Divine Vulnerability
Sermon by Catherine W. FitzGerald
Janaury 1, 2006, Presbyterian Church of Chestnut Hill

Isaiah 61:10-62:3
Galatians 4:4-7
Luke 2:22-40

“The Roman occupation of Jewish lands and lives was brutal, and most Jews looked for a warrior on swift steed, whose might would send the Romans into flight and set the Jews free,” writes Biblical scholar Joyce Hollyday. They hoped for one who would come in might and glory and save them. But they did not get what they expected. Their “prince of peace”—their “consolation of Israel” came wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger—a poor, helpless, newborn baby. God’s incarnate time on earth began as all human lives do, with birth. It seems to me that the miracle of the Incarnation may only be slightly more miraculous than the fact that anyone recognized him as the savior at all. Certainly a feeble baby could not be the redeemer for whom they had prayed. If we take a step back from our Christian understanding of the birth of Christ, of God’s coming among us, the situation would be almost laughable. An email I recently received played upon the seemingly absurd situation.

    INFANT DISCOVERED IN BARN, CHILD PROTECTIVE SERVICES LAUNCH PROBE

Nazareth Carpenter Being Held On Charges Involving Underage Mother Bethlehem, Judea - Authorities were today alerted by a concerned citizen who noticed a family living in a barn. Upon arrival, Family Protective Service personnel, accompanied by police, took into protective care an infant child named Jesus, who had been wrapped in strips of cloth and placed in a feeding trough by his 14-year old mother, Mary of Nazareth. During the confrontation, a man identified as Joseph, also of Nazareth, attempted to stop the social workers. Joseph, aided by several local shepherds and some unidentified foreigners, tried to forestall efforts to take the child, but were restrained by the police.

Also being held for questioning are three foreigners who allege to be wise men from an eastern country. The INS and Homeland Security officials are seeking information about these who may be in the country illegally. A source with the INS states that they had no passports, but were in possession of gold and other possibly illegal substances. They resisted arrest saying that they had been warned by God to avoid officials in Jerusalem and to return quickly to their own country. The chemical substances in their possession will be tested.

The owner of the barn is also being held for questioning. The manager of Bethlehem Inn faces possible revocation of his license for violating health and safety regulations by allowing people to stay in the stable. Civil authorities are also investigating the zoning violations involved in maintaining livestock in a commercially-zoned district.

And it goes on from there. As stated before—it is somewhat miraculous that the Messiah was accepted and recognized by anyone at all in his infancy. The idea of a child as God goes against the images of strength and omnipotence with which we associate God. We want a God that can take care of us—not a child. And yet, there are those who recognize the baby. Simeon has been faithfully awaiting “the consolation of Israel,” and the moment he sees the baby Jesus, he knows—this is the Messiah. Guided by the Spirit, “Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying, ‘Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.’” His encounter with Christ is a tender moment. He physically picks up the baby Jesus and, holding him near as if his own child, blesses him and gives thanksgiving to God for the salvation he brings. Now Simeon can die in peace—in the peace that comes with the knowledge of Jesus Christ. Likewise, the prophetess Anna recognizes the savior—her prayer and dedication have prepared her for his coming. She spent the rest of her days sharing the hope she found in him—the hope for Israel’s redemption. To this little baby boy they entrusted all of their hopes. He would have the power to save them.

But what kind of power does a baby have? Children—especially babies—are helpless, needy. How could our omnipotent God come to us as this powerless child? Christian author Frederick Buechner writes that Christ does have one power—the power to love and be loved. He cannot fight, he cannot even speak—he is entirely vulnerable to the outside world. The only power he has is love. And I would argue that this power may have been the only power he ever used. All of the amazing acts he did in his life right through to his sacrifice on the cross were acts of love. The greatest commandment—that we should love God and one another—he possessed the ability to follow this commandment as a child. We all possess that ability.

In the Incarnation, God has made himself vulnerable. God has, in effect, shown us that vulnerability is his power. As humans we are vulnerable—as a human, so was Jesus Christ. But one thing may set us apart. God embraced vulnerability in Christ Jesus. His sacrifice could not have occurred without it. From a manger trough to the cross he made himself vulnerable. And he did it because of his love for us. His vulnerability, his willingness to expose himself to the cruelty and sinfulness of humankind, was not his weakness but his strength. As Karl Barth writes in his essay on the humanity of God, “God’s high freedom in Jesus Christ is His freedom for love. The divine capacity which operates and exhibits itself in that superiority and subordination is manifestly also God’s capacity to bend downwards, to attach Himself to another and this other to Himself, to be together with him.”

In Jesus Christ, God taught us not only about the nature of the divine—but about our nature. He taught us how to be human. Therefore, following Christ necessarily means becoming vulnerable for love. God’s greatest gift to us was his willingness to be vulnerable in Jesus Christ. God asks us to give ourselves over to God with the same vulnerability. The most gratifying relationships—whether between humans or between God and human—come when there is mutual vulnerability. God has already made himself vulnerable before us—are we willing to be so exposed before God? We may choose vulnerability when we speak our mind, help one another, raise children, when we dare to say “I love you” and really mean it, when we offer forgiveness, when we accept forgiveness, when we walk through these church doors, when we open our hearts in prayer—when we finally relinquish control and give our lives over to the God who gave his life for us. In this Christmas season, will we dare to come before our God with such openness?

Paul wrote to the Galatians, “And because you are children, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, ‘Abba! Father!’ So you are no longer a slave but a child, and if a child then also an heir, through God.” This is my extended children’s sermon given unto you, children of God. A small child gives her love to others, namely caretakers, without hesitation. She is vulnerable. Her love has no limits, her neediness makes boundaries hard to keep. But soon she will grow and learn that the world is not as kind as she once had thought, that her parents are not gods, that love is not always returned. These are the things we try to protect our children from as long as we can—so that they may live with the innocence that we have lost. If we only understood our own need, we would be like the little child—coming to God, our hearts crying, “Father!” or “Mother!” I need you. My life is yours. We would risk it all for the love of God, remembering that God so loved the world that he gave us his only Son.

If only we would truly love God as his children. I am often moved by the ideas and answers that the kids come up with each Sunday during the children’s moment—their silliness is matched by their ability to speak honestly—unafraid of what others will think. We have so much to learn from our children. This concept became clearer to me this Christmas Eve as I watched the story of Jesus’ birth unfold during the Christmas pageant. Humor me as I relive a bit of my experience as a congregant for you.

Our pageant scene unfolds: Mary, dressed in a blue piece of cloth and wearing the appropriate head-piece shifts a little as she stands behind the trough…hoping that baby Jesus will remain quiet as the service progresses. The pacifier in his mouth should help. Though it is absurd to think they had rubber pacifiers in the manger, I am willing to throw historical accuracy to the wind for a more perfectly quiet Jesus. Joseph stands by, clearly the strong and silent type. If one suspends disbelief, the couples’ awkwardness might be blamed on the birth of a son who was not Joseph’s, though I sit in the pew wishing I had been thoughtful enough to introduce Mary and Joseph before half of the pageant rehearsal was over. Though the little lord Jesus no crying he made, Mary may shed a few when she can no longer move her cramped arms. The throngs of angels sit patiently by the stairs. The shepherds have worshipped the young boy, and the wise men have popped in as well. The animals are nestled quietly among the angels, occasionally “neighing” and pretending to eat the nearby vegetation—in our case, the poinsettias. Their thoughtful improvisation is welcomed, though I am glad I didn’t give our 5-year-old donkey that cowbell he requested. Everything is going according to plan. My first crack at the pageant can be counted as a success! “We Three Kings” is sung and the children are invited to come and see this thing that has happened at the front of the sanctuary. Many of the older children walk quickly and dutifully by the baby Jesus, while others serve as escorts for their little brothers and sisters. I watch as the front of the sanctuary becomes awkwardly congested and wonder if I should get up and start directing mid-pageant traffic so that no child is left behind once the hymn is complete. I decide to stay seated. Finally, all the children have gone back to their seats—all but one. A small boy, no more than 3 or 4 carefully creeps past Cindy and me and takes a few steps toward Mary, Joseph, and Jesus, though he remains at a safe distance. In a moment of pure pageant magic, Mary gently brings baby Jesus over to the young boy so that he may see this thing which has come to pass—the birth of a savior. The boy has a look of wonder and trepidation. I am deeply moved. Suddenly, the “success” of the pageant is not measured in costumes or stage presence, but in our ability to take in the wonder of the coming of God. And it was a wonder-filled moment.

Friends, as we approach God during this Christmas season—let us come to him wide-eyed and open hearted as children. He comes to us with love and forgiveness and hope. In his name, Amen.

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