Micah
5:1-5a
December
20, 2015
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 and
hearing about my whole life. I was finally 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 in the Swiss alps. Just
substitute sand for snow and you've got it. Of course these are the same
pictures that portrayed Mary as blonde and blue-eyed, so I should have guessed
that reality might differ from the pictures.
Bethlehem
different from the pictures? That's an understatement. Bethlehem was nothing
like I thought it would be. How shall I put this? It was a dump. 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.”
What really stood out
to me was the Israeli military encampment on one side of a main road and the
Palestinian neighborhood directly
opposite. I use the term neighborhood
loosely. Most neighborhoods I know
aren't surrounded by large metal fences with access in and out dictated by
turnstiles.
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.
As I said
this was 1993. Things change. My dear friend, Ellen, took a tour of the Holy
Land just a couple of years ago, 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 there has been some progress; Starbucks in lieu of a star. I have
no problem with Starbucks. As many of you know, I believe strongly that coffee
has the power to effect change and inspire hope. At least that's what it tells
me every morning.
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 city after city had fallen. They 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.
In the
midst of such terrible devastation, Micah prophesied that one would come who
would bring peace. And that one would come from the most unexpected of places:
Bethlehem. It's easy to Christianize Micah's words. Certainly they tie in
neatly with our story from Luke. Another little one, a young woman named Mary,
would give birth to that ruler and shepherd and bringer of peace. However,
Micah and the people to whom he prophesied, were probably not thinking of
the one we call Christ. I imagine they heard these words and saw a new David, a
new king who would once more rule with might and power. Their enemies would be
defeated. Their homes would be rebuilt. Their lands would be restored by this
new and powerful King.
Yet just as
Bethlehem was an unexpected and unlikely place for a ruler, the one who would
come was equally unexpected. This isn't a surprise to us, is it? That's the
radical nature of the gospel. The unexpected and surprising nature of God's
incarnation is what makes the story of our faith such good news. From little
ones, little towns, little people, comes great hope, peace, love and joy. That
is amazing and wonderful news. It is God's divine surprise. God is where you
least expect, and God is found 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. Again, that is the good news! That is the gospel! We say it,
but do we always believe it? I know I don't. The darkness of the world fills me
with despair, and I find it easy to lose hope. 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 never fails to meet me in places and through
people I least expect. I may take the surprise of God for granted, but then God
surprises me anew. God surprises me, and I am shaken from my complacency and
knocked out of my selfish ease. God surprises, and that is the reason that I
can find joy on this morning. In the midst of so much pain and loss, there is
still reason to be joyful because God surprises us through the little ones –
little people, little places, little churches. God surprise us through the
unexpected ones, the least and the lowest ones.
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 love us?
To love us.
To. Love. Us.
God came through the little ones to bring large love. God
surprises us. Thanks be to God.
Let all of
God's children say, "Alleluia!" Amen.
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