Ever again at this time of year, we focus our attention on a tiny baby in a manger and celebrate the humble birth of the messiah who will become, for believers through the ages, the way and the truth and the life. Sentimental feelings of tenderness and religious feelings of adoration blend into a wistful and hopeful Christmas spirit that pervades the better, noncommercial aspects of the holidays. Surely, there is much in this manger scene to keep us gainfully occupied, as we contemplate the quiet and peaceful entry of the divine presence into our noisy and turbulent world.
But if our attention stops at the birth of the infant messiah, if we fail to pay even closer attention to the man he became, the life he lived, the fate he endured, then we miss not only the full impact of Christmas but also, much more importantly, the full message of the religion that claims him as founder and proclaims him as savior. Without any intention to dampen the glow of the holidays, to which I look forward as much as everyone, I offer some observations about the essential nature of the Christian life.
The life of Jesus, as we encounter it in the Gospels, moves quickly from birth and boyhood into the ministry of a man acquainted with suffering. The baby becomes a prophet and more than a prophet, whose life is characterized by compassion and conflict—compassion toward the meek and vulnerable, whom he heals, and conflict with the proud and powerful, whom he challenges. His acts of mercy, curing the disease-stricken and forgiving the conscience-stricken, endear him to many, but his acts of confrontation, condemning the injustice and oppression of the civil and religious leaders, create mortal enemies. Had he stuck with compassion and skipped the conflict, he would have been loved by the masses and tolerated by the leaders, but he refused to be a band-aid.
No, he chose instead to bring a spiritual sword that opened social and political wounds, to wage a verbal war against the hypocrites in high places who pretended to honor the prophets they stoned and pretended to serve the people they exploited. He kept at it, relentlessly, even when many turned away, even when his closest followers began to lose their courage and conviction. When he marched triumphantly into Jerusalem and cleansed the temple, recalling the revolutionary acts of the Macabees, he was a dead man. The Roman officials and their cronies in the temple priesthood would not tolerate rebellious conduct in the volatile outpost of Israel.
So the tiny baby ended up on a cross between two thieves, with a sign over his head mocking him as king of the Jews. He died as a criminal agitator, condemned by society, wondering aloud why his heavenly Father had deserted him. Meanwhile, his mother, who had given him birth in the manger and watched him grow in wisdom and in stature and in favor with God and man, now had to watch him twist in agony, taunted by executioners, until his final breath. And it would all have come to naught as an obscure tragedy had another event not happened which looms on the horizon of every genuine Christmas celebration, allowing believers to rejoice in a seemingly ill-fated birth. He rose, and the light shines on in the darkness, and the darkness cannot extinguish it.
What am I getting at with this heavy message at this happy time of year? What I’m trying to say, however blunt my words, is that there are two sides to the Christian life that followers of Jesus must strive to embody, however imperfect their efforts. Whether we like it or not, the Gospels call us to a life of both compassion and conflict. We are to heal the personal wounds of our fellow human beings, while opening the social and political wounds that are a necessary part of the perpetual fight against injustice, exploitation and oppression. Only when we walk down this difficult double path do we begin to follow in the steps of Jesus and find the way and the truth and the life that set us free.
Our favorite holiday classics understand this harder edge of Christmas. George Bailey sacrifices his dreams of travel and glory to battle Mr. Potter and preserve decency in his small hometown. Chris Kringle stands against the materialism that mars the holiday spirit and finds himself the target of a prosecutor in a commitment proceeding. Mr. Scrooge must undergo a macabre and menacing ordeal before he is willing to pay Bob Crachett a living wage and realize that his true business is humanity. So Merry Christmas, my friends, and let us ponder the meaning of the Christian life as we look upon the little baby in the manger. As Tiny Tim would have it—and Scrooge, too, when he saw the light—may God bless us all, every one.
“Compassion and conflict” – very true. That is the fine line many of us must walk.
Brought me to tears. Bravo Newton. My love for the Earth compels me not just to care for others, but also to fight. I will think of Jesus as I strive to embody both (and when others shame me for not always bringing “good vibes”)
Excellent!