by Russell Rathbun
Gospel Reading: Matthew 2:13-23
For Sunday, December 29, 2013—Year A: Christmas 1
This is a weird scripture to read a few days after Christmas, it is appropriate in that it deals with baby Jesus, angels, Mary and Joseph. It is the right setting—the right characters are there, but it turns ugly so fast.
Just the other day it was all manger scene, crèche time, the nativity. I want to stay with that a little while longer. The beautiful baby Jesus in the middle in the manger, Joseph and Mary on either side, the shepherds and the wise men set a little back, the ox and ass, back further, the angel on the roof.
True Beauty
I want to take this in, consider this longer, celebrate this. This is beauty, true beauty. It is God coming to the world in love. Coming not in a scary judgment-you-guys-are-in-so-much trouble way. It is God coming to the world in the most un-scary, non-judgement-I’m-gonna-make-it-impossible-for-you-not-to-love-me way, as a little baby. A new born baby.
God really does love us, really does like us too, and wants us to get that. Don’t be afraid. God doesn’t want to scar us; God wants to cuddle. Cuddle and snuggle and coo. And reconcile the world and bring eternal life and end all suffering and sorrow and wipe ever tear from every eye.
Cue the Darkness
I don’t want to move to the darkness so quickly. I don’t want see this next scene. The angel comes to down from the roof of the crèche and pulls Joseph aside and whispers in his ear, “Look you guys have got to get out of here and I mean now.”
I don’t want to notice on closer inspection that the Wise Men the whole time have been looking a little uneasy. Realizing that they know what is going to happen. They foresaw it. They had to lie to Herod, to keep him away, keep the baby safe as long as possible. But they are realizing time is running out. It’s pretty much, give the baby the gifts, then, agreeing with the angel, “Yeah, you guys need to leave the country or this baby is going to be murdered.”
Escape to Denial?
What an unbelievable thing to have a part of this story. What a thing to hear about your beautiful little new born. Who would want to hurt, him? Who would want to hurt a little baby? Who would murder a baby? It seems unreal and it turns this story of hope and love, dark.
They get away. They go to Egypt and are safe and stay there until it is safe to go back home, well, it is kind of safe and they can go closer to home. But the story doesn’t give us anything close to complete relief because Baby Jesus escaped but every other baby boy in and around Bethlehem was murdered.
I know there is darkness in the world. Two thousand years ago there was real darkness in the world. I was never denying this, I never thought that evil and suffering took a break from Christmas to New Years, but I didn’t think I would be reminded about the darkness by the Christmas story.
Assuming the Good!
I wanted to spend just a little time being reminded about the beauty, the fellowship of all people, be reminded that God came to love us because we are worth loving, that there is good in the world.
I assume this. I can assume this. I experience it.
Maybe Christmas gives us a pause to move beyond the general assumption and focus on experiencing particular goodness, to love the people in my life more intentionally, to give them presents and tell them how important they are. It is a time to greet strangers warmly, a time to hug friends that I normally wouldn’t hug, a time to see stories on the news about people being kind to each other.
The Hardest Question
Can I have more time? I want more time contemplating that God, who created us, truly loves us and came to be with us. I want to close my eyes and sing carols for another week, loud enough to keep the reality of the darkness out, but as much as we practice it this way, Christmas isn’t about self-deception.
I cannot pretend that there is no chaos, no darkness—and of course in this text God’s definitive act of love, this incarnation, is what sparks Herod’s acts of chaos and darkness.
But in the next Advent love wins, right?
Russell Rathbun is a preacher at House of Mercy in St. Paul, Minnesota, the author of Midrash on the Juanitos (Cathedral Hill Press, 2010) and the curator of The Hardest Question. Russell's picking up where The Hardest Question is about to leave off with all the zesty, gospely, goodness he's known for at www.questionthetext.org
