Luke embeds their story in the greater flow of history, even if they are like a cork floating on an ocean, battered by the wind and waves, at the mercy of forces beyond their control.
Luke 2:1-3 and Romans 8:18-25
December 1, 2024
Dr. Todd R. Wright
Word came to Israel that the emperor in Rome had called for a census.
That meant that a count would be taken, and so that such a count would be done decently and in order, everyone had to return to their ancestral home.
That meant Joseph returning to Bethlehem, the city of David.
Presbyterian pastor, Tom Long, writes:
“It is roughly 100 miles from Nazareth to Bethlehem. [It would take me about a week to walk 100 miles on the Appalachian Trail, averaging about 15 miles a day over rough terrain.] And of course [that] does not factor in contingencies such as marauding bandits, deep rain-washed wadis cutting through the path, inns with no room, or full-term pregnancies.”[1]
Joseph has no choice. Rome has said he must go so a count can be made, so he must.
The count would allow the emperor and his minions to raise taxes … to pay for Roman roads and aqueducts and occupying armies. (There is something perverse about making a people pay for their own occupation, domination, exploitation, and humiliation!)
Long observes: “The irony is that while Joseph, Mary, and their unborn child are headed to Bethlehem to be counted, in fact they do not count, not to Rome anyway. They are faceless nobodies under the boot of an uncaring empire ... They are, like poor and defenseless people everywhere and in every time, at the whim of whatever Caesar or mindless bureaucracy or uncaring machinery of state happens to lash out in their direction. Caesar issues a decree, drinks another glass of wine, eats a cluster of grapes — and Joseph and Mary pack provisions and head out on the Roman road to Judea.”
I wonder what they talked about on the way.
Did they grumble about the inconvenience that Rome was putting them through?
Did they gripe about sore feet and expensive food and not enough water?
Did they worry a census would make it harder to pay their taxes and still put food on the table?
Did they whisper because a soldier might overhear and respond with violence?
Did they enjoy the extended time together, getting to know each other without chaperones?
Did they fear running into someone who would frown at her condition?
Did they compare notes on their angelic visits?
Did they wonder what kind of world they were bringing a baby into?
Did they hope God would do something about Rome?
Luke embeds their story in the greater flow of history, even if they are like a cork floating on an ocean, battered by the wind and waves, at the mercy of forces beyond their control.
Many people feel that way.
On Tuesday I helped give out 180 Thanksgiving baskets to our needy neighbors.
That’s a lot of lives touched! And yet it is a drop in the bucket.
During COVID someone in faraway Washington decided to throw some money their way and for a little while they could afford to buy their own food and not go hungry.
And then someone, far away in the capital of our great nation, decided to stop the extra funds and they went right back to needing a box of food at the end of each month.
The people I handed food to were grateful and they said so. But they were also hurting and humiliated to have to rely on such charity.
This story is for them … and for anyone who lives in the shadow of Empire.
It is good news, because it says that God hears people’s cries and is doing something!
It is good news because it says we are not at the mercy of Rome … or Washington DC.
God was at work in the midst of the disruption of a census, operating in the shadows.
God is still at work in the shadows, on the margins, in the chaos.
Do you believe that? Do you cling to that kind of hope?
Perhaps Ted Loder is writing for you when he writes …
“God of history and of my heart, so much has happened to me during these whirlwind days:
I’ve known death and birth;
I’ve been brave and scared;
I’ve hurt, I’ve helped …
You know my frail heart and my frayed history – and now another day begins.
O God, help me to believe in beginnings and in my beginning again,
no matter how often I’ve failed before.
Help me to make beginnings:
… daring to make my own bold tracks in the land of now;
to begin forgiving that I may experience mercy …
to begin sacrificing that I may make peace;
to begin loving that I may realize joy.
Help me to be a beginning to others,
to be a singer to the songless,
a storyteller to the aimless,
a befriender of the friendless;
to become a beginning of hope for the despairing,
of assurance for the doubting,
of reconciliation for the divided;
to become a beginning of freedom for the oppressed,
of comfort for the sorrowing …
of sweetness for the soured,
of gentleness for the angry,
of wholeness for the broken,
of peace for the frightened and violent of the earth ...”[2]
According to Luke, the story of God’s salvation plan begins in Rome, with a decree. Amen
[1] Here and following, from his reflections on the text for christiancentury.org, 12/10/14
[2] From his poem “Help me to believe in Beginnings”, from Guerillas of Grace
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