Christmas Cards

Christmas Cards

And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified.

But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.

This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.
(Luke 2:8-12)

Most everyone knows this passage, even if they’ve never cracked open a Bible, because each December, in between scenes of the Grinch slithering around Whoville, or George Bailey being saved by Clarence (just as he’s about to jump off the Bedford Falls bridge), or Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer running around the North Pole with Herbie (an elf who wants to become a dentist. Yes, a dentist. I know), we have Linus, who discovers the true meaning of Christmas in the gospel of Luke. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love Linus as much as the next guy. But has popular culture made this story .… ummmm …. well …. Just a little too familiar? Maybe.

You see, the story begins with God sending out a birth announcement. In fact, there’s only one announcement of Christ’s birth recorded in the Scriptures, and there’s only one invitation from God to anyone to come see his newborn Son. And God puts the wrong address on the envelope – he sends the announcement, first class, to a bunch of uneducated, smelly, low-class, social and religious dropouts: shepherds. And they’re the last people you’d expect God to have on his mailing list.

They were the religious outcasts of their day. According to Jewish law, these men were always religiously unclean because their line of work prevented them from going to church. But who was going to watch the sheep while everyone else made the trip to Jerusalem to make sacrifices at the temple? That didn’t matter. They were doing the dirty work so the churchy could pretend to be holy. They were kind of like truckers, or maybe shift workers, whose jobs keep them from regularly attending church. It wasn’t their fault, you know, but who cares if you’re one of the pretty people.

Shepherds were also social outcasts. They were constantly on the move and viewed with suspicion – kind of like how we might look at carnies. They were often accused of thievery, and weren’t allowed to testify in court since their word wasn’t considered trustworthy. (That’s a polite way of calling them liars) Making matters worse, they had more contact with sheep than with people. They didn’t even come home at night since they were with the sheep 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Worse yet, they slept in the sheep’s pen at night to guard against theft and attack. In other words, you wouldn’t want your daughter to marry a shepherd.

So, imagine you’re God and you want to announce the most amazing, most incredible, most joyous news ever; an event that will change the course of human history – the birth of the Savior, the one for whom the nation of Israel had been waiting and hoping and praying for thousands of years to arrive. So, who do you announce it to? Who do you tell? Who do you invite to come and see? Probably not a shepherd.

When Princess Diana’s sons, Harry and William, were born, they didn’t send a messenger down to the docks to break the news to the stevedores. They didn’t issue personal invitations to a bunch of London cabbies to come see Diana and her new infant at Windsor castle. If any announcements or invitations were sent out, they were probably printed in gold leaf and hand delivered to political leaders and foreign heads of state. And how ‘bout the next generation  - Kate Middleton and Prince William?

The point is that you would expect an event like the birth of Christ to be announced to the most important people in the nation. You know, the political, religious and military leaders. The hoi polloi. The media. (Can’t forget the media) But none of them got the text, or the e-mail, or the tweet, or the whatever. Oh, some foreign wise guys figured it out by following the star to Bethlehem, and then they informed Herod of what they’d heard. But they didn’t get an angelic messenger, or angel choir, or an invitation either. Only the social and religious outcasts got the memo. It’s as if the Mormon Tabernacle Choir rehearsed all year to perform Handel’s Messiah in front of a handful of street urchins sitting on the curb.

Why? Why did God send His angels to announce the birth of Christ to a bunch of misfits? I mean, were the shepherds especially pious, or unusually holy? Maybe they got the MVP for believers since they’d been locked out of church by the church police. Or, maybe they were expecting this thing to happen. Or, maybe they were part of the Occupy Grasslands movement. The truth is they probably thought that God had no idea who they were. And why would he? They don’t sacrifice at the temple; they don’t show up for the feasts; they don’t go to church; and their deepest theological discussions are with a bunch of sheep. So why them?

Maybe it was because God wanted to demonstrate, first to the shepherds, that his love doesn’t discriminate on the basis of class, or wealth, or social standing. God doesn’t discriminate on the basis of intelligence, education, profession, political power, or any other quality that we can think of. God doesn’t respect kings more than cabbies, or priests more than pew potatoes. He’s kind of indiscriminate that way.

Paul makes the same point in his first letter to the Corinthians where he says, "My dear friends, remember what you were when God chose you. The people of this world didn't think that may of you were wise. Only a few of you were in places of power, and not many of you came from important families. But God chose the foolish things of this world to put the wise to shame. he chose the weak things of this world to put the powerful to shame. What the world thinks is worthless, useless, and nothing at all is what God has used to destroy what the world considers important. God did all this to keep anyone from bragging to him. You are God's children. He sent Christ Jesus to save us and to make us wise, acceptable, and holy. So if you want to brag, do what the Scriptures say and brag about the Lord." (1 Cor. 1:26-31)

I imagine that many nights, as the shepherds sat in those cold, lonely fields, they looked out over the village and saw the lights of the homes. They heard the faint sound of families, people laughing, and wished they could be a part of that. Maybe you’ve felt that way too. Maybe you’re not one of the “pretty people.” Maybe you’re not particularly wealthy, or powerful, or influential. Maybe you’ll never see your name in the paper for some great accomplishment. Maybe you’re on the fringes, either socially or religiously. And when you compare your level of religious observance to others, the comparison doesn’t stack up too well: spotty church attendance, little Bible reading, infrequent prayer. You think that if God actually knows that you exist, he couldn’t be the least bit impressed.

If this strikes a chord, then I’ve got good news. Great news. The best news possible. God loves you – just like He loved those shepherds. You’re special to him – just like those shepherds were special to him. So special, in fact, that he gave them the incredible privilege of being the first to hear of Christ’s birth and, other than Mary and Joseph, the first to lay eyes on the Son of God.

God didn’t give those privileges to the Roman Caesar, or to the Jewish high priest. He gave it to the shepherds. Not in spite of who they were, but because of who they were: humble, ordinary people with few opinions about themselves. Simple people who were willing to believe what God told them, and when they heard the news they didn’t seek out the religious professionals for a second opinion. When they were invited to visit Bethlehem to see the newborn Messiah, they didn’t worry about who was going to watch the sheep. They didn’t get bogged down in debates about how they were going to find such a small baby in such a large town. They simply obeyed and went.

God likes to use the ordinary so that, like a mirror, his power can be reflected in his creation. I know, I know. God didn’t send an angel to give you the news, either. But, he sent Word. Haven’t you read the invitation? Here’s what it says: “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.” (John 3:16) Don’t let the simple yet profound message of Christmas be lost on you this season: God knows you – and loves you anyway.

Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year.

Grace,

Randy

Mangers

Born In a Barn

And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified.

But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.

This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger. (Luke 2:8-12)

Ever hear the expression, “Were you born in a barn?” I did a little research and there are two theories on the origin of that phrase. The first is from a blog by Amanda Thomson who suggests that it was originally, “Were you born in Bardney?”

Bardney is the site of the Tupholme Abbey in Lincolnshire, England. Apparently, when the King, Saint Oswald, was killed, his followers tried to bring his bones to the abbey, but the monks kept the doors shut. During the night, however, a pillar of light allegedly shone from the cart of bones, convincing the monks that Oswald was indeed a saint and that they’d been wrong to shut out the cart with his bones. Legend has it that, forever after, the monks left their gates wide open. So, the phrase that developed, “Do you come from Bardney?” meant that you’d left the door open.

Of course, it’s also possible that the phrase’s original question was, in fact, “Were you born in a barn?” It was a custom to leave barn doors open in the early morning to let the cows out to pasture, and they stayed open all day until the cows were herded back to the barn for milking again in the early evening. Hence, leaving the door open.

I heard it when I tracked mud on the carpet.

My youngest son, William, was born in one of those birthing suites. He had the good fortune of being born at a time when they were just coming into vogue. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? Maybe you’ve even been in one before. Yeah, they’re those comfortable, clean, warmly lit rooms where the entire family can be present for the birth, surrounded by the latest in medical technology. It was exactly the sort of place where you'd want your child to be born.

But Jesus? Not so much. He wasn’t born in one of those immaculate birthing suites. He was born in a barn and laid in a manger – a place where they feed animals. And the question is, “Why?” I mean, of all the places he could’ve been born, why was he born in a barn with a manger as his cradle? Unfortunately, I ponder these things, especially during this time of year.

But it got me to thinking. Maybe Jesus was born in a barn and laid in a manger to fulfill the scriptures. You know, the prophecies in the Old Testament predicting his coming? There’s just one problem with that kind of thinking – there are no prophecies in the Old Testament about the Messiah being born in a barn. Hmmm.

So, then I thought, well, since Jesus is called the “Good Shepherd,” maybe he was born in a place cut out for shepherds. Now, it's true that shepherds would often take shelter out in the fields, like in a stable, to avoid the elements. But that kind of place was usually a cave of some sort, and shepherds didn’t live there, they just took shelter there. And they certainly didn’t give birth there. I mean, shepherds were social outcasts and all; they were the poorest of the poor. But even a shepherd wouldn’t be born in a manger. (Ahem, … a barn)

And then it came to me. The obvious answer is provided by the story itself: Jesus was born in a barn and placed in a manger because there was no room at the inn! Yeah, that’s it. You know. It wasn't something that was planned – it was just an accident. Jesus was a preemie! But then I got to thinking that in the life of Christ there were no accidents – everything was planned. Everything. Down to the last detail. Before the beginning of time. OK, then why the manger?

Well, if you take stock of a real manger, a few things stand out. First, a manger can be cold. And if you subscribe to Jesus being born during an Israeli winter, it’s that damp sort of cold that chills you to the bone. Further, the only heat source would have been the body heat coming from the cows when they came in to feed, and their breath. But in winter, their breath would have made for a cloud of steam that, given the right conditions, could freeze, mid-air.

A manger’s dark, too. In fact, most mangers were located underground, in a cave or below the house it served. So, even when the sun’s shining, it's dark in there. And, perhaps stating the obvious, a manger is filthy: it's full of slobber, drool, mud, dust and cobwebs. It smells bad, too. There's no such thing as a hygienic manger. At Christmas time, however, we tend to romanticize the manger. We turn it into something beautiful and heavenly – a first century birthing suite of sorts. But a real manger just isn't like that. The truth is that Jesus was laid in a place that was cold, dark, dirty and smelly. But again, why? I mean, if Jesus was God Incarnate, God with skin on, couldn’t He have picked a better spot than a filthy feeding trough? You know, a mangy manger?

Maybe it’s because Jesus is always born in a manger. Huh?

You see, when Jesus comes into our lives, he’s born in a manger of sorts because the human heart is just like a manger. Our hearts are cold because we don’t know the love of God; our hearts are dark because we don’t have the light of Christ, or the hope of salvation; and our hearts are dirty because we are stained and soiled by sin. But the miracle of Christmas is that Jesus is willing to be born into hearts just like that! No matter how cold and dark and dirty our hearts may be, Jesus is willing to come in and be born – born in the manger of our lives.

His birth, and where he laid, reminds us that Jesus always meets us at the manger. He encounters us in that place where we feel utterly lost, hopeless and helpless. He meets us in the darkness of our grief and sorrow, and he meets us in the blackness of our despair. He comes into our lives when we feel unloved, unlovable and alone – when inside we feel cold and half frozen to death. Jesus meets us in all the mess and filth of our sin – even those sins which we think are unforgivable.

A while back, I picked up a Newsweek and read an article about Anne Rice. She’s a famous novelist, and her books have sold 50 million copies the world over. Most of her books deal with the occult and vampires, like Interview with a Vampire. The article told the story of her life – how her mother died when she was still very young, and how she grew up afraid of the dark. Later on, she got married and gave birth to a baby girl named Michelle. But when Michelle was just a few years old, she died of leukemia. Crushed, Anne began drinking heavily and sank into a deep depression. So, she began writing about vampires as therapy because vampires, so they say, are able to live forever.

Her novels brought her wealth and fame, so much so that she bought a huge mansion in New Orleans and entertained her many guests with lavish parties. But then a strange thing happened. Anne began reading the Bible, including a number of Christian books. And even though she hadn't been to church since she was a little girl, she felt a strange longing to take communion. Then, in 1998, she renewed her faith in Jesus Christ, and in 2005 decided that she would no longer write about vampires. Describing that moment she said, “I was in church, talking to the Lord, saying, ‘I want everything I do to be for you.’ Then it hit me: ‘It will be for you. All of it. Every word.’” So, it should come as no surprise that when her autobiography, Called out of Darkness: A Spiritual Confession (2008), was released, it rocked the publishing world; it was bordering on the inconceivable that Anne Rice, the queen of the vampires, was now a devout believer in Jesus Christ.

But then again, maybe that shouldn’t surprise us after all. Because Jesus is always born in the manger of dark, cold, and dirty hearts that long to be called out of darkness into light. Out of bondage into freedom. Out of fear and into joy. Out of self and into Christ. Maybe being born in a barn isn’t so bad after all.

Grace,

 Randy