Old News

What word describes Jesus? Savior? Redeemer? Friend? How about Refugee? Matthew tells us that Jesus and his family fled to Egypt when Herod wanted to kill him. He joins millions of other refugees throughout history; and this sermon examines that fact.

The scripture reading this morning is a continuation of the Christmas story, not the suggested reading that tells the story of Jesus’ baptism. You may wonder why I’m preaching on Christmas yet again, when Epiphany was celebrated last Sunday and Christmas was over two weeks ago. At this point, Christmas is old news. And Lent is coming at us like a freight train! (Ash Wednesday is the 10^th of February.) Between now and then, Jesus has to not only get out of the manger, but also grow up, call disciples, and begin his ministry. According to the lectionary, the cycle of suggested scripture readings for each year, I need to leave Christmas behind and get on with it! But I have always felt that preaching about Christmas gets the short straw. For the four weeks before Christmas, Advent focuses on how much we need a savior; and then, after only one Sunday, Epiphany rolls around and we’re proclaiming that savior to the nations. It seems to me that Christmas deserves more than one Sunday, especially when we consider Matthew’s story of what happened after Christmas. So listen to this morning’s scripture reading. The story picks up after the Wise Men have left Bethlehem by a road that avoids Herod and his desire to find the child who has been born “King of the Jews.” (Scripture: Matthew 2:13-23.)

It sounds like a report that might appear on any edition of our evening news: families who have been forced out of their home by the bloodthirsty actions of a tyrant. And that is exactly how we remember Herod: as the king who should have been protecting the children in his kingdom, but who murdered them in cold blood instead. Nothing much has changed, has it? We hear this kind of story all the time; only the names and locations change from year to year. We heard it in the late 1970s when Pot Pol and his Khmer Rouge exterminated millions of Cambodians through forced relocation, forced labor, and mass executions. We heard it in the 1980s when Saddam Hussein tried to wipe out the Kurds living in northern Iraq. His army invaded their homes, put the men in front of firing squads, and then bombed their villages into oblivion. And we heard it again, not quite three years ago, when President Assad of Syria ordered poison gas attacks on over 500 defenseless men, women, and children. The flood of refugees who are streaming out of Syria seeking asylum are only the most recent victims of tyrants who care more about their own power than they do about the people they should protect.

Yes, we think “tyrant” when we hear Herod’s name. But we seldom think “refugee” when we hear the name “Jesus.” But that’s exactly how Jesus spent some of his childhood: as a refugee. Joseph and his family fled to Egypt after an angel warned him in a dream about Herod’s intentions. What happened to them there? Matthew doesn’t tell us; and neither do any of the other gospel writers. We can only imagine. Was Joseph able to pursue his trade as a carpenter, or was he forced to beg in order to feed his family? How long did it take for them to find a home; if, indeed, they found one at all? Was the holy family accepted by the Egyptians; or were they mistrusted and called “those people”? We can only imagine the answers.

I wonder, too, whether Jesus’ experience as a refugee made a permanent impression on him. Did he remember that he was forced out of the home where he was born? As Jesus was growing up, did he hear stories of the cozy little house in Bethlehem with the fig tree right outside the kitchen window? Did he long to return to his childhood home, and to his bedroom with his posters on the wall and the nightlight that looked like a lamb? Jesus never did go back to that little house in Bethlehem because after Herod died, his son was a threat to them, too, and Joseph moved to Galilee when their family returned to Israel. Did Jesus reassure the poor and oppressed that God loved them because he had been poor and oppressed himself? When we hear him say, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven,” I can’t help but wonder if he knows all too well what it means to be poor in spirit – to live at the whim of someone who only concern is his own power.

We live in a world where the atrocities committed by tyrants are old news. When we read a newspaper headline that announces “Europe Confronts Refugees,” we hardly give it a second glance. If that newspaper headline read, “Christ Born in Bethlehem,” we wouldn’t give that a second glance, either. It’s all old news. But maybe we shouldn’t ignore that old news; because the old news of Christmas makes a difference in our lives today, especially when we’re reading about refugees who have been affected by the actions of modern-day Herods.

Now, if you’re holding your breath waiting for me to offer a political solution to the question of how to deal with refugees around the world, you can exhale. I have my own opinion on that subject, but I can’t give you a solution from the pulpit. No one person has the answer to that dreadful situation. We all need to arrive at a solution together through reasoned conversations that consider both national security and human compassion. But I will tell you this. The baby who was born on Christmas, who became a refugee while he was still a child, and who grew up to give his life for us hanging on a Roman cross had a few things to say about the way that people in power should treat other people who have no power.

One of the things that he said was this: "When the Son of Man finally arrives, blazing in beauty and all his angels with him, he will take his place on his glorious throne. Then all the nations will be arranged before him and he will sort the people out, much as a shepherd sorts out sheep and goats, putting sheep to his right and goats to his left. Then he will say to those on his right, 'Enter, you who are blessed by my Father! Take what's coming to you in this kingdom. It's been ready for you since the world's foundation. And here's why: I was hungry and you fed me, I was thirsty and you gave me a drink, I was homeless and you gave me a room, I was shivering and you gave me clothes, I was sick and you stopped to visit, I was in prison and you came to me.' Then those 'sheep' are going to say, 'Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? When did we see you homeless and give you a room, or shivering and give you clothes? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?' Then the King will say, 'Here’s the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone who was overlooked or ignored, that was me – you did it to me.'’

Maybe those of us who are not refugees should take more thought to those who are refugees; and pay attention to the words of the One who began his life as a refugee.

Playing with Fire

We all know that God came to live with us as Jesus Christ on Christmas. But that wasn't the first time that God lived among the people! God first came to us after the Israelites began their Exodus from Egypt; and that appearance was a little bit more dramatic than Christmas Eve. This meditation explores how our relationship with God has changed since the birth of Jesus. It may make you think a little bit!

Admit it: we are fascinated with fire. We love to watch flames shimmer and leap in their dance. We can lose ourselves staring into a campfire on a summer evening and watching huge logs disintegrate into fine, grey ash. What else can explain our craving to keep fire near us: a fire pit in the backyard, a barbecue grill on the patio, a fireplace in the family room, to say nothing of candles and scented tea lights decorating the mantel? Even here, on the communion table in the front of our sanctuary, candles are burning brightly; and on Christmas Eve, we lit even more of them! Oh, yes, we’re drawn to fire like a moth to… well, you know. The relationship that we humans have with fire is as old as humanity itself. Every single civilization has used fire. We needed it to cook our food, to give us light, and to keep us warm. Why, until just about a hundred years ago, people handled fire every single day!  We contained it in oil lamps, wood stoves, coal furnaces, and lanterns; and fire was as close to us as the cat that curls up in our lap. And love it or hate it, fire still plays a part in our lives. Thomas Edison may have freed us from our reliance on fire in our homes; but our emotions and our imaginations are still firmly in its grip.

It is little wonder that the Bible associates God with fire over and over again. God does the very same things for us that fire does – God feeds us, God warms us, and God illuminates our path. We all know the story of how Moses was called to lead the Israelites: God called him out of a bush in the wilderness that was filled with divine fire. And almost 2,000 years later, the Holy Spirit appeared as tongues of fire dancing over the heads of the disciples on that very first Pentecost. But the biblical writers never forgot that fire is as dangerous as it is necessary. It’s one thing to sit around a campfire and meditate on the dancing flames; but it’s quite another to step into the middle of that blaze! The same fire that roasts our hot dogs will scorch us if we get too close to it. So, does that mean that God is dangerous, too? The writers of the Old Testament thought so! The text that you heard just a few minutes ago (Exodus 19:16-19) is a great example. I only read a small portion of that story, how God settled down on Mt. Sinai in a fire that looked like a volcano erupting. If I had read a little bit more of it, you would have heard what Moses told the people: don’t set even a toe on the mountain under any circumstances; because if you do, you will die! God is dangerous, says the Old Testament. Deuteronomy warns that “The Lord your God is a devouring fire” (4:24); and the prophet Zephaniah claims that “The whole world will be consumed by the fire of [God’s] jealous anger.” (1:18) Hmmm. It appears that God is more like a nuclear reaction than a cozy little campfire for toasting marshmallows!

But we don’t think that God is dangerous! We don’t wear Hazmat suits when we come to worship on Sunday morning. When we read these Old Testament stories and compare them to how we feel about God today, we realize that something fundamental has changed in the relationship between God and God’s people. We don’t have to be afraid of God’s power. How in the world could such a change come about?  It’s all because of Christmas Eve. On that night, the sun decided to come down out of the sky and live among us as the Son. The Star of Bethlehem became small enough to burn at the tip of a candle that a preschooler could hold in her hand. The creator of heaven and earth – the One who settled on Sinai with such power that the mountain itself trembled – that one came to us as a human baby with tiny fingers and tiny toes and a head of dark peach fuzz.

So… does that mean that God has given up his power? Of course not! The divine fire that called the universe into existence and set planets spinning in their orbits is as alive as it was on the top of Mt. Sinai. But this side of Christmas, it is channeled into very different activities. God has traded the power of a destructive blaze for the power of sustaining love. “In him was life,” says the Gospel of John, “and the life was the light of all people.” The child in the manger does what a distant, threatening God could never do. Loving nurture has replaced violence. God guides us not by threatening us, but by offering us divine wisdom. God feeds us not with manna, but with his own body, the Bread of Life. And most amazing of all: God doesn’t burn our sins out of us to make us acceptable! God uses the power that shook Mt. Sinai to transform us into new creations that reflect God’s own image! The last verse of the hymn “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling” expresses this truth beautifully: “Finish then thy new creation; Pure and spotless let us be; Changed from glory into glory, till in heaven we take our place.” The divine fire that once burned on Sinai now burns in our own lives: in the eyes of parents caring for their children; in the hands of a volunteers working tirelessly to rebuild after a tornado; in the hearts of chaplains who minister to prisoners living on death row; in our own lives when we pray for peace and reconciliation.

As we reach the end of this season of light; as we take the Christmas tree down and remove the greenery with all the twinkling lights; as we put away the candles for another year; let the light of the sun that is slowly returning to our winter world remind you of the Son who has come among us, and of the Divine Fire that has invaded our world and will not let us return to the darkness. And when our world seems to be full of darkness, as it frequently does, look up to the heavens and count the stars. Let each one remind you that the divine light that called them into being is with us – today and forever.