Bible Talks - Traditional Church (Sunday 8am)
Series: Christmas
The Arrival
Sunday, 21 December 2003
The noise and the bustle began earlier than usual in the town. As night gave way to dawn, people were already on the streets. Vendors were positioning them�selves on the corners of the most heavily travelled avenues. Shop keepers were unlocking their doors. Children were awakened by the excited barking of the street dogs and the complaints of donkeys pulling carts.
The innkeeper had awakened earlier than most in the town. After all, the inn was full, all the beds taken. Every available mat or blanket had been put to use. Soon all the customers would be stirring and there would be a lot of work to do.
One's imagination is kindled thinking about the conversation of the innkeeper and his family at the break�fast table. Did anyone mention the arrival of the young couple the night before? Did anyone ask about their wel�fare? Did anyone comment on the pregnancy of the girl. Perhaps. Perhaps someone raised the sub�ject. But, at best, it was raised, not discussed. There was nothing that novel about them. They were, possibly, one of several families turned away that night.
Besides, who had time to talk about them when there was so much excitement in the air? Emperor Augustus did the economy of Bethlehem a favour when he decreed that a census should be taken. Who could remember when such commerce had hit the town?
No, it is doubtful that anyone mentioned the couple’s arrival or wondered about the condition of the girl. They were far too busy with their own concerns. The day was upon them. The day's bread had to be made. The guests would all be wanting breakfast. There was too much to do to imagine that overnight the impossible had occurred. God had entered the world as a baby.
Yet, were someone to chance upon the stable on the outskirts of Bethlehem that morning, what a peculiar scene they would behold. The stable smelt like a stable. The ground is hard, the hay scarce. Cobwebs cling to the ceiling and a mouse scurries across the dirt floor. A more lowly place of birth could not exist.
Off to one side sit a group of shepherds. They sit silently on the floor, perhaps perplexed, perhaps in awe, no doubt in amazement. Their night watch had been interrupted by an explosion of light from heaven and a symphony of angels. God goes to those who have time to hear him‑so on this cloudless night he went to simple shepherds.
Near the young mother with the baby in her arms, sits the weary father. If anyone is dozing, he is. He can't remember the last time he sat down. And now that the excitement has subsided a bit, now that Mary and the baby arc comfortable, he leans against the wall of the stable and feels his eyes grow heavy. He still hasn't figured it all out. The mystery of the event puzzles him. But he hasn't the energy to wrestle with the questions. What’s important is that the baby is fine and that Mary is safe. As sleep comes he remembers the name the angel told him to use ... Jesus. "You are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins"
The only one wide awake is Mary. How young she looks! The pain forgotten she is overcome by wonder. She looks into the face of the baby. Her son. Her Lord. His Majesty. At this point in history, the human being who best understands who God is and what he is doing is a teenage girl in a smelly stable. She can't take her eyes off him. Somehow Mary knows she is holding God. So this is be. She remembers the words of the angel. “He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever; his kingdom will never end.”
He looks like anything but a king. His face is prunish and red. His cry, though strong and healthy, is still the helpless and piercing cry of a baby. And he is absolutely dependent upon Mary for his well‑being. Majesty in the midst of the mundane. Holiness in the filth of cattle manure and sweat. Divinity entering the world on the floor of a stable, through the womb of a teenager and in the presence of a carpenter.
She touches the face of the infant‑God. How long was your journey! This baby had overseen the creation of the universe. These rags were keeping him warm the King of Eternity. His golden throne room had been abandoned in favour of a dirty sheep pen. And worshiping angels had been replaced with kind but bewildered shepherds.
Meanwhile, the town hums. The merchants arc unaware that God has visited their planet. The innkeeper would never believe that last night he had sent God into the cold. And the people would scoff at anyone who told them the Messiah, God's anointed King, lay in the arms of a teenage mother on the outskirts of their village. They were all too busy to con�sider the possibility or even be aware of the momenteousness of the occasion. Those who missed His Majesty's arrival that night missed it not because of evil acts or malice; no, they missed it because they simply weren't looking.
Little has changed in the last two thousand years, has it? Each year we celebrate Christmas, the birth of Jesus, God coming into our world. And we’re still so wrapped up in our own lives that most miss the significance of the event. It all gets lost in tinsel, trees, presents and preparations. Or it is relegated to a footnote as Santa and his elves take center stage. As a lady overheard on a shopping centre escatator a few days before Christmas a couple of years ago said, “Whover invented Christmas should be crucified.”
It all happened in a moment, a couple of thousand years ago, a most remarkable moment. As moments go, it appeared no different than any other. If you could somehow pick it up and examine it, it would look exactly like any other moment that passes by. It came and it went. It was preceded and succeeded by others just like it. It was one of the countless moments that have marked time since eternity began.
But in reality, that particular moment was like none other. For through that segment of time a spectacular thing occurred. God became a man. While the creatures of earth walked unaware, Divinity arrived. Heaven opened and placed her most precious one in a human womb. The omnipotent, in one instant, made himself breakable. He who had been spirit took on flesh and blood. He who was larger than the universe became a fertilized egg, an ebryo, a foetus, a baby. And he who sustains the world with his powerful word chose to be depen�dent upon the nourishment and care of a young girl. God, the creator of the world entered the world, just like any other of his creatures.
God had come near. He came, not as a flash of light or as an unap�proachable conqueror, but as one whose first cries were heard by a peasant girl and a sleepy carpenter. The hands that first held him were unmanicured, calloused, and dirty. No silk. No ivory. No hype. No party. No hoopla. If it weren’t for a few shepherds, there would have been no reception. And if it weren’t for a group of astrologers, there would have been no gifts.
Angels watched as Mary changed God’s nappy. The universe watched with wonder as The Almighty learned to walk. Children played in the street with him. And had the synagogue leader in Nazareth known who was listening to his sermons he would have had a fit.
Jesus may have had pimples. He may have been tone‑deaf. Perhaps a girl down the street had a crush on him or vice‑versa. It could be that his knees were bony. One thing's for sure: He was, while completely divine, completely human. For thirty‑three years he would feel everything you and I have ever felt. He felt weak. He grew weary. He was afraid of failure. He was susceptible to wooing women. He got colds, burped, and had BO. His feelings got hurt. His feet got tired. And his head ached.
To think of Jesus in such a light is -- well, it seems almost irreverent, doesn't it? It’s not something we like to do; it's uncomfortable. It is much easier to keep the humanity out of the incarnation. Clean the manure from around the manger. Wipe the sweat out of his eyes. Pre�tend he never snored or blew his nose or hit his thumb with a hammer. He's easier to stomach that way. Keep him as the cute baby in the manger, but don’t let him be a real person. There is some�thing about keeping him divine that keeps him distant, packaged, predictable.
But don't do it. For heaven’s sake, don't do it. Let Jesus be as human as he intended to be. Let him into the mire and muck of our world. For only if we let him in can he pull us out.
Listen to him:
"Love your neighbour" was spoken by a man whose neighbours tried to kill him.'
The challenge to leave family for the sake of the gospel was issued by one who kissed his mother goodbye in the doorway.
"Pray for those who persecute you" came from the lips that would soon be begging God to forgive his murderers.
"I am with you always" are the words of a God who in one instant did the impossible to make it all pos�sible for you and me.
It all happened in a moment. In one moment a most remarkable moment. The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.
There will be another such moment. The world will see another instantaneous transformation. You see, in becoming man, God made it possible for man to see God. When Jesus went home to heaven he left the back door open. As a result, "we will all be changed ‑ in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye."
The first moment of transformation went un�noticed by the world. But the second one won't. Just a moment. . . that was all the time it took to change this world.
But hardly anybody noticed.
As you celebrate Christmas this year are you going to take time to notice? To look beyond the things we’ve surrounded the moment with and see the significance of the moment itself.
The moment when God came near. Emmanuel. God with us.
Amen.