Re-membering the One Born in Bethlehem with Pope Frances: A Christmas Day Message
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| Christ in the Rubble by Kelly Latimore |
It is Christmas Day, the day we’ve
been looking forward to. Food will be eaten and presents opened. In our house,
we’ll go to a movie and then pick up our Mediterranean meal from a local
restaurant as is our habit. Last night I had the privilege of assisting in
worship at First Presbyterian Church of Troy. For me Christmas Eve is what it
is all about, so taking the Lord’s Supper, lighting candles, and singing carols
is a blessing.
Before going to be last night I sat
up and watched Pope Francis’ Christmas Eve homily from St. Peter’s. He offered
a different vision of God than the one we often hear of, as he spoke of the
incarnation. He made special mention of Bethlehem, where once again the Prince
of Peace has been rejected due to the logic of war.
As you go about your day today, I
do wish you a Merry Christmas. May the message of the one born in Bethlehem
ring in your hearts during your celebrations. To help with that I leave you
with the opening paragraphs of Francis’ message, highlighting that statement
about Bethlehem as we grieve the loss of life in Gaza, Israel, and all of
Palestine at this Christmas.
“A census of the whole earth” (cf. Lk 2:1). This was the context in which Jesus was born, and the Gospel makes a point of it. The census might have been mentioned in passing, but instead is carefully noted. And in this way, a great contrast emerges. While the emperor numbers the world’s inhabitants, God enters it almost surreptitiously. While those who exercise power seek to take their place with the great ones of history, the King of history chooses the way of littleness. None of the powerful take notice of him: only a few shepherds, relegated to the margins of social life.
The census speaks of something else. In the Scriptures, the taking of a census has negative associations. King David, tempted by large numbers and an unhealthy sense of self-sufficiency, sinned gravely by ordering a census of the people. He wanted to know how powerful he was. After some nine months, he knew how many men could wield a sword (cf. 2 Sam 24:1-9). The Lord was angered and the people suffered. On this night, however, Jesus, the “Son of David”, after nine months in Mary’s womb, is born in Bethlehem, the city of David. He does not impose punishment for the census, but humbly allows himself to be registered as one among many. Here we see, not a god of wrath and chastisement, but the God of mercy, who takes flesh and enters the world in weakness, heralded by the announcement: “on earth peace among those whom he favors” (Lk 2:14). Tonight, our hearts are in Bethlehem, where the Prince of Peace is once more rejected by the futile logic of war, by the clash of arms that even today prevents him from finding room in the world (cf. Lk 2:7).
The census of the whole earth, in a word, manifests the all-too-human thread that runs through history: the quest for worldly power and might, fame and glory, which measures everything in terms of success, results, numbers and figures, a world obsessed with achievement. Yet the census also manifests the way of Jesus, who comes to seek us through enfleshment. He is not the god of accomplishment, but the God of Incarnation. He does not eliminate injustice from above by a show of power, but from below, by a show of love. He does not burst on the scene with limitless power, but descends to the narrow confines of our lives. He does not shun our frailties, but makes them his own.
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