Sent to Save

Luke 2:1-20

December 24, 2015 • Mount Pleasant UMC

Some say the cultural winds are shifting or have shifted. Some say there’s a war on Christmas. Some say Starbucks red cups are a sign of the apocalypse and others get really worked up when someone wishes them “Happy Holidays.” There’s a tension in the air that seems to have been growing for a lot of years and it centers on what this night means, what Christmas is all about. Check out this scene from a recent sitcom that sort of spells out the tension we find ourselves in.

VIDEO: “New-tivity” (Last Man Standing)

By the end of the episode, Jesus was back in the manger, all was well with the world (because everything can be solved in 22 minutes), but the whole story sparked a discussion in our home. Of course, it’s a good thing to be tolerant, to make room for others to celebrate, but here’s the simple truth: there are lots of holidays this time of year, and Christmas is ours. Christmas is about Jesus, not some other generic god or gods. As far as I know, no one forces anyone to celebrate Christmas, no one is forced to give gifts or put up decorations. But regardless, I won’t apologize for the fact that this night, this celebration is about the birth of Jesus, the son of God. This night is what we’ve been preparing for all through the season of Advent. This night is what all these days have prepared us for.

Tonight, we celebrate that Jesus was sent to Bethlehem, and, as we’ve been doing all throughout Advent, we’re considering why he was sent. On the first Sunday of Advent, we remembered that he was sent to reconcile, and the next week we talked about how he was sent to liberate. About a week and a half ago, we pondered Jesus being sent to love, which he did by being God with us, Immanuel. And then tonight we come to the crux of why Jesus was sent. As important as all those other reasons are, the main reason he was sent is what we focus on tonight. Jesus was sent to save.

The people in that time were waiting, anticipating, much as we have been over the last four weeks. Only they had been waiting for over 400 years. For four centuries there had been no word from the Lord. We complain when God seems silent for a few days or weeks, but God’s people in the first century had gone four hundred years without a new promise, a new hope. The prophets had gone silent, and so the people spent much time pouring over the writings of these holy men, reading and re-reading the promises that had yet to come to pass. They read words from Isaiah, who had promised a child who would be born, a new king in the line of the greatest king of Israel, David, a king who would establish justice and righteousness forever (Isaiah 9:6-7), a king who would be a wonderful counselor, prince of peace. Some read Micah’s words which promised this ruler would come from Bethlehem, and that he would be a shepherd who would care for the people (Micah 5:2-4). Bethlehem seemed an unlikely choice for the birthplace of a king. It was a little backwater town, maybe home to a thousand people but not any more than that. It was six miles from Jerusalem and was largely home to shepherds, farmers and laborers (Hamilton, The Journey, pg. 39). It’s “claim to fame” was as King David’s hometown, but other than that, everyone knew the real action happened in Jerusalem. Kings ruled in Jerusalem. Kings should be born in Jerusalem. So many probably ignored Micah’s word. We know the chief priests, Herod’s advisors, ignored Micah’s word (cf. Matthew 2:3-8). Still, there was this expectation. Life was hard. The Romans were cruel. And whenever a people begin to feel on the underside of life, an expectation begins to emerge that something is about to change.

Into that sleepy small town comes a young man whose family is from there, and who normally wouldn’t have had trouble finding a place to stay. But Rome has ordered a census and everyone—literally everyone—who claims Bethlehem has returned home. All the guest rooms are full. Aunt Mildred is even sleeping on the floor, and the cousins are having a “sleepover” up on the flat roof. Joseph and Mary have no place to stay unless they don’t mind bunking with the animals. In the lower level of the home would be a place where animals were brought in at night. Their body temperature helped warm the house and it was also a way of keeping the animals safe. Would it be okay for Mary and Joseph to sleep there? It would give them a measure of privacy (since Mary was pregnant and about to deliver) as well as a relatively warm place to stay. Joseph takes the last room available to him, the stable, and in the mess and the dirt of that place, Mary gives birth to her son, then lays him in the feeding trough, the place where the animals got their food, for his first night on Earth. You could not imagine more humble surroundings. It was not the birthplace of a king; it was a dining room for animals. That is where the king of kings and the prince of peace made his entry into our world.

In his birth, Jesus was largely ignored. It wasn’t until somewhere in the next two years, when the Wise Men arrive in Jerusalem looking for a newborn king, that the local government begins to notice something might have happened (cf. Matthew 2:1-18). People weren’t expecting a baby in a feeding trough; they were expecting a warrior who would shove Rome out of their country. God came incognito to his people, but he came exactly as he needed to. Even in Jesus’ birth, we get glimpses of the ultimate reason he was sent. He was sent to save us from at least three things.

He was sent, first of all, to save us from sin. When the angels appear to the shepherds, they specifically call him “savior” and “messiah,” words that carried great meaning to those folks. Yes, there were misguided expectations about the messiah, but the promise always was that God would do whatever it took to restore the people’s relationship with him. The Old Testament, in a nutshell, is a story of relationship building and relationship breaking, of hearts mended and God’s heart broken. From the very beginning, sin was always tempting to us. The word for “sin” in the New Testament is a word from the world of archery—it means “to miss the mark.” God sets the “mark” and we consistently miss it. Sometimes we don’t even try to aim! We choose to go our own way. And yet, no matter how often we break God’s heart, he still loves us. But something had to be done about sin. Something had to be done to help us hit the mark. The sacrifices weren’t able to do that, though they helped the people connect with God and repent of their sin. The law wasn’t able to make people righteous, though it did provide limits for their behavior—when the people chose to follow it. Those things, though, were only preparation for the main event, when God himself would step into history, show us how to live and then give his life for our sake. Jesus, the very son of God, was sent to save us from our sin, to pay the penalty for all the times and all the ways we miss the mark. He is Savior. He is Redeemer. He is the one who makes things right in our lives when we give our life to him.

I’ve been to the Church of the Nativity several times, and this church at the center of Bethlehem is unique in many ways. For one, you have to bow your head to enter. The door is low, and you can’t walk in with your head held high. To approach the place of the Savior’s birth requires a bow of the head. It’s said that this “door of humility” was made so that nonbelievers couldn’t desecrate the church by riding their horses in through the original large doors (Hamilton 111). But once you’re inside, it’s a barn-shaped sort of church and the last time I was there, in 2014, the Palestinian Authority was doing a lot of work inside—work that was desperately needed. There were scaffolding and signs everywhere, telling us much of the church was under reconstruction. And I couldn’t help but think that, when we invite Jesus into our lives, that’s sort of the way we must look. From that moment on, we’re under reconstruction as Jesus makes us more and more into the person we’re supposed to be. In John Wesley’s terms, we won’t be done until we’re glorified. Ruth Bell Graham, the wife of Billy Graham, put it this way on her tombstone: “End of construction—thank you for your patience.” Jesus was sent to save us from sin—have you let him begin that work in your life? If not, is there any better time than tonight to ask him to?

Jesus was also sent to save us from death, and that’s related to the first one, of course. When he saves us from sin, he gives us the promise of life eternal. God the Father sent Jesus as a baby, and there is nothing that speaks of life as the birth of a baby. The whole reason the shepherds were out in the fields was because it was lambing season; they were waiting for the birth of baby sheep (Card, The Promise, pg. 46). And then the angels come and announce a different birth, a bigger birth: a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a feeding trough (2:12). New life has come! But, more than that, this same baby grew up and promised life beyond this one for those who choose to follow him. He said, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die” (John 11:25). He said, “I give them [those who follow] eternal life, and they shall never perish” (John 10:28). And he proved all of that to be true by rising from the dead, by being the first one resurrected. His resurrection is the promise of our own. And, to a disciple who was weary, beat up and worn out, Jesus came in a vision and gave the promise of a world beyond our imagining. He promised a time is coming when “God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away” (Revelation 21:3-4). I read that passage near the end of almost every funeral I do, because when we live in a world of death, a world where pain seems to be around every corner, we need to be reminded that this one who was sent came to save us from death. We do not have to fear death. St. Francis of Assisi even referred to it as a sister: “And thou, our sister, gentle death, waiting to hush our latest breath, thou leadest home the child of God, and Christ our Lord the way has trod, Alleluia, Alleluia!” (UMH 62). There is no fear because Jesus was sent to save us from death.

And, on this side of the grave, Jesus was sent to save us from purposelessness. Following Jesus gives our life a purpose, and that began with the shepherds. Let’s remember that these shepherds were nobodies in their world. No one trusted the word of a shepherd, at least partially because they were often grazing their sheep on other people’s land. That’s the first-century equivalent of someone allowing their dog to use your yard for their bathroom all the time. And, on top of everything else, the shepherds smelled like dirty sheep (Hamilton 113). They weren’t allowed to testify in court nor were they allowed to worship with everyone else in the synagogue. Their job was to raise sheep for use in the Temple sacrifices in Jerusalem. Pretty much they had each other for a community and that was it. And then, the angel chooses them to be the first to know about and to see the newborn king, the Messiah, the savior of the world. They are the first to receive the news, and once they have seen the baby, they go everywhere they can to tell others about him (2:17). Suddenly, it didn’t matter if no one believed them or trusted their word. This baby was so important that they had to tell everyone. Suddenly, their lives that seemed to be going no where had a purpose! At the other end of his life, this baby gathered his disciples (another collection of nobodies) on a mountain in Galilee and gave them a purpose much like the shepherds had been given. He told them to make disciples everywhere in the world, to go to people, baptize them and teach them to obey his way of life (Matthew 28:16-20). And he said it like he expected them to do it! These uneducated fishermen were expected to turn the world upside down. And they did! The world was never the same because these men had finally found a purpose for their lives. It wasn’t about going to work and making money. It was about Jesus, the one who was sent to save.

Do you remember what we’ve been saying all along the way in this series? Jesus told us that as he was sent, so are we. And while we don’t save anyone from sin or from death, we are sent to save others from purposelessness by introducing them to Jesus. If this baby in the manger means anything to you or to me, he ought to cause us to want to share that hope, that purpose with others. And God will use you to share that hope wherever you are. The shepherds didn’t suddenly change occupations and become evangelists or preachers. They went back to the fields, just as they had before. Their jobs and circumstances hadn’t changed, but they were different. “As they went,” we’re told, they shared the good news with others and praised God. I think Luke’s point is this: wherever God has called you to serve, whatever place in life God has placed you right now, that’s where he sends you to point toward the one who came to save. The question is if we’re being a disciple in that place or not. If we can’t be a disciple where we are now, God won’t send us anywhere else until we have that down. Jesus was sent to save; we are sent to point others toward him and praise God in all that we do. The good news of the baby of Bethlehem is too good to keep to ourselves.

Tonight, in just a few moments, we’re going to pass the light of Christ from one person to another. We’ll pass it from one candle to another; don’t get in a hurry. We’ve got time tonight. After we do that, in the glow of the candlelight, we’ll remember that the light of the world has come into the world to save it, to make all things new. But we pass it from one person to another because that’s how the Gospel spreads. Largely, the good news about the baby of Bethlehem doesn’t spread through big events. It spreads as one person tells another person who shares it with another person and so on. It spreads as one person lives out the life Jesus calls them to live and another notices and wonders what makes the difference. It spreads as one person loves another unconditionally, as one person offers to pray for someone at work, as a child is fed, the prisoners are visited and the sick are cared for. And as we do that, as we live out this faith in the midst of a hostile world, the world will be different because this baby was sent to save. He is Immanuel—God with us, God reconciling us, God liberating us, God loving us, God saving us, God saving the world. He came that we might be saved. Thanks be to God!