De-Stable-ized

Saturday, Dec 24 2011

Speakers: Rev. James M. Rand

Scripture: Isaiah 9:1-7, Luke 2:1-20

2011 was quite a bumpy ride, wasn’t it?  Every time we got our feet beneath us, something knocked us off stride. 

It was an up and down, in and out, unstable year … beginning right here in Wisconsin with protests at the state capitol.  People argued over balanced budgets, job benefits and collective bargaining … while state senators cowered in Illinois.  The upheaval quickly went global, lurching through Tunisia, Egypt and Libya, as long-time dictators were toppled.  It bounced back to the U.S. in the name of Occupy Wall Street  … and Philadelphia, Oakland and Milwaukee (and a host of other cities).  Nothing much happened (except for some litter) and no one quite knew the message – except that it drew attention to the widening gulf between rich and poor, a matter of great interest to God, no doubt.

Eventually, all this turmoil led Time magazine to name the anonymous and ubiquitous “Protester” its Person of the Year.

Amid all that, an earthquake and tsunami rocked Japan.  Shaky economies in Greece, Italy and Spain sent tremors through Europe.  Volcanic ash exploded in Chile and blanketed South Pacific skies, halting air traffic for days. Death came to America’s Public Enemy #1, Osama bin Laden, in May … but also to America’s entrepreneur par excellence, Steve Jobs, five months later.

A wobbly housing market staggered on.  Both our boys did their part by buying first homes; but … it wasn’t enough.  Low interest rates helped them, but kept retirees on edge.

The last of the U.S. troops came home from Iraq just days ago.  Hooray!  But the tally of the war was a staggering trillion dollars spent, 37,000 Americans injured or killed, and 100,000 Iraqis dead.

William and Kate brightened the mood in April, as 2 billion people worldwide saw them marry.  But Kim Kardashian ended that fairy tale in a hurry by filing for divorce three days into her own honeymoon.

Speaking of billions, global population surged passed seven on Halloween Day. Yes, 7 billion people now reside on this tiny planet.  Politicians and plant scientists responded by wondering if we can produce food for so many.  As if there’s a choice?

I haven’t even asked what rocked your world or tied your stomach in knots these past 12 months.  A death, or someone moving away?  Job anxiety?  Rising expenses and decreased income?  A health scare?  A dream that soured?

* *

In contrast to all our recent upheavals, consider the Pax Romana – 200 years of peace and prosperity in the Roman Empire long ago.

It began under the Emperor Augustus, the same emperor named in tonight’s Gospel, who sent Mary and Joseph and the rest of the known world to be registered in their home towns.

From the start of his reign in 27 B.C. until his death in 14 A.D., Augustus ran a well-oiled government machine.  He did it so well, in fact, that the peace lasted 160 years beyond his lifetime.

And he did it by convincing his citizens that they would prosper more with cooperation and interstate commerce than by waging war and plundering profits from each other.  (There’s an idea!)  Happily, the people bought in.

So, under Augustus, roads were built, shipping flourished, trade increased … and war went way down.

It was into that realm of tranquility and peace that Jesus was born.  Decades later, the Christian message spread far and wide, thanks in large part to trade routes Caesar built!   (Harper’s Bible Dictionary, p. 882).

* *

In some ways, Augustus created an ideal world – one that benefits us to this day, if only because it allowed the Christ story to come down through the centuries for us to hear it tonight.

Yet there was a not-so-pretty underbelly to that peace.  Luke hints at it in tonight’s story. Namely: someone inevitably is left out.  Some people don’t share the benefits of the peace.

Luke’s phrase for that is: “there was no place for them in the inn.”

That’s not just a literal description of Joseph and Mary’s circumstances.  It is a metaphor for the larger problem that arises when some are denied the benefits of a certain peace. 

If that’s how it was for Mary and Joseph and their baby, the shepherds fared worse.  Luke doesn’t just say they were “in the fields.”   He says they were “living in the fields.”  Call them homeless.  Migrant workers – with nothing to their names but what they carried on their backs, or could pick up while following the flock.

Living in tents, they were “Occupy Bethlehem” before Wall Street existed.

So, while Caesar’s Pax Romana lasted a long time, I really can’t call it peace, because it helped some but not others.  There were cracks in the façade and tremors underfoot that Augustus ignored.

“The whole world should be registered,” he decreed.  But a family huddled in a stable?  Probably not.  No one would go out there with a clipboard to count noses.  And shepherds living in the fields?  Definitely not.  They wouldn’t have been counted because they were people of no account.

* *

Except to God.  You see, that’s where the angel went on Christmas night: to the shepherds.  God went to the nobodies.

“An angel of the Lord stood before them and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified.”

Isn’t it interesting that when I started the sermon by naming things that knocked us off stride this year, God wasn’t on the list?  That’s a mistake on my part because sometimes the thing that you need the most and that causes you to take a new path is the very thing that terrifies you most.  God!

But here’s my point … my message for the evening … the moral of the sermon (if you will): God shepherded shepherds from the un-stable to the stable.

In an unstable situation and an unstable year, God led them to the stable.  God gave them a new definition.  Forever after, “stable” would be defined not by the Pax Romana of Caesar Augustus but by the manger of Jesus Christ.

In that dusty barn out back of the inn, God gave shepherds a new chance to get their feet under them again, and to stand up with dignity and courage.  In that stable, God promised stability beyond anything they had known.

* *

Isn’t that what brings us out too on this night of nights?  In a land of deep darkness, we look for a ray of hope to guide our steps.  On one of the darkest nights of the year, we come searching for something “stabile.”

We come hoping (and believing!) that by the grace of God this room might be the place where Christ is born – for all to see – so that a new and brighter peace might come.

We enter this elaborate stable to see what the Lord has made known, and to lean into a full and faithful life.

We come to hear the angel’s announcement of good news, to be nourished at the table, and to glimpse the light that shines in the darkness on each of our faces and is not overcome.

We come, so that this might be our “stable” – in both senses of the word.

* *

But “stabile” does not mean “static.”  We find our balance here, but we don’t stay forever.  How nice if we could!  How great it would be if our “Joy to the world” were unending … and if we could truly enjoy a night, where “all is calm, all is bright.”

The shepherds, however, were not given that privilege.  God’s people never are.  Disciples on the mountain of the transfiguration were sent down to the valley where healing miracles waited to be done.  They couldn’t stay up above, where Jesus and Moses and Elijah were conversing.  Likewise, the women who met the risen Christ at the empty tomb on Easter morning weren’t allowed to hug and hold him.  They were told to “go, and tell the others.”  And the ones who went to Galilee to see him?  They received the Great Commission: “Go. Teach.  Baptize in my name.”

Once we’ve found our “stabile,” we are “de-stable-ized” – sent out, like the shepherds, to glorify and praise God.  We are thrust from our cocoons, sent into the world bearing good news of God’s birth … sent out with Christmas carols stuck in our ears, and dancing off our tongues … sent into the world to be messengers for others … because that’s what angels are.  It’s what the Greek word means in our Bible.  “Angel” means “messenger.”  We are sent to bring good news to the world’s shepherds, migrants and homeless.

Nice as it would be to live in this hour forever, we aren’t allowed that.  We are de-stable-ized from the stable, knowing we can return often … but knowing as well that others in the world need God’s love, need good news, need helping and healing hands … and that we are the ones commissioned by God and sent to do it.

Isn’t that the point of Christmas – not only that Christ is born, but that he now lives in the world with us, wherever we go?  Isn’t that our Christmas prayer?  Isn’t this God’s will … that we go out from here vulnerable, yet protected … humbled, but reassured … de-stable-ized, yet with something steady to lean on as we head out?

That’s how it was for the shepherds.  They left the manger … but took the message … glorifying and praising God for all that they had seen and heard.

Merry Christmas.