by the Rio Army. One of them was to spend thirteen the other nineteen months in captivity. Christmas Day 1934 found them cold and cheerless, and kept not in solitary but in silent confinement. There was nothing to do but sit in the cold room all day and wait for their three square meals of rice and vegetables. They were not allowed to speak. Then Bosshardt had an idea. He began to play with the straw that littered the ground, spelling out letters for his friend to see—IMMANUEL. The two men looked at each other with a glow of comfort and hope. The whole scene was changed into one of joy. “If God be for us, who can be against us” (Bosshardt). Immanuel, not as a charm, or a magic spell, or an Open Sesame to open prison doors, but as a meaningful word to those who understood—it does mean everything. But to be more precise—what does it mean? Let me say three things about it. First, negatively, it does not mean God’s approval of all we do.
GOD’S APPROVAL OF ALL WE DO
That God should be with us does not mean that he will do all the things we do. I well remember the occasion when I had the opportunity to attend service in John Calvin’s own church in Geneva. It is perched up on a rock above the lake, in a situation not unlike that of Durham Cathedral, but it was a service and a preaching like our own that was conducted there. The sermon was on the last words of Matthew—“Lo I am with you always.” And one of the preacher’s points was this—you must not suppose that promised presence is simply a comforting and comfortable thing. It is, he said, an accusing presence. And so it is. People were not long in the presence of Christ before they found that out. He didn’t strengthen, or browbeat them. As often as not, he did not need to speak a word. Not a word to Peter, but the man was on his knees saying “Depart from me for I am a sinful man, O Lord.” In the presence of the woman taken in adultery, it was only “Let him that is without sin among you cast the first stone.” It is not what is said, it is the man who speaks.
Immanuel, with us is God. That is what he is like, and that is the sort of effect he will have. This is not the end of the story, but it is a chapter we are prone to skip, and one therefore that ought to be emphasized sometimes. He attends our Christmas feasts like Banquo’s ghost—for you will remember Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Macbeth himself had just had Banquo murdered, but when he came to feast with his friends the ghost of Banquo, visible to him alone, is there in his place. And the feast is ruined for, without speaking, Banquo’s ghost accuses, “Thou cannot not say I did it! Never shake thy gory locks at me!”
I suspect that there ought to be ghosts at some of our Christmas dinners. I am delighted to wish you all a happy Christmas; will you misunderstand if I also wish you an uncomfortable Christmas? I should not like to think you were too comfortable while others starve, and tremble from the cold or from terror. You might even be uncomfortable enough to send the hat around when you’re done.
If God is going to be with us—today—there are some things we shall do, and there are some we shall not do, and you may remember that if drunkenness is a sin, so is gluttony and sloth. But it is time to be positive. Immanuel means that God is for us.
GOD IS FOR US
The whole mystery and wonder and miracle of grace is there, and it is the foundation of Christianity. We often talk about people deciding for Christ, and we do well. I myself tried to preach so people would do this. But all this talk and all this deciding would be the vainest nonsense, if God had not first of all decided for us. “You have not chosen me,” said Jesus, “but I have chosen you.” And behind your willingness to follow him lies his choice of you. So behind our being for God, and far more important, is God’s being for us.
Think how much reason God had for not being for us but against us. I see that the BBC is offering us that very moving play of the African-American’s idea of the Old Testament—Green Pastures. The picture of the Lord God walking the earth and being incensed with the folly and iniquity of humanity is crude enough, but what is wrong with it? I can see nothing theologically wrong with it. Small wonder that more than once God resolves to destroy his own handiwork. Yet he doesn’t; he can never quite bring himself to blot out the rebellious humans on the little earth. Behind wrath, there is mercy, and in Christ God is for us. “He that might the vengeance best have took/ Found out the remedy.” Again and again in the Old Testament you can read the prophetic words—“Therefore I am against you,” says the Lord. But in Christ he is with and for us, even those who have rebelled against him, disobeyed his laws, flaunted his Word.
What this means you can see in the original setting of the Immanuel prophecy in Isa 7.14. The situation had seemed hopeless; Israel was lost. But the time would come, Isaiah said, when after all, people would say “Why, God is with us! He has delivered us from our foes.” What it means you can see even better in the story of Jesus. He accuses, but even when he accuses, he is on our side. “Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? God—who justifies us?” The God who lays bare our sin also forgives it. God with us. There remains one more question.
WITH WHOM
We have been talking happily enough about “us.” But who is “us”? We know the answer that many people would give. Only the lowest level people say, “God is on the side of the top dogs.” Scarcely higher up the scale, is said “God helps those who help themselves.” God, that is, favors the strong, the wise the resourceful, the universe is on the side of those who thrive. In a more refined way people may say God is on the side of the righteous, the pious, the religious. So one would assume, but it does not ring true to the story of Jesus, for it was the righteous and the religious who rejected him.
No—God is with the poor, the humble, the lowly. Above all he is with sinners, and those who know they are sinners. He came to the lowly, needy folk who were looking for deliverance from their chains. He was with them—and that is how we know he is with us.
“TROUBLED AT CHRISTMAS”—Matthew 2.3
[Preached thirty-three times between 12/14/47 at Croft to 1/8/06 at Kelloe]
Yes, I admit, there is trouble enough in the world already. There is no need for a preacher to augment it, and on the Sunday before Christmas at that. But you will see before we have finished that this trouble is the most helpful thing there is. And at least you will not be so warmed up by the prospect of your attenuated Christmas dinner as to deny me this—we are starting in the full blaze of topicality. The latest political move has set our hearts palpitating again—how modern it is. What’s going to happen next, and what can we do to stop it? The age-old questions.
For a moment let your minds go back, as once a year at least they should, to the days of 1900 years ago. Jesus was born at the moment of one of the triumphs of history. For a hundred years or so during the death throes of the Roman Republic, life had indeed been nasty, solitary, brutish, and short. There was no security of mind, body, or estate for anyone, anywhere. And then had come Augustus, the first Emperor. Looking back in the cold light of history we are not likely to think him a god—he didn’t think so himself, but we are not surprised that his contemporaries did. For he had brought peace, and the world breathed a happy sigh of contentment. Herod ruled a puppet kingdom, nominally independent, but in fact all his future was tied up with Rome’s. And now, just as the machinery was working smoothly, someone throws in this spanner—another king, another pretender, another war.
What did Herod feel? What did all Jerusalem feel? You know exactly what they felt. What did you feel when, as you thanked God for peace in Europe, you learned that there was one more totalitarian state, with a spiritual depravity, a viciousness, an aggressiveness, and a physical force at least equal to Nazi Germany. Troubled—and so was Herod.
Of course there were those at the first coming of Christ who were ready to rejoice. There was his mother, and if she didn’t love him, who would? But there were
