Micah 5:2-5a
December 22, 2024
Bethlehem
was the one place I could not wait to see. It wasn't that I didn't want to visit
the other countries and sites we were touring, but Bethlehem? Bethlehem was it.
It was the real deal. This was the town that I had been singing about, hearing
about, and imagining my whole life. Finally, I was going to see and experience
that little town of Bethlehem. I guess in my mind, I saw Bethlehem as a cozy,
charming village. After all, the artistic depictions of Bethlehem I saw growing
up made it seem like a quaint little town tucked neatly into the Swiss alps.
Just substitute sand for snow and you've got it. Of course, these are the same
pictures that portrayed Mary, a Middle eastern Jew, as blonde and blue-eyed, so
I should have guessed that reality might differ from the pictures.
But I never
guessed or imagined just how different that reality would be. Bethlehem
different from the pictures? That's an understatement. Bethlehem was nothing
like I thought it would be. How shall I put this? It looked like a dive. A pit
of despair. A ditch of despondency. You get the idea. The pictures and
paintings I'd seen growing up were far cries from the reality of Bethlehem.
When we
first pulled into the town, I looked eagerly for those dark streets that were
once illumined by an everlasting light. But they were just dark. And if they
were wide and open enough to be filled with sunlight, then what really stood
out was the dirt and the dust. There were people walking around, but they
stared at our tour bus with suspicion and distrust. I can't say that I blamed
them.
“Oh goody. Another group of westerners come to stare at us.”
The
Bethlehem I visited, and the Bethlehem of lore were two very different places.
That really shouldn't have been a surprise, I know. But the disparity between
the ideal and the reality was far wider than I would have ever thought
possible. Bethlehem in 1993 was a sad, neglected town, ravaged by violence and
hopelessness. Never was I so glad to leave a place as I was Bethlehem.
My visit was
in 1993. Things change. My dear friend, Ellen, took a tour of the Holy Land several
years after I visited there, and the souvenir she brought back for me was a
coffee mug from the Bethlehem Starbucks. If Starbucks has made it to Bethlehem,
then you know changes have been made. I have no problem with coffee shops in
Bethlehem or any other place. As many of you know, I believe strongly that
coffee has the power to effect change and inspire hope. At least that's the
promise coffee makes to me every morning. But Starbucks in lieu of a star? That
gives me pause.
But lattes
aside, the Bethlehem I visited was a different place from the one which abides
in the carols we sing. Yet the Bethlehem of my memory doesn't seem that
different from the Bethlehem Micah spoke of and to in these verses.
"But
you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah, who are one of the little clans of Judah, from
you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel, whose origin is from
of old, from ancient days."
As always,
understanding of these particular verses comes from understanding the larger
context. Israel and Judah were under siege by the Assyrians. Samaria, the
stronghold of the northern kingdom had fallen. According to one Old Testament
scholar, great walls and fortresses were built around city after city in
attempt to thwart the invaders. But eventually invaders could not be thwarted.
City after city had fallen. City after city lay in ruins. Bethlehem was no
different. It was ravaged by war and conquest. All that was left of its mighty
walls and ramparts were smoke and ash. But in the midst of this devastation,
Micah spoke this miraculous word of hope. Out of this little clan, this little
town, this seemingly unimportant and conquered place will come one who will rule.
This one that Micah spoke of would be both rooted in the ancient days of
Israel's beginnings and in the future that would be grounded in God's promise
and faithfulness. Out of this little one, this little Bethlehem, would come one
who would rule, shepherd, and bring peace.
As I said,
understanding this passage, this word of hope, means understanding the larger
context. Unlike other prophets that may have survived assaults from foreign
armies by holing up in heavily protected strongholds of kings and rulers, Micah
and his people had witnessed the devastation wreaked across the land from the
invading armies. They had seen the destruction and waste that resulted from the
king’s response through force. Micah saw firsthand how violence only begets
violence. Micah saw up close and personally how violence destroys the most
vulnerable, how it destroys the land. And as one commentator wrote, Micah was
furious. He was furious with the current kingship and the genealogical lines
that put one weak king in power after another, and furious that all these kings
seemed to understand was violence. According to the scholarship I read, Micah
did not want the current line of kingship to continue. Micah, a prophet who had
seen what happens to the least of these because of war and violence, wanted
change – dramatic, life-altering change. And Micah knew that this was change
that could only come from God. Micah understood that the ruler who would come
from God would be the one of peace.
So, it is
into this maelstrom of history, violence, devastation, and destruction that
Micah prophesied. It is into this chaos of violence that Micah prophesied of
the one who would come, the one of God who would hearken back to the ancient
beginning of Israel, indeed the beginning of creation, and who would be the
change the future demanded. Micah prophesied of this one of God, this one who
would bring peace. And this one who would bring peace would not come from the
high echelons of Jerusalem, but from the most unexpected and lowly of places:
Bethlehem.
It's easy to Christianize Micah's words. Certainly they tie
in neatly with our story from Luke. Elizabeth, a woman well past childbearing
age, is expecting a child! And her kinswoman, another unexpected, lowly one, a
young woman named Mary, is also expecting an unexpected child. Both Elizabeth
and the child within her recognize that Mary is carrying the one that Micah
spoke of, the ruler, the shepherd of the people, the one who would bring peace.
This one of peace is the one we know as Jesus the Christ.
However, I’m not sure if Micah would have understood this
one of peace as the Jesus that we know and honor. Micah and the people to whom
he prophesied, were probably hoping for a new kind of ruler, one who would
bring peace, true, but one who also would restore the kingdoms of Israel and
Judah. This new ruler would bring peace but would also lead the people with
might and power. Their enemies would be defeated. Their homes would be rebuilt.
Their lands would be restored by this new and powerful one of peace. Wasn’t
this the hope of the people who followed Jesus? Didn’t they understood the
Christ, the Messiah, as one who would be the mightiest warrior of all? Wasn’t
this part of the problem? Jesus did not fulfill this idea of Messiah, and never
pretended to. He was the most unlikely of people to be the chosen one of God. But
maybe Micah had a glimpse. As one scholar wrote, Micah’s prophesy of hope is
far more radical than we realize. Micah knew that God was doing something new.
The one to come from God, the one would bring peace, was radically different
than all the ones who had gone before. Maybe Micah had a glimpse of just how
unlikely and unexpected the one who would bring peace would be.
When it
comes to God, the unexpected and unlikely should not surprise us, should it?
The unexpected and unlikely are at the heart of the gospel. That’s what makes
the good news of the gospel so radical and indeed it is radical! The unexpected
and surprising nature of God's incarnation is what makes the story of our faith
such good news. From the unexpected and the unlikely, from little ones, little
towns, and the lowliest of people comes great hope, peace, joy, and love. Our
good news, our salvific news, our amazing news is found in God’s divine
surprise. God is where we least expect and in the unlikeliest of people.
It seems to
me, though, that while we know this about God we don't really know this about God. We either take this good news for granted,
or we forget it in the midst of the darkness that surrounds us. The pain of the
world is so great that the idea of light overcoming darkness sounds like just a
nice thing to say. This world we live in is so filled with enmity, violence,
greed and fear that it is surely beyond redemption. And that’s just out there.
What about in here? What about in us? What brokenness lies within each of us?
What pain and sorrow do we bear? Will this bringer of peace bring peace to our
lives, bind up our broken hearts, and soothe our weary spirits? Of course God
will. Of course. That is the good news of the gospel! We say it, but do we
always believe it? When the darkness of the world fills me with despair, I find
it hard to believe that a light will shine in the darkness and the darkness
will not overcome it.
But God
never fails to surprise me. God surprises me, and I am shaken from my
complacency and knocked out of my selfish ease. God surprises me, God surprises
us, through the little ones, the unexpected ones – unexpected people and unexpected
places.
The gospel
is a gospel of surprise, and the call of Advent is to be surprised again by
God. After all, how can we not be surprised that our God was born into this
broken body in a broken world, not to overwhelm us or destroy us but to bring
light into the darkness. God was born into this world to lead us with peace.
So, let us be joyful. Let our hearts and minds be filled with hope. Let us
shout the good news of peace to a world in desperate need. Let us give thanks
and praise because God surprises us still, because God loves us. Thanks be to
God.
Let all of
God's children say, "Alleluia!"
Amen.
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