermon for Christmas Eve.
My third living room gig of Christmas songs old, new, and in between!
…in which I sing some more Christmas songs – some traditional, some whose authors are known, and one original.
I believe with all my heart that at a certain point in history, the Word of God became a human being and lived among us as one of us. I believe he showed us by his life and teaching what God is like. I believe he infected the human race with the love of God in a new and unique way, and this good infection has been spreading ever since. And because I believe this, I love Advent and Christmas with a passion! It is my favourite time of the year!
…was Megson’s brilliant ‘A Yuletide Carol’!
The blurb says: ‘It features a sparkling mix of traditional carols, Elizabethan yuletide songs as well as two Megson original tracks all arranged for mandolas, guitars, banjos and Megson’s trademark soaring vocal harmonies.’ And sparkling is truly the right word!
Find out more about Megson on their website here.
Well, that was a nice Christmas, wasn’t it? For a few brief moments we enjoyed the magic—the story of a child born far from home, laid in a manger by his mother, visited by shepherds and wise men who were guided to his cradle by angels and the light of a star. This is the part of the story that all the carols sing about. But then we come back to hard reality with a bump. Right after the story of the visit of the wise men comes today’s gospel reading. The wise men were warned in a dream not to go back and tell Herod where to find the child, so they took off home by another route. When Herod heard of this, he was outraged, and he ordered the slaughter of all the baby boys in Jerusalem under the age of two, just to make sure he had wiped out the potential threat to his throne.
This, by the way, was entirely in character with what we know of Herod the Great from history. He was a fanatically insecure ruler who had his wife, his mother, and several of his sons murdered because he suspected them of plotting against him. At his death he had several of the leading citizens of Jerusalem rounded up and murdered, because, he said, he knew no one would mourn for him, and he was not going to die without tears being shed. This is exactly the sort of man to be frantically worried by news that a royal pretender had been born in Bethlehem, the ancestral hometown of the family of King David, and he would certainly be ruthless enough to wipe out the children in the manner described in this story.
This is a difficult story for Christians, and I suspect there won’t be very many sermons on it today. The theological point Matthew’s trying to make throughout this passage is that God is working his purpose out in the midst of a world dead set against him and his plans. Jesus isn’t born in an idyllic time in human history; he’s born in a time when ordinary life is cheap and when great rulers carry out their plans with no regard for how they will affect the lives of ordinary people. In Luke’s story of the nativity, Jesus arrives in Bethlehem as a result of one such event, the decision by the Roman emperor to order a census which would require everyone to travel back to their ancestral towns. There’s no thought of how this will disrupt trade and cause chaos in the lives of ordinary people; the powers that be decide this is what’s going to happen, and you have to obey. And yet Luke sees God at work here; Jesus’ family lived in Nazareth, but as a result of this census they returned to Bethlehem so that the old prophecies about the birth of the Messiah would be fulfilled. God is working his purpose out.
Interestingly enough, Matthew doesn’t seem to have known this story. Apparently, he thought Bethlehem was Mary and Joseph’s home town, and they made the move to Nazareth after their return from Egypt. But Matthew too wants to show us how God was working his purpose out, and he does this by connecting the story of Jesus to the old prophecies.
In Matthew’s gospel we’ve already seen several examples of old prophecies being fulfilled in the life of Jesus. In today’s passage three more prophecies are mentioned. First, Hosea 11:1 talks about Israel as God’s son and says ‘Out of Egypt I have called my son’, referring to God bringing his people out of slavery in Egypt and into their own promised land. The way Matthew sees it, Jesus is reliving in his own life the story of Israel. Israel went to Egypt and back, and so does Jesus. Israel came through the waters of the Red Sea and Jesus comes through the water of baptism. Both Israel and Jesus are tested and tempted in the desert, and so on. So Matthew sees this as a legitimate application of Hosea’s prophecy to Jesus.
Verse 18, about Rachel weeping for her children, is taken from Jeremiah 31:15. Rachel was one of the great mothers in the time of the patriarchs, and Jeremiah wrote symbolically about her weeping as, hundreds of years later, her descendants were taken into exile in Babylon. The way Matthew sees it, the misery inflicted by a foreign army at the time of the exile has come again to Israel through the cruel actions of Herod, so the prophecy is fulfilled in the story of the slaughter of the innocents.
Verse 23 is more mysterious; no Old Testament prophecy that we know of says ‘He will be called a Nazorean’. However, Isaiah 11:1 might have been in Matthew’s mind; it mentions a coming ruler, a ‘branch’ from the family of David, and the Hebrew word for branch is ‘nezer’, which sounds a little like the name ‘Nazareth’. Matthew may be making a pun here, but a pun with a serious purpose: Jesus is the ‘branch’, the ruler God has sent for his people.
The point in all these prophecies is that God is working his purpose out. Jesus is born into a world much like ours, where human beings rebel against God and sin against each other. And we’re not talking about little personal sins like overindulging in Christmas turkey or cheating on your expense account. Those sins do have consequences, of course, as your EKG reading or the frown on your boss’ face will testify! But in the world we live in, some people’s sins have horrific consequences. Children are captured and turned into child soldiers or sold as sex slaves. People are killed because they’re in the wrong place at the wrong time—because their house happened to be near the place the bomb was targeting, or they happened to live in the path of the invading army, or they were walking the street when the gunfire erupted between two rival gangs.
These outrages happen all the time, and it doesn’t seem to be God’s normal practice to rescue people from them. God’s usual policy seems to be to let the world experience the consequences of sin, while all the time calling on us to repent and learn a new way of living, the way of love and peace and justice. But he won’t impose this way on us; his ‘prime directive’ is to respect our freedom of choice.
And yet, in all of this, God is working his purpose out; this is the testimony of the whole Bible. So in the book of Genesis an earlier Joseph is a bratty kid who exploits his position as his father’s favourite and exasperates his brothers, to the point that they sell him as a slave into Egypt and tell his father he’s been killed by a wild animal. Joseph goes through years of suffering and hardship in Egypt, and God doesn’t rescue him from them. Eventually, through a long and complicated series of events, he becomes a sort of Prime Minister of Egypt, and he turns out to be in exactly the right place at the right time to help his father and brothers when they come down to Egypt to escape from a famine in their own country. God is working his purpose out.
This theme is repeated in many places in the Bible. We naturally love best the stories of God sending miraculous deliverance to his people, but they’re relatively few. In most cases, God doesn’t rescue his people from the consequences of human evil. And yet he’s always quietly at work, turning evil events around and bringing good out of them, so that his plan of salvation goes forward.
But sometimes it seems hard for us to see how this is happening, especially when it’s the innocent bystanders who suffer the consequences of human evil. Imagine what it would be like, years later, if you’d been one of the mothers of the children of Bethlehem, and you’d happened to hear this story from the gospel of Matthew read for the first time. Let’s imagine Susanna and Joachim, a young couple in their early twenties, with their firstborn son, little Davey, named after old King David because they lived in David’s home town. Imagine little Davey at eighteen months old, having recently learned to walk, getting into everything, beginning to learn to talk; he’s a healthy, happy child and they’re a happy family.
And then one night the king’s soldiers surround the town of Bethlehem, and at first light they come into the town. They order all parents with small children into the town square, search the houses to make sure that they haven’t missed anyone, and then without a word they kill every boy under the age of two. “Just following orders”, they say. It’s a cruel world, and that sort of thing happens all the time.
Susanna and Joachim, of course, are devastated; for months and years they go through periods of numbness, anger, and bitterness, before gradually coming to a place of acceptance. Maybe friends and neighbours try to give them easy theological answers about ‘God calling him home’ and ‘God always calls the best’, but Susanna and Joachim just can’t buy this. Instead, they find new meaning in the words of their prayer book, the psalms. ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ ‘Break the teeth of the wicked, O God’. And yet they still turn to God somehow; there’s nowhere else to turn.
It’s taken years, but they’ve come to a place of peace about all this. They’ve had other children, but they still remember little Davy and pray that God will raise him from the dead on the day of the resurrection of the righteous. Later on they hear the story of Jesus and become Christians; they experience the gift of the Holy Spirit and find some comfort in the sense of God’s presence in their lives in Christian worship and fellowship. Until one day when a newly written document is read out loud in the worship of their church, a book about the life of Jesus, written by a man called Matthew. Joachim and Susanna are old now, in their eighties, with great-grandchildren, and yet a chill falls on their hearts when they hear of how God warned the family of Jesus in a dream, and he was able to escape from Bethlehem. And now all the old questions resurface, and they wonder whether they love Jesus so much after all. If God could protect him, why not their little Davy?
I would love to be able to give you an easy answer to this question this morning, but there is no such easy answer. What I will point out, though, is that as tough as this question is, it’s just one example of an even bigger dilemma. For every blind person Jesus healed there were hundreds more in Israel he didn’t heal. For every son of a widow he raised from the dead, there were thousands more widows whose only sons had also died.
You see, for thinking Christians answered prayers are sometimes more problematic than unanswered ones. If God answers the prayer of one person in trouble, what about the others? No doubt a Christian who had been booked to fly on one of the 9/11 airliners, and had been prevented from flying at the last minute, would thank God for rescuing him. But if he told that story publicly, relatives of those who had died would ask themselves angrily ‘How come God didn’t rescue my son or daughter too?’ And in wartime family members of soldiers always pray that God would protect their loved ones in battle, but how does God choose which of those prayers he’ll answer and which he’ll ignore?
Of course the real answer involves the abolition of war altogether; that’s the only way to be fully just about these things. A world where there’s no more sin, no more selfishness, no more lust for power, no more evil, is the only sort of world where the prayers of everyone can be answered. And Jesus has assured us that one day we’ll live in that sort of a world. In fact, he’s told us to pray for it to come soon: ‘Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven’. But of course we need to be careful about how we pray that prayer. We live in the richest part of the world and enjoy a far greater percentage of the world’s wealth than justice would allow. How would God answer our prayer without asking us to live with less so that others could simply live? That’s the dilemma God faces, you see: every answered prayer has consequences somewhere else. So what’s the good news in this passage? Should we stop praying altogether?
Not at all. Jesus encourages us to pray and bring our requests to God. Not only that, but we just can’t help ourselves, can we? If you’re a person of faith, and you have people you love, you can no more stop praying for them than you can stop breathing. I have four children and two grandsons who I love more than I could even have imagined before they were born. Don’t tell me I can’t pray for them!
But as we pray, we realize that in the present imperfect state of the world, a perfect outcome for everyone isn’t going to happen. Evil is still present, sickness still exists, and human beings sin against each other with horrible consequences. God weeps for this, like Rachel weeping for her children. And he’s not far removed from it. He came and lived among us as one of us. He had to run to escape from Herod’s death squads. He lived as a refugee in Egypt, a displaced person, probably an illegal immigrant. Later on he was misunderstood by his family and even his closest friends. He was betrayed and given over to the power of the state and the empire, and they tortured him and nailed him to a cross. This is what it meant for him to be ‘Emmanuel’, ‘God with us’.
And yet, through it all, in a way we can’t usually see or understand, God is working his purpose out. The death of Jesus, the vilest deed human beings have ever committed, turned out to be the way of reconciliation between God and human beings. Over and over again, in the history of Christianity, the sufferings of God’s people have somehow led to great advances for the kingdom of God. And the day will come, Jesus assures us, when those who have committed evil deeds will be held accountable for them—although, if I want God to have mercy on me for my sins, I might want to be careful about demanding too loudly that he punish the evil deeds of others.
The story of the slaughter of the innocent children of Bethlehem is a tough one for us to understand, but the Bible doesn’t whitewash these tough issues. Ultimately, this story leads us to pray ever more fervently for the coming of God’s kingdom. And meanwhile, in this gospel reading, Matthew encourages us to believe that in the midst of all the evil in the world God is working his purpose out, and that the day will come when every hurt is healed and every tear wiped away. And in the end, that is our Christian hope.