“The Promise of Justice”
Isaiah 9:2-7
Luke 1:26-45
Luke 1:46-55
Luke 4:16-21
John 1:1-5, 10-14, 16
There is, of course, absolutely nothing wrong with coziness and light, good cheer and good friends, good music and good food, glad tidings of great joy, wonder and mystery, and all the other ways Christmas brings generosity and hope to so many.
And there is, of course, nothing quite like the birth of a child to evoke feelings we didn’t even know we were capable of: a love that is pure, fierce, and never-ending.
All of that is grace upon grace, life-changing love on top of heart-breaking, heart-healing love, and more joy and warm fuzzies than we could have ever imagined.
And yet . . .
If there’s no space for justice on our Christmas bingo card, there will only be so much joy to the world. If our understanding of Christmas ends with angels and shepherds heralding a baby born away in a manger in the little town of Bethlehem, we’ve lost sight of the real reason for the season. And if we let a few tattered costumes and the sugar-fueled Christmas Eve antics of the cutest kids ever distract us from the truly subversive elements of the Christmas story, then the powers that be—including the institutional church—will have succeeded in keeping the mighty on their thrones and the poor and lowly captive behind the locked doors of unjust systems.
Now, I want to be clear: I have absolutely no desire to take away any of the joy that Christmas brings to our weary hearts, any of the light that it shines into our darkness, or any of the love we give and receive. All of it is right and good, and I hope we all delight in it.
And yet there is, as they say, still more to the story:
More joy and more light and more grace upon grace—along with some holy revolution and a big and bottomless helping of justice.
God did not take on flesh and move into our sketchy neighborhood just to make us feel better for a season; Jesus came to bring healing, hope, and justice to all people and all creation for all time.
God’s love is not just something that heals and restores. God’s love is not just something for our personal benefit. God’s love is not just something that awakens and connects us.
God’s love is a mighty, mysterious, and subversive force that remakes the world—top to bottom, inside and out, now and always, for everyone and everything.
It’s right there in the story!
How, from the beginning, God’s love was made manifest not only in every single human being, each one made in the very image of God, but also in every mountain and tree, plant and mineral, river and stream, ocean and sky. How God’s love is made manifest in every creature, from the birds of the air to the fish in the sea, from the mouse to the elephant, the hummingbird to the bald eagle, the white-tailed deer to the polar bear, from the majestic lion to your pet cat, from the wildest wolf to my dog, Scout.
God’s wildly creative, endlessly compassionate love is right there in the story:
How, from the beginning, God’s commandments and prophets have always focused on how we treat one another, on making sure that everyone has enough and that those on the margins are cherished and cared for and brought into the center of things.
God’s loving, world-turning justice is right there in the story:
How Luke’s Christmas story begins with the greedy imperial powers and their onerous decrees to all the world but then broadcasts the good tidings of great joy for all people to a bunch of undocumented workers laboring in the fields on the outskirts of town. How a key part of Luke’s story focuses on two remarkable women, each of them gobsmacked with child, coming together in love, solidarity, and hope for a re-ordered future. How these women—one old and the other young—are given a choice, and how each of them says “yes” to becoming a mother of change. How those oppressed and objectified women—much more than the men in their lives—understand what is happening and sing with joy and wonder of bread and roses and justice.
How the earthly parents of God’s Love Made Flesh can find no room in the inn, which is to say: The savior of all was born to unhoused peasants who will soon become refugees fleeing political violence.
How hope is born not in a palace or under the glare of live-streaming cameras, but in the dark and messy animal-adjacent arena of real life for people with next to nothing.
How that baby boy grows up to become a healer and holy trouble-maker, determined to bring good news to the poor, release to the captives, and to set free those who are oppressed.
Yes, the Christmas story is a love story—an exciting chapter in the ongoing story of God’s fierce, tender, and subversive love. And, because it is a love story, because love changes and heals and sets things right, it is also a story that reaffirms God’s commitment to justice and highlights the lengths to which God will go to fulfill the promise of justice.
Cornel West has said that “justice is what love looks like in public.” The Christmas story tells us that justice is also what God’s love makes real, and what beloved community is for.
It’s right there in the story: in your story and my story, in our story, our church’s story, and the world’s story.
Yes, the corrupt powers will do their thing, and it may even look like they are winning. But never forget that God’s subversive love is always at work—in and through the undocumented, marginalized, and powerless, in out-of-the-way places and through people that ruffle our feathers and situations that are inconvenient, and—if we would just say “yes”—also through us.
Beloveds, the light still shines in the darkness, and the darkness will not overcome it.
O come, O come, Emmanuel.
