Category: Empire

The Politics of Christmas

‘At that time, the Roman Emperor, Augustus, decreed that a census should be taken throughout the Empire…’ – Luke 2:1

The second chapter of Luke’s Gospel contains the most widely remembered account of Jesus’ birth.  Linus Van Pelt likely has something to do with its fame.  For many of us, it just doesn’t feel like Christmas until we hear the story. 

We can imagine the scene unfolding before our eyes.  There’s Mary and Joseph, racing into the ‘little town of Bethlehem,’ unable to find room at the inn – though they were more likely in a relatives’ home, just downstairs with the animals.  Still, it’s a comfy, cozy scene, as Jesus is born into the midst of domestic tranquility – though he really wasn’t.  Births are hardly tranquil events.  But never mind, there’s baby Jesus, all swaddled and warm, radiant beams emanating from his holy face – well, not really.  OK, so maybe the way we imagine Luke’s scene is off a bit, but it’s still a wonderful story – the story of the Living God, the One through whom all things were made, becoming flesh to dwell among us.  And of course, adding to the wonder is the presence of the shepherds, outcasts invited in, after first being ‘sore afraid’ and told by angels that they would find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger, complete with a heavenly chorus of ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace, goodwill to men.’  Yes, that’s what Christmas is all about Charlie Brown.

What’s interesting though, apart from the little things we get wrong, is the part of the story we miss.  Over the years, we listen to sermons on what this story meant to just about everyone involved: Mary, Joseph, the Shepherds, the angels.  Then we branch out into other Nativity-related texts, bringing in the Magi, Herod, Zechariah, Elizabeth, Simeon, Anna.  We even flash ahead and talk about the ministry of John the Baptist from time to time.  But there is one character, prominent in Luke’s account, that we tend to ignore, or, at best, mention briefly without comment.

Augustus Caesar.  He’s part of the Nativity story too.  Augustus was the Emperor of the Roman Empire at the time of Jesus’ birth.  After the death of his adoptive father, Julius Caesar, there had been a power struggle, complete with civil war, throughout the empire.  Eventually Augustus emerged victorious, which brought an end to the strife and ushered in a period known as the Pax Romana, or Roman peace, though it was, in truth, the peace of the oppressor, not the oppressed.  Nonetheless, at least to the Romans, Augustus was a hero.  He was rewarded with absolute power: military, political, and imperial.  He was worshipped and adored as the ‘Son of God’ (yes, that was his title) and everyone was expected to pledge their allegiance to him.  The world moved at his word, the activity in the wake of his order for a census being a case in point.  Augustus said the word, and everyone moved to be registered. If there was one guy on earth of whom it could be said, ‘he holds all the cards,’ it was Augustus Caesar.

The original readers of Luke’s account understood all this.  The mere mention of Augustus in the opening line said it all.  But reading on, by way of contrast, we discover the son of another King.  His name was Joseph, the descendant of David.  You would not have known Joseph was descended from kings by looking at him.  It had been a while since David had been king; his heirs long removed from the throne.  Joseph was a mere craftsman, and an impoverished one at that.  He held no military, political, or imperial power.  He was neither worshipped nor adored.  The world didn’t move for him.  He was one of the ‘moved.’

As was his adopted son to be, Jesus.  Yes, Jesus and Augustus were both adopted into a royal line.  The difference was that while Augustus was adopted into the lap of luxury and power, Jesus was adopted into the lap of poverty and weakness.  The contrast between Augustus and Jesus could not have been starker.   Like I said, in the eyes of the world, Augustus held all the cards.  Jesus held none. 

Which was exactly the way God wanted it.  The way the story unfolds reveals that God arranged for the arrival of His Son (for, after all that’s who Jesus REALLY is) in a manner that might cause us to rethink what power is all about.  Luke tells the story masterfully, using words that, while tame to modern ears after decades of overuse, were, for his first readers, shocking.  The angel brought the shepherds ‘Good News of Great joy.’  Good News.  The Gospel.  In Greek, euangelion.  In the Roman world, that word had a specific meaning.  It referred to an imperial pronouncement, usually accompanied by flags and political ceremony, that an heir to the empire’s throne had been born, or that a distant battle had been won.  The Angel went on to say that someone had indeed been born, calling him both Savior and Lord.  Again, in Rome, these words had specific meaning.  Savior was a title given to – guess who?  Augustus!  He was the one who had healed the chaos of Rome and brought the empire into a golden age.  Lord, as well, was a title for the Supreme Roman ruler.  And then came the song of the heavenly host: ‘Glory to God in the Highest, and peace on earth to those on whom God’s favor rests.’ Similar choruses were sung to Augustus, who, after all, had brought ‘peace’ to the empire.  The words to one such ode were inscribed upon a government building in Asia Minor in 6 BC:

‘The most divine Caesar…we should consider equal to the Beginning of all things…for when everything was falling into disorder and tending toward dissolution, he restored it once more and gave the whole world a new aura; Caesar…the common good fortune of all…the beginning of life and vitality…all the cities unanimously adopt the birthday of the divine Caesar as the new beginning of the year…whereas providence which has regulated our whole existence…has brought our life to the climax of perfection in giving to us the emperor Augustus…who being sent to us and our descendants as Savior, has put an end to war and has set all things in order; and whereas having become god manifest, Caesar has fulfilled all the hopes of earlier times…the birthday of the god Augustus has been for the whole world the beginning of the Gospel.’ 

Get it?  To the Roman world, a world focused on military, political, and imperial power, Augustus Caesar was the Good News.  He was the Gospel.  He was Savior and Lord.  He was the one worthy of worship.  God manifest among us!  But in Luke’s story, the tale is flipped. The angels proclaim Jesus, the manger baby, to be the Good News.  Jesus is the Gospel.  Jesus is Savior and Lord.  He is the one worthy to be worshipped.  He is God manifest among us!

This makes the angel’s announcement the most politically subversive in history.  It is the proclamation that the world’s glamorization of military, political, and imperial power isn’t all it is cracked up to be.  It is the proclamation that in God’s eyes, true power is found in humility and weakness. The proclamation that, despite what the politics of Rome proclaim, God’s politics, the politics of Christmas, points to a different reality: Jesus is Lord and Caesar is not.  If you want a Savior, a bringer of peace, you must follow Jesus, not the emperor.    

Well, that’s nice.  But does it have anything to do with us?   Of course, it does. Perhaps, at this moment in history, and in this country, it has more to do with us than at any other time in recent memory.  American society is deeply divided.  Over what?  Over who gets to play Caesar.  There’s a lot that needs to happen to bridge that divide.  A lot of soul searching, deep listening, and critical thinking needs to happen, for as Jesus said, a house divided against itself cannot stand.  But whatever the rest of society chooses to do, we who call ourselves Christians especially need to take a deep breath and search our hearts.

For the great temptation, first presented to Jesus in the wilderness (see, Luke 4:1-13) and us ever since, is that we will place our hope in power games and entangle ourselves in the politics of empire.  That we will follow imperial saviors.  That we will embrace a false Augustinian gospel, which is, as Paul would put it, no gospel at all (see, Galatians 1:6-9).  For you see, we were never meant to sing songs to the empire, be it red, blue, or purple. Be it Roman or American.  Our call has been, is, and always will be, to join the chorus of the shepherds and angels and proclaim that there is only one Gospel.  One Savior. One Lord.  One who is worthy of our worship.   He is the one born and laid in a manger, who lived to die on a cross for the sins of the world, who, from the moment of his birth, was proclaimed to rule a different kind of Kingdom; to be a different kind of King.   

That’s not to say Jesus would have nothing to say about the issues of our day, or that those who follow him should stay silent in the face of evil.  That would be wrong too.  But as we discern what we should say and do we must remember that in a world filled with those who still believe that the path to glory is the way of Augustus, who strive for, and pledge allegiance to, military, political, and imperial power, there is but one choice for those who claim the title ‘Christian.’  That choice is to forsake all other allegiances and embrace the politics of Christmas, allowing its author to inform our place and position on all matters.  This is the politics that calls us to stand only where Jesus stands and say and do only what he would say and do.

To paraphrase a line from Shane Claiborne and Chris Haw’s Jesus for President, this is the politics that will cause the faithful to say to those political, military, and imperial powers that demand their fealty: ‘Enough your imperial eagles.  Enough with your donkeys and elephants.  We pledge our allegiance to the Lamb.’

This Christmas, may we all do so.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Note: in addition to the paraphrased quote from Claiborne and Haw, I want to credit their book for the inscription to Caesar, historical references to meaning of ‘Gospel,’ ‘Savior’ and ‘Lord,’ and the overall spirit of this post.

It’s Time to Abandon the Empire

‘Whenever the Spirit of God blows like a hurricane through Christian history, it is through prophets and lovers who have surrendered unconditionally to the folly of the Cross’ – Brennan Manning

It was tough living in first century Palestine, at least if you were a faithful Jew.  Herod the Great, and his sons after him, collaborated with Rome to impose Greco-Roman politics and culture upon Israel with evangelistic fervor. The way of Herod, aka the way of empire, the way of wielding power from above to impose one’s will upon those below, was having its way throughout the land. This was the world of Jesus.

In his book, The Jesus Way, Eugene Peterson points out something rather remarkable about Jesus and his time: despite the virtual omnipresence of the Roman Empire and its puppet kings, Jesus pretty much went about his business as if they didn’t exist. Only once did he briefly mention the emperor (Mark 12:17), and it was the same with the house of Herod (Luke 13:32).  He called Herod Antipas a ‘fox,’ which was just enough of an insult to let everyone know what he thought of that family’s wily political ways. Not that he was unaffected by these miscreants. He certainly was. His birth in Bethlehem was brought about by imperial edict. As a toddler he fled with his refugee family to escape Herod’s mania.  As a craftsman in Nazareth he felt the financial pinch of the empire’s oppressive taxation. As an itinerant preacher he walked among centurions and soldiers who jealously eyed him with suspicion.   And at the end of his life he was deemed a political enemy of the state and crucified under orders of the Roman Governor Pilate.  Even his grave was guarded by Roman soldiers. From birth to death, Jesus life was ramed by the politics and policies of empire. 

But he never let the empire dictate the course of his life.  He simply swam in its waters (without ‘getting wet,’ i.e., being contaminated by them) as he heeded the voice of his Father.  Never once did he seek to use the empire’s power to further his message. He never petitioned it for a redress of grievances (though the Gospels show evidence of other religious leaders doing just that). He never asked Herod to implement just laws or further the Kingdom of God on earth. It is striking that during the greatest injustice ever perpetrated, his own arrest and trial, he never once asked either Herod or Pilate for mercy.  In fact, he was silent before Herod, and largely so before Pilate.  To the latter he would only say that his Kingdom didn’t operate along the lines of power politics and violence, as Pilate’s did, and that in any event his life was in his Father’s hands, not Rome’s. In other words, even when the regents of the world stood before him and asked for his input on the subject of his own death, he pretty much ignored them. 

This is not to say he never addressed the powers of his day.  On the contrary, he challenged them at every turn. His every move in life was, in a sense, a political act; a statement in word or action that decried the way of empire and violence. But he never employed the ways and means of the empire to make his case. He never sought political power or assistance. He never enmeshed himself, even to the slightest degree, in the empire’s methods. He simply went about his Father’s business, strolling about the dominion of the empire, showing everyone another way to change the world.

There are of course many reasons why he took this approach. But most crucial is that empire simply wasn’t his Father’s way. His Fathers way was (and is) the way of the Cross, which Paul described as the wisdom of God and the power of God (1 Corinthians 1:24). Jesus knew that using the ways and means of empire to make the world a better place would be useless. Might as well try to make the sun rise in the west. The empire was the empire was the empire, and always would be. There was nothing to gain by becoming entangled with it and everything to lose. Get involved in the empire, pursue its ways, and you’ll only end up talking, looking, and smelling like the empire. You might gain at least a part of the world, but in the process lose your own soul (Mark 8:36). Much better, and ultimately far more effective, to follow the way of the Cross.

Such thoughts race through my mind today in the wake of Donald Trump’s second acquittal in the Senate, supposedly the ‘greatest deliberative body on earth.’  We all knew how it would end. And we were right. If you were hoping for another outcome you were fooling yourself. You were counting on an empire to do the right thing. But an empire is an empire is an empire. It never does the right thing. Maybe once in a blue moon it makes a move in the right direction.  Even a blind pig will occasionally find a truffle.  But in the end, the forces of empire, the power players who long to impose their will on those below them, always manage to get their way. It was empire that created the system after all, and it works exactly the way empire intends. 

I’ve spent several years now lamenting and fighting the empire, or at least the version known as Trumpism.  But after everything that’s happened, Trumpism is still alive, still menacing the nation in the wake of insurrection. I will continue to stand against it, of course, but in coming days I’m going to do better at remembering the tactics of Jesus. I’m resolving to spend less time paying attention to what the empire is doing. Sure, I will vote. I will speak out about issues that matter. I will stand against racism, seek solidarity with the vulnerable, work to preserve the beauty of God’s creation, lots of things.  I may even show up at a protest or two. But I am not going to expend the best parts of myself watching and worrying about the minutiae of what the empire is doing, thinking that by doing so I can somehow will it to do the right thing. The vote today proves what I really knew all along.  It never will.   

So, instead, I’m going to follow the way of the cross. I’m going to stroll around the dominion of empire doing my best to show everyone another way to change the world. I’m going to try to be more like my Jesus (I am well aware of how far I fall short of that standard), the one who went about his business of challenging the empire and its ways without seeming to notice it. My life will still be lived in the shadow of the beast, as his was, and in some ways shaped by the beast’s designs and machinations. But I will not waste my time worrying about those designs and machinations. I will instead seek my Fathers will and place myself in his hands. I will live by the creed of another Kingdom, not the Pilatian, Herodian, or Trumpian kingdoms of the world.   

Will doing this make a difference? I have no idea.  It really isn’t any of my concern. In the inside cover of my Bible I have taped a quote from Brother Dominique, a friend and mentor of the late Brennan Manning. It reads:

‘All that is not the love of God has no meaning for me.  I can truthfully say that I have no interest in anything but the love of God which is in Christ Jesus.  If God wants it to, my life will be useful through my word and witness.  If he wants it to, it will bear fruit through my prayers and sacrifices.  But the usefulness of my life is His concern, not mine.  It would be indecent of me to worry about that.’[1]

It’s time to get out of the shallow end of the pool and live that statement to the full.

Let the chips fall where they may. I will trust God and follow Jesus.  I will follow the way of the Cross.

As Shane Claiborne and Chris Haw say, ‘enough with the donkeys and elephants. It’s time for the Lamb.’

It’s time to abandon the empire. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

[1] From All is Grace, by Brennan Manning.