A Child is Born

“Away in a Manger” is my favorite Christmas song, and I thank Michael for playing it this morning during our centering ritual. I frequently catch myself humming it … in July, and April, and all sorts of odd times. I don’t know what it is that has caught my fancy. You may have songs like that in your soul, and for some of you it may be this one: “Away in a manager, no crib for a babe, the little Lord Jesus lays down his sweet head. The stars in the sky look where he lay, the little lord Jesus asleep on the hay.” This is the feeling we get when we read this wonderous poetry of Isaiah: “The people who walk in darkness will see a great light; for those who live in a land of deep darkness w light will shine … For a child is born to us, and a son is given…. He will be called wonderful counselor, mighty God, everlasting father and prince of peace….” This is the text of holy scripture that presents itself to us today. It is popular. It is powerful. It pierces us deep into our soul and calls us to faith and hope and love. It is also problematic and political and capable of stirring up all sorts of things: feelings, and commitments, and actions. What is it calling you to do and be today? That is the question as we listen to the Word on bended knee and open mind. I Our brothers and sisters in the faith many years ago needed a sign: something that would bring light to the darkness. It is difficult to know exactly what kind of darkness had descended on them. Some combination of social consternation and physical ailment and personal loss. They needed something: a fresh sign of God’s favor, of a brighter future, of success and health and hope. They also wanted to sing for joy and live with hope and they needed something to encourage them. They needed somebody to come along to lead them, or lift them up, or let them experience a fresh wave of God’s goodness. “To us a child is born,” the poet wrote. “For us, a son is given.” Nothing quite like the birth of a baby, is there? What is better than giving birth to a son or a daughter … yes, I know, a grandson! A granddaughter. I remember so vividly 16 and a half years ago when Sam was born. Two helpless and horny adults looking for love and pleasure and who knows what else set in motion the birth of this baby. We were, at once, ecstatic and anxious. These two adults had little direction in life but this baby, this boy, the beautiful grandson: he was perfect and beautiful and full of possibilities. He could redeem this mess just by being born, just by crying his entrance into the world, just by opening those beautiful eyes and taking our attention away from layer upon layer of uncertainty about the situation. Unto us a child is born, a son is given. It is a trap, isn’t it? If only we had the right person, our problems would be solved. It was what teams mutter when the season is half over and they are way down the standings. Who can we get, who can we trade for to help us, save us, lead us to victory? It is what corporations look for when they are losing money and managing low morale: who can we get as a CEO to lead us out of the doldrums and into the land of prosperity. Universities are looking for the perfect leader to help them survive and thrive. Political parties are looking for that one person with charisma and courage to lead them to electoral victory. And churches: if only we had the right leader, a better leader, a better preacher that will attract the young without offending the old. We need somebody to rescue us! If only we had somebody, anybody with style and substance, our team, our company, our church, our nation would flourish, and we would all be happy. II. The people of Israel, like us, wanted to sing with joy and live with hope. These are universal human aspirations. These desires are precisely what makes us human. Isaiah gave Israel this hope. He wrote, essentially: Somebody’s coming to lead you, save you, and lift you out of darkness and into the light. He will bring peace that will not end, verse 7; he will break the yoke of slavery, verse 4; he will rule with fairness, verse 7. What a vision! What a hope! What a promise! That hope and promise found its way into my favorite hymn, in verse three: “Be near me Lord Jesus, I ask thee to stay close by me forever and love me, I pray. Bless all the dear children in thy tender care and fit us for heaven to live with them there.” We will sing this on Christmas Eve, I am sure. But it is missing a stanza or two. It skips quickly and easily from the sleeping baby in a manger to the sweet by and by in heaven. “Fit us for heaven to live with thee there.” This spiritual two step, from infancy all cuddly and kind straight to heaven all safe and sanitizied. That is what we sing but not what we know to be true. It is what is in the hymn but not what is in our experience. It is our fantasy, but it is not the facts. It is our theology but not our text. This child promised by Isaiah becomes a warrior and a king, a leader and a judge, a ruler and the one who breaks the rod of the oppressor. Verse 8 reads: “You will break the yoke of slavery and lift the heavy burden. You will break the oppressors rod…you will rule with justice and fairness…” In other words, there is a lot that happens between that sweet little baby, lying in a manger, and that savior ascending into heaven on clouds of glory. We want to love the baby as the bearer of our hopes and dreams, but we are troubled by the man who, as we read last week in Isaiah, was despised and rejected and acquainted with grief and pierced for our sins and crushed for our iniquities. How is it that we skip over this story line so much?  How is it that the song misleads us and confuses us. Maybe it needs one or two more verses. Maybe it needs a verse about how difficult life is. Maybe it needs a verse describing the man of hope overturning tables, breaking the rod of the oppressor, and establishing fairness and justice. It is not just the hope of heaven that needs a voice; the hope of justice that needs a voice, needs a verse, needs a victory dance. Between the birth of that baby boy and the blessings of the kingdom, there is a lot of work to be done, a lot of kingdom work, a lot of gospel work. How can we have hope in the one, the messianic figure who promises to turn on the light and take away the trouble, to rebuke the oppressor and remove the slave owner. How is it that we embrace a religion that celebrates the manger and the new Jerusalem but shies away from all that is between them? How can we embrace a religion that gives hope for eternity but no hope for tomorrow? III. This week, American people learned again what an oppressor looks like. The oppressor looks like a 50 year old man strolling down a Manhattan street on his way to a corporate conference. An unknown gunman stepped out from the shadows, pointed a pistol at the back of that man, and pulled the trigger again and again. The man fell dead. The gunman fled. The media and the New York police want us to focus on the assassin. They are looking for him, and they will find him. He is the villain. But the people of the country in a million social media posts see another villain. The dead man was president of a large medical insurance company with headquarters in Minneapolis. The company pays him $20 million dollars a year. The company has made, already this year, in nine months, $8 billion profit. They do so because they turn down 32% of the claims by their insured people. They take your insurance premiums, deny your claims for medical treatment, and pay their CEO millions of dollars and pay their stockholders millions of dollars. Do you know what this is? Do you know who this is? It is the rod of the oppressor: Isaiah chapter 9, verse 4. I do not condone murder, but the real crime here is not the man who pulled the trigger but the executive who pulled the plug on thousands of ordinary people. The people who live in the darkness of this oppression need a light, a hope, an advocate. They need some justice. They need somebody to lift the rod of oppression. They need some medical care. For them, a child is born, and a son is given. For them, the light comes. For them, the prince of peace rules. For them, the prince of peace rules with fairness and justice, now and for all eternity. For you and me, because we are the them that suffer at the hands of insurance companies. We are those who feel the rod of the oppressor. When religion ceases to resist the oppression, it ceases to be biblical religion. A few days ago, an old friend took issue with something I wrote, perhaps a sermon I preached for this church. She wrote me, “I like you as a person, Dwight. But you and I have different politics.”  I wrote her back, “I like you also, Cheryll. You and I don’t have different politics. We have different religions.” My religion is not about how the baby in the manger gets us all into heaven. My religion is about how the baby in the manger breaks the rod of the oppressor, establishes fairness and justice, and brings good news to the poor. Yes, I look forward to our hope of heaven. Yes, I trust in that Jesus as savior and lord. But John the Apostle describes that hope in the book of revelation. The New Jerusalem descends from heaven to the earth and the 12 gates of Jerusalem open for all the people of the world. The river of life flows from the city, and on each side of the river is the tree of life. The leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. I put my trust in the God who breaks the rod of the oppressor. I put my trust in Messiah who does justice, loves mercy, and walks with God. I put my trust in the child in the manger whose calling it is to comfort the broken-hearted, release the captives, free the prisoners, and break the rod of the oppressor. Somebody needs to write some new verses to that hymn. Here is my offering: Prepare yourself Jesus for what is to come,       for struggle, and failure, for life on the run. Things ae not easy for anyone here.       Walk with us, Jesus, this is our prayer.  Please help me, dear Jesus through all of my days       to love you and trust you and follow your ways. When life becomes hardship and nothing seems fair,     Sustain us, dear Jesus. This is our prayer.