The Wondrous Gift                                                                12/19/48

 

Scripture:  Read Luke 2: 1-7

 

Two weeks ago in our morning service we sang “O little town of Bethlehem.”  You remember that the third stanza begins: “How silently, how silently the wondrous gift is given.” 

 

The New Testament lives and moves in an atmosphere of wonder.  There are these lovely birth-stories of Jesus recorded in Matthew and in Luke -- stories of a king born in a stable manger; of a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men;” stories of a heavenly messenger saying, “Fear not; for behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.  Unto you is born this day ... a Savior.”

 

Wise men, probably princes, come from the east to see the babe, guided by a star.  Humble sheep-herders see his great light.  And both the learned and the untutored, the great and the humble, come to a babe’s presence with awe.

 

The feeling of wonder at Jesus’ birth seems to continue at the kind of man be became.  “No man ever spoke like this,” said some.  Even when the story moved swiftly to its tragic climax, this One, amid agony of shame and suffering, was heard to cry out, “Father, forgive them.”  [Luke 23: 34].  And a hard-bitten soldier-executioner exclaimed, “Certainly this was an innocent man.”  [Luke 23: 47].

 

Then there is the shout of triumph: “Christ is risen from the dead!”  And another: “God was in Christ reconciling the world unto himself.”  [II Corinthians 5: 19].  And the daring prophecy: “The kingdom of this world is become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign forever and forever.”  [Revelation 11: 15].  In lines and phrases like these, the New Testament proclaims the wonder that inspired the early Christians, and still claims the hearts of many, many people today, especially at the observance of Christ’s birth.

 

Actually, Jesus of Nazareth seemed to have little chance of being remembered.  The whole world knows about the birth of an heir to the British throne, both before and immediately after the event.  But how much publicity is given the birth of a baby into a carpenter’s home?  Except for its novelty, perhaps, no mention could be expected of the arrival of the baby in a barn.  Jesus was of an obscure family from a remote province.  He left no written record of his teachings.  Influential people rejected him and conspired to be rid of him, and an ignominious death was decreed for him.  Such a record would go to oblivion, one would suppose.  But one the contrary, the name of Jesus has been “plowed into history,” to use Emerson’s phrase.

 

The story of music, of letters, of art, cannot be told without the influence of Jesus.  Of character, a Chinese scholar has this to say about Jesus: “He seems to me to have the power to create a more sensitive conscience.”  When it comes to that, just trace to its source any unusual manifestation of human concern for the poor, the oppressed, the downtrodden or forgotten.  What moves a young priest to lose himself among the leprous Hawaiians of Molokai?  What drives Lord Shaftsbury to spend an entire lifetime in unwearied effort in behalf of exploited men and women in English mills and mines?  What moved Abraham Lincoln to say, in the midst of lethal war, “With malice toward none, with charity toward all?”

 

These things are as wonderful, as full of awe, as the angelic voice proclaiming, “Unto you is born this day ... a Savior.”  And they stand out with cameo-like sharpness in contrast to the words and acts of those whose only god is “nature, red in tooth and claw.”

 

Of course the world is by no means all struck with this awe.  Even in this land blessed with abundance, and peace, and freedom to proclaim and practice the gospel, Christmas is for many a holiday for revelry, exchange of gifts and greetings, brief vacation, and plenty to eat; only vaguely associated with the birth of Christ.  And in the world over, people are still more pagan than Christ-like.

 

But millions are singing, “O come, let us adore him.”  Many will say from the heart in all sincerity:

 

            O holy child of Bethlehem, Descend to us we pray,

            Cast out our sin and enter in, Be born in us today.”

 

And no inconsiderable number will be thinking of things to do in the name of Christ -- here a whole family eating simple Sunday dinners in order to save a gift for the poor and needy and miserable of the earth, there a thoughtful one who sends a Christmas card with vision of justice and right dealing between people of all races; a parent earnestly praying for guidance to help make this world a place “where children may grow up unafraid;” and again, one whose chief gift is good perhaps for the hungry in Europe and Asia.  It is no small wonder that there are so many people of every race, nationality and clime who have come to share the vision and compassion of Christ.

 

The world as a whole seems not yet prepared to follow the teachings of Jesus.  But growing numbers of people are coming to believe that his way is the only way that can save us from self-destruction in atomic and bacteriological warfare.  Now and then some professional soldier, of prominence and high repute, will say something that recognizes the truth that “they that take the sword shall perish by the sword.”  The developments today in conquered lands east and west, leads even the bitter ones to suspect that there is wisdom in the saying: “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.”  [Luke 6: 27-28]

 

Marvelous things happen in the life and character of those who make the wondrous faith their own.  On Christmas Eve, 1944, Martin Niemoeller, the pastor who was Hitler’s personal prisoner in notorious Dachau Concentration camp, was permitted to preach to fellow prisoners.  With utter realistic frankness he began, “When Christmas must be celebrated in captivity, it is naturally a rather dismal affair.  There is no feast in the year that brings back so many cherished and intimate memories, that awakens in us such strong and deep longings for what has been taken from us.”  Then he recalled for all those present this saying concerning Jesus: “His name shall be called Immanuel, meaning God is with us.”  Then he went on to remind them that they were not alone amidst the horrors of those days, cut off from the world outside their barbed wire.  They were, he said, in the hands of God - the God of Jesus Christ who is with all men to save them from their sins, to uphold and keep alive their holy hopes.  How wonderful that a man who had spent eight years behind barbed wire could remember such assurances!  And that he could offer them again to others!

 

We do not know what the future holds of joy or sorrow, of ill or of good, for us and for our loved ones.  But we may rest sure in the faith that God’s purpose of good is ultimately beyond defeat.  For our wondering eyes behold again the glory of the Lord revealed in the flesh and mind, the word and acts, the indestructibility of Jesus of Nazareth, of Bethlehem, of Jerusalem, of all the world and all the years.

 

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Delivered in Wisconsin Rapids, December 19, 1948.