The Ironic Tale of a Beloved Baby Jesus

 Six years ago I was “shopping in Bethlehem.”  Our group was told, “It was a chance to bring some commerce to the Palestinian side,” (yes, there are ‘sides’ with real people of both of them) but nearing the end of my pilgrimage it was also a place to start reflecting on things I wanted to remember about my trip.  One of the things I wanted to remember was the plight of peace that I now saw hidden in these beautiful reminders of the place of Jesus’ birth.  Contrary to how we often read the story, the place of Jesus’ birth was then and remains today a place frothy with all kinds of un-welcome-ness. 

We paper over this version of the story, choosing to tell the plight of Mary and Joseph as just and righteous, despite how we judge the people in our own time who look like them—the pregnant, unmarried teenage girls and the teenage boys who had sex with them. 

We paper over this version of the story, when we refuse to also tell the plight of the young family as they flee Bethlehem because the world powers of domination try to kill Jesus. 

With the brush of the word “virgin” and some sense of innocence or “virginal” we can easily push our way past all the difficulties our holy story presents us—even as we know deep down the world is never quite as it seems.  Unwed pregnant teenagers and refugees are good examples of it being NOT as it seems! 

So, I stood on the outskirts of Bethlehem and saw how Jesus was literally born under Herod’s nose.  It was remarkable to me in that place that Herod with all his power couldn’t find the baby Jesus and wipe him out.  I recalled, too, that it seemed many other innocent children had to pay the ultimate price for our world to receive this Jesus. 

I was face to face with the realities that the land of Jesus was also overwhelmed with the realities of fear and violence as much as or even more so than the threats against Jesus.  Herod’s walls and defensive structures, the visible signs of Roman power and might were, in fact, powerless against this one small life.  To say something like the “force” or the Holy Spirit was strong with this one—in “Star Wars irony” is an obvious “no duh” for us as Christians—drawn as we are to all the magical powers we ascribe to the nativity story. 

But… the irony.  The irony isn’t that we see beauty in the Jesus story.  The irony isn’t that we believe it with such passion.  The irony isn’t that we wrestle with its uniqueness and power.  It’s that we can so easily refuse to see what it represents. 

You can’t stand in Bethlehem today and not feel the threat of the Israeli occupation—much like I believe it was to stand in Bethlehem under Rome’s thumb.  You can’t stand in Bethlehem today and not feel the threat of violence and death. 

And, we should not be able to so easily and “virginally” read the Christmas story without acknowledging the irony of a world filled with violence and the threat of death.  And when we stand with doors locked, with borders closed; when we isolate ourselves in fear; when we wall out the world; when we refuse to accept, when we turn others away—we are decidedly NOT the hope, peace, joy, or love, of Jesus! 

Christians, in the nativity of Jesus Christ, are called to tell a story that is anti-locked-doors, anti-security-wall, anti-military-aggression, anti-death, anti-imperialism, and refugee-friendly.  And yet, in the aftermath and violence done in the name of hate, the irony is, too many Christians—in fear—have not employed these things but instead cheered air-strikes and rejection in the names of freedom and peace. 

Nothing like a little violence and death to scare the Jesus right out of ya! 

Irony.  Remember? 

I’ll be getting out my Christmas tree ornaments, soon; but I’m already holding dear that time I walked in Bethlehem and was so struck by the challenges of Jesus’ birth amidst violence and hatred, of Jesus being born under the nose of the fearful establishment, and being at risk—because that’s often how God sees the world, from the view of the underdog, the least, and the lost. 

The light shines in the darkness, yet the darkness does not overcome it! 

So, if you’re like me, in our holiday seasons you’re apt to display the iconic symbols of Jesus’ birth.  But it’s best to remember the roots of the story are light shining in the darkness.  And we aren’t just shining them against the world’s darkness, but also our own! 

And if you’re looking at the world and seeing violence and attacks and hurtfulness, and you’re feeling afraid, uncertain, and scared—you’re probably doing it right.  Because into all of that God surely sends us Jesus! 

But if you think that the way of Jesus is to get him, but then shut the door and turn out the lights and hide, trying to keep him away from others—you’re doing it wrong! 

Instead, try on these words from my colleague and Facebook friend, Shannon Vance-Ocampo: 

“If you are Christian you worship the One who started life as a refugee.  And was born in a place of safety because someone opened up a door, even if it was to a stable.
 It doesn't get any more non-negotiable than that.”  

And, if you’re looking for ways to truly get the holiday spirit, you might think of starting with some sage advice from Brené Brown: 

"The opposite of scarcity is not abundance; the opposite of scarcity is simply enough.  Empathy is not finite, and compassion is not a pizza with eight slices.  When you practice empathy and compassion with someone, there is not less of these qualities to go around.  There's more.  Love is the last thing we need to ration in this world."  

What do we have to give to a world wrought up with fear, suffering injustice, bombarded with hopelessness and loss? 

How about a little bit of Jesus.  Maybe even a beloved baby Jesus. 

But may it also be the REAL Jesus! 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania