The Gift of Poetic Challenge

Matthew 5:1-12

During our weekly Bible study we have talked about the fact that some things cannot be explained with words. It tends to come up when we encounter a passage where the words are confusing. We muse about it for a while, and we begin to think that this might be one of those situations that words cannot describe.

Still, we try, because words are the best device we have. If you have ever found yourself in a foreign country where you didn’t understand what anyone was saying, and they didn’t understand you, you know how frustrating it is to not have words. You try gestures, pointing, maybe drawing pictures, but nothing works as well as words.

We sometimes call ourselves people of the book – both Christians and Jews – because we rely on the words of scripture so completely. What would we do without words? And yet we know very well, if we spend enough time in the scriptures, that there are many instances where words can actually lead us astray.

There are a bunch of reasons for this – problems with translation, multiple manuscripts that don’t entirely agree, incomplete manuscripts where words are missing. All of these, but the most significant reason, I believe, is that we are trying to use words to say something that there are actually no words for.

Jesus is doing that all the time. He wants to tell us about heaven, the realm of God. But there are no words adequate to really give us a clear understanding of heaven.

The prophets of the Old Testament had the same challenge, as they tried, repeatedly, to tell the people what God wants them to know. Imagine being given the task of speaking for God. So prophets end up doing really weird stuff. Like the prophet Ahijah, who took his brand new, never yet worn, garment and tore it in 12 pieces, because he wanted to say something about the 12 tribes of Israel. Or Ezekiel, who lay down on his left side for 390 days to demonstrate the length of punishment for the land of Israel – just one of the many weird things Ezekiel did. Sort of like performance art, really. 

They say not all art is meant to be beautiful and I believe that’s true. Because not everything that needs to be said is beautiful.

Even when the subject is the kingdom of heaven. To what can the kingdom of heaven be compared? Mustard seed? Yeast? Absurd images, aren’t they?

What is the kingdom of heaven like? This is something we want to know. Those of us who want to dwell in the kingdom, we want to know what we are looking for. What are we hoping for?

In the last chapter, we were with Jesus as he began to call his disciples, saying “follow me” – they abruptly rose, letting go what they held in their hands, and followed him. And then, with these disciples, he began walking all through Galilee, healing the people of their suffering, proclaiming the kingdom of heaven – sometimes with words. 

Soon he had accumulated a crowd of people following him, and he sat down on a mountain and began to speak.

Blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

And on he went, lifting up one truly miserable state after another – the mourning, the meek, the hungry and thirsty – and calling it blessed.

Not every single one would be called miserable, no. I can appreciate merciful, pure in heart, peacemaker – which are all admirable. It’s just that – well, we don’t choose those things too often, do we? We like mercy in theory, but given a choice, nine times out of ten we would choose to see our enemy punished. 

And it gets worse.

Blessed are you when people hate you, when they persecute you, when they slander you –

For yours is the kingdom of heaven.

Who can blame us, then, if we believe that only suffering will get us to our eternal reward. Doesn’t that seem like what Jesus is saying?

When I was working as a hospital chaplain years ago, I walked into a patient’s room to say hello. Introduce myself. I could immediately see she was suffering. And she already had a visitor at her bedside. He was a deacon from her church. He struck me as very chipper, high-spirited. He held the hand of this elderly woman who was obviously in pain, and he loudly proclaimed to her – and me, and anyone who happened to be nearby in the hallway – how very fortunate she was because clearly God favored her to give her such suffering. I thought, that is some kind of crackpot theology – also, just bad manners. I think the woman in the bed might have thought so too, although she was as polite as she could be, given the amount of pain she was experiencing. 

I promise I won’t ever tell you that God gives you suffering to earn your reward in heaven. I don’t believe that. But it is true, nonetheless, that all of us suffer. We all have pain and hardships, and there is no point in denying it. And I think that fact is closer to what Jesus is saying.

Pain is real. Mourning is real. Injustice is real. And those things are particularly real if you have a kingdom mentality.

Because in the kingdom of heaven, we know the pain of others as we know our own pain. We feel injustice toward others as if we, ourselves, were being treated that way. This way is the kingdom way, where we feel the grief of a child being separated from his parent, where we feel anger when innocent people are knocked to the ground and have pepper spray shot in their faces. Or worse, bullets.

Kingdom people don’t ignore the pain of others. We don’t pat them on the hand and tell them, it’s just God’s way. It’s not God’s way.

God’s way is the way of mercy and justice and grace. Things that are actually hard to say in words – which takes me back where I started. Every word Jesus said about the kingdom of heaven is a metaphor for something that could not be said. Poetry.

Thank God for the gift of poetry. Metaphors. Images that convey things that cannot be said in ordinary prose. Thank God for music, which bypasses the mind’s censors and allows us to just feel something true. And for a tender human touch, which can be a thousand times more powerful than any words we might say. Thank God for all the ways we have to express the goodness of God. 

 Photo by Glen Carrie on Unsplash

God's Grief

This morning I picked up a devotional book called, For Such A Time as This, by Hanna Reichel, turned to page 46 and read this bit of verse from Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

People turn to God when they are sore bestead;
pray for help, ask for peace and bread;

seek release from being ill, guilty, and dead;
so do they all, all, Christians and heathens.

People turn to God when He is sore bestead,
find him poor, scorned, without roof and bread,
devoured by weakness and sin, near dead:
Christians stand by God in God’s grief.

God turns to all people when they are sore bestead,

feeds their souls and bodies with God’s bread;

for Christians and heathens at the cross

God meets death: and gives both of them relief.

(translated from German by Martin Tel and Hanna Reichel)

This week our grief and confusion, our fear and anger are heightened by the killing of Alex Pretti in Minneapolis.

Bonhoeffer wrote this poem while he was imprisoned. He expresses the idea that people of all faiths or none will turn to God when in deep distress – “sore bestead,” as he says. He also suggests that, when there is great suffering in the world, God, too, is “sore bestead” right along with us.

We know God has a special concern for any who are suffering injustice and oppression. We read in Jesus’ Parable of the Judgment on the Nations, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me” (Matthew 25:40).

All people cry out to God when they find themselves in the darkest valley. But the difference for a Christian is this essential thing: to cry out to God when we see another in that darkest valley. To be a Christian is to make the commitment to stand with the hungry, the persecuted, the stranger – just as God does.

As Bonhoeffer wrote, “Christians stand by God in God’s grief.” Amen.

Photo by Outcast India on Unsplash

The Gift of Bold Action

Matthew 4:12-23 

This sermon was recorded and released before hearing about the killing of Alex Pretti in Minneapolis. Such reckless violence and cruel loss of life adds weight to the need for Christians to act boldly.

I once had a pastor who loved Taco Bell. It was his go-to. I think their taco supreme and nacho cheese chips were a staple in his diet – that is, until the day he decided to participate in a boycott of Taco Bell.

This was back in 2001. There was a nationwide boycott of the restaurant chain in support of migrant farm workers – the ones who pick the tomatoes for the tacos. The concerns included poor working and living conditions and extremely low wages for workers who had very little power to stand up for their rights. Several denominations supported it – the PCUSA, the United Methodist Church, the Disciples of Christ, as well as the National Council of Churches, all promoted the boycott to draw attention to an injustice and put pressure on a corporation to deal more fairly with these workers. 

I remember when this pastor spoke about it from the pulpit. He wanted us to know that he believed in the power of taking such actions if, by doing so, you could improve the lives of vulnerable people. After all, isn’t this what Jesus taught us – to care for the least of these?

The boycott finally ended in 2005 when the corporation that owns Taco Bell finally agreed to work with the farmworkers organization. For four years our pastor had lived without his tacos and nachos. And he again spoke from the pulpit to let us know the boycott was ending because they had achieved their goal. Also that he was looking forward to hitting the drive-through as soon as possible.

Some people laughed at him. They thought it was a quirky thing, or even a silly thing for him to do. But he wasn’t embarrassed by it. He knew in his heart that he was doing the right thing, and he rejoiced when the boycott ended. 

The Montgomery Bus Boycott is a similar example of bold action taken for the sake of justice, a desire to make a change for the better. Many churches were involved in organizing and supporting this effort, along with all the other efforts for civil rights. This boycott turned the city’s transit system on its head; it required considerable sacrifices from the participants and those who supported them. It took a year to achieve their goal of desegregating the bus system. And the people rejoiced when it ended.

Boycotts are just one, relatively simple, way to stand up and take action for the sake of making a change for the better.

This story in Matthew’s gospel about the calling of Simon and Andrew and James and John is a tale of bold action. It might strike us as impulsive action. It seems as though they were in the middle of one action – Andrew and Simon casting their nets; James and John mending theirs – when they all suddenly dropped their nets, stepped out of their boats and followed Jesus. No telling if they already knew him or if he was a perfect stranger. No telling if they had already been thinking about this when Jesus approached them or if it just came out of the blue. 

And it doesn’t really matter exactly how it happened. The point of the story is this: when it is about following Jesus, sometimes bold action is necessary. Sometimes certain sacrifices are required. Risks need to be taken.

These men took the risk of following Jesus as he unfolded a vision of a more just world. They took a risk every single day in the years that followed. And after Jesus was executed, they continued to follow his vision, his way – as the Holy Spirit guided them in bold action.

I see people of faith taking action every day as they follow Jesus – to love and serve their neighbors. Most of the time they are doing it quietly, even anonymously. But there are also times when we are called to muster our courage, come together, and act boldly.

Christians are still called today to respond to an unjust and sinful world with their bold actions. At our best, we do it together. Like the communities of faith peacefully protesting in the streets of Minneapolis: protecting their neighbors; guarding day care centers, because young children have been used as bait to draw parents out, so they can be detained and removed. Imagine this happening to your own child. Taking bold action for a more compassionate world is an appropriate Christian response.

Simon and Andrew and James and John didn’t know what they would be called to do until they were called to do it. None of us knows, either, until the moment we do. 

May the Spirit give you strength and guide your steps when you hear the call.

Photo by Chris Slupski on Unsplash

The Gift of Curiosity

John 1:29-42

During these weeks between Epiphany and the start of Lent, we are exploring the gifts of God that keep on giving. Gifts that may not seem like gifts at first glance. Gifts that only God can give. And this week it is the gift of curiosity.

My mother liked to talk about how I would drive her crazy when I was young, by always asking, “Why?” I guess, like a lot of children, I just wanted answers.

I was very curious. Not terribly adventurous – I was cautious about where I went and what I did. But, you find out, curiosity will sometimes lead you right into great adventures.

Think of Moses. Out in the wilderness with the sheep when he sees something unusual in his peripheral vision. It’s a bush that seems to be in flames. Moses was curious; he wanted to know why this was happening, and so he went near to examine this strange thing. That was the beginning of the end of Moses’ normal, boring life and the start of a great new adventure. Not only for him, but all of Israel.

But what if Moses had lacked the curiosity to take a closer look at the bush? How sad.

It’s actually a common tale in the scriptures – a tale of curiosity. Consider all the people who did not run away and hide when the angels appeared. The shepherds in the fields who took up the invitation to go see the newborn child in the manger. Mary, who listened calmly to the angel, asked a question for clarification, then said, “Okay. Let it be.”

Curiosity is a very good thing to have. Curiosity is what led these two disciples of John to break off and start following Jesus. It was John who drew their attention to Jesus in the first place. “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” John said to them, and these guys were off.

I think it is unlikely that either of these men were expecting such a turn of events that day. They had neither planned nor prepared for it, but their curiosity led them.

It is a strange series of events we hear about in this text. Something surprising happened when John’s disciples heard him say, “Behold, here is the Lamb of God.”

Now, Lamb of God was not a title. There was no reason why John’s disciples would have recognized the term and known what it meant. It’s actually an odd name for John to call Jesus. A lamb is meek, mild. Maybe not too smart or too strong. We don’t think of lambs as leaders, do we? We don’t envision ourselves following a lamb.

There is really only one thing they would have associated with the phrase Lamb of God.

This goes back to the book of Exodus, when Israel was enslaved in Egypt. The story says that God visited ten plagues on the Egyptians to compel the Pharaoh to release the Israelites from their slavery. Frogs, locusts, boils, and so on. The final plague being the death of the firstborn sons of Egypt. And so, the story goes, the Israelites were instructed to sacrifice a lamb, and then smear the blood of the lamb on the doorposts of their houses. When the angel of death saw the blood he would pass over that house, sparing them. This is remembered every year in the celebration of the Passover. 

Because of this, all of Israel knows what a lamb represents – sacrifice.

Nonetheless, these two men, disciples of John, followed Jesus. They didn’t know anything about him and, I suppose, they didn’t really know why they were following him. They could not have understood then just what the phrase Lamb of God could have meant about Jesus. Nonetheless, they followed.

When he noticed them he asked, “What are you looking for?” That was a really good question, but they didn’t have a good answer. The truth was, most likely, they didn’t know what they were looking for. How many of us do know what we are looking for? In fact, someone said to me, “I really need some guidance to be able to answer that question.” Most of us don’t know enough to know what we are looking for. So these two men answered his question with their own question – “Where are you staying?”

Which sounds like a non sequitur. And not a very smart question. But let’s give them credit for fumbling through it, staying in the conversation, staying open to whatever might happen next. “Where are you staying,” they asked Jesus.

And it might actually be a better question than it sounds, because in that question, we might hear –

May I go with you?

Can I know who you are?

Will you be my teacher?

Jesus answered them, “Come and see,” which is another way of saying, “Yes.” Come and learn about me, come and work with me, come and begin a new life with me. And they did.  One of these two was Andrew, the brother of Simon. The first thing he did after spending some time with Jesus was to go find his brother Simon and say to him, “Come – we have found the Messiah.” And Simon went with him. 

And when they arrived, Jesus said to Simon, “You will be called Cephas,” which is translated Peter.

Peter, the rock on whom Christ would build his church. This church.

You don’t know, when you say yes to the call, where it will lead you. When I joined the Presbyterian Church, I certainly didn’t know that I would, within a couple of years, be called to serve as a Director of Christian Education for the congregation. And I sure did not know when I said yes to that call that God would soon be calling me to pastoral ministry. 

You know, one thing leads to another. But God always knows the plans God has for us. Sometimes it involves some pretty tall orders – ask any of the Hebrew prophets, they knew all about that. 

Another person who knew all about how hard the call of God could be was the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King. It is his life we remember this weekend with gratitude. King was a person who had to stay curious. No matter what happened to him, no matter how much cruelty others threw at him, he kept his heart open, he practiced compassion. There were so many who regarded him with hate, but he responded with love. I don’t think there is any possible way to do that without curiosity about people and a desire to understand them, to know their heart. 

God simply asks us to come and see, to be curious … to trust … to take the next step with Jesus.

From that first step, each day is another yes, another step in the life of discipleship. We don’t know where that life will take us, but the only way we will stay on the path is to greet each day with a heart and mind that are open. Curious. Willing to be formed into the shape of Christ.

What about you? Would you call yourself curious? Are you willing to learn and be changed by what you learn? 

When Jesus asks you, “What are you looking for,” will you be bold enough to try and tell him? 

When Jesus invites you to, “Come and see,” will you trust enough to go, taking that next step?

No matter what else your call entails, at its most basic, the call of Jesus is about following this particular way that he will show you. And you will see this is a way that leads with love.

May you stay curious. May you stay on the Way. And may you always lead with love.

The Gift of Community

Matthew 3:13-17

The Baptism of the Lord Sunday is a good time for us to remember our baptism, which is something we share with Jesus. He was baptized by John in the Jordan River. John didn’t actually want to baptize Jesus, He protested, “I should be baptized by you! Why are you coming to be baptized by me?” 

John wasn’t wrong about this. But Jesus was doing something new. With his life, Jesus was writing a story – a story about who we are as human beings. A story about a family knit together by love and faith. A story that began long before he was born and continues long after we are gone. 

Jesus submitted to John, letting himself be submerged in the river, and when he rose up from the water a voice from the heavens was heard saying, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

I can imagine standing along the shore watching, along with so many others, seeing him rise up from the water, hearing these words from the heavens, and feeling such an indescribable yearning. I, too, long to be loved. I, too, long to bring someone happiness. 

It is the kind of thing anyone wants and needs to hear. It is the kind of thing we all need to know – that someone finds us delightful, that someone feels happiness because of us. And there is good news: This is the kind of thing that God offers to each one of us – and one of the ways God does this is through baptism – but perhaps most importantly, by placing us in a community of the baptized.

When we are baptized we each become a part of the story. We are adopted into the family of God, brothers and sisters to Jesus who is the firstborn in a very large family. As adopted members, we begin to learn the customs and the values of this new family. We learn that in the family of God we share one another’s burdens and celebrate one another’s joys. We learn that the needs of one become the shared needs of all, and the wealth of one contributes to the wealth of all – this is what it is to be the church. We work together, we grieve together, we celebrate together. When we are baptized we have this amazing gift poured out upon us: the gift of loving community.

In our baptism we make promises to be Christ’s faithful disciples, obeying his word and showing his love. For many of us these promises were made by others on our behalf. Nonetheless, these are the promises each one of us is meant to grow into. No one, no matter their age, comes into this family fully formed. Each one of us, with the loving support of this community, is fashioned into the image of Christ. 

The community is essential for this. Not one of us can walk this walk alone. We need the whole community – for support and encouragement, for strength and accountability. And it is for this reason that it is not only the baptized who make promises. The entire gathered community makes promises too. Each time we baptize a child of God, we promise to be there for them.

Because this walk of discipleship is not a self-guided tour. It is not an independent study we design for ourselves. The walk of discipleship is a team effort that we all promise to be a part of. It is truly a beautiful thing.

And it is the core of our identity. When we are baptized and become a part of this community of faith, we are, in certain ways, setting ourselves apart. Please understand, this apartness is not about being special or better than anyone else. We set ourselves apart only in the sense that we are committed to a special way of life. As it says on every package of Hebrew National kosher beef hot dogs, we answer to a higher calling.

When we follow in Jesus’ path, the rules include the things we remember he taught. Love not only your friends but also your enemies. Treat others in the way you would want to be treated. Practice radical forgiveness.

Following this way of Jesus means setting ourselves apart from the ways of the world. And that is not easy. But the community we are baptized into gives us strength to resist when we need to. 

The courage to stand up against evil when we see it. 

And I will tell you honestly that the events in Minneapolis this past week, the killing of Renee Good and so much of what was said afterward just feels drenched with evil.

There are stories about Martin Luther, about how much he valued baptism as a sign of God’s grace and blessing. On his journey of faith. Luther found himself standing against the authorities who were executing injustices against the people for whom they were responsible. Luther’s faith and conscience would not let him stay silent on this. And so he put his own safety on the line to speak the truth against evil.

He often felt the burden of this, the sheer terror of being in a fight against the forces of evil. In these moments Luther’s response was to stand and shout to the evil around him, “I am baptized!”

Knowing that his baptism equipped him with all he needed to stay on this way.

There are moments in our lives when we feel the weight of evil. To stand alone against it can feel like an impossible ask. But this is when the community of the baptized is most important. To hold one another up, to remind one another of the power in our baptism to follow the way of Jesus and stand against evil.

When you are called to the waters of baptism you are called into this beautiful community in which we share our strength, our hope, our love. We walk this way together.

The baptismal promises we make are all about that. As God said to Israel: Do not fear. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; when you walk through the fire, I will be with you. “Because you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you.” So it is that, through Christ Jesus, God says this very thing to all of us too.

And through our baptism, our adoption into God’s family, we make the same promises to one another: Do not fear. When you pass through the waters, when you walk through the fire, we will be there for you. You are loved, just as you are.

This is the story Jesus was writing when he stepped into the Jordan and walked toward John.

This is the story we are adding to whenever we baptize a beloved child of God.

This is the story of who we are, and we must continually tell the story about who we are, in what we say – but even more in what we do. The world will be a brighter place when we let God’s mercy flow through us.

It all begins with water.

Where there is life. There is love. Where we come together and remember who we are.

Photo Credit: Author

The Gift of Unexpected Gifts

Matthew 2:1-12

I wonder if you all received what you wanted to receive this Christmas. Perhaps you received some surprises. Good surprises, I hope.

I have a childhood memory of opening a gift from my mother and being disappointed by it. It wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want to be a rude and ungrateful child, but I couldn’t seem to hide my disappointment. She kept watching me and she asked, “Don’t you like it?” I think I said yes, I do, but not very convincingly.

I was disappointed in the moment. Later I grew to like the gift very much, and I tried to tell her that often. Although I don’t think it made up for the poor way I received it.

Receiving gifts can be fraught with difficulties. Very often there are expectations we have with one another – that the gifts given and received should be approximately equivalent in value, that they should reflect a good understanding of the person they are given to. Sometimes we give a person something that we like, because we don’t actually know what they like.

Sometimes gifts come with strings attached. I’ll give you a gift that is supposed to make you forgive me for something I did wrong, for example. Or perhaps the gift I give you is intended to make you indebted to me. Have you ever had the experience of someone asking you why you gave them a gift? Sometimes there is an assumption that there are strings attached.

The best gifts are those given freely, with no strings, no expectations, no assumptions. And that seems to be the kind of gifts the magi brought to the baby Jesus.

There is no shortage of jokes about the inappropriateness of these gifts – when was the last time you saw frankincense at a baby shower? Despite our modern take on these items, they actually were very meaningful. Gold, frankincense, and myrrh were gifts that you would give to a king. Frankincense is a fragrant resin that can be used as a perfume or incense. Myrrh would be used for anointing. And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how gold is useful.

Yes, I suppose they were not the most practical gifts – although I imagine they could have been sold for something they needed more – but the point is they were meaningful. These gifts clearly said, “We know who you are. We understand your worth.”

And that was all. The magi opened their chests and presented their gifts. Then they picked themselves up and returned home – by another way, because remember that King Herod was waiting for a report on where he might find this newborn king. This, then, was another gift the magi gave the holy family: they went out of their way to save the child from the wrath of Herod.

The magi didn’t hang around and watch the family to make sure they were using the gifts appropriately. They didn’t tell them what they ought to do with these gifts. They didn’t ask for anything in return. I know Mary didn’t even write them a thank you note because she wouldn’t have had a clue where to send it. The gifts these men gave were freely given, with joy, generosity, and gratitude.

Gift giving can seem so complicated in our world. It is very hard to escape the unrealistic expectations and obligations – both the giving and the receiving can be fraught with distrust and cynicism. It is so complex, I wonder if we are even able to recognize the kind of generosity the magi offered when it is offered to us. Perhaps we feel embarrassment because we don’t have something of equal value ready to give back.

One thing we try to learn in church is that God’s giving is not transactional. God does not give good gifts to us in the expectation that we give back. After all, we know that we are simply unable to offer anything of such great value. God gives to us out of love – that’s it. 

And in the community of faith we practice this same thing: to give when it is needed, not expecting anything in return. To give out of love. And by the same token, to receive freely and gratefully the gifts that are offered.

We don’t always know the real value, in the moment such gifts are received. We might not be all that gracious about God’s gifts – unexpected and surprising as they often are. It is quite possible Mary and Joseph puzzled for days over the strange gifts of the magi. But the magi didn’t worry about that – they had moved on.

In this season of Epiphany, let us spend some time pondering the gifts we are offered and those we offer to others. Gifts that are hard to give, sometimes; gifts that may be even harder to receive.

Let us begin this season and this new year with thankfulness for the many gifts received, and let us set our intention to practice open-hearted generosity, offering God’s precious gifts to the world. 

Meanwhile, In the World

Matthew 2:13-23

Like many families, in our home we want everything to be beautiful and joyful and satisfying on Christmas. We want everyone to feel comfortable and loved and content. And we do a pretty good job of it, it seems. Yet the real truth of Christmas has the power to come through any shiny veneer we might put on it.

In Matthew’s gospel, we hear about the angel who came to Joseph and told him not to be afraid; the one who is responsible for Joseph being there when Mary’s child was born. And we hear about the Magi who followed the star all the way to Bethlehem where they knelt before the child and offered gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Both are beautiful pieces of the story we cherish and retell each year. 

But no sooner have the Magi left when we hear that an angel has once again visited Joseph in a dream and warned him to escape from the wrath of King Herod. The infant’s life is in danger. So Joseph flees with the mother and child, all of them becoming refugees in Egypt.

It is not hard to understand the danger they were in. Herod had been alerted that there was a newborn boy who was destined to be king. And clearly Herod is the kind of ruler who suffers no challenge to his authority. He is brutal, ruthless. 

Herod is so enraged when he learns he was outfoxed by the Magi, he orders a massacre of the infants throughout Bethlehem. An astonishing display of evil. Mary’s child is safe, thankfully. Yet there is communal grief at the loss of so much life. A slaughter of the innocents.

As Matthew tells this story I am sure that he is thinking how everything about Jesus the Messiah is rooted in Israel’s history, and he is surely thinking about the long memory of loss for the people of Israel. Specifically, he is thinking about the exile in Babylon that Israel endured hundreds of years before Jesus was born. It was the end of the kingdom of Israel, as it had been for centuries. The Babylonian army conquered Jerusalem and destroyed the temple, and the people were taken into exile at the mercy of their captors. 

When the people were deported they passed through Ramah, the place where Rachel had been buried, centuries before. Rachel was the beloved wife of Jacob, the grandson of Abraham. Jacob loved Rachel at first sight, and so he asked her father, Laban, for her hand in marriage.

Jacob was sly, but Laban even more so. Laban negotiated seven years of labor from Jacob for the reward of Rachel, which Jacob happily agreed to. But on the day of his wedding, he was tricked by Laban into marrying Rachel’s older sister, Leah, whom Jacob did not love. Jacob then worked another seven years to earn Rachel as his second wife. Jacob the Trickster met his match in Laban.

Even though Leah was the first wife of Jacob, she was always in Rachel’s shadow, because she was not the desired one. This must have been so very hard for Leah, but Rachel suffered deeply as well. Rachel watched her sister, Leah, give birth to one son after another, while she, Rachel, remained childless. 

Finally, after many years, Rachel was blessed with a son – Joseph, who became Jacob’s favorite child. And then she conceived again and bore a second son. But Rachel did not live to enjoy this blessing. She died in childbirth.

As she was dying, the story goes, Rachel named her newborn son, Ben-Oni, which means “Child of my sorrow.” 

This all happened near Ramah, while the family of Jacob was journeying toward Bethlehem. They buried Rachel in the place where she died, then journeyed on. The legend holds that Rachel could always be heard weeping for her children, by those who passed by her grave. And the memory of Rachel weeping stays with Israel through the centuries, through the suffering – from exile to oppression, from pogroms to holocaust – Rachel weeps for all the children.

The story Matthew tells does not let us forget the world. All our efforts to make it sparkle and shine and ring with joy do not erase or cover over the truth. We live in a world where, as one preacher said, “children are killed, and continue to be killed, to protect the power of tyrants.”

Matthew does not let us forget the harsh realities of this world. Nor does he try to pretend that the birth of Christ eradicated them. Even while it mars the holiday gloss, this is not an unwelcome message. Matthew’s honesty is an affirmation of what we know in the deepest corners of our heart. Every one of us knows suffering. Every one of us has experienced having our hearts broken. Every one of us has, at one time or another, felt the acute pain of knowing the inordinate number of ways humans cause harm to one another. We haven’t yet figured out how to escape such realities – although perhaps we should not want to escape.

One of the Christmas traditions in our home is to read Mary’s Magnificat together. After we have opened all the gifts and when we sit down together at a table laden with an abundance of good food. Before we begin to eat, I read Mary’s song from Luke, and every year I am reading it through my tears. 

“My soul magnifies the Lord,

    and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,

for he has looked with favor on the lowly state of his servant…

He has brought down the powerful from their thrones

    and lifted up the lowly;

he has filled the hungry with good things

    and sent the rich away empty.”

We hear these words Mary sings as an already accomplished but not yet seen truth. Mary proclaims the power of God to restore shalom to the world, and her song affirms her faith that this divine power is on the move, in our midst. 

I feel that it brings some sense of balance to our celebration, something we must acknowledge. Because if the world had been rid of all evil, if everything were roses and sunshine and happiness all the time, we would have no need for a Savior. And, we know, it is not like that. The world we live in shows us evidence every single day of how much we need this incarnate God.

Because everything we see in Jesus the Christ shows us that it is actually possible to embody peace. To restore shalom to the world God created and called good. Jesus shows us the way of peace.

And so we weep with Rachel for all the suffering and loss in the world. We lament that innocents still are made to suffer at the hands of tyrants, that hungry children still wait to be filled with good things. Troubles did not disappear because Jesus was born. The birth of Christ did not change this in one fell swoop. But the incarnation of God has the power to change the hearts of every one of us. As Jesus embodied God, we may follow him and become the embodiment of peace.

May we know this at Christmas, and always.