The news of this birth comes, however, not to the scribes and other officials of temple or royal court, but to shepherds and to wise men from a foreign country.
What is it that compels us to return to this story over and over again? I believe that it is this giddy devotion to the contradictions that fascinates both the storytellers and listeners.
Almost all of our churches dress up their children at some point in the season of Advent and give them lines to memorize to the delight of their parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles as well as all the gathered community of faith who never seems to tire of hearing this story told by a new group of youngsters, some of whom can barely read or write.
Last Sunday, we had such a group. Kids learned lines of scripture the implications of which they could only dimly understand. One of the boldest of our kids, 7 year-old Amanda, memorized a long speech of the angel who is given the responsibility of preaching the good news of great joy. Amanda stood on top of a hidden ladder just behind me here and peered over the edge of a king sized bed sheet painted by the Sunday School children to look like the night sky. She then, as boldly as I've heard any youngster speak, explained the odd role that she had been given by God in this strange story.
"God has sent me," she declared, "to bring good tidings of a great joy and to announce this first of all to the shepherds. The SHEPHERDS?" And Amanda paused for the comic character of the line to sink in and waited for the laughter. And it came. The moment was filled with a kind of poignancy. A child is given the responsibility to tell a difficult story and she does so, even if all its implications are not immediately apparent to the 6 year old mind and heart.
Later in her life, Amanda will remember that line as I remember the lines I had as a child in telling this story. And in her remembering she will fill in the gaps of her understanding as she grows in faith.
THE SHEPHERDS?
This is only one of the scandalous aspects to this wondrous story. Our world like the world of Jesus' time would presume that such an important story as this, such powerful good news as this, should only be given to the literate, to the story-telling specialists. Only those who have the training to understand the movement of the narrative, its rhythm and pace, should be allowed to be its caretakers, for only the experts would have sense enough to commit the story immediately to parchment and put it in a safe place.
Shepherds, whom we presume to have been illiterate mostly, could not possibly have this presence of mind. Shepherds of Jesus' day also had a rather unsavory reputation. Many supplemented their modest shepherding income with some highway robbery.
But let us face the realities here. Only Shepherds could possibly believe that a king would be born in their own circumstances. Only shepherds could possibly make room for the idle thought that royalty could possibly be born in a barn.
One of my mother's favorite sayings was, "Hey, were you born in a barn? Close the door behind you. Were you born in a barn?" Or "Don't use your fingers when you eat; were you born in a barn?" Or "Blow your nose with a handkerchief instead of your sleeve; were you born in a barn?"
The irony of his expression didn't hit me until now. Barn is a synonym for stable (I just checked that out in the Thesaurus in my word processor) and if she had said, "Hey, were you born in a stable?" I would have understood the contradiction that is built in to this story of Jesus' birth.
For unto you is born this night, in the city of David, a savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign unto you: you will find a child wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger."
And suddenly the sky was filled with a great
heavenly
joy-filled laughter.
For what could be more funny and more joy-filled than to believe that this Word would be entrusted first of all to shepherds and the word would be that the salvation of the whole world would enter this world in the feeding trough of an animal we like to call dumb. (As in dumb as an Ox).
Dear friends, while all of Rome and its enormous power and military might and taxing abilities stand powerless to stop it, our salvation has come in a time and place of least probability. And the heavens erupt in laughter and only shepherds are allowed to tell the story. And imagine their listeners astonishment when the shepherds "made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child." And in fact it says, doesn't it, that all were astonished at the things the shepherds were telling them. I suspect astonished by the story itself and astonished that shepherds were telling it.
The power of this story for these last 2000 years lies in this fundamental set of contradictions and it is this that has made this story so worth treasuring and retelling. And, furthermore, the power of this story has changed the course of western history. We are more impatient than we might ahve been with the abuse of power and wealth. When we understand and live by the contradictions in the story, the world becomes a more divinely inhabited place where worldly priorities are reversed. Kings and all their military power are ignored. Shepherds are lifted up as the first Gospel preachers. SHEPHERDS?
And ancient grudges are forgiven and forgotten. FORGIVE? Lions lay down with the lambs. LIONS AND LAMBS?
And you, O Bethlehem, BETHLEHEM?
You who are the least among the princes of Judah,
Out of you shall come a governor,
That shall rule my people, Israel.
This, then is a message that contradicts everything we think we knew about the world. Every fatalism. Every assurance of where power comes from. Every assumption about where history is heading. For in this story, the lowly is favored, servants are brought to the head of the table, the proud are scattered in the imaginations of their hearts, the powerful are brought down from their thrones, the hungry are filled with good things and the rich are sent away empty.
A child is born in the most unusual of circumstances.
And the heavens are filled with laughter. For all our earthly pretenses have been set aright once more.
Dear friends, this story, set by the church in a season of the longest nights and shortest days, brings hope to those who have lost hope. It brings a compelling word of freedom for those who have long ago accepted their own captivity.
It is a word of joy to the mourner,
a word of peace to the war weary,
a word of homecoming to the lost,
A word of forgiveness to the unforgiveable,
a word of rest to a weary world,
A word of rejoicing to those who have lost the language and music of joy,
A word of real wealth for those who have nothing,
A word of living bread for the hungry and living water to the thirsty.
And that is why we return to this silent and holy night year after year. All of us are tired of the pretenses we live under. We're tired if we are honest with ourselves, of believing that our self-worth is connected with our wealth and the regard of our neighbors are somehow related to our productivity.
And in our world-weariness comes this message filled with the full voiced echoes of a heavenly laughter.
In Bethlehem, of all places, in a stable, in a manger, swaddled into helplessness, in the midst of the imperial claims of Augustus Caesar, a child is born; a son is given. And his name shall be called, "Wonderful Counsellor, mighty God, the everlasting Father, the prince of peace."
And so, in all our worlds of helplessness and hopelessness comes this marvelous and mighty word. You have not sunk so low, or been so broken-hearted, or gotten so lost that you have placed yourself beyond the saving power of God and the people who live according to God's promises.
And that is why we love to tell this story.
For this night all the heavens and all the earth are filled
with the gut-busting laughter of the heavenly hosts.