One of these (the first one) started as lecture notes I wrote in 2006. They've been updated over the years, and published more than once. The other is another approach to the same stories, and the same ideas. I decided to rewrite them and put them together, but that never happened. So now I've just mashed them together, a final commentary before Christas Eve. It's in two parts, and may seem a bit repetitive, but the first part focuses on the two stories in Matthew and Luke; and the second part goes carefully through the longer Lukan nativity narrative.Israel as a country occupied by God.
Everything has a context, and we have to start here to understand what follows. Israel is an occupied country. It is occupied by the God of Abraham. God is the “creator” of Israel, in confession as well as reality. The prophets Ezekiel and Jeremiah (!) present the image of a God who forces compliance which, although its goal is good, is in tension with the will of the people, by being in tension with the will of the prophet. This is a necessary tension, but it is a tension, nonetheless.
Tension is an important concept. We think of peace as not just the absence of war, but as the absence of tension. But that's not peace, it's hegemony, it's thought control, it's everyone agreeing with me (else how is there peace? "Peace" is when you all agree with me. Isn't it?). The same problem attaches to love: love can be unconditional but still create tension. Can you stop loving a sibling, a child, a cousin, because of their addiction, their actions, their failures or successes? Is love the absence of tension between persons, or the managing of those tensions? Love in Christ, in God, is not the absence of tension; in some ways it is the activity of tension. Without tension, you come too easily to believe that God is you, and you are God, and all the others in the world are just extensions of you in space and time. But that's a child's view, and we quickly outgrow that, or we painfully outgrow that; or we never quite outgrow that, and a tension that should be healthy, becomes pathological, or merely painful. You are not me and I am not you, but love can still bind us even as the tension, however so slightly, repels us. Tension is an integral part of love because without it, love is just self-satisfaction, and it fades as soon as the satisfaction fades. We have to put each other in obligation in order to love, but we have to simultaneously recognize the obligation we are placed in. That tension is what makes love, love. (It is also what power Derrida's observation about the impossibility of the gift. But don't confuse that impossibility with this tension.)
For Israel, that tension reaches a breaking point with the Exile, the defining event of Israel’s history that supercedes even the Exodus in the psyche of the nation. Then Israel, having rejected occupation by God as intolerable, is made vulnerable to occupation by a human power; an occupation from which it never really recovers.
And it is from that occupation, that Exile and return, that Israel begins to hope to receive the Messiah. That tension is what makes the nativity stories so powerful, as well. It is the connection to that history that the Nativity stories of Matthew and Luke speak, and to which they reach out. And that connection, as the Christmas story has primarily been connected to generations throughout time, is made through songs.
Matthew:
The gospel of Matthew begins with the genealogy of Jesus Christ; which is not his last name, but his title. We should call him "Jesus the Christ." Matthew presents the family tree of the Anointed One, the Messiah, the Christ; and that fact alone recalls immediately the genealogies that the Exile made necessary, as families returning from Babylon and around the area tried to decide, a generation later, who was the child of who, who was a descendant of one of the tribes, who was another of the children of Abraham. And so Matthew beings: “The genealogy of Jesus Christ, son of David, son of Abraham.” And this itinerant peasant from Nazareth is immediately identified with the father of nations, and the greatest king of the nation of Israel. And we are reminded of the Exile, of the first occupation of Israel, in the time of the second occupation of Israel, and after the second fall of Jerusalem, and the second diaspora of Abraham’s descendants.
This is a story told during yet another occupation. Once again, the nation is occupied by foreigners, even as it struggles to remain occupied by God. And so the great break point in the genealogy is the deportation to Babylon, and then the time after that: fourteen generations from Abraham to David, fourteen from David to the Exile; fourteen from the Exile to the Messiah. God still occupies Israel, and always will.
But occupation brings a sense of oppression, a sense of danger. Joseph is engaged to Mary, but to his shame she is pregnant. Only when he learns in a dream that this is to fulfill prophecy does he decide he can relax, and accept this pregnant woman as his wife. And when the child is born, Joseph names the child Joshua, Jesus in the koine Greek of the gospels, which means “Yahweh is salvation.”
Occupation brings not only the sense of oppression, but true oppression. The birth of the Messiah is not an event that can happen quietly. When God came to Moses on the mountain there was theophany: thunder and lightning and clouds. When God came to Elijah there was a wind, and then an earthquake, and then fire: God was in none of those things, but nature could not be quiet when God was present. And so Creation must announce the birth of Messiah, but who will read the signs? Magi; magicians; men of wisdom and learning from another land; for truly, as Jesus would later say, a prophet is not honored in his own country. And surely his own people will not know him first. So comes the epiphany.
And straight from scripture it comes: for here is the amazing thing. Does knowledge come from revelation, or does it come from discovery? Do we learn what is most important for us to know, what is of “ultimate concern,” or is it revealed to us? Matthew and the Hebrew people would say that it is revealed, and would point to the story of Abraham, of Joshua, of Samuel and David and the call of Jeremiah, Isaiah, and Ezekiel, of Amos and Hosea and even Jonah, as their proof. We do not seek God so much as God seeks us, and we do not know what is most important to know so much as God reveals it to us: if we will listen; if we will see; if we will learn.
And so the Magi come just as expected. But why do we know to expect it? Because Psalm 72 has told us it will happen. Not in the simple sense of prophecy, “as it is written:” but in the complex sense of a revelation, an enactment of what the Psalmist said would happen as a sign of God’s favor and the righteousness of the king to whom God gives God’s judgment.
20 The prayers of David the son of Jesse are ended.
There is much in that Psalm that repays study in light of the nativity stories, and the gospel stories. There is much that is connected to the ministry of Jesus, and to the songs of Luke’s nativity tale. But I want to pay attention to the kings who come bringing presents.
We call them “kings” because of this Psalm, even if we don’t know the connection between Matthew and Psalm 72. That isn’t what Matthew calls them: he calls them “magi.” He calls them “astrologers.” The Psalmist says the kings of foreign countries will come and offer gifts, the kings of Tarshish and Sheba and Seba. But Matthew lives under oppression, and any mention of foreign kings and any naming of nations is dangerous, so his “magi” come only from the East, from outside the Empire, and they are not kings, but wise men, men of deep knowledge. And they come with gifts, to fall down before the child, and serve him. And we think there are three of them, because Matthew mentions three gifts.
The word means “revelation,” but it also means “light, illumination.” Epiphanai, sings Zechariah: Epiphanai tois en skotei kai skia thanatou kathamenois: light to those in darkness and in death’s shadow. Epiphanai: light, to show us the way. And so the Christmas stories connect again, through music. And to our celebration in the darkest time of the year.
We shouldn't pass lightly over the other two songs in Luke's nativity. The Gloria of the Angels is perhaps the best known Christmas scripture of all, and it is the climax of Luke's tale. Everything in the story has been building up to this, and in a few spare lines the angels explode into song for the event. It echoes down to our time still in the Latin of the Vulgate: "Gloria in excelsis Deo."
Everything has a context, and we have to start here to understand what follows. Israel is an occupied country. It is occupied by the God of Abraham. God is the “creator” of Israel, in confession as well as reality. The prophets Ezekiel and Jeremiah (!) present the image of a God who forces compliance which, although its goal is good, is in tension with the will of the people, by being in tension with the will of the prophet. This is a necessary tension, but it is a tension, nonetheless.
Tension is an important concept. We think of peace as not just the absence of war, but as the absence of tension. But that's not peace, it's hegemony, it's thought control, it's everyone agreeing with me (else how is there peace? "Peace" is when you all agree with me. Isn't it?). The same problem attaches to love: love can be unconditional but still create tension. Can you stop loving a sibling, a child, a cousin, because of their addiction, their actions, their failures or successes? Is love the absence of tension between persons, or the managing of those tensions? Love in Christ, in God, is not the absence of tension; in some ways it is the activity of tension. Without tension, you come too easily to believe that God is you, and you are God, and all the others in the world are just extensions of you in space and time. But that's a child's view, and we quickly outgrow that, or we painfully outgrow that; or we never quite outgrow that, and a tension that should be healthy, becomes pathological, or merely painful. You are not me and I am not you, but love can still bind us even as the tension, however so slightly, repels us. Tension is an integral part of love because without it, love is just self-satisfaction, and it fades as soon as the satisfaction fades. We have to put each other in obligation in order to love, but we have to simultaneously recognize the obligation we are placed in. That tension is what makes love, love. (It is also what power Derrida's observation about the impossibility of the gift. But don't confuse that impossibility with this tension.)
For Israel, that tension reaches a breaking point with the Exile, the defining event of Israel’s history that supercedes even the Exodus in the psyche of the nation. Then Israel, having rejected occupation by God as intolerable, is made vulnerable to occupation by a human power; an occupation from which it never really recovers.
And it is from that occupation, that Exile and return, that Israel begins to hope to receive the Messiah. That tension is what makes the nativity stories so powerful, as well. It is the connection to that history that the Nativity stories of Matthew and Luke speak, and to which they reach out. And that connection, as the Christmas story has primarily been connected to generations throughout time, is made through songs.
Matthew:
The gospel of Matthew begins with the genealogy of Jesus Christ; which is not his last name, but his title. We should call him "Jesus the Christ." Matthew presents the family tree of the Anointed One, the Messiah, the Christ; and that fact alone recalls immediately the genealogies that the Exile made necessary, as families returning from Babylon and around the area tried to decide, a generation later, who was the child of who, who was a descendant of one of the tribes, who was another of the children of Abraham. And so Matthew beings: “The genealogy of Jesus Christ, son of David, son of Abraham.” And this itinerant peasant from Nazareth is immediately identified with the father of nations, and the greatest king of the nation of Israel. And we are reminded of the Exile, of the first occupation of Israel, in the time of the second occupation of Israel, and after the second fall of Jerusalem, and the second diaspora of Abraham’s descendants.
This is a story told during yet another occupation. Once again, the nation is occupied by foreigners, even as it struggles to remain occupied by God. And so the great break point in the genealogy is the deportation to Babylon, and then the time after that: fourteen generations from Abraham to David, fourteen from David to the Exile; fourteen from the Exile to the Messiah. God still occupies Israel, and always will.
But occupation brings a sense of oppression, a sense of danger. Joseph is engaged to Mary, but to his shame she is pregnant. Only when he learns in a dream that this is to fulfill prophecy does he decide he can relax, and accept this pregnant woman as his wife. And when the child is born, Joseph names the child Joshua, Jesus in the koine Greek of the gospels, which means “Yahweh is salvation.”
Occupation brings not only the sense of oppression, but true oppression. The birth of the Messiah is not an event that can happen quietly. When God came to Moses on the mountain there was theophany: thunder and lightning and clouds. When God came to Elijah there was a wind, and then an earthquake, and then fire: God was in none of those things, but nature could not be quiet when God was present. And so Creation must announce the birth of Messiah, but who will read the signs? Magi; magicians; men of wisdom and learning from another land; for truly, as Jesus would later say, a prophet is not honored in his own country. And surely his own people will not know him first. So comes the epiphany.
And straight from scripture it comes: for here is the amazing thing. Does knowledge come from revelation, or does it come from discovery? Do we learn what is most important for us to know, what is of “ultimate concern,” or is it revealed to us? Matthew and the Hebrew people would say that it is revealed, and would point to the story of Abraham, of Joshua, of Samuel and David and the call of Jeremiah, Isaiah, and Ezekiel, of Amos and Hosea and even Jonah, as their proof. We do not seek God so much as God seeks us, and we do not know what is most important to know so much as God reveals it to us: if we will listen; if we will see; if we will learn.
And so the Magi come just as expected. But why do we know to expect it? Because Psalm 72 has told us it will happen. Not in the simple sense of prophecy, “as it is written:” but in the complex sense of a revelation, an enactment of what the Psalmist said would happen as a sign of God’s favor and the righteousness of the king to whom God gives God’s judgment.
Give the king thy judgments, O God, and thy righteousness unto the king's son.
2 He shall judge thy people with righteousness, and thy poor with judgment.
3 The mountains shall bring peace to the people, and the little hills, by righteousness.
4 He shall judge the poor of the people, he shall save the children of the needy, and shall break in pieces the oppressor.
5 They shall fear thee as long as the sun and moon endure, throughout all generations.
6 He shall come down like rain upon the mown grass: as showers that water the earth.
7 In his days shall the righteous flourish; and abundance of peace so long as the moon endureth.
8 He shall have dominion also from sea to sea, and from the river unto the ends of the earth.
9 They that dwell in the wilderness shall bow before him; and his enemies shall lick the dust.
10 The kings of Tarshish and of the isles shall bring presents: the kings of Sheba and Seba shall offer gifts.
11 Yea, all kings shall fall down before him: all nations shall serve him.
12 For he shall deliver the needy when he crieth; the poor also, and him that hath no helper.
13 He shall spare the poor and needy, and shall save the souls of the needy.
14 He shall redeem their soul from deceit and violence: and precious shall their blood be in his sight.
15 And he shall live, and to him shall be given of the gold of Sheba: prayer also shall be made for him continually; and daily shall he be praised.
16 There shall be an handful of corn in the earth upon the top of the mountains; the fruit thereof shall shake like Lebanon: and they of the city shall flourish like grass of the earth.
17 His name shall endure for ever: his name shall be continued as long as the sun: and men shall be blessed in him: all nations shall call him blessed.
18 Blessed be the Lord God, the God of Israel, who only doeth wondrous things.
19 And blessed be his glorious name for ever: and let the whole earth be filled with his glory; Amen, and Amen.
There is much in that Psalm that repays study in light of the nativity stories, and the gospel stories. There is much that is connected to the ministry of Jesus, and to the songs of Luke’s nativity tale. But I want to pay attention to the kings who come bringing presents.
We call them “kings” because of this Psalm, even if we don’t know the connection between Matthew and Psalm 72. That isn’t what Matthew calls them: he calls them “magi.” He calls them “astrologers.” The Psalmist says the kings of foreign countries will come and offer gifts, the kings of Tarshish and Sheba and Seba. But Matthew lives under oppression, and any mention of foreign kings and any naming of nations is dangerous, so his “magi” come only from the East, from outside the Empire, and they are not kings, but wise men, men of deep knowledge. And they come with gifts, to fall down before the child, and serve him. And we think there are three of them, because Matthew mentions three gifts.
Those gifts repay a bit of attention. Matthew has his purposes in this story, and one of them is to presage the death of the child now two years old (or so) when the Magi arrive. They bring gold, truly a gift for a king; but they bring frankincense and myrrh. These are gifts also worthy of a king, but gifts associated with death, and burial. Without modern embalming practices a corpse rather quickly begins to smell. These perfumes were used for the wealthy and the powerful. They prefigure, here, what is to come. They underline, in other words, that this child, like all of us, is mortal; born of woman, and bound to die.
In the larger picture, Matthew lives under oppression, and the immediate sponsor of that oppression is Herod; Herod who serves the occupiers, and like them fears any challenge to his power. Herod, who with all of Jerusalem is disturbed to hear the news of this birth. Disturbed precisely because the Psalmists words were true: this king will have the Lord’s justice, and will deliver the needy and the poor and those who cry. No wonder Herod and all Jerusalem are disturbed: the end of their time has been announced, and they have just heard of it. The time of their oppression is at an end.
And how is this revealed to him? By strangers coming to ask for information he doesn’t have, who bring the information with them that he needs and open his eyes to what the Scriptures say, but to which he hasn’t listened. And so he sends the Magi to Bethlehem, to find the child. And now the revelation of the Scripture, and the revelation of Creation, and the revelation of God, come all three together. An angel speaks directly to Joseph, and later to the Magi; the star that rises new in the heavens is the first clue for the Magi; and the Scripture that make sense of all of this for Matthew’s audience, reveal the last connections for the Magi between their curiosity, and their goal. Guided by their knowledge of nature, playing their part according to the psalm, they need scripture to complete the picture.
And the last song of Matthew is another snatch of scripture, this time from Jeremiah, from the heart of the Exile itself. Rachel weeps for the exile of the northern kingdom in Jeremiah, and Matthew cuts off the hope of recovery, the response of the Lord to “keep your voice from weeping and your eyes from tears,” for “they shall come back from the land of the enemy, ther eis hope for your future.” But does he leave that part of the poem, the song, the song of lament, out of his story of Messiah? Or does he incorporate it by reference, as he incorporates by reference to Psalm 72 the last line of that psalm: “The prayers of David the son of Jesse are ended.” Ended? Why? Because they have been fulfilled. Because Messiah has come and the prayers of David son of Jesse have been fulfilled in the incarnation of the Christ who is also son of Abraham, son of David. And because the psalm itself portends, in Matthew’s gospel, and ending, almost an eschaton, a close to history. Because the psalm does not say what gifts the kings will bring from Sheba and Seba, but Matthew does: they bring gold, the precious element fit for a king, and frankincense and myrrh; strange perfumes for a child, but appropriate to prepare a corpse for burial. These gifts point already to the end, the crucifixion. We who are born mortal are born to die, and while this child is Messiah, this child is also mortal.
Just as the innocents slaughtered by Herod were mortal. But where Matthew cuts the story short with his quote from Jeremiah, he invites the rest of the story in tacitly, sotto voce, beneath the wailing of the mothers for their sons. He reminds them, reminds us all, that the terrible price of oppression, the terrible power of the oppressors, cannot be denied, cannot be overlooked or passed by easily: but neither is it the last word. That last word is God’s, and that word of hope will be heard in the gospel that follows this nativity story.
Luke:
So then we jump to Luke, since we are following songs and scriptures and sources of revelation. Luke presents us with four songs, fitting for a Christmas story, and Luke’s is our favorite Christmas story: we fit the details of Matthew’s in around it, in our most common tellings. Our nativity scenes include shepherds and magi, a star and and angel, and always the iconic manger. They don't belong together, but we have our reasons. Where Matthew implies concern for the poor and the powerless, Luke makes it concrete: Jesus is so poor and so powerless that even his birthplace is the result of oppression, of an order from the oppressor that his family go to their ancestral home. But here the oppressor, as ignorant as Herod of what God plans to do, has already done, will do in days to come; is made to play a necessary role in the story, is forced despite his intentions, to arrange the pieces so that God’s will is made clear to all who will see, to all who will listen.
But God’s will is obscure, even to the priests who serve God in the temple. Luke opens his story with Zechariah, a man of priestly line who should know his story of Abraham better, because God made the promise to Abraham five times before it was fulfilled. But Abraham never doubted, and never asked for anything more than a sign once. Zechariah, on the other hand, wonders how the news of a child to be born to his wife Elizabeth is even possible. And for that he is silenced. Luke works in reverse to follow the story of the scriptures: God speaks first to a man, one who is to father the forerunner of Messiah, and then God speaks to the mother of Messiah. But where Zechariah is clumsy, Mary is subtle, and wise in her humility.
And yet it is only after Elizabeth speaks to Mary that Mary sings her hymn of praise to God for what God has promised. It is only when her story is confirmed by her cousin, by another and older woman, that the younger woman rejoices in what God has done for her. And then she sings the most revolutionary song in the Gospels, one that echoes, but goes far beyond, the song of Hanna in 1 Samuel:
10 The adversaries of the Lord shall be broken to pieces; out of heaven shall he thunder upon them: the Lord shall judge the ends of the earth; and he shall give strength unto his king, and exalt the horn of his anointed.
It is the first of Luke’s four songs, and it is no accident that this song sings of apocalypse and eschaton and revelation. Hannah sings because the Lord has lifted her oppression: because her place in society was to be a mother, and that joy had been denied her, until the Lord saw fit to allow it. Sarah laughs when God tells Abraham she will have a son within the year. (Her laughter is so disruptive God asks Abraham why she laughs.) Elizabeth gives thanks that God has removed her dishonor. Position and society and expectation oppress as much as governments and tyrants, and God removes the oppression of all of them. God removes oppression and suppression, and how should we respond except to sing?
Hannah sings of reversal, of strong men distraught, the weak made strong, the hungry fed while the full beg for a crust of bread, and childless mothers bear seven children while the mother of children languishes. Just so Mary sings of the reversal of oppression, but oppression of the people, not of the society. God will level; God will reverse. The valleys will be filled, and the mountains lowered, so that all will see the glory of God.
And as soon as Zechariah fulfills the word of the Lord as spoken by the angel, he can speak again, and he sings. We call that one the Benedictus, because the Latin version begins: “Benedictus Dominus, Deus Israel.” Mary’s song praises what God will do; Zechariah’s song praises what God has done. Together they tie up the strands of history, past and future, and make them one moving knot through the present, but all of time connected through that knot, through the moving present. Ironically, Zechariah’s song also does one more thing, in a way Luke never could have foreseen or intended. It ends with the one use of the word “epiphany” in all the Gospels.
In the larger picture, Matthew lives under oppression, and the immediate sponsor of that oppression is Herod; Herod who serves the occupiers, and like them fears any challenge to his power. Herod, who with all of Jerusalem is disturbed to hear the news of this birth. Disturbed precisely because the Psalmists words were true: this king will have the Lord’s justice, and will deliver the needy and the poor and those who cry. No wonder Herod and all Jerusalem are disturbed: the end of their time has been announced, and they have just heard of it. The time of their oppression is at an end.
And how is this revealed to him? By strangers coming to ask for information he doesn’t have, who bring the information with them that he needs and open his eyes to what the Scriptures say, but to which he hasn’t listened. And so he sends the Magi to Bethlehem, to find the child. And now the revelation of the Scripture, and the revelation of Creation, and the revelation of God, come all three together. An angel speaks directly to Joseph, and later to the Magi; the star that rises new in the heavens is the first clue for the Magi; and the Scripture that make sense of all of this for Matthew’s audience, reveal the last connections for the Magi between their curiosity, and their goal. Guided by their knowledge of nature, playing their part according to the psalm, they need scripture to complete the picture.
And the last song of Matthew is another snatch of scripture, this time from Jeremiah, from the heart of the Exile itself. Rachel weeps for the exile of the northern kingdom in Jeremiah, and Matthew cuts off the hope of recovery, the response of the Lord to “keep your voice from weeping and your eyes from tears,” for “they shall come back from the land of the enemy, ther eis hope for your future.” But does he leave that part of the poem, the song, the song of lament, out of his story of Messiah? Or does he incorporate it by reference, as he incorporates by reference to Psalm 72 the last line of that psalm: “The prayers of David the son of Jesse are ended.” Ended? Why? Because they have been fulfilled. Because Messiah has come and the prayers of David son of Jesse have been fulfilled in the incarnation of the Christ who is also son of Abraham, son of David. And because the psalm itself portends, in Matthew’s gospel, and ending, almost an eschaton, a close to history. Because the psalm does not say what gifts the kings will bring from Sheba and Seba, but Matthew does: they bring gold, the precious element fit for a king, and frankincense and myrrh; strange perfumes for a child, but appropriate to prepare a corpse for burial. These gifts point already to the end, the crucifixion. We who are born mortal are born to die, and while this child is Messiah, this child is also mortal.
Just as the innocents slaughtered by Herod were mortal. But where Matthew cuts the story short with his quote from Jeremiah, he invites the rest of the story in tacitly, sotto voce, beneath the wailing of the mothers for their sons. He reminds them, reminds us all, that the terrible price of oppression, the terrible power of the oppressors, cannot be denied, cannot be overlooked or passed by easily: but neither is it the last word. That last word is God’s, and that word of hope will be heard in the gospel that follows this nativity story.
Luke:
So then we jump to Luke, since we are following songs and scriptures and sources of revelation. Luke presents us with four songs, fitting for a Christmas story, and Luke’s is our favorite Christmas story: we fit the details of Matthew’s in around it, in our most common tellings. Our nativity scenes include shepherds and magi, a star and and angel, and always the iconic manger. They don't belong together, but we have our reasons. Where Matthew implies concern for the poor and the powerless, Luke makes it concrete: Jesus is so poor and so powerless that even his birthplace is the result of oppression, of an order from the oppressor that his family go to their ancestral home. But here the oppressor, as ignorant as Herod of what God plans to do, has already done, will do in days to come; is made to play a necessary role in the story, is forced despite his intentions, to arrange the pieces so that God’s will is made clear to all who will see, to all who will listen.
But God’s will is obscure, even to the priests who serve God in the temple. Luke opens his story with Zechariah, a man of priestly line who should know his story of Abraham better, because God made the promise to Abraham five times before it was fulfilled. But Abraham never doubted, and never asked for anything more than a sign once. Zechariah, on the other hand, wonders how the news of a child to be born to his wife Elizabeth is even possible. And for that he is silenced. Luke works in reverse to follow the story of the scriptures: God speaks first to a man, one who is to father the forerunner of Messiah, and then God speaks to the mother of Messiah. But where Zechariah is clumsy, Mary is subtle, and wise in her humility.
And yet it is only after Elizabeth speaks to Mary that Mary sings her hymn of praise to God for what God has promised. It is only when her story is confirmed by her cousin, by another and older woman, that the younger woman rejoices in what God has done for her. And then she sings the most revolutionary song in the Gospels, one that echoes, but goes far beyond, the song of Hanna in 1 Samuel:
And Hannah prayed, and said, My heart rejoiceth in the Lord, mine horn is exalted in the Lord: my mouth is enlarged over mine enemies; because I rejoice in thy salvation.
2 There is none holy as the Lord: for there is none beside thee: neither is there any rock like our God.
3 Talk no more so exceeding proudly; let not arrogancy come out of your mouth: for the Lord is a God of knowledge, and by him actions are weighed.
4 The bows of the mighty men are broken, and they that stumbled are girded with strength.
5 They that were full have hired out themselves for bread; and they that were hungry ceased: so that the barren hath born seven; and she that hath many children is waxed feeble.
6 The Lord killeth, and maketh alive: he bringeth down to the grave, and bringeth up.
7 The Lord maketh poor, and maketh rich: he bringeth low, and lifteth up.
8 He raiseth up the poor out of the dust, and lifteth up the beggar from the dunghill, to set them among princes, and to make them inherit the throne of glory: for the pillars of the earth are the Lord's, and he hath set the world upon them.
9 He will keep the feet of his saints, and the wicked shall be silent in darkness; for by strength shall no man prevail.
My soul extols the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has shown consideration for the lowly stature of his slave. As a consequence, from now on every generation will congratulate me; the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name, and his mercy will come to generation after generation of those who fear him. He has shown the strength of his arm, he has put the arrogant to rout, along with their private schemes; he has pulled the mighty down from their thrones, and exalted the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. He has come to the aid of his servant Israel, remembering his mercy, as he spoke to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever. (Luke 1:46-56, SV)
It is the first of Luke’s four songs, and it is no accident that this song sings of apocalypse and eschaton and revelation. Hannah sings because the Lord has lifted her oppression: because her place in society was to be a mother, and that joy had been denied her, until the Lord saw fit to allow it. Sarah laughs when God tells Abraham she will have a son within the year. (Her laughter is so disruptive God asks Abraham why she laughs.) Elizabeth gives thanks that God has removed her dishonor. Position and society and expectation oppress as much as governments and tyrants, and God removes the oppression of all of them. God removes oppression and suppression, and how should we respond except to sing?
Hannah sings of reversal, of strong men distraught, the weak made strong, the hungry fed while the full beg for a crust of bread, and childless mothers bear seven children while the mother of children languishes. Just so Mary sings of the reversal of oppression, but oppression of the people, not of the society. God will level; God will reverse. The valleys will be filled, and the mountains lowered, so that all will see the glory of God.
And as soon as Zechariah fulfills the word of the Lord as spoken by the angel, he can speak again, and he sings. We call that one the Benedictus, because the Latin version begins: “Benedictus Dominus, Deus Israel.” Mary’s song praises what God will do; Zechariah’s song praises what God has done. Together they tie up the strands of history, past and future, and make them one moving knot through the present, but all of time connected through that knot, through the moving present. Ironically, Zechariah’s song also does one more thing, in a way Luke never could have foreseen or intended. It ends with the one use of the word “epiphany” in all the Gospels.
Then his father Zechariah was filled with the holy spirit and prophesied: "Blessed by the Lord, our God of Israel, for he has visited and ransomed his people. He has raised up for us a horn of salvation in the house of David his servant. This is what he promised in the words of his holy prophets of old; deliverance from our enemies, and from the hands of all who hate us; mercy to our ancestors; and the remembrance of his holy covenant. This is the oath he swore to Abraham our ancestor: to grant that we be rescued from the hands of our enemies, to serve him without fear, in holiness and righteousness before him all our days. And you, child, will be called a prophet of the Most High, for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way, to give his people knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of their sins. In the heartfelt mercy of our God this dawn from on high will visit us, to shine on those sitting in darkness, in the shadow of death, to quide our feet to the way of peace.--Luke 1:67-79, SV)
The word means “revelation,” but it also means “light, illumination.” Epiphanai, sings Zechariah: Epiphanai tois en skotei kai skia thanatou kathamenois: light to those in darkness and in death’s shadow. Epiphanai: light, to show us the way. And so the Christmas stories connect again, through music. And to our celebration in the darkest time of the year.
We shouldn't pass lightly over the other two songs in Luke's nativity. The Gloria of the Angels is perhaps the best known Christmas scripture of all, and it is the climax of Luke's tale. Everything in the story has been building up to this, and in a few spare lines the angels explode into song for the event. It echoes down to our time still in the Latin of the Vulgate: "Gloria in excelsis Deo."
And suddenly there appeared with the messenger a whole troop of the heavenly army praising God:Glory to God in the highest,and on earth peace to people whom he has favoured! (Luke 2:13-14, SV)
This song pivots the entire story from anticipation down to conclusion, but that conclusion doesn't come until the appearance of Simeon.
Simeon's song is the "Nunc Dimmitus," the "Lord now lettest thou."
When the parents brought in the child Jesus, to perform for him what was customary according to the Law, he took him in his arms and blessed God: "Now, Lord, you can dismiss your slave in peace, according to your word, not that my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all the peoples--a revelatory light for foreigners, and glory for your people Israel. (Luke 2:27b-32, SV)
"Revelatory" there is a word we are familiar with, but not as a "revelation." "Eis apokalipsin," writes Luke; an apocalpse, a revelation, a revealing, light to the nations.
Again the song is short, simple, and to the point. With the Gloria of the angels the reversal sung by Mary has already started. This news does not come first to the wise or the powerful, but to the outlaws, the shepherds, up late and with nothing else to do. As Mary sang, and Hanna before her, and the Psalmist, these are the ones favored by God, the poor and the oppressed to whom God listens. And again, their oppression is lifted, because they are the first invitees into the kingdom this new-born will grow up to proclaim. With the parting song of Simeon, an old man who now will die in peace and contentment, as old age should bring, the present is passed to the future, the old gives blessing and thanks for the young and what is to follow.
Conclusion:
So these songs set the themes of the gospel stories. The Psalm and the lament of Jeremiah set the framework of Matthew’s nativity, and set it inside the story of the revelation already told by the Jewish people to themselves, already recorded and revered in their scriptures. Luke, the Gentile, speaks to a Gentile community of ostensibly Jewish matters, so the witness of scripture is not as strong a pull on him. But he, too, needs scripture to anchor his story, to give it context. Scripture, and songs, because the truth is revealed in dreams, and sung in inspiration. The Benedidictus and the Magnificat bookend the kerygma of the kingdom, the proclamation of the change that is coming, a change that will comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. The Gloria is sung to those whom God favors, and it is not those we would expect; and the Nunc Dimmitus, much like Matthew’s gifts from the Magi, presents the eschaton, the end that awaits this family and this baby.
Unconnected with Matthew, still the stories are connected, and connected to the gospels they precede. They set the tone and themes for each gospel’s version of the story of the life of Jesus of Nazareth: a story of a peasant born under oppression; oppression both social and economic, and political. Each of those sources of oppression and repression are challenged in the nativity stories, and shown to be undone by God’s hand, by God’s action in history. Both encompass, from the beginning, outsiders, which means people like us, and people still not like us. So both stories offer us challenges, today.
And if there is a lesson for us today, it is that oppression and suppression take many forms, and many of them are imposed on us not just by governments, but by groups, by societies and communities. Matthew’s community was occupied by evil rulers; Luke’s community was dominated and defined by the Roman Empire. Like them, we are always struggling against what holds us, and always looking for liberation. But the question both these gospels present to us, from the very beginning of their stories, is: in what form does our liberation come, and is it what we are looking for? Are we always ready to recognize our epiphany?
Conclusion:
So these songs set the themes of the gospel stories. The Psalm and the lament of Jeremiah set the framework of Matthew’s nativity, and set it inside the story of the revelation already told by the Jewish people to themselves, already recorded and revered in their scriptures. Luke, the Gentile, speaks to a Gentile community of ostensibly Jewish matters, so the witness of scripture is not as strong a pull on him. But he, too, needs scripture to anchor his story, to give it context. Scripture, and songs, because the truth is revealed in dreams, and sung in inspiration. The Benedidictus and the Magnificat bookend the kerygma of the kingdom, the proclamation of the change that is coming, a change that will comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. The Gloria is sung to those whom God favors, and it is not those we would expect; and the Nunc Dimmitus, much like Matthew’s gifts from the Magi, presents the eschaton, the end that awaits this family and this baby.
Unconnected with Matthew, still the stories are connected, and connected to the gospels they precede. They set the tone and themes for each gospel’s version of the story of the life of Jesus of Nazareth: a story of a peasant born under oppression; oppression both social and economic, and political. Each of those sources of oppression and repression are challenged in the nativity stories, and shown to be undone by God’s hand, by God’s action in history. Both encompass, from the beginning, outsiders, which means people like us, and people still not like us. So both stories offer us challenges, today.
And if there is a lesson for us today, it is that oppression and suppression take many forms, and many of them are imposed on us not just by governments, but by groups, by societies and communities. Matthew’s community was occupied by evil rulers; Luke’s community was dominated and defined by the Roman Empire. Like them, we are always struggling against what holds us, and always looking for liberation. But the question both these gospels present to us, from the very beginning of their stories, is: in what form does our liberation come, and is it what we are looking for? Are we always ready to recognize our epiphany?
THERE was in the days of Herod, the king of Judaea, a certain priest named Zacharias, of the course of Abia: and his wife was of the daughters of Aaron, and her name was Elisabeth. 6 And they were both righteous before God, walking in all the commandments and ordinances of the Lord blameless. 7 And they had no child, because that Elisabeth was barren, and they both were now well stricken in years.
8 And it came to pass, that while he executed the priest's office before God in the order of his course,
9 According to the custom of the priest's office, his lot was to burn incense when he went into the temple of the Lord. 10 And the whole multitude of the people were praying without at the time of incense. 11 And there appeared unto him an angel of the Lord standing on the right side of the altar of incense. 12 And when Zacharias saw him, he was troubled, and fear fell upon him. 13 But the angel said unto him, Fear not, Zacharias: for thy prayer is heard; and thy wife Elisabeth shall bear thee a son, and thou shalt call his name John. 14 And thou shalt have joy and gladness; and many shall rejoice at his birth. 15 For he shall be great in the sight of the Lord, and shall drink neither wine nor strong drink; and he shall be filled with the Holy Ghost, even from his mother's womb. 16 And many of the children of Israel shall he turn to the Lord their God. 17 And he shall go before him in the spirit and power of Elias, to turn the hearts of the fathers to the children, and the disobedient to the wisdom of the just; to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.
18 And Zacharias said unto the angel, Whereby shall I know this? for I am an old man, and my wife well stricken in years. 19 And the angel answering said unto him, I am Gabriel, that stand in the presence of God; and am sent to speak unto thee, and to shew thee these glad tidings. 20 And, behold, thou shalt be dumb, and not able to speak, until the day that these things shall be performed, because thou believest not my words, which shall be fulfilled in their season.
21 And the people waited for Zacharias, and marvelled that he tarried so long in the temple. 22 And when he came out, he could not speak unto them: and they perceived that he had seen a vision in the temple: for he beckoned unto them, and remained speechless. 23 And it came to pass, that, as soon as the days of his ministration were accomplished, he departed to his own house.
24 And after those days his wife Elisabeth conceived, and hid herself five months, saying, 25 Thus hath the Lord dealt with me in the days wherein he looked on me, to take away my reproach among men.
26 And in the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God unto a city of Galilee, named Nazareth, 27 To a virgin espoused to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David; and the virgin's name was Mary. 28 And the angel came in unto her, and said, Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women. 29 And when she saw him, she was troubled at his saying, and cast in her mind what manner of salutation this should be. 30 And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favour with God. 31 And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name JESUS. 32 He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest: and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David: 33 And he shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end. 34 Then said Mary unto the angel, How shall this be, seeing I know not a man? 35 And the angel answered and said unto her, The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the power of the Highest shall overshadow thee: therefore also that holy thing which shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of God. 36 And, behold, thy cousin Elisabeth, she hath also conceived a son in her old age: and this is the sixth month with her, who was called barren. 37 For with God nothing shall be impossible. 38 And Mary said, Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word. And the angel departed from her.
39 And Mary arose in those days, and went into the hill country with haste, into a city of Juda; 40 And entered into the house of Zacharias, and saluted Elisabeth. 41 And it came to pass, that, when Elisabeth heard the salutation of Mary, the babe leaped in her womb; and Elisabeth was filled with the Holy Ghost: 42 And she spake out with a loud voice, and said, Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb. 43 And whence is this to me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me? 44 For, lo, as soon as the voice of thy salutation sounded in mine ears, the babe leaped in my womb for joy. 45 And blessed is she that believed: for there shall be a performance of those things which were told her from the Lord.
And Mary said, My soul doth magnify the Lord,
47 And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.
48 For he hath regarded the low estate of his handmaiden: for, behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed.
49 For he that is mighty hath done to me great things; and holy is his name.
50 And his mercy is on them that fear him from generation to generation.
51 He hath shewed strength with his arm; he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.
52 He hath put down the mighty from their seats, and exalted them of low degree.
53 He hath filled the hungry with good things; and the rich he hath sent empty away.
54 He hath holpen his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy;
55 As he spake to our fathers, to Abraham, and to his seed for ever.
And Mary abode with her about three months, and returned to her own house.
57 Now Elisabeth's full time came that she should be delivered; and she brought forth a son. 58 And her neighbours and her cousins heard how the Lord had shewed great mercy upon her; and they rejoiced with her.
59 And it came to pass, that on the eighth day they came to circumcise the child; and they called him Zacharias, after the name of his father. 60 And his mother answered and said, Not so; but he shall be called John. 61 And they said unto her, There is none of thy kindred that is called by this name. 62 And they made signs to his father, how he would have him called. 63 And he asked for a writing table, and wrote, saying, His name is John. And they marvelled all. 64 And his mouth was opened immediately, and his tongue loosed, and he spake, and praised God. 65 And fear came on all that dwelt round about them: and all these sayings were noised abroad throughout all the hill country of Judaea. 66 And all they that heard them laid them up in their hearts, saying, What manner of child shall this be! And the hand of the Lord was with him.
67 And his father Zacharias was filled with the Holy Ghost, and prophesied, saying
Blessed be the Lord God of Israel; for he hath visited and redeemed his people,
69 And hath raised up an horn of salvation for us in the house of his servant David;
70 As he spake by the mouth of his holy prophets, which have been since the world began:
71 That we should be saved from our enemies, and from the hand of all that hate us;
72 To perform the mercy promised to our fathers, and to remember his holy covenant;
73 The oath which he sware to our father Abraham,
74 That he would grant unto us, that we being delivered out of the hand of our enemies might serve him without fear,
75 In holiness and righteousness before him, all the days of our life.
76 And thou, child, shalt be called the prophet of the Highest: for thou shalt go before the face of the Lord to prepare his ways;
77 To give knowledge of salvation unto his people by the remission of their sins,
78 Through the tender mercy of our God; whereby the dayspring from on high hath visited us,
79 To give light to them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.
And the child grew, and waxed strong in spirit, and was in the deserts till the day of his shewing unto Israel.
And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed. 2 (And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.) 3 And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. 4 And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:) 5 To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. 6 And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. 7 And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid
him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.
8 And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. 9 And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.
And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. 11 For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. 12 And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,
Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.
And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us. 16 And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger. 17 And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child. 18 And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds. 19 But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart. 20 And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told unto them.
21 And when eight days were accomplished for the circumcising of the child, his name was called JESUS, which was so named of the angel before he was conceived in the womb.
22 And when the days of her purification according to the law of Moses were accomplished, they brought him to Jerusalem, to present him to the Lord; 23 (As it is written in the law of the LORD, Every male that openeth the womb shall be called holy to the Lord;) 24 And to offer a sacrifice according to that which is said in the law of the Lord, A pair of turtledoves, or two young pigeons.
25 And, behold, there was a man in Jerusalem, whose name was Simeon; and the same man was just and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel: and the Holy Ghost was upon him. 26 And it was revealed unto him by the Holy Ghost, that he should not see death, before he had seen the Lord's Christ. 27 And he came by the Spirit into the temple: and when the parents brought in the child Jesus, to do for him after the custom of the law, 28 Then took he him up in his arms, and blessed God, and said,
Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word:
30 For mine eyes have seen thy salvation,
31 Which thou hast prepared before the face of all people;
32 A light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of thy people Israel.
And Joseph and his mother marvelled at those things which were spoken of him. 34 And Simeon blessed them, and said unto Mary his mother, Behold, this child is set for the fall and rising again of many in Israel; and for a sign which shall be spoken against; 35 (Yea, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also,) that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.
36 And there was one Anna, a prophetess, the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Aser: she was of a great age, and had lived with an husband seven years from her virginity; 37 And she was a widow of about fourscore and four years, which departed not from the temple, but served God with fastings and prayers night and day. 38 And she coming in that instant gave thanks likewise unto the Lord, and spake of him to all them that looked for redemption in Jerusalem.
39 And when they had performed all things according to the law of the Lord, they returned into Galilee, to their own city Nazareth. 40 And the child grew, and waxed strong in spirit, filled with wisdom: and the grace of God was upon him.
[I would post the Scholar's Version of Luke's first two chapters if only to blow the cobwebs off the familiar words, or to present a clearer text than Early Modern English (the language of the King James Version) provides. But I didn't have to type this one from scratch, and the beauty of the KJV is on its best display in the many songs Luke puts in his nativity story. So muddle past the "holpens" and the spellings and archaisms as best you can.]
Matthew's nativity begins with the genealogy of Jesus of Nazareth, an important history for the children of Abraham (not yet the "Jews" in Matthew's day) since the Exile, the other great defining historical event in Hebraic history, after the Exodus from Egypt. Luke's story ends with it, although I didn't post it here. This indicates either that the writer of Luke knew Matthew's gospel, or at least the "Special Matthew" that writer got his/her nativity from; or the idea of a genealogy of Jesus was already so widespread even the Gentiles "Luke" wrote for expected it to be a part of the story. That they expected a nativity story is obvious. That a nativity story would be more of a Gentile than Hebrew expectation perhaps needs to be noted. Egyptian pharaohs marked their birthdays because they were gods; Roman emperors marked their accession to power, and became, by the time of Julius Caesar, divi filius, "son of god." There is a great deal that is radical here, in both nativity stories; claims of humanity and divinity which mix like oil and water. But where Matthew puts his story squarely in Abrahamic history, starting with the genealogy and continuing outward to the gentile Magi, Luke starts the story outside the Holy Family, and moves slowly towards them. Jesus' place in the world is through extended family, not through extended ancestry.
Luke's story starts with Zacharias, a priest doing his priestly duties in the Holy of Holies. It's helpful to understand this is an inner sanctum of a Temple laid out in three "layers." There's the outer public area, where the adult Jesus will overturn the tables of the money-changers during Passover; there's an inner courtyard where only men may enter (a very exclusive boy's club), and then the inner room to that which only priests can enter on certain days. Whether this is one of those days is doubtful; Luke's grasp of Hebraic liturgy and ceremony is not strong; but when the priest entered the holiest of places, where God might possibly appear, a rope would be tied to his ankle, in order to drag him out if the presence of God should strike him dead. God is so wholly other that when God appears in creation, creation trembles: winds blow, the earth shakes, bush catch fire but don't burn; that kind of thing. Only the greatest of prophets can face God and live: Moses does it twice (the bush, and atop Sinai), Ezekiel does it once, in a vision; Elijah does it once, as well. Zacharias gets the next best thing: an angel, which word we get from the Greek for "messenger" (we turned it into a winged being providing protection to children). A messenger here doesn't mean an errand boy, but more of a modern ambassador, a person with authority and robed in the power of the ruler. To speak to an angel is to speak to God, but to survive the experience; the angel is God's representative, but not so holy and wholly other as to be a danger to mortal existence.
Still, Zacharias, the priest, the man, the representative of authority coming down from God to the people, makes a fatal error. He doubts. There are four stories of woman facing infertility and receiving the blessing of a child from God in the Hebrew Scriptures; three of them involve direct communications with the mother, two involve communication with God by the father, in none of them does the father or mother doubt the promise of God, or even question it. The closest is Sarah, who laughs at such good news; which is why she names her son Isaac, the one who brings laughter. Zacharias stands apart, and for his doubt he is silenced until his son is named.
The silence is significant because everyone in Luke's nativity story sings when they hear good news. Mary's Magnificat is a response to her cousin's joyful greeting; the angels sing to the shepherd at the good news that Christ is born; Simeon sings out at the revelation that the savior he has waited to see has been shown to him. Luke's gospel is probably the reason we have so many Christmas songs (or probably not, but it's a lovely idea). It's certainly the reason we think angels have wings; but we'll get back to that.
So Zacharias leaves the temple unable to speak, and that's a sign to everyone else that something significant has happened. It's also a sign that Gabriel's words are true. and that everything else predicted in this story will happen. This is a story as much about the future as it is about the past. But then, the scriptural stories of promises of children are always stories about the future, not the past. There are echoes here of those stories: in Genesis 16 Sarah laughs at the idea she would finally have a child, and wonders if it can be true. In Judges 13 Manoah asks the angel of God for the angel's name, but doesn't get it: "Why do you ask my name? It is beyond understanding," is the answer, a perfectly Hebraic answer where even the name of God is withheld. Gabriel gives his name to Zacharias as evidence of his authority, and also so we will know the same messenger appears to Mary (as the angel in Judges appeared first to his wife, and then to Manoah). Mary echoes Hannah in 1 Samuel: when she is praying for a child at the Temple, Eli the priest thinks she is drunk. When she pours out her heart to him, he realizes his error and tells her: "Go in peace, and may the God of Israel grant you what you have asked of him." Hannah responds: "May your servant find favor in your eyes."
But Mary is not an old woman hoping still to have a child; she is a young woman who has not "known a man." And she is braver than Zacharias: "And when Zacharias saw him, he was troubled, and fear fell upon him." But Mary is not afraid, just concerned: "Fear not, Mary," says Gabriel; but she is just disturbed at why she should be announced as blessed among women. Mary is not afraid; Mary is humble. We can confuse this with the expected subservience of women, then and to some extent still, now. But Mary is properly humble before God; her response is "How is this going to happen?", not "That's impossible!" In that difference we already see the raising up and casting down that she will sing about to her cousin Elizabeth. And when the angel announces the future, declares what is to come, Mary responds almost with the words of Hannah: "Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word."
Are those the words of a strong woman? Or words of groveling submission? It really isn't for me to say.
The last speaker was ANDREA, a young married woman, and now OSCAR, her young husband breaks in: "God is selfish because he wants us to be his slaves. He wants our submission. Just him. I don't see why Mary has to call herself a slave. We should be free! Why just him? That's selfishness."
ALEJANDRO, who is a bachelor: "We have to be slaves of God, not of men."
Another young man: "God is love. To be a slave of love is to be free because God doesn't make us slaves. He's the only thing we should be slaves of, love. And then we don't make slaves of others.'
ALEJANDRO'S MOTHER says: "To be a slave of God is to serve others. That slavery is liberation."
I said that it's true that this selfish God Oscar spoke about does exist. And it's a God invented by people. People have often invented a god in their own image and likeness - not the true God, but idols, and those religions are alienating, an opium of the people. But the God of the Bible does not teach religion, but rather he urges Moses to take Israel out of Egypt, where the Jews were working as slaves, He led them from colonialism to liberty. And later God ordered that among those people no one could hold another as a slave, because they had been freed by him and belonged only to him, which means they were free...
The words of the "last speaker" referred to there are these:
in the words of a woman named Andrea, "[Mary] recognizes liberation.... We have to do the same thing. Liberation is from sin, that is, from selfishness, from injustice, from misery, from ignorance - from everything that's oppressive. That liberation is in our wombs too, it seems to me." Especially intriguing for our study is these "uneducated" and "unofficial" interpreters' grasp of nuance, even in their most revolutionary ideas. In a discussion about whether "the proud" automatically equates to "the rich," some argue that even a poor person can become "an exploiter in his heart" if she or he years to be rich and acts in a correspondingly exploitative manner. Others regard God's humbling of the arrogant, rich, and powerful; the exploiters must be liberated,according to Solentiname resident Olivia, "from their wealth. Because they're more slaves than we are."I mention this because there is a lively discussion still to be had about Luke's story, about Mary's words, and I don't want to offer my exegesis as the last word, or even an authoritative word, on how to understand them. Is Mary's humility proper, or improper; a sign of strength, or a sign of weakness? That should be a lively discussion. What is interesting is that Mary's acceptance prompts Gabriel to tell her more, as if to prove his word is true and can be trusted. We learn it has been six months or more since Zacharias saw Gabriel in the Temple, and that the future he promises Mary is confirmed in the future he promised to Zacharias. But it's also the mention of Elizabeth that sends Mary to see her cousin, and that carries the story forward as now the journeys of this nativity story begin.
This first journey is a voluntary one, in strong contrast to the later journey to Bethlehem. Like that story, it involves staying at the house of a family member, so in the narrative this trip foreshadows the more famous one. But it also prompts the first spontaneous overflow of powerful emotions, which doesn't happen to result in a song, but it certainly prompts one. This first journey also marks the first appearance of Luke's idea of "Holy Spirit."
And it came to pass, that, when Elisabeth heard the salutation of Mary, the babe leaped in her womb; and Elisabeth was filled with the Holy Ghost: 42 And she spake out with a loud voice, and said, Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb. 43 And whence is this to me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me? 44 For, lo, as soon as the voice of thy salutation sounded in mine ears, the babe leaped in my womb for joy. 45 And blessed is she that believed: for there shall be a performance of those things which were told her from the Lord.That idea of the Holy Ghost is important here, because it gives Elizabeth knowledge she couldn't otherwise have had. That knowledge is the knowledge of revelation, of apokalypsin, a word that appears in Simeon's song, later. Revelation is the opposite of discovery; revelation is revealed, is shown; revelation is the action of the hand of God. That notion of revelation is crucial in Luke's nativity narrative.
Elizabeth underlines the blessing on Mary who, unlike Elizabeth's husband, believed. But how would she know that, except for the inspiration of the Holy Spirit? See it as a theological or religious element if you will; it is at least a narrative device for Luke to underline what Sojourner Truth divined so many centuries later:
I'll start that discussion by quoting myself; at length, as it turns out:
God shows strength, but that strength scatters the proud "in the imagination of their hearts." The proud imagine themselves mighty and dreadful; but even in the safehold of their imaginations God scatters them.
Here are the valleys raised and the mountains lowered; and this theme will be a major one throughout Luke's narrative.
Or, as Jesus will say a bit later in Luke's gospel:
We know that much of it, from the Vulgate, in the Latin of St. Jerome. The rest, again, we interpret to our own purposes. I read a comment that garbled the rest of that line, limiting it to "men of goodwill" by turning it around and making it come out backwards. Men of good will in that comment meant people who agreed with the speaker. Luke's gospel, as much as Matthew's, tries to destroy boundaries beginning with the nativity; we work as hard as we can to replace them. God is funny like that; some consider it proof God is not us. Some, pay no attention; boundaries are a great comfort.
The blessing, the Christmas wish, is actually: peace on earth, good will toward men. Toward men because the good will comes from Heaven, and God is not human. It is a wish, a blessing, a sign that God is active in history, a wish that we would be active, too.
As an aside, this part of the story is probably where we get the idea that angels have wings; how else could they be in the sky? Of such small features are mighty theories made.
So the shepherds show up, and see the child, and are convinced by what they angels told them and what they found; and it is Mary who stores all this in her heart. Joseph? He's a cipher. And while the shepherds praise God and start spreading the evangel, the good news, of what they have heard and seen, they don't get a song. There is a fourth song coming, but it will be by another named individual. In the meantime, no one listens to the talk of shepherds, at least no one with political or temporal power, so there is no danger to the child, and the story moves on to his presentation at the Temple. This occasions another journey, though we seldom notice it. Time passes and the scene shifts to Jerusalem, the setting for the conclusion of the nativity story, and the final song, a song again inspired by the activity of God.
This journey to Jerusalem is not a minor narrative point; it is a counterbalance to the decree of the census. This journey, like the one to Bethlehem, is required of the Holy Family; but this journey is in accordance with the laws of the God of Abraham, not the whims and needs of Caesar (who is only doing it to assess taxes, another burden on the poor by the rich). God uses the census to have Jesus born in the city of David; God's law brings the Holy Family to Jerusalem so they can be a blessing to, and receive a blessing from, Simeon; and so Mary can get one more thing to store in her heart:
Luke's gospel emphasizes the poverty, the fringe of society, the powerlessness of the Holy Family. That's in Matthew's story, too, but we overlook the danger that forces them to flee to Egypt, stay several years there, and then return not to Bethlehem, but to Nazareth so they can remain incognito. But Luke's story doesn't draw the attention of Herod or any rulers; who listens to shepherds, then or now? These two nativity stories are diptychs, each telling the same story in only slightly different ways. Matthew emphasizes the light to the nations and the threat to world power; Luke emphasizes the poverty and the redemption that comes from the fringes toward the center. Both stories ultimately affirm the same theme: glory to God in the highest and on earth peace, good will toward men. Not that we have that yet; but we have the faith (trust) that it will come.
"That man say we can't have as much rights as a man 'cause Christ wasn't a woman. Where did your Christ come from? From God and a woman. Man had nothing to do with it."Because you will notice so far we have four characters in this story, and of the three mortals only one is male; and he whiffed it. Mary and Elizabeth carry the weight here, and carry it effortlessly. And in another foreshadowing of the stay in Bethlehem, Mary stays with Elizabeth for three months; or until just about the time Elizabeth's son is born. But to skip to that is to race past the first significant song in Luke's gospel.
I'll start that discussion by quoting myself; at length, as it turns out:
Quite a lot to claim on just the word of an angel; a lot of expectation for her child. But she doesn’t speak in the future tense; she sings about the present. She praise what God has done, not what God will do; she focuses on the fulfillment of the promise, not a new expectation.That's one interpretation, but I stand by it. There are others, such as to point out how this song fits the context of Luke's story. Mary starts with praise of God by God working through Mary: "My soul magnifies the Lord." Which still could be a political statement, as Dom Crossan and Jonathan Reed pointed out:
And everything is shattered: thrones, wealth, worthiness; all mean nothing. Hunger and low estate are reversed, power and arrogance are defeated. All without firing a shot. All without anything yet having really happened. How can this be?
One other thing: this is not a political statement. This is not about a greater power than all others on earth, overwhelming what we know and wiping it out. If reason is really going to save us from ourselves, it can only do so by overpowering emotions; it will only do so when we all finally and fully think alike, and praise the same things, and damn the same things, and there is no deviation. It will only finally rule supreme when human emotion is wiped out, and desires and wants are expunged. Reason will only finally be our best and highest ruler when everyone is a slave and no one thinks unlike the rest, and the philosopher kings take their rightful place, and we all learn to bounce our ball in sequence on the coldly perfect planet of Camazotz.
The Magnificat is not a political song. It is not the Maccabees taking on Rome and precipating the slaughter of Jerusalem in 70 C.E. It is not the Pax Romana that finally fell, never to rise again. It is not the plea of the Populists, of New Deal Democrats, the Yippies, or the Green Party. The Magnificat is not about what will be, but about what is.
It is not about resistance, about plans to rule and overpower, either malicious or benign. It understands implicitly: there is no power without resistance. It is not a song of resistance, or a song of prediction.
It is a song of now.
On the one hand, "lord" was a polite term usable by slave to master or disciple to teacher. On the other, "the Lord" meant the emperor himself.To speak of God as "Lord" is to speak as a handmaiden; or it is to jump right past the emperor; to declare this Lord will pull down the mighty from their seats, is to predict political chaos and the destruction of the Pax Romana. Or it is to declare the vision of streams in the desert and every valley filled and every high place made low, that all might see the glory of the Lord. But notice first how much it is a praise of God, and a thanksgiving for blessings already received, for Mary and for the children of Abraham. And then she explains why she is praising God: not just for what God has done, but for what God is going to do. Notice how each prediction is balanced, how each declaration of what God will do declares justice and restoration of order:
He hath shewed strength with his arm; he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.
God shows strength, but that strength scatters the proud "in the imagination of their hearts." The proud imagine themselves mighty and dreadful; but even in the safehold of their imaginations God scatters them.
He hath put down the mighty from their seats, and exalted them of low degree.
Here are the valleys raised and the mountains lowered; and this theme will be a major one throughout Luke's narrative.
He hath filled the hungry with good things; and the rich he hath sent empty away.
Or, as Jesus will say a bit later in Luke's gospel:
Congratulations, you hungry!But for now Luke puts all the power in the hands of women. The story returns to Elizabeth after Mary leaves. Her delivery brings the blessings of the community to her, recognizing her blessing from God. And she's in charge when it comes time to name the baby. When she says the boy will be named John, Zacharias writes his agreement and that finally frees his tongue. Mary and Elizabeth have their agency; Zacharias has to learn his lesson.
You will have a feast.
Damn you rich!
You already have your consolation!
Like Mary's Magnificat, [Zacharias'] Benedictus is a doxology and a prophecy, a truth-telling, about the present and the future. As befits a priest, he recalls the covenant history starting with Abraham, connecting the child yet to be born (Mary's) to the genealogy yet to be given (waiting in Luke's narrative until after the nativity story is over). Mary's Magnificat is about revolution; the Benedictus is about salvation; fittingly, about blessings. And again, to quote myself:
And as soon as Zecharias fulfills the word of the Lord as spoken by the angel, he can speak again, and he sings. We call that one the Benedictus, because the Latin version begins: “Benedictus Dominus, Deus Israel.” Mary’s song praises what God will do; Zecharias' song praises what God has done. Together they tie up the strands of history, past and future, and make them one moving knot through the present, but all of time connected through that knot, through the moving present. Ironically, Zechariah’s song also does one more thing, in a way Luke never could have foreseen or intended. It ends with the one use of the word “epiphany” in all the Gospels.
The word means “revelation,” but it also means “light, illumination.” Epiphanai, sings Zecharias: Epiphanai tois en skotei kai skia thanatou kathamenois: light to those in darkness and in death’s shadow. Epiphanai: light, to show us the way. And so the Christmas stories connect again, through music.
That connection is, specifically, with Matthew's story of the Magi, celebrated by the church as the Epiphany. But hold on to that image of the knot of past and future moving as the present through history; Luke will make much use of it before the nativity story is through.
Now we get to the most famous part of the nativity stories and, again, we get it wrong. We condense the timeline so much we have Joseph and Mary arrive in Bethlehem in the day, and she gives birth that night. As Luke actually tells it, they spend several days before she gives birth. And she lays the baby in the manger because the house is full, not because the holy family is in a stable. Stables are a northern European structure from many centuries later.
We hasten Mary's pregnancy the better to heighten the narrative tension and prove the world a cruel and harsh place, inimical to the savior; and ignore our role in making the world that way. It doesn't happen that Mary is forced to a stable to give birth while animals look on, and it doesn't happen that she is in labor even as Joseph tries in vain to find a place to stay. We invented that part to make their plight worse than even Luke says it is, to overlook the power of the government in forcing the family on this journey, to overlook a system that makes Mary and Joseph poor ("Carpenter" meant one step up from beggar, not a journeyman tradesman with a union card. Jesus' father is no better off than the fishermen he will recruit later; he recruits them because he's one of them, he grew up as poor as they live.). We want the story to be a bit crueler so we can tell ourselves we'd have taken better care of them if we'd been there; but we don't now. Brueghel and Auden are our corrective. An anonymous poet is our corrective. Luke sets up the obstacles to our comfort; over the centuries we've done our best to flatten them out.
Joseph appears for the first time in this narrative, and he has no role in it except "husband." His role here is social: to make Mary and Jesus legitimate. Mary still takes center stage; where she is silent in Matthew's telling, she is the actor in Luke's. More reversals, because the angels never speak to Joseph, but they go out to the hills where the shepherds are awake (!) and sing to them.
The thing about shepherds is, they aren't the pale and idyllic figures of later Romantic literature (some 1800 years later!). They are outlaws, bikers, people on the fringe of a society that has a very large and broad fringe (imagine a funnel with a point at the top for the Emperor, a very attenuated reach up to the Emperor, and a very, very broad base out of all proportion to the peak. It's a system of patronage, where wealth concentrates at the top and trickles down to the bottom, a bottom where the majority live, and where very little wealth trickles down. On the far edge of that bottom, you find the shepherds.). They stink, and they steal. You can't brand sheep, and if a few more come home with you than you left with, that's to your benefit. They live outside town, they aren't welcome among polite company, they have their own rules of behavior and they scare most people, the way working class workers do to this day. If such a thing were known then, they would be migrant immigrant labor. This is who the angels sing to; this is who comes to see Mary's baby. The people we want doing our lawns, building our buildings, cleaning our offices; but never, ever crossing our border.
Luke is dealing in social-economic concepts we've all but lost today. The shepherds aren't comic figures from medieval mystery plays (the ones we turned into Christmas pageants with children in bathrobes and a few live animals); they aren't the unsullied pure hearts of the noble poor of the Romantics. They make the carpenter Joseph look rich; their business practices would shame Micheal Cohen and Donald Trump. But they are invited; they get the news first:
Again, the first thing the angels do is reassure. Maybe they have learned from Mary; maybe they expect better of priests like Zacharias. But they tell the shepherds not to be afraid, and they tell them the sign: a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. Someone like them, in other words; a child of poverty, born to peasants, the Savior, the Anointed One, the Christ, the Lord. And there's that word again; it can hardly mean "master" this time, not when applied to a peasant's baby swaddled in a feeding trough. It has to be political; and we forget, too, so many millennia later, how dangerous that claim would be. But Herod doesn't hear it, nor does Caesar; only shepherds hear, and then they hear the gloria:We hasten Mary's pregnancy the better to heighten the narrative tension and prove the world a cruel and harsh place, inimical to the savior; and ignore our role in making the world that way. It doesn't happen that Mary is forced to a stable to give birth while animals look on, and it doesn't happen that she is in labor even as Joseph tries in vain to find a place to stay. We invented that part to make their plight worse than even Luke says it is, to overlook the power of the government in forcing the family on this journey, to overlook a system that makes Mary and Joseph poor ("Carpenter" meant one step up from beggar, not a journeyman tradesman with a union card. Jesus' father is no better off than the fishermen he will recruit later; he recruits them because he's one of them, he grew up as poor as they live.). We want the story to be a bit crueler so we can tell ourselves we'd have taken better care of them if we'd been there; but we don't now. Brueghel and Auden are our corrective. An anonymous poet is our corrective. Luke sets up the obstacles to our comfort; over the centuries we've done our best to flatten them out.
Joseph appears for the first time in this narrative, and he has no role in it except "husband." His role here is social: to make Mary and Jesus legitimate. Mary still takes center stage; where she is silent in Matthew's telling, she is the actor in Luke's. More reversals, because the angels never speak to Joseph, but they go out to the hills where the shepherds are awake (!) and sing to them.
The thing about shepherds is, they aren't the pale and idyllic figures of later Romantic literature (some 1800 years later!). They are outlaws, bikers, people on the fringe of a society that has a very large and broad fringe (imagine a funnel with a point at the top for the Emperor, a very attenuated reach up to the Emperor, and a very, very broad base out of all proportion to the peak. It's a system of patronage, where wealth concentrates at the top and trickles down to the bottom, a bottom where the majority live, and where very little wealth trickles down. On the far edge of that bottom, you find the shepherds.). They stink, and they steal. You can't brand sheep, and if a few more come home with you than you left with, that's to your benefit. They live outside town, they aren't welcome among polite company, they have their own rules of behavior and they scare most people, the way working class workers do to this day. If such a thing were known then, they would be migrant immigrant labor. This is who the angels sing to; this is who comes to see Mary's baby. The people we want doing our lawns, building our buildings, cleaning our offices; but never, ever crossing our border.
Luke is dealing in social-economic concepts we've all but lost today. The shepherds aren't comic figures from medieval mystery plays (the ones we turned into Christmas pageants with children in bathrobes and a few live animals); they aren't the unsullied pure hearts of the noble poor of the Romantics. They make the carpenter Joseph look rich; their business practices would shame Micheal Cohen and Donald Trump. But they are invited; they get the news first:
8 And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. 9 And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.
And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. 11 For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. 12 And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,
Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.
Gloria in excelsis Deo!
We know that much of it, from the Vulgate, in the Latin of St. Jerome. The rest, again, we interpret to our own purposes. I read a comment that garbled the rest of that line, limiting it to "men of goodwill" by turning it around and making it come out backwards. Men of good will in that comment meant people who agreed with the speaker. Luke's gospel, as much as Matthew's, tries to destroy boundaries beginning with the nativity; we work as hard as we can to replace them. God is funny like that; some consider it proof God is not us. Some, pay no attention; boundaries are a great comfort.
The blessing, the Christmas wish, is actually: peace on earth, good will toward men. Toward men because the good will comes from Heaven, and God is not human. It is a wish, a blessing, a sign that God is active in history, a wish that we would be active, too.
As an aside, this part of the story is probably where we get the idea that angels have wings; how else could they be in the sky? Of such small features are mighty theories made.
So the shepherds show up, and see the child, and are convinced by what they angels told them and what they found; and it is Mary who stores all this in her heart. Joseph? He's a cipher. And while the shepherds praise God and start spreading the evangel, the good news, of what they have heard and seen, they don't get a song. There is a fourth song coming, but it will be by another named individual. In the meantime, no one listens to the talk of shepherds, at least no one with political or temporal power, so there is no danger to the child, and the story moves on to his presentation at the Temple. This occasions another journey, though we seldom notice it. Time passes and the scene shifts to Jerusalem, the setting for the conclusion of the nativity story, and the final song, a song again inspired by the activity of God.
This journey to Jerusalem is not a minor narrative point; it is a counterbalance to the decree of the census. This journey, like the one to Bethlehem, is required of the Holy Family; but this journey is in accordance with the laws of the God of Abraham, not the whims and needs of Caesar (who is only doing it to assess taxes, another burden on the poor by the rich). God uses the census to have Jesus born in the city of David; God's law brings the Holy Family to Jerusalem so they can be a blessing to, and receive a blessing from, Simeon; and so Mary can get one more thing to store in her heart:
And, behold, there was a man in Jerusalem, whose name was Simeon; and the same man was just and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel: and the Holy Ghost was upon him. 26 And it was revealed unto him by the Holy Ghost, that he should not see death, before he had seen the Lord's Christ. 27 And he came by the Spirit into the temple: and when the parents brought in the child Jesus, to do for him after the custom of the law, 28 Then took he him up in his arms, and blessed God, and said,For the second time the Holy Spirit is the in spiritus, the inspiration, for song; and again, the Holy Ghost inspires a man. Simeon bookends Zacharias, offering a doxology to God and another prophecy about the child, as well as a second prophecy to the mother, this time (and for the first time in Luke's narrative) with a dark warning, also to Mary. Joseph wonders, as his wife does, but Mary gets all the messages. This is not a slight against Joseph but more of Isaiah's streams in the desert, of low places raised up and high places brought low. The image of streams in the desert is life where apparently all is lifeless (Elizabeth's pregnancy); the handmaiden of the Lord is blessed among women, and women are just as important as men (Anna seems almost the afterthought here, but she is a prophetess and given a lineage, just like Zacharias at the beginning (Simeon is simply "just and devout")). And it is Anna who, like the shepherds, spreads the evangel, the good news of the child. God uses the most marginalized to spread the message of the angels, just as God chose the most marginalized to be the Holy Family. Luke's nativity ends with the years of Jesus' childhood passed over, years left to others to fill in with infancy gospels about what Jesus did before Luke's story takes up again.
Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word:
30 For mine eyes have seen thy salvation,
31 Which thou hast prepared before the face of all people;
32 A light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of thy people Israel.
And Joseph and his mother marvelled at those things which were spoken of him. 34 And Simeon blessed them, and said unto Mary his mother, Behold, this child is set for the fall and rising again of many in Israel; and for a sign which shall be spoken against; 35 (Yea, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also,) that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.
36 And there was one Anna, a prophetess, the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Aser: she was of a great age, and had lived with an husband seven years from her virginity; 37 And she was a widow of about fourscore and four years, which departed not from the temple, but served God with fastings and prayers night and day. 38 And she coming in that instant gave thanks likewise unto the Lord, and spake of him to all them that looked for redemption in Jerusalem.
Luke's gospel emphasizes the poverty, the fringe of society, the powerlessness of the Holy Family. That's in Matthew's story, too, but we overlook the danger that forces them to flee to Egypt, stay several years there, and then return not to Bethlehem, but to Nazareth so they can remain incognito. But Luke's story doesn't draw the attention of Herod or any rulers; who listens to shepherds, then or now? These two nativity stories are diptychs, each telling the same story in only slightly different ways. Matthew emphasizes the light to the nations and the threat to world power; Luke emphasizes the poverty and the redemption that comes from the fringes toward the center. Both stories ultimately affirm the same theme: glory to God in the highest and on earth peace, good will toward men. Not that we have that yet; but we have the faith (trust) that it will come.
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