Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors ✠ in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
In his lifetime, he was the most powerful man in the world, his name is one that changed the course of history, and Luke puts him at the center of the story that we heard this morning. His name was Gaius Octavius and he was born in 63 BC as the nephew of Julius Caesar. Octavius was adopted by Julius and became his son. So when Julius was assassinated on the Ides of March in 44 BC, the 19-year-old Octavius set his sights on that now vacant seat of power. Through a bloody campaign, Octavius consolidated all of the power in himself and became the first Roman Emperor. When he came into this power, he took the name Caesar Augustus, which means “great,” and he ruled until his death in 14 AD. Even 2,000 years later, he is remembered as one of history’s most influential and powerful rulers.
Of
course, we haven’t gathered here this morning because of Emperor Augustus. But
for St. Luke, the story of the birth of the Messiah begins not in Nazareth,
Jerusalem, or Bethlehem, but in Rome where Augustus issued a decree. At the
opening of the Gospel, Luke writes “After investigating everything carefully
from the very first, I decided to write an orderly account for you, so that you
may know the truth concerning the things about which you have been instructed.”
In other words, Luke is very intentional about what he has chosen to write
about. And the fact that he begins the story of the birth of the Messiah with a
decree from Emperor Augustus is telling.
Luke
did not have to begin with this, he simply could have started with “When Joseph
returned to the city of his ancestor David…” and left us wondering why he went
there. Or he could have just left out Augustus’ name. But Luke is a master
theologian and storyteller and he is making an important point. Augustus has
ordered a census of the whole world. Yes, we know that the Roman Empire did not
extend across the entire globe – that’s not the point. The point is that this story
has global consequences. It’s not just about what happened in Israel, Rome, or
the Empire, but the entire world is caught up in this story.
Even
a few decades ago, a census was a simple survey done to obtain data about population
trends and planning. More recently, the census has become much more political,
in the negative sense of that word. And while that’s not a good thing for our
society, it does help us to understand what is going on in this text. Imagine
if the President or Congress could call for a new census whenever they wanted
in order to secure more power for themselves. Well, that’s sort of what
Augustus is after. A census accomplishes three things. First, it makes sure
everyone has paid their taxes, so it generates income for the Empire. Secondly,
it tells the Emperor how many men there are in the Empire, that is, how many disposable
bodies there are to be foot soldiers in a war. And thirdly, it reminds everyone
who is in charge. This census is a show of power – Augustus can make people go
here and there to be counted whether or not it is convenient or not.
The
great irony in this, of course, is that while Augustus thinks that he is the
chess-master, moving the various pieces around his Empire, he’s actually a mere
pawn being used in God’s plan of salvation. He ordered a census as a means of
growing and further establishing his power, but God uses that census to get
Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem where the heir of King David’s line will be born
in the City of David. It’s a reminder that God is sovereign over all things.
Now, I’m not saying that God directly causes all things – whether or not it was
God who gave Augustus the idea to order the census, I truly have no idea. But
God can maneuver things even when we are unwitting participants in God’s plan.
By
starting this story with Augustus, Luke presents Jesus as a very different sort
of savior. Augustus has us thinking in terms of prestige and might, and so when
our focus shifts to Jesus, we see that God is interested in a very different
sort of power. We might say that instead of making a red carpet entrance, God
prefers to enter through the backdoor. As the wonderful carol “What child is
this?” notes, “he lies in such mean estate.” Jesus enters the story not in the way
that Augustus does, but in humility and relative anonymity, which should tell
us something about God.
First,
there is no room for the holy family. To be clear, “inn” is a horrible
translation. It’s not like the “no vacancy” light was on at the Bethlehem Holiday
Inn. The word here means something like “guest room” or “spare room.” Furthermore,
the issue isn’t hospitality, but rather privacy. Childbirth is something
that, if you have an option, you don’t like to do in a room already crowded
with people in it. The issue isn’t that no one would receive Mary and Joseph,
it’s that they couldn’t find a fitting place for Mary to give birth. What this
tells us is that God comes into chaos.
I
can tell you that when both of our daughters were born, I had some anxiety and
stress and I’m sure it was similar for Mary and Joseph. I can’t imagine the
chaos of going into birth and not even being able to find a decent place for it
to happen. But God is not scared off by our lack of plans or chaos. Whatever it
is that is going on in your life – God comes.
Both
tradition and archeology then tell us that Jesus was born not in a barn or any
of the sorts of stables that you’ve seen in art, but rather in a cave. Often
livestock were some of a family's most valuable possessions, so it was common
to have the animals sleep in the cave with the family who lived there, which
explains why a manger was present. “Manger” is just a fancy way of saying “a
feeding trough,” but think “dog bowl” and you’ll have the right set of
connotations in mind. There was nowhere to lay Jesus, so they put him in the
trough.
God
clearly is either orchestrating this whole thing or is, again, making lemonade
out of lemons. Bethlehem, in Hebrew, means “house of bread” and Jesus will
later declare that he is the “bread of life.” So the bread of life is born in
the house of bread and laid in the place where the food goes. This is more than
a coincidence, it is showing Jesus to be the daily bread of God’s grace.
This
birth is not announced with great fanfare as would occur with earthly royalty,
but rather a host of angels visit some nearby shepherds working the night shift.
No trumpets, no horses, no swords, but rather a band of God’s messengers who
come singing praise to God and announcing peace to those on earth. When these
angels visit the shepherds, they say that they are bringing good news of great
joy that a savior, the Messiah, has been born and the sign of this great news
is that they’ll find a baby lying in the feed trough. We’ve become so accustomed
to this story that it’s easy to miss this.
Imagine
we were having a conversation about politics and our need for a great president
to help get our nation out of the mess that it is in. And what if I told you – “Hey,
great news, I heard that some teenage mom had a child out in the county and
since they didn’t have a proper cradle, he’s laying in an empty beer case.” Understandably,
you’d think I’m crazy. How is this peasant birth indicative of the good news of
the Messiah’s arrival?
The
good news is that God’s power doesn’t work the way Empire’s does. There is no
oppression, no forced worship, no in-your-face extravagance. And this is actually
by design. Because God comes in through the back door, it means that God can
get into places where we’d probably try to keep him out. God doesn’t show up
and say “Well, here I am, bow down to me.” Instead, God comes in acts of grace,
mercy, compassion, and love. Slowly and steadily, God softens our sin-hardened
hearts and takes up residence in them. Truly, God does work in mysterious ways,
like coming as the Messiah to an otherwise unremarkable town and people as a needy
baby laid in a manger.
It
reminds me of a story about a man who lived on the US-Canadian border. His
business would take him from one side of the border regularly, and so he had to
go through customs a lot. He didn’t drive a car though, he rode a bicycle and
on the back of his bike, there was a box strapped to it. This, of course,
intrigued the customs officials, so they ask him to open the box. Sometimes it
was empty, sometimes there were packing peanuts in there, sometimes just some
sand. They knew he was up to something – what was he trying to smuggle into the
country in that box? Well, for years this went on and they never figured out
what was going on. But one day, one of the customs officials saw the man in a
diner and went up to him and said, “Hey man, I’m retired now, I don’t care what
you were smuggling across the border, I’m not going to report you, but I’ve got
to know – what were you smuggling.” The man smiled and said, “Bicycles.”
That
is how God came into the world – smuggled right under the nose of the Empire.
Today, we still have Augustus with us – you know him by different names though:
quarterly earnings, politics, the media, capitalism. The Emperor still demands
our allegiance, still wants to count us for the purposes of making money off of
our lives and livelihood. And Jesus, of course, is also still with us, and you’ll
often find him in the most unexpected of places and people.
The
question is where do turn our focus? Are we enamored by shows of fame, wealth, and
strength? One look at our culture says that we are. Jesus though is coming in
the back door. To be sure, whether we welcome him or not, Jesus will get into
our lives, our institutions, our church. This is the grace of Christmas, that
God came to us in Jesus and continues to come to us daily through whatever
means are necessary. We can prefer to hang out with Caesar in the Empire Club
or we can be co-conspirators with God’s grace, but, either way, Jesus will stop
at nothing to bring his peace to us, not at our resistance, not our fears, not
our doubts, not our sins, not our death, nothing. Indeed, glory to God in the
highest for the peace he brings to us on earth.
