The Nativity In The Living Room

Do you have a crèche or nativity scene somewhere in your home this Advent? In the Newcomer house, we have manger scenes in several rooms to celebrate Jesus’ birth.

On Christmas Eve of 1984, my father preached a sermon at Paoli United Methodist Church that challenged the traditional picture of Christ’s lowly birth in a stable. It turns out that if you place a manger scene in your living room, you may be closer to the truth than you might think:

“The story of the first Christmas is fraught with so much tradition that sometimes it is difficult, if not impossible, to separate what we actually know from the Scriptures about the event, from what has been added over the years by the collective imagination of believers in order to fill in the missing pieces. Christmas pageants over the years have conditioned us to imagine Mary and Joseph arriving late in Bethlehem, perhaps her labor pains already beginning. We've seen countless pictures of Joseph knocking on the door of the crowded inn, and we've heard all kinds of condemnations heaped on the innkeeper for not finding them a room. But all of this is supposition; none of it is in the Scripture itself. The text from the Second Chapter of Luke actually reads this way: “And while they were there the days were accomplished when she was to be delivered.” It really sounds as though Mary and Joseph arrived in Bethlehem days ahead of Jesus’ birth.

The tradition about Jesus being born in a stable also may not fit the facts. In Luke, we read these precious words: “Mary gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.” We have always supposed that a stable was his birthplace because they were turned away from the inn, and when he was born they laid him in a manger, a feeding trough for domestic animals. Where else would a manger be than in a stable?

Actually, there is another explanation. The Greek word kataluma – which is translated as “inn” – really means “guest room,” not “inn.” In the parable of the Good Samaritan, when the Samaritan takes the wounded traveler to an inn to recuperate, Luke uses an entirely different Greek word for inn. In Luke’s account of the preparations for the Last Supper, Jesus tells his disciples to find a “guest room” for the Passover meal. Here, the word is kataluma – the same word used in Luke 2’s story of Jesus’ birth. In short, a better translation of Luke’s account might go something like this: “She gave birth to her firstborn son and laid him in a manger because there was no place for them in the guest room.” Since Bethlehem was Joseph’s ancestral town, one might suppose that he had relatives there with whom they were supposed to stay, but by the time they arrived, the guest room was already full of kin-folk because of the census, so Mary and Joseph had to stay in the main part of the house – the living room, so to speak. But what about the manger? This doesn't explain the manger.

It is important to understand how a First Century Jewish house was arranged. It was usually one large room, and if the family could afford it, a kataluma, or guest room, was attached because of the Jewish emphasis on hospitality to strangers. The main room of the house was itself divided into two parts. The back part was a platform raised about one or two feet above ground level. Here, the family lived, cooked, ate and slept. The lower, front part of the main room was at ground level, and into this area the livestock was often brought to spend cold nights with the family. Naturally, a manger was there with fresh straw for the animals, and often it doubled as a cradle for the babies.

Is Luke telling us that when Mary and Joseph arrived at the house where they planned to stay, the guest room was already full, and so they had to stay in the main room of the house with all the family and the animals, and there the newborn child was laid in a manger?

Of course, there is much supposition in this theory, but if it is true it makes an important point. Luke seems to want us to know that Jesus – the Son of God – was born, not off in the guest room, but right in the midst of smelly hay, snorting animals, anxious onlookers, and the tenderness and love of the family circle. Jesus, our Savior, was born like all of the other children of that day. He was tenderly placed precisely where all other babies of that day were cradled.

If we experience the birth of Christ this Christmas, it will not be in the guest rooms of our lives – not off to the side in those special compartments of our lives that we've reserved for him – but right in the middle of it all, right in the middle of everyday living. … Jesus was born where we work and live and love and where we hurt. He is Emmanuel, God with us. … He goes to any lengths to meet us in the real stuff of life. … He is always where we are, concerned about what’s going on now in our lives. His salvation is not an other-worldly experience; it is for the here and now. God’s favorite place is the commonplace.”

Merry Christmas, my friends!

From: "The Nativity in the Living Room"

Scripture: Luke 2:1-7

Preached at Paoli UM Church

December 24, 1984

A Light In The Darkness

When I was in junior high school, our youth group at Calvary United Methodist Church in Easton, Pennsylvania went on a spelunking trip. Spelunking is better known as caving. We were told to wear old clothing that we were willing to throw away. The reason for this became clear when we eventually emerged from the cold, wet cave. We were covered from head to toe with mud, looking something like this guy:

A Spelunking Guy

For a seventh grade boy, this is high adventure, but I don't think my dad fully shared my enthusiasm for spelunking. He did, though, glean a sermon illustration from the ordeal. Here’s what he said the next Sunday:

“I’m not sure why our Junior High Youth Fellowship advisor, Chuck Fuller is so gung-ho over exploring caves, but a week ago as our group slowly threaded its way up from the depths of a cave toward the mouth, I thought perhaps it was meaningful for him, and could be for all of us, if we looked upon it as a parable for life. And the more I thought about it, the significance of this whole experience was even more heightened by the fact that we were groping our way out of this cave on a day in the middle of the Advent season.

As we left the inner reaches of the cave and began to climb out, it became apparent that the batteries in my flashlight were beginning to grow weak. Since we had to proceed in single file order, when the person in front of me would get pretty far ahead, or turn the corner and I no longer had the benefit of his light, it grew quite dark, as the beam of my own light was fading fast. Without the proper light, there were more bumps and scrapes on the jutting rocks of the cave’s walls; more caution was needed, more feeling ahead with my hands. But then, just as my flashlight was dimming to a mere glow, something happened. I felt it before I saw it. The cooler air of the outside world; we were coming near the entrance to the cave. And then finally confirming my speculation, the first beams of sunlight were visible. In no time at all we crawled out into the full light of day, squinting in the bright sunshine, for we had become accustomed to the darkness. It made me think again of that great verse from Isaiah 9: ‘The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in the land of deep darkness, on them has light shined.’

This whole caving experience is our Advent parable. Apart from God, in our fallen humanity, as individuals and as nations, we are groping and fumbling our way through the darkness, falling, hurting ourselves, bumping into one another. Sometimes helping each other a little, but mostly pushing each other away and looking out for ourselves. Like my flashlight, what light, what goodness we have on our own is weak and flickering at best. It cannot be counted on to save us from the darkness that is closing in all around us. Such is the helplessness and frustration and fear we feel as we thread our way through the worries and tragedies and tensions of life. Our strength sometimes wanes, and we wonder if we’ll make it.

But the meaning of Advent is this: Just as the rays of our own light are about to go out and we fear that we will be consumed by the darkness, just then a light shines on us from outside ourselves, a light far more brilliant than anything we could manufacture. This light, this salvation for our darkened lives, is from God. The Sun of Righteousness is the Righteous Son of God, whom God has sent to light the way for us unto all eternity. With him the energy to fuel the light is inexhaustible. We need never fear the darkness again.

Advent is the invitation to crawl out of the darkness and stand up in the light. Your eyes must get adjusted to the new brightness. There is growing to do. Sometimes the light itself will seem to be a little scary, and you may be tempted to retreat into the familiar darkness of the cave. But once you grow used to the light and take more and more of it in, the more certain you become that this is where you belong.”

So here is my prayer for you as we approach the fourth Sunday of Advent: May Jesus light up your life and your world this Christmas and always. Amen.

From: “A Child Is Born”                                            

Scripture: Isaiah 9:2-7

Preached at Calvary United Methodist Church,

Easton, PA

An Unlikely Hope

This Sunday, the Third Sunday of Advent, we will be lighting the candle of Peace on the Advent wreath at Newtown United Methodist Church. In a passage from Isaiah that's often read during Advent, the prophet casts an idyllic image of future peace for the People of God when he writes:

The wolf live with the lamb,

And the leopard will lie down with the goat,

The calf and the lion and the yearling together,

And a little child will lead them.
-Isaiah 11:6 (NIV)

Linton Memorial Park - Newtown, PA

One winter evening in 1980, my father happened upon a scene which, when I first read his description of it, etched in my mind something of the meaning of this famous line from Isaiah: "And a little child will lead them." Here's what Dad wrote:

"I pulled to a stop at a red light at the intersection of 6th and Northampton Streets in Easton, Pennsylvania. This was a section of the city besieged by urban decay, a place where the tragedy of urban living was at its worst. As I waited for the light to change, a poorly clad girl of about 8 or 9 years of age led a man by the hand whom I judged to be her father – a man who was drunk and could hardly keep his balance. The girl carefully led him off the curb and slowly across the crosswalk in front of my car, pulling him, steadying him, urging him on, until they reached the other side, and presumably from there made their way home in similar fashion. As I watched this scene unfold, a deep emotion flooded my soul as I realized how God sends his love and care to us, even when we are at our disgustingly worst – in the most fragile and unlikely ways, even in a little girl such as this one.

We live in a world that is very dark, ugly and dangerous, just as it was that cold night at 6th and Northampton Streets. Sometimes this dark ugliness is within us, sometimes it is around us, but in either case God always sends signs of hope, fragile signs, signs which we can perceive only with the eyes of faith. Strange as it seems, Christian hope is often found in unlikely places. In fact, Christian hope has a way of burning brightest on the most darkened stage. Christmas, coming when it does, reminds us of this. Christmas is not observed in the beautiful springtime. It is celebrated at the dark winter solstice. The date of December 25th does not have historical importance. Instead, it has theological importance.

The ultimate hope for us resides in a baby laid in a manger in a backwater town called Bethlehem. Such an unlikely hope! And yet God’s word and our Christian experience tell us that Almighty God himself came to visit us in that humble child. He came to show us that he loves us still, in spite of the darkness within us, and he wants us to love him. God’s love comes gently as a child. It doesn't coerce or overwhelm. It doesn't dazzle or manipulate. God’s love comes quietly, as quietly as the cry of a newborn. It is God’s subtle yet forceful reminder that God’s kingdom is on the horizon, and if we quiet our restless lives and allow it, God will fill us with his love. God will fill us with himself. This allowing God to fill us is faith, and faith is the way we know that, unlikely hope though he may be, this baby Jesus is indeed our Savior."

From: "An Unlikely Hope"
Scripture: Isaiah 11:1-9; Matthew 11:2-11

Between Two Advents

Tomorrow is the second Sunday of the season of Advent – a time of preparation for Christmas and the birth of the Son of God as a baby in Bethlehem. But did you know that Advent is not simply about looking back to Christ's birth? It's also about looking forward to His promised second coming. In one of my father's Advent sermons, he explained that we live “in a unique time-frame which relatively few other people since the beginning of time have known. … We are living between two Advents.”

“Traditionally, Advent not only has been the season of anticipation of Christ’s first coming into the world as a baby in a manger, but also has been a time to anticipate His second coming in glory at the end of history to establish his rule of righteousness and peace. … There is the first Advent, the revelation of God’s grace through Jesus the Christ, who came in the form of a man. … And then there is the second Advent, the final revelation of Jesus Christ as Lord and King over all people and all creation. This Advent yet-to-be will signal the ultimate triumph of the Kingdom of God. This is the hope of our gospel faith. With belief in these two Advents, we are enabled to live our Christian life in a fallen world. These two Advents are what keep us going.”

“Advent simply means ‘coming.’ … The first Advent or Coming, taken as unit, which is how it must be seen – Christ’s birth, life, death and resurrection – is the guaranty of the defeat of evil, the down-payment on our ransom. Christ came into the world, subjected himself to everything that Satan could throw at Him, even died at the hands of evil men, but He rose victorious. He broke the back of evil. And so now it remains for you and me to spread this wonderful news, to give all people the opportunity to hear and believe it, so that when He returns to claim His kingdom and formally establish His rule, He will find happy, willing, and believing subjects to enjoy it with Him forever.”

“As bad as things seem to be these days, the Christian is given strength to hope [by the two Advents]. … We live day-to-day, fighting our skirmishes with evil, living the Christian life, but with our heads up, watchful, knowing that our salvation is always drawing nearer. There is great comfort and encouragement throughout all of the stresses and strains of living when you know that the Lord is there at the end, waiting to take you unto Himself.”

“Once upon a time, there was a little boy who sat on his father’s lap, sobbing because the next day was to be his first day of school and he was afraid. Until this point, his father had been with him in all that he did, and so now he wanted his dad to go along to school tomorrow and stay with him all day. But, of course, the father couldn't do that; this, the boy had to do alone. But his father succeeded in comforting the boy with these words: ‘I have been with you for the last six years and you know that I love you. Tomorrow when you go to school my body will not be with you, but I will think about you all day and, in a way, I will be there with you. And then when school is over, I will come and meet you at the bus stop and we’ll walk home together and you can tell me all about your day.’ The child was comforted by these words because this new, untested, and fearful experience was bracketed on either side, before and after, by the presence of a loving father.”

“This too is your source of strength and mine. Christ came; and Christ will come again. If we’re living for Him in the meantime, we cannot lose!”

From: "Between the Advents"

Scripture: 1 Corinthians 1:1-19; Mark 13:32-37