Prince of Peace

Luke 2:1-20

December 24, 2016 (Candlelight) • Mount Pleasant UMC

Three miles southeast of Bethlehem sits a hill. It’s not a natural hill, or an ordinary hill in any sense of the word. There is a modest natural hill nearby, but that wasn’t big enough or flashy enough for the king’s purposes. So King Herod built a hill and named it after himself: the Herodium. He brought in huge quantities of dirt and rock, making the mountain bigger and bigger, and then he built a lavish palace on top of it and down inside of it, complete with elaborate escape tunnels, a synagogue inside the walls and a swimming pool—229 feet by 150 feet—at the foot of the mountain surrounded by another palace. Think of that—a huge swimming pool, in the middle of the desert. The waste of water for such recreational activities, in a place where many if not most people lived in poverty, is staggering to contemplate. Yet I doubt Herod rarely thought about it, because this mountain, this Herodium, was not just a place to live. It was ultimately to be his burial place, though he was not about to go quietly. To make sure people mourned when he died, Herod arrested many of the important people and ordered their execution upon his death so that people would mourn, even if not for him. (The soldiers in charge of the operation refused to cooperate and instead let the people go when Herod died.) This manmade hill was just another piece of Herod’s ego and obsession with power. He wanted people to notice him, to remember him, and to come to this monument for centuries after his death. As Eugene Peterson describes it, “This was an in-your-face burial place, designed to keep people aware and impressed with his power and importance and fame forever” (The Jesus Way, pg. 200). And people do continue to be impressed. People continue to visit. I’ve been there once and will go again next June. The Herodium stands as a monument to one way of life, one might even say the “Roman way” of life, in this world. It can be seen for miles around, including from the top of the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem, thirteen miles away. It is huge, and impressive, and regal.

But stand on that same spot on the top of the Mount of Olives and you won’t be able to see another significant landmark that is only five and a half miles away. Obscured by what one author describes as a “lumpy church building” is a small silver star that was placed in 1717 underneath an altar. Sometimes you wait for a long time—I waited one year for two hours in the summer heat and humidity—to enter the cave beneath the altar. The star marks the traditional spot of Jesus’ birth, and though the interior is decorated these days with tapestries and silver and ornate hanging lamps, on that first Christmas it would have been a simple stable. It was the place in the front of the home where the animals were kept, so there was probably some straw on the ground, maybe a few animals, and a stone feeding trough called a manger. And in the absence of a decent bassinet, a young woman laid her firstborn baby in the feeding trough. There is no contest: Herod’s palace was warm and lavish while Jesus’ first bedroom was drafty and simple. You wouldn’t have to ask too many people today which one they would choose to be born in; we’ll always choose warm and lavish over drafty and simple. And yet, only one of these two men was born to be the prince of peace. Only one of them would have a true lasting impact on history, so much so that we still celebrate his birthday on this night of nights.

Throughout this Advent season, we have been learning about four names the Old Testament prophet Isaiah gave to a newborn king—and not, at least originally, the one we’ve come to celebrate tonight. Isaiah’s word which we heard read earlier was spoken about King Hezekiah, whose reign initially held great hope and promise for the discouraged people of Israel but who, in the end, failed to live up to the pomp and circumstance, the expectations that had been placed on him. Centuries later, however, the early church realized that these names in this one verse of Isaiah, while certainly applying to that king in Isaiah’s time initially, had found their ultimate fulfillment in a baby born in a little village outside of Jerusalem. Not in the capital city. Not in the habitat of kings. Born in a stable in a little town no one paid much attention to. Now, just looking at the mess of the manger, no one would think that the baby being born there on that first Christmas would live up to the titles Isaiah gave to a king: Wonderful Counselor (one who has good plans for us), Mighty God (one who comes to bring healing to our broken world), Everlasting Father (one who always stands ready to welcome us home)—and certainly not Prince of Peace. And yet he was, and is still today.

Before we go too far, though, let's first understand what Isaiah and others in the Bible mean by “peace.” When we think of “peace,” we typically define it as “simply” the absence of conflict. (I say “simply” but we all know it’s not simple.) A nation is considered to be at “peace” when there are no wars currently going on, though I’m not sure any nation can be said today to be truly at peace. But we proclaim peace when a war ends, and in our homes, peace comes when the argument or the conflict ends. But Biblical peace is a whole lot more than that; ending conflict is only scratching the surface. The word, in the Old Testament, is shalom, and if you’ve ever been to a synagogue service or in a particularly Jewish setting, you’ve probably heard that word (maybe even in some Christian settings). It’s often used as a greeting or even a farewell; for instance, when a synagogue service begins, the rabbi or cantor greets the people with the words, “Shabbat Shalom,” meaning (roughly), “Good Sabbath.” But shalom is more than just a greeting, or a well-wish. Shalom involves a deep sense of well-being, of life as a whole going well (Goldingay, Isaiah for Everyone, pg. 43; Brueggemann, Names for the Messiah, pg. 52). More than that even, it refers to life the way God intended it to be. Especially in the prophets of the Old Testament, “peace” is seen as a unique blessing of God. Peace is not something we create; it’s something God blesses us with when we cooperate with God’s desires, God’s plan (cf. New Interpreter’s Dictionary, Vol. 4, pg. 424). So a king like Hezekiah is called a prince of peace in hopes that he will bring the nation in line with God’s plan for it. Somehow, the people hoped, Hezekiah would bring a reconciliation between God and the people as the people were brought back in line with God’s original design. This is the hope of shalom, and it’s the hope of one whose throne name would be “Prince of Peace” (Oswalt, The Book of Isaiah, Chapters 1-39 [NICOT], pg. 248; Richter, The Epic of Eden: Isaiah, pg. 72).

The New Testament writers, being Hebrews themselves, embraced the idea of shalom and came to believe that the ultimate hope for shalom to become reality was found in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. They lived, of course, in the midst of the Roman Empire, for whom “peace” was usually secured only after a lot of bloodshed and battle. But they saw in Jesus a different way of life, a life that centered on gratitude for God’s saving work in Jesus (NID 422). They came to believe that he was the true Prince of Peace, the one who could reconcile God and humanity, the one who could enable us to live life the way God intended it to be.

They saw that truth even in the very beginning of Jesus’ story, in a place called Bethlehem. Joseph and Mary had been called there because a census was being taken of the Roman Empire. Now, Mary wouldn’t have had to go, but I’m convinced Joseph didn’t want her to be alone so close to her due date. So they made the nine-day journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem together. You know, often at this time of year, I try to imagine what those two young soon-to-be-parents might have been going through as they prepared themselves welcome this prince of peace. I’m willing to bet, even though they both had been given promises from God himself that what was happening in Mary’s womb was the fulfillment of God’s promises, there was little peace in their lives, in their hearts, as they made that journey. A few years ago, there was a film released that speculates on many things, not the least of which is a conversation between Joseph and Mary as they traveled to take part in the census at Bethlehem. Take a listen.

VIDEO CLIP: “The Nativity Story”

Of course, we don’t know exactly how the journey really went, but the movie might not be too far off, at least in terms of the things that had to be going through their hearts and minds. On this night of nights, these two individuals who had said “yes” to God’s saving plan had to be concerned, frightened, stressed and maybe even wondering what they had gotten themselves into! Mary had been told, of course, that this baby would be “called the Son of God” (Luke 1:35). Joseph had been told the baby growing inside Mary was from the Holy Spirit and that “he will save his people from their sins” (Matthew 1:20-21). But it’s one thing to believe the truth; it’s another thing entirely to put aside all the worry that comes with being thrust into something much larger than yourself. I would guess peace was not what Mary and Joseph were feeling as they traveled to and arrived in Bethlehem, as they found themselves relegated to the stable room, and then as they witnessed the arrival of this baby they had been anticipating for nine months.

Outside the town were some other folks who knew very little peace. They were the underclass, the ones who did what was necessary while at the same time being unappreciated and unloved. These shepherds were, most likely, raising sheep for the sake of the sacrificial system, animals that would be taken to the Temple in Jerusalem not too far away so that they could be used in the rituals for the atonement for sin. If that’s the case, then, there may have been two reasons for them to be out in the fields. For one, it was probably lambing season, when newborn lambs were likely to come along in the middle of the night (Card, Luke: The Gospel of Amazement, pg. 48). For another, possibly, these sheep had to be doubly protected. Only a perfect lamb, without blemish, could be offered as a sacrifice. If they were to be sacrificial lambs, the shepherds had to make sure they weren’t hurt, ironically enough.

But whatever the situation, these shepherds were not looked upon fondly. They were “typically uneducated, usually poor, and, since they lived among their animals in the elements, sometimes they smelled of dirty sheep” (Hamilton, The Journey, pg. 113). They were not allowed to testify in court as their testimony was considered unreliable, and they could not attend worship because they were considered unclean (cf. Card 48). Perhaps worst of all, they didn’t own land themselves so they grazed their sheep on other people’s land. No one liked a shepherd except other shepherds. And yet, had anyone taken the time to get to know these men, they likely would have met humble, gentle, what we would call “salt of the earth” people. In the Old Testament, “shepherd” was one way God referred to himself, and do you remember what we talked about a couple of weeks ago, how Jesus referred to himself? He is “the good shepherd” (cf. John 10:11). I don’t think it was any mistake that the angels announced the birth of the baby first to these shepherds, these humble men, these ordinary folks—these hard workers who stood in stark contrast to the pomp and circumstance of Herod. I don’t think the angels made a wrong turn and ended up over the shepherd’s fields by mistake instead of over Herod’s mountain. God chose the lowest of the low to share the very best news of all.

And what was that news? That peace had come to earth in the form of—surprise of surprises—a newborn baby boy. Listen to the angels’ song: “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests” (2:14). The announcement is this: what you shepherds have been waiting for all your life, what the whole world has been waiting for (though many may not know it), has finally arrived in a manger in Bethlehem. Peace—shalom—life the way God intended it to be—it’s now available through this baby who has been born, who is shivering in the night, wo is wrapped only in rags and sleeping in a feeding trough. The Prince of Peace has come.

Now, I want you to notice a detail that often gets overlooked. The angels do not tell the shepherds what to do. They simply announce the news and tell them where the baby can be found. They don’t tell the shepherds to go find the baby or even to go to Bethlehem. They only announce the arrival and leave it up to the shepherds whether or not they will go to find the baby, the Prince of Peace, the one who has come to fulfill, as the carol writer says, “the hopes and fears of all the years.” The same thing is true as this baby grew up. At no point does he force himself or his peace on anyone; they have to make the choice to follow him, to accept the peace he brings into their lives. In fact, near the very end of his life, there is a poignant scene where Jesus is entering Jerusalem for the last time, and at some point in his ride down the side of the Mount of Olives, he stops and gazes at the city. That spot today is marked by a small, tear-shaped chapel (one of my favorite places in the Holy Land) called “Dominus Flevit,” or “The Lord Wept,” because that’s what he does for a moment. Jesus weeps, and this is what he says as he looks toward Jerusalem: “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace—but now it is hidden from your eyes” (Luke 19:42). He did not force himself on the people; he simply offered them the peace that only God can provide, and in this moment, on this most blessed of nights, we have the same choice. Jesus, the Prince of Peace, says to us, “If you, only you, had known what makes for peace…”

What does make for peace? “Peace requires the capacity to forgive. Peace requires a readiness to share generously.” Peace requires overcoming the divisions between people, crossing the lines to reach out to those we normally wouldn’t be seen around. “Peace requires attentiveness to the vulnerable and the unproductive. Peace requires humility in the face of exaltation, being last among those who insist on being first and denying self in the interest of the neighbor” (Brueggemann 64). This is a picture of the world God dreams of. This is a picture of the world Jesus came to bring. This is a picture of the kingdom of God, the peaceable—the peace-filled—kingdom. Shalom involves more than an absence of conflict. Peace of mind, peace of heart, peace for eternity involves choosing the baby of Bethlehem and allowing him to transform your life into what he wants it to be. He came to bring peace because that’s who he is: the prince of peace.

You know the difference between Bethlehem and the Herodium, aside from sheer size (cf. Peterson 200)? Thousands come to each place every year, and while they may marvel at the building projects and enormity of Herod’s palace and burial place, even at his swimming pool, no one worships at the Herodium. When I was there, we walked through the tunnels and the synagogue, we looked out at the surrounding area from the top of the created mountain, but we did not stop to sing or pray and kneel. No one worships at the top of Herod’s mountain, and the number of people who come there is meager compared to the numbers who visit Bethlehem, who walk up the hill to the Church of the Nativity, who bow to enter the small framed doorway, and who wait for long periods of time to go down under the altar, touch the silver star, and worship. I’ve stood in that small space and sang, “Silent Night,” as we will do tonight, and my heart is moved. In 2012, when we were there, Rachel knelt to touch the silver star, not for any reason other than there, in that place or somewhere near, was where a young virgin brought forth a baby boy. No one worships at the Herodium, but everyone worships at Bethlehem. Worship takes place at the manger because there was born not a prince of power, but the prince of peace, the one who came to restore all things, to being shalom, to give us peace. May it be so in your heart, mind and life this blessed Christmas Eve.