knees to hear the birth story from Luke 2 and “’Twas the Night Before Christmas.” What can this mean?
In this book I want to take into account the rich theological and biblical themes of the season as well as family traditions, carols, legends, and lore. I plan to excavate the theology of the incarnation but also entertain the many expressions of holiday spirit and festive cheer that attend it. I hope not to leave anything out but include the silly with the serious and the featherweight with the ponderous—just as it actually happens at Christmastime.
Christmas brims with anticipation.
Framing the Manger
The Bible sketches the holy nativity scene in sparse and iconic prose while gathering together a truly eclectic cast of characters. Mother and father, angels and shepherds, farm animals, wise men, and ordinary townspeople clump and conglomerate around the manger. The manger represents bricolage in action. We see a microcosm of the church and of the wide-ranging kinds of members who make up each local congregation in the body of Christ. Each character in the biblical story in some way represents each of us—the community of faithful believers who carry on the story today.
Let us take a peek at the actors in this company.
At the center lies the Christ child, meek and mild. In some ways he is easily overshadowed by everyone else in the frame, but if we keep our eyes on him, if we keep moving toward him, if we keep him at the heart of worship, all else will come into focus. And here especially is where we might learn from the example of children. Children pay particular attention to the baby Jesus. In the living room display sets, it is the baby Jesus figurine that is most often swiped by toddlers and preschoolers. Straining on tippy toes, pudgy little fingers feel around until they grasp the baby and then carry him off to other play sets and other adventures. Martin Luther (1483–1546) once complained about his theology students, saying that he wished he could get them to pray the way his dogs went after meat. He might well wish the Christians of today would strain and grasp for Jesus the way toddlers do.
If we peer in at the infant asleep in the manger, what will we see? Not all see with the same eye, but for those who can see, there is a vision of greatness tucked away in the smallness of the crib. In a sermon delivered by Ælred of Rievaulx (1109–1167) we find this lilting passage about the Son of God in the manger.
He bends himself down so that he might raise us up not only from the sin into which we had fallen but also from the penalty of sin to which he has descended. Therefore, the beginning of our salvation is there in the spectacle of his humility. Therefore, let us see our Lord first of all in this humility, in this littleness, in this poverty. And who is there who cannot see him in all these things? Now through the whole world it is known that God was made human (Ps 75:2; Mal 1:11), a little human, and a poor human. But not all see him with the same eye.1
What strikes Ælred more than anything is the littleness, humility, and poverty of the infant King, the lowly Lord of heaven and earth—a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes. Most basically, of course, the clothes should signal to us that the infant Jesus has been cared for. He has been diapered and bundled for warmth. It is a simple detail, but one that communicates love and tenderness on the part of Mary and Joseph. Luther sees theological significance in addition: “the cloths are nothing but Holy Scripture, in which Christian truth lies wrapped up.”2 How does God package his Word and message? In Scripture. What is bundled within the folds of Scripture? Jesus Christ.
If we step back from the manger crib we might take note of the angels. We must not forget the angels, even though their translucent bodies tend to fade in and out of view. Are they part of our world or not? Are they ever-present or do they only make intermittent appearances? They seem always to be in transition between this world and the next.
They come bearing news. What does the angels’ announcement sound like? Like a scream or a growl or a bark? No. It sounds like laughter—“joy to the world!” And indeed, the angelic beings who crowd around the birth stall remind us that the work of Christian living should be marked by joy and happiness. They also remind us that our work is not ours alone; we never operate by ourselves. A cloud of witnesses surrounds us. The ministering angels of God watch and rejoice over the one sinner who repents. They remind us that in our acts of mercy, earth and heaven join hands.
Who else appears in this portentous scene besides the Christ child and the angels? There is the blessed mother Mary who said yes to the angel Gabriel’s announcement, and the kindly Joseph who stayed with her on that long night. Even as we look to the child we cannot quite take our eyes off Mary. Neither can Joseph. I imagine Joseph stealing looks at his wife, amazed, as if seeing her for the first time. In wonder he ponders her just as she ponders in her heart the soft-skinned infant in her arms.
At the very least, the presence of Mary and Joseph at the nativity scene reminds us that in every church there are those who bear Christ to us and become for us our spiritual mothers and spiritual fathers, the rocks of faith and boulders of prayer.
In every congregation you will find a few wise men who come from the east bearing gifts, as it were. In every church God provides individual members with gifts, musical talents, financial support, and leadership qualities that can be used for the good of the kingdom and the spreading of the good news. The magi honor the newborn king with gifts. Scripture records three and so tradition has assumed that there were three magi. Ephrem the Syrian (303–373) observes that the gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh—at one time revered and worshipped in themselves as the material representations of the gods—submit themselves to the Christ in worship and adoration.3 What was once worshiped now worships the one worthy of worship. In these gifts we also find theological surprises: the gold stands for Christ’s kingly status, the aroma of frankincense reminds us of his priestly sacrificial duty, and the myrrh to prepare the body that will one day die.4
Then there were the shepherds. Commentator Raymond Brown informs us that “Shepherd’s Field” was located about two miles outside of Bethlehem.5 Much has been made of the shepherds in biblical commentaries because they represent the lower strata of society.6 They are the unsavory, disreputable, and often forgotten types. They have no impressive gifts of gold to present. They have no wisdom to impart. What can it mean that the angelic announcement of the newborn Messiah came first to them? “They represent all the lowly ones who lead a poor, despised, unostentatious life on earth and live under the open sky, subject to God. They are ready to receive the gospel.”7 What impressed Martin Luther most about them was that, upon the sanctifying sight of the Christ child, the shepherds did not drop their shepherds’ crooks, put on the cowl, and become monks.8 Rather, they returned to their flocks; they remained responsible to the ordinary demands of family and job, but with a new light and wonder and hope in their hearts.
Churches would not exist without sheep herders, the ordinary Joes and Marthas who take care of their families, work responsibly and loyally in the different ministries of the church. The kingdom of God is made up of shepherds like these who have looked on the Lord Jesus and carry the good news into the most mundane of places, the most necessary of places.
And the animals! They presented themselves as best they could. The little carol “Good Christian Men Rejoice” reminds us that ox and ass bowed before the manger too. It also reminds us that in every church there are some oxen and the occasional . . . ass. We must learn to live and work and partner in ministry with all kinds
