| Date | Speaker | Passage | Printable Version |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2 Dec 2007 - 00:00 | Dan Plasman | Isaiah 9:2,6-7 | Not Available |
Ah. The smell of evergreens; wreaths with generous bows; a thin layer of snow on the ground; senior high students reading from the Bible, East Church boys and girls singing their hearts out. Tis the season . . . tis the season when the baby Jesus gets stolen from outdoor nativity scenes. Not a problem perhaps in Grand Rapids where one would be most foolish to do such a thing, but it is major problem in the city of Chicago. According to a recent Chicago Tribune article, the thievery started in 1999, when the baby Jesus was stolen from the life-size Nativity at Daley Plaza. Authorities eventually found the infant Lord stashed in a locker at Union Station. Not a pretty scene.Thefts and attempted thefts have occurred since then, so this year Chicago officials are taking no chances.
Volunteers, who call themselves the God Squad, have wrapped a thick black cable around the waist of Jesus, and bolted it to the manger floor, camouflaging their handiwork with a generous helping of hay. Said Jim Finnegan, the co-chairman of the Nativity Scene Committee, “There’s no way you’d ever be able to get [Jesus] out.” Indeed, no way to get Jesus out of the manger.
Sometimes, it seems that’s the intent of this seasonal celebration: keeping a baby in the manger -- tied and tethered, bolted and secured. Safe from would-be thieves, but more important, safely away from our own lives so as not to meddle in them. Why would I want this infant ever to grow out of the manger? That’s when he becomes dangerous. Once he’s out of the manger he’s all about extreme makeovers. That’s when he puts his finger on those certain areas of my life that none of you know about and says, “Change them.” When he’s out of the manger he scratches his claim to those tightly-held securities in my life that I don’t want anyone to lay claim to. When he’s out of the manger he reminds me of my own stilted priorities, all those issues I refuse to confront, all those reconciliations I need to make. He’s all about extreme makeovers.
Isaiah said that authority would rest on the shoulders of this Prince of Peace. He will judge the poor and decide with equity for the meek of the earth. Nations will come to the light and rulers to the brightness of the dawn reflected in those who follow his way. Every one of those prophecies is a political statement. When he gets out of the manger, not only our private lives have to be on the lookout, but the way of the world will not escape his rule and reign.
I shared this at last Wednesday’s chapel service, but I not sure anyone believed me. Cleaning up my yard recently, I stowed away a bag of charcoal. I happened to read the warning on the side of the bag. It reads: “Carbon Monoxide Hazard: Burning charcoal inside can kill you.” Wow, nothing subtle about that! It doesn’t read: Burning charcoal inside can give you respiratory problems. Or: Burning charcoal inside can be hazardous to your health. Burning charcoal inside can kill you. Maybe there should be an appropriate Advent warning to all who desire to catch a glimpse of Nativity scenes, whether on coffee tables or mantel pieces, in front yards, or in city plazas. Warning: Following the One who left this manger will kill you. Your old life will die in exchange for a new life. The road you are on may not be the road you end up on. The things you once held so tightly, you will feel free to let go. Your life will be made over, extremely so.
It is usually this time of year when I come back to a lengthy quote by H. G. Wells who in 1920 wrote The Outline of History. Of the person of Jesus, Wells writes: He was too great for his disciples. And in view of what he plainly said, is it any wonder that all who were rich and prosperous felt a horror of strange things, a swimming of their world at his teaching? Perhaps the priests and the rulers and the rich . . . understood him better than his followers. He was dragging out all the little private reservations they had made from social service into the light of a universal religious life. He was like some terrible moral huntsman digging mankind out of the snug burrows in which they had lived hitherto. In the white blaze of this kingdom of his there was to be no property, no privilege, no pride and precedence; no motive indeed and no reward but love. Is it any wonder that men were dazzled and blinded and cried out against him? Even his disciples cried out when he would not spare them the light. Is it any wonder that the priests realized that between this man and themselves there was no choice but that he or priestcraft should perish? Is it any wonder that the Roman soldiers, confronted and amazed by something soaring over their comprehension and threatening all their disciplines, should take refuge in wild laughter, and crown him with thorns and robe him in purple and make a mock Caesar of him? For to take him seriously was to enter upon a strange and alarming life, to abandon habits, to control instincts and impulses, to essay an incredible happiness. . . . Is it any wonder that to this day this Galilean is too much for our small hearts?May the muchness of this infant’s littleness find in our hearts a welcome place.