A Devotion from Donald J. Shelby

Christmas on Tiptoe

In an aggressive bid to attract members, a Midwest megachurch recently sunk $25,000 into

decorations for a lavish Christmas program. We’ve come a long way from the manger.

Something in us likes to be dazzled and entertained, to have our senses galvanized with

spectacle. There are even public-relations firms that specialize in media blitzes and festive

openers, providing clowns, fireworks, and dance troupes to showcase a new product or

introduce an aspiring celebrity with great hoopla.

Why did God not use a few special effects when Jesus was born, and let loose a miracle or

two like those that occurred at the dawn of Creation, or with Moses and the Exodus? Why did

he not go for maximum exposure by choosing Athens, Rome, Alexandria—even Jerusalem—for

Christ’s birth? And if the prophet Isaiah had announced that the coming Messiah King, the

virgin’s child, would finally sit in royal splendor on David’s throne, why a cave as the setting for

the birth?

True, a star appeared, but not many knew why or for whom. And an angel chorus heralded

the event, but none but a few poor shepherds heard their announcement. Surely this was not

the auspicious beginning one would expect for the birth of the world’s Savior.

Yet this anomaly tells us something. It points us not only to what God was up to then, but

also how Jesus comes today into the midst of our lives.

Jesus came first to us, as preacher George Buttrick suggested, as a gentle sign. A working-class

couple welcomes their first child in a stable with its pungent odors, among animals whose moist

eyes reflect the flickering light of the oil lamps brought in for the birth. No sounding of

trumpets, no marching of armies, no retinue of servants, just the quiet rustle of animals, the

familiar human sounds heard at any birth, and the wail of a new baby who was then laid in a

manger as his first crib. God “came down the backstairs at Bethlehem,” wrote Buttrick, “lest he

blind us by excess of light.” He came first to a small town—Bethlehem—as a child who would

beckon and enable, save and restore through the power of love.

It is no surprise, then, to see Jesus later calling his followers to gentle ways: “If any one

strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.… Love your enemies and pray for

those who persecute you” (Matt 5:39, 44). He also told them: “Blessed are the meek, for they

shall inherit the earth.… Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy” (Matt 5:5, 7).

The world, of course, argues otherwise. We live in a day when aggressive and assertive ways

are touted while reticence and deference are ridiculed. Examine the self-improvement section

of your bookstore and you find titles like The Art of Getting Your Own Sweet Way, The Virtue of

Selfishness, Competitive Advantage, and How To Get What You Want. These titles seem to

suggest that you should get what you want even if you have to use or abuse people. Society too

often applauds the coercive, and almost canonizes the ruthless.

Yet on the sundown side of the day, when the applause and cheers are but an echo and the

prizes have tarnished, whom does history affirm?

And around the time of Jesus’ birth, where would we have looked for the world’s hope to

be revealed? In the compound of Herod, who called himself “the Great”? In the quarters of

Quirinius, Roman legate of Syria? In the palace of Caesar on the Palatine Hill in Rome? Unlike

the boastings of Herod, Augustus, and Quirinius, the Word of God was whispered in Jesus. The

birth of Jesus was surprising with its inconspicuous setting, its simplicity and reticence. But who

made the lasting impression?

On his seventieth birthday, the great medical scientist Louis Pasteur was honored at a

jubilee celebration in the amphitheater of the Sorbonne. In his appreciation speech, Pasteur

noted that “nations will unite, not to destroy, but to build.… The future will belong to those

who have done most for suffering humanity.”

The future does indeed belong to strong but gentle people like William Carey, William and

Catherine Booth, Frances Willard, Albert Schweitzer, Dorothy Day, Jean Vanier, Mother Teresa

of Calcutta, and Martin Luther King, Jr. In those who say yes to Jesus’ presence, a Christlike

spirit is born, which soon issues in human deeds of constancy and quiet strength.

Jesus came as a sign, and still he moves and acts where loving people act in gentle ways

from great strength, where people see possibility and respond with skill, kindness, generosity,

and courage.

Jesus also came as a lowly sign, and still he comes where people admit their need and

limitations, where they sense that whatever power or gifts they may have do not so much

reside in them as work through them. Jesus reminded his followers that this response was to be

theirs: “Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted”

(Matt 23:12). He also told the disciples: “You know that those who are supposed to rule over

the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great men exercise authority over them. But it shall not

be so among you; but whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever

would be first among you must be slave of all” (Mark 10:42–44).

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus encapsulated this teaching in one of the beatitudes,

“Blessed are the poor in spirit” (Matt 5:3), which might be translated, “Blessed are the humble-

minded.” Jesus also taught that the “first will be last, and the last first” (Matt 19:30).

But today, Jesus’ teachings and his spirit are often disdained by a world that treats privilege

and position as the authentic measure of greatness and power, that gauges another’s worth by

the circle of acquaintances he lunches with, by the size of his paycheck, or by the neighborhood

he can afford to live in. In an age so particular about rank and status, many people seriously

object to serving anyone. (Although those dupes may be more enslaved to their jobs or their

images than they realize.)

Or people dismiss Jesus’ teachings and his spirit as impractical when it comes to the

competitive struggles of business and profession, or politics and international relations. “I’ve

tried to run my business by the Sermon on the Mount, but it doesn’t work,” some say. It does

take struggle and prayer; it may cost something, but it is not impossible. People do it.

Indeed, the world’s ways of pride, competition, and status-seeking wound others and leave

us empty. The stresses and pressures of staying on the defensive, “getting the biggest bone,”

and overpowering someone else have contributed to shaky marriages and ugly divorces, heart

disease and ulcers, abused children, the arms race, the drug crisis, and a host of other problems

that blight our lives.

We need the humble-minded, unpretentious, God-centered life that Jesus lived and to which

he summons us. We need him to awaken our hunger for goodness, and move us toward

community, responsibility, and reverence for God. We need to be infected with the contagion

of inspiration and influence, that rouses us to claim wholeness and a life fit for living, fit for

dying, and fit for a destiny beyond both.

God gave us a sign when Jesus took upon himself the humble form of a servant. “Have this

mind among yourselves,” the apostle Paul wrote, “which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though

he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied

himself, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in

human form he humbled himself and became obedient unto death, even death on a cross” (Phil

2:5–8).

The wealth of empire, the strength of conquering armies, the snare of celebrity, the drive to

elbow our way to the top—are these the measure of our humanity or the evidence of true

power? No, the sign for all times is in a stable where a child is born whose name is Jesus, who

took the form of a servant to reveal the love that saves us and keeps us.