Luke 2: 1–20
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May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be
acceptable in thy sight, O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.
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This year, as we read the familiar old story once again, I’m
surprised to realize I have new questions arising around
it . . . and maybe some new thoughts
too. For I can’t help wondering what Mary and Joseph
were thinking — making that long hundred–mile journey from
Nazareth to Bethlehem — when, clearly, Mary’s baby was due
any day. Weren’t they worried, weren’t they
concerned, that Mary’s baby might arrive en route?
Weren’t they concerned for both mother and baby?
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You and I might have risked such a trip, but then, we’d be counting
on driving that distance — driving on smooth roads in just a
few hours. But Joseph was walking, leading a donkey
with Mary on its back. And Google Maps estimates that
journey would take 34 hours — not counting frequent stops to rest,
to navigate deep wadis bisecting the path or to search out inns where
they might stay for a night. But they did it anyhow, and I
can’t help wondering why.
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Maybe they made that trip because they had no choice. Luke
opens his story by telling us that Augustus Caesar, the emperor of the
known universe, had decreed that an empire–wide census be taken, so
everyone might be taxed and fill his dwindling coffers. Then
he tells us that Quirinius, a local governor, was going to be enforcing the
emperor’s edict. These were the movers and shakers of
the day, people everybody feared and obeyed. Each and every
citizen was to return to his ancestral home to be counted, to fill out
some government form and find out just how much money he owed.
Mary and Joseph lived in Nazareth now, but Joseph, as the King James
Version puts it, was of the House and lineage of David. And
David’s town was Bethlehem. So to Bethlehem they went.
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By the time they arrived, Mary was in labor. The birth was
imminent . . . and they really did need
a place to stay, a warm and quiet place. And at this point in
the story, Luke seems to switch his focus — from the
powers–that–be he started with — to smaller, less
significant figures.
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So of course at this point we expect to hear something about the
innkeeper, the figure who will announce to the young couple that his
inn is completely full — and he can’t accommodate another
soul. But truth to tell, there actually is no innkeeper
figure in Luke’s story. We’ve just inferred there
must be after watching countless Christmas pageants, with either an
adamant innkeeper, refusing them room, or a kinder one, suddenly
remembering the stable out back where he tells them they are welcome to
stay.
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All we really know from Luke’s story is that somehow, the young
couple found their way to that stable, and there Mary gave birth to the
infant Jesus, swaddling him in linen cloths and laying him in a manger,
filled with hay. And often enough, that’s where we end
our story. The baby Jesus has been born on a starlit night
in Bethlehem. God has given us the unfathomable gift of his
own Son, the Savior of the world. And maybe that’s
enough miracle, enough wonder and mystery for today.
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But this year, I found myself thinking more about the next part of the
story, the story of the shepherds out at night on the hillside outside
Bethlehem, tending their sheep, when the angel surprises them with his
announcement of the birth. And the thing that caught my
attention was what the angel says to these astonished shepherds when
he first appears to them. “Fear not,” he
says, “for, Behold – I bring you good tidings of great joy,
which shall be to all people!” And then he tells
them to go check his message out by going to Bethlehem to seek the sign
he has just announced to them.
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Hmmn, I wondered. Isn’t that pretty close to what the
angel Gabriel said to Mary when he first appeared to her, announcing she
would bear the Son of God? — “Fear not, Mary, I have
good news for you; you have found favor with
God.” And then tells her about the parallel mystery of
her kinswoman Elizabeth – a woman who was supposed to be beyond
her childbearing years – but was now in her sixth month.
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And that message, in turn, is close to what an angel said to Joseph in a
dream when Joseph had decided to put Mary away privately, after learning
she was with child. “Fear not, Joseph, to take Mary as your
wife; for the baby conceived in her is of the Holy
Ghost.” And with that, Joseph did as the angel advised
him to.
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Could it be, I wondered, that with that admonition to “Fear
not,” somehow the shepherds really did lose their
fear – no longer worrying about their sheep as they raced off to
Bethlehem to see for themselves the sign the shepherds had announced to
them – a baby, wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a
manger Could that be why they were willing to leave their
sheep that night, trusting somehow, that this good news of great joy was
even more important?
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Could it be, I wondered that the “Fear not!” message
Mary had received from the angel Gabriel was what empowered her, soon
afterward, to seek out her kinswoman Elizabeth and then —
unafraid — sing Magnificat? Announcing support and
strength to those who believe the angelic message — and the
downfall of all who think they’re above such childish belief.
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And finally, last of all, could that be why Mary and Joseph dared to take
the long, rough journey to Bethlehem, even when she was great with
child? Was it simply that their newfound trust in God now finally
surpassed their fear?
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Could it be, could it be that all these ‘fear nots’ have
begun to usher in the Kingdom of God?
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