Poolesville Presbyterian Church
12.24.11; Rev. David Williams
We’re just about through Christmas party time. Or, perhaps, “Holiday Party time.” Or ChristmaKwanzakah party time. It’s so hard to tell these days.
If you’re just one of the masses, one of the regular folk, then your parties are friends and family and co-workers. You get together, you sing songs, you decorate trees, and you share in the warmth of the season. There’s the social warmth of each other’s fellowship, and better yet, the insulating warmth of all those additional fat cells that we get from endless bouts of eggnog and hot chocolate and fruitcake. It’s cheaper than buying a new coat, or so I tell myself. Given that the smart way to keep warm in winter is wearing layers, I figure it shouldn’t matter if some of those layers just happen to be under the surface of my skin.
But for those who follow the society pages, the professional party people, the friends and family festivities of the common folks are not enough. In a town where influence is everything, and connections often trump competence, you are only as important as the people who populate your smartphone contact list. Getting those people to show up to your parties is a competitive contact sport, one that shows your place in the status race.
If you don’t have an ambassador or someone from a consulate at your party, you’re just not important. If you don’t have someone from the city council at your party, you’re just not important. If you don’t have the Assistant Deputy Undersecretary of the Department of Cheesedoodle Assessment at your party, you’re just not important.
If powerful people arrive at your doorstep, take a half-sip of eggnog, and then scurry off thirteen minutes and twelve seconds later to the next of the sixteen parties they’re going to that evening, then it’s a sign of your influence and your connections. I mean, golly, what’s the point of a party if you can’t name-drop afterwards?
Our familiar reading from the story of Luke this evening begins with a little bit of name-dropping. As the story of the birth of Christ begins, we hear a litany of the most influential muckity-mucks in the ancient world.
Luke drops the name of the Roman governor of the province of Syria, Publius Sulpicius Quirinius. He was a well connected but profoundly unpopular Roman politician, and not just because his name made him sound like a particularly obnoxious Slytherin. He was one of those “connected people,” someone in the inner circle of power who had the favor of the Imperial Family. He was elected consul in Rome in the year 12 BCE, which was the highest elective office in the Empire. He was given the office of governor of Syria as a reward for being so reliably supportive of the Emperor. He was generally disliked by the people, as his marriage to a well known Roman socialite very publicly ended in a series of lawsuits in which he accused her of poisoning him. If there’d been a “Real Housewives of the Province of Judea” back then, he’d have been on it. Whichever way, he was famous and powerful.
We hear about Caesar Augustus, whose reign over Rome made him arguably the most influential and powerful of the Roman Emperors.
Truth be told, he’s the guy who built the Roman Empire. This was a guy with clout. He wasn’t just called Caesar Augustus, after all. He had title after title after title. He was the Pontifex Maximus, the high priest of Rome. He was the Pater Patrie, the father of his country. He was the Princeps, the citizen above all other citizens. He had the resume of all resumes, and was the ne plus ultra of potential party guests.
But neither of these two gets an invite to the party. He’s just mentioned for the same reason that Quirinius is mentioned. Luke, being the good historian that he was, needed to tell us roughly when this whole thing happened. He’s just saying: Remember when that guy was around? And that other guy? Well, while you were paying attention to them, something really important happened then that you might have missed.
So who is important to Luke as he tells this story? Who are the ones worthy to receive the news about the Christ child? Are they the leaders and the ruling class of society? No. Are they the religious leaders, the rabbis and the priests and the desert ascetics? Nope. It’s the shepherds.
Now for us, shepherds might seem like honest, down to earth folk. We conjure up images from Christmas pageants past, of kids in repurposed bathrobes, of bucolic rolling fields speckled with fluffy sheeplings. But in the ancient world, shepherds weren’t considered worth bothering with. They were the dregs of the dregs, inhabiting the lowest possible rung on the first century social ladder.
They were lower than telemarketers. Lower than spammers. They were at about the same level as lobbyists, only they smelled slightly more like sheep. Slightly.
Yet according to Luke, when the skies over Nazareth lit up like a Spielberg Special Effects Spectacular, who got to see it? Shepherds. When an invitation was extended to visit the bedside of the Christ Child, who got invited to be there? Shepherds.
By sending this message to the ones gathered in the fields, God shows us who is invited, and who is valued.
In verse 14, the traditional and beautiful King James Version has the angels proclaiming: “Glory to God in the Highest, and on earth peace, goodwill towards men.” But if you go back and read what was originally written in Luke, the last part of that beautiful passage is more accurately translated as on earth “peace to those he favors.” This is a proclamation of peace and joy for those in whom--here’s another way to say it---”for those in whom God delights.”
So who are those people? In whom does God delight? Not the ones with social influence or power. Credentials, titles, and any other form of earthly status mean nothing to God. God leaves the places of power, and goes out into the fields to find those for whom Jesus is actually good news. They are the lowly. The poor. The weak. The meek.
Christ is there, a gift and a promise, waiting for those who are rejected, who are broken, who are lost. Christ is there, a gift for those who find themselves outside of the circles of power, out beyond, out in the fields.
To those fields, the invitation has been sent. The party has been prepared. It’s a humble little gathering, to which we are all invited.
Let’s accept that with rejoicing. Let it be so, for you and for me, AMEN.
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