I’ve always struggled with “Christmas”. Don’t get me wrong, I can indulge in as much chocolate as the next man (more if it is Dairy Milk – apologies for the shameless plug). I enjoy the time off work, particularly after the last nine months of sitting in front of a laptop screen. It was nice to see the dinning room table revert to being a dining table on Christmas day. I do like the opportunity to get together with family and friends, although it is obviously somewhat restricted in current circumstances. But there is no necessary connection between any of these things and the most amazing event ever to occur in the history of this planet, not to say the universe. A big claim. But is seems bigger than it is because it is entirely subverted by what “Christmas” has become. Of course, this suits the culture at large. To my fellow strugglers I want to say that, on reflection, much of what occurred at and around that “first Christmas” is entirely appropriately remembered, meditated on and savoured this Christmas.
It
was a short video by N.T. Wright that reminded me that the first Christmas
emerges from “a very dark time when everything was pretty miserable”. So if you
feel that things are grim now (and the pandemic hasn’t gone away), the true
Christmas story, as opposed to the shallow jollity of the popular version, comes
as a relief. It is fairly grim too. It is the story of the arrival of
a young Jewish couple in the town of Bethlehem almost 2000 years ago. It should
have been a happy time for them. Betrothal should have led to a happy marriage,
soon followed by the birth of their first child. In that culture at that time,
these twin events should have filled both them and their extended family with
joy and excitement. And the context
would have enhanced this. The young woman concerned, Mary, had an older cousin
named Elisabeth. Even although Elisabeth was well past having children, she had just produced a son. Everyone was cock-a-hoop. In fact the whole thing had caused
quite a stir. There was talk of angels, miracles and prophecies and all sorts
of things, but facts is facts, and Elisabeth and Zechariah were now parents. But for Mary and her intended (let’s call him Joe) life had become a tad complicated.
And not in a good way.
Mary, although only engaged, was found to be pregnant. This was found, as opposed to
announced, because Joe was not the father. A scandal was brewing and it was
clear what should happen. Joe, for the sake of his own reputation should
divorce her, and make a big thing of it. After all, by definition he wasn’t to
blame for the situation. To make matters worse from the point of view of many
observers, Mary went on about angels and not being pregnant
because of any man. You can imagine the sneers. For cousin Elisabeth to talk in
this way was bad enough, but at least she and her husband Zechariah were clear
that the baby was theirs. For Mary to try and piggyback on this good news was just
bad form. Everyone knew fine and well how babies were made. But Mary apparently
stuck to her story, and then to cap it all, poor old gullible Joe had started
talking about dreams and angels. Again, you can imagine the looks and sneers. You
don’t need too much of an imagination to understand the pressure and
unpleasantness all this likely caused. In our day and culture it would
be bad enough. But in Mary and Joe’s time, grim would hardly cover it.
To social and psychological pressure was then added considerable physical
discomfort. With Mary heavily pregnant, they had to travel from Mary’s home in Nazareth,
south to Bethlehem. This was a journey of about 70 miles, that would take at
least 4 days. While they didn't exactly travel under duress, it was in response to
a legal edict. Neither the destination nor the timing were of their own
choosing. It was an arduous journey by modern standards, uncomfortable and even
dangerous. As well as the constant fear of miscarriage, they were travelling
under a cloud of scandal, probably in a caravan with people who knew (and
therefore could spread) the “story”. There was a far from warm welcome awaiting
them. After all, do you suppose anyone really bought stories of angels and
virgin births? Grim. And then there was a birth. The physical circumstances are
unknown to us. We don’t know who attended Mary, we don’t know if Joe watched or
helped (what was really going through his mind?). We do know that all that was
available to put the new baby in was a feeding trough! Hardly an auspicious
start. And from there things had a distinctly up and down feel.
Yes
it is true that there was a visit from a group of strange, sweaty, but largely
respectful shepherds not long after the birth. But, with all due respect, we’re hardly talking royal visit. And neither Joe nor Mary really knew what to make of them.
They too had some story of angels, apparently lots of angels. A few weeks later
when M & J went up to the temple at Jerusalem as prescribed by Jewish law, they
had two encounters with rather sad characters, neither of which were
particularly helpful or, at the time, illuminating. They had other things on their mind, like the
embarrassment of only being able to afford the “poor people’s” sacrifice for
their firstborn. However, one of the ups some months later, when things had
begun to settle down, was the visit of well-heeled foreigners who actually
brought gifts with them. Some of the gifts were quite valuable. But still, confusing.
Perhaps
they thought that now things would calm down. They’d be able to settle, maybe in the civilized south somewhere around Bethlehem, or maybe in a Jerusalem
suburb. Mary had recovered from the birth, and the child was healthy and
growing well (always a relief in a time when infant and maternal mortality were much higher than they are now). Maybe some of the scandal was beginning to
dissipate. But, again, things took a turn for the worse. The local government at the
time was controlled by a paranoid brute called Herod. He had got wind of
religious speculation that a “messiah” (ie a competitor) had been born. This
started a train of events which meant that Joe and his (now) wife Mary, and the
baby, had to run further south still, further from home and family, all the way
to a foreign country (perhaps funded by the presents they had received). The child wasn’t yet two years old, and he was now both a
political and religious refugee. Around the same time Herod sent his army into Bethlehem and the surrounding area to
butcher male children aged two and under. Did Mary and Joe hear about this in
exile? Was relief tinged with a certain guilt? Their exile only ended after
Herod’s death perhaps months later. After another long journey they arrived
back in Nazareth. Who knows what sort of welcome they received, if any welcome
at all. They probably hoped for a quiet life. They were to be disappointed. Grim.
And
yet the real event here is mind-blowing, with big implications for our here and now. A child was born in Bethlehem, in the
midst of all that social and practical mayhem. But what only gradually emerged
was that this was no ordinary child. It seemed as if He had lived before. Of
course He had. Because while a child was born, the Son had been given. This was
God becoming something different, the God-Man. What had been promised on the
Old Testament, what is revealed in the New, is that there in Bethlehem “the
Word became flesh”. It would take Christians about 400 hundred years to get
their collective heads around this. They would have to find new concepts to put into
words what had happened. But one of the things that can help us in our current
circumstances is that it did not happen in a palace or in comfort or in safety.
It happened in grubby and grim circumstances. It is in such circumstances that God often works out His purposes.
Never
mind light at the end of the tunnel. This is light in the midst of darkness. It is light that we need now.
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