Pastor Cogan led a great, thoughtful discussion yesterday about Dietrich Bonhoeffer. The plan for yesterday and the next couple of these Tuesday lunchtime gatherings is to reflect on some letters from Bonhoeffer – one of our better known Lutheran theologians and heroes – that he wrote during the seasons of Advent and Christmas during his life, which was lived in the early to mid-1900’s. Other than his books, other writings and teaching, Bonhoeffer is known for having participated in a plot to assassinate Adolf Hitler during the second World War. He was put to death, himself – a martyr – because of it.

I don’t want to go down that road now, but our discussion yesterday had me thinking about what we’re up to tonight and what we’ve invited one another to this time around where our Advent walk is concerned.

One of the things we reflected on and talked about yesterday, was a painting Bonhoeffer referred to in one of his letters. He was writing from prison, to his parents, and referenced this painting by Albrecht Altdorfer. It’s called, simply, “The Nativity” and, as you can see, it’s not exactly full of the kind of Christmas spirit most people go looking for.

Bonhoeffer marveled that this painting was done 400 years or so before his time, in 1507, to be specific, but that the artist somehow captured something surprisingly relevant and meaningful about the world as Bonhoeffer was experiencing it as a political prisoner in a recently bombed-out prison, somewhere in war-torn Germany, circa 1943.

And it reminded me of something else I’ve seen and read about this week. This is the nativity scene on display these days in the worship space at Christmas Lutheran Church, in Bethlehem, Palestine. Instead of a Christmas tree this time around, the church has created this display from debris like that found in nearby Gaza these days, and they will be limiting their Christmas celebrations to less-than-festive prayers and rituals, in solidarity with the suffering that consumes their part of the world these days.

And THAT reminded me of an image I used a few years back, on the First Sunday after Christmas, where we often read about King Herod and his murderous “Slaughter of the Innocents.” This piece of art was created by the disguised, mysterious, anonymous artist known as Banksy. He called it “The Scar of Bethlehem.”

At the time, in 2019, there wasn’t a full-blown war raging in the region, but the piece was a response to and a depiction of the ever-present tension and division and struggle that seems to be bubbling just beneath the surface there – when it hasn’t erupted like it did, again, on October 7th. Notice the star looks like it was created by a bullet in the wall that divides and surrounds the Palestinians in so many ways. With graffiti there are words and symbols for “peace,” “love,” and “freedom” spray-painted behind the Holy Family.

And, finally, I thought about this image, too. It’s called “Jose y Maria” and done by a cartoonist named Everett Patterson. It’s full of clever allusions to the biblical story of Jesus’ birth, which you’ll have fun finding if you look it up and spend some time with it on your own. But you can see the “Smoke Weisman Cigarettes” ad, the neon “Star Beer” sign, the lack of vacancy at the “city of David” Motel, which also cleverly has the word manger included. And I love how Maria is sitting on that penny pony ride, like I used to ride at K-Mart when I was a kid.

Anyway all of this contemporary artwork, in light of the painting that Pastor Cogan shared with us yesterday, reminded me that there’s nothing new under the sun – these beautiful, haunting, faithful attempts at finding relevance and meaning in the Christmas story for our day and age. Banksy, Patterson and Bonhoeffer, too, are just trying to put the season of Advent and the coming of Jesus into some perspective for a world that simultaneously suffers and struggles in so many ways, but longs for the peace and good news and comfort and joy God promises.

And all of that makes me think of the devotional we hope you’re reading spending time with during these Advent days, this time around, courtesy of Kate Bowler. It’s called, simply “The Advent We Actually Have,” which is all we can have, all we can ask for, and all we can do, when it comes right down to it, right?

The Christians in Palestine are left to celebrate and look for God among the rubble and in the darkness and despair and the noise of the war that surrounds them.

Bonhoeffer was left to look for God in the loneliness and uncertainty and fear of his captivity.

Jose and Maria – the Joseph and Mary of every generation – are left to look for Jesus with the hope, curiosity, and fear that go along with an unknown future – and possibly unwanted – an unwanted pregnancy.

And we are left, no matter how much we decorate or dress up or dream about what all of this Advent waiting will mean this time around – with the Advent we actually have, just the same.

“The Advent we actually have” includes the grief that still lingers for so many who’ve lost loved ones and it includes the joy of new life some have celebrate.

“The Advent we actually have” matters for the successful healing and good health that belongs to some and it matters for the diagnoses yet to be delivered to others.

“The Advent we actually have” comes with promise for the budding relationships some are experiencing and it comes for the relationships crumbling like dust that too many others know.

And “the Advent we actually have” comes for those of us – maybe most of us – who have a little bit of all the above in our lives on any given day.

And the good news of grace we’re waiting for, in Jesus, reminds us that God is here for it … that God is here for all of it … that God is here for all of us … no matter where we find ourselves as we make our way to the manger.

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.

Matthew 2:13-23

Now after they had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, “Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.” Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, “Out of Egypt I have called my son.”

When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men. Then was fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah:

“A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation,Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.”

When Herod died, an angel of the Lord suddenly appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt and said, “Get up, take the child and his mother, and go to the land of Israel, for those who were seeking the child’s life are dead. Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother, and went to the land of Israel. But when he heard that Archelaus was ruling over Judea in place of his father Herod, he was afraid to go there. And after being warned in a dream, he went away to the district of Galilee. There he made his home in a town called Nazareth, so that what had been spoken through the prophets might be fulfilled, “He will be called a Nazorean.”

Merry Christmas, right?!

I’ll get to the ugly stuff in a minute – and there’s plenty of it – but first I want to sympathize with Joseph and Mary: More angels. More dreams. More commands in the middle of the night. More traveling, running, fleeing, even. More “get out of Dodge.” More “do this” and “do that” and “go here” and “go there.” It would seem like enough already, don’t you think? And with no end in sight. And lots of questions about what would be next or about how much longer this was going to last. And, “What have we gotten ourselves into?” This “Jesus” who’s “going to save his people from their sins,” was turning out to be a lot of work.

So I wondered if you had seen this piece of art yet, before we showed up for worship this morning? It was unveiled just this past Saturday at the Walled Off Hotel, in Bethlehem, by the artist known only as Banksy. He also owns the Walled Off Hotel which they say has “the worst view of any hotel in the world,” because it opened in 2017 and is deliberately situated – so as to make a statement – just across the street from the wall that is also depicted in this recent creation.

(Banksy is also the artist who, this past October, sold a painting of a girl with a balloon for $1.4 million dollars and, just as the sale was made at the auction, the painting was shredded in front of everyone in the room. Remember that?)

Anyway, this particular piece of work is called “Scar of Bethlehem,” and it seems particularly relevant to what brings us here this morning as we hear about the “Slaughter of the Innocents,” so soon after our Christmas celebrations. It’s a critique of, if not a protest against, the divisions – physical and otherwise – that separate and subjugate Palestinians in Israel.

And without getting into or unpacking all of that (something I’m not sure I’m qualified to do) I bring up Banksy’s artwork simply because it is a pretty cold, very timely reminder of just exactly the kind of world Jesus was born into and just exactly the kind of world we’re living in, still.

See, this Gospel story always turns me to the news. And in scrolling through my computer’s news feed or turning on the television, this is just some of what I found, in the four days since we celebrated Christmas, and the “hopes and fears of all the years” that were met in Jesus that night:

Kim Jong Un, North Korea’s ruthless dictator, known for assassinating relatives, former mistresses, and ordinary citizens, and who might be considered a modern day Herod was up to his old tricks again – taunting and teasing our President with a “Christmas gift” of some kind, like a bomb or missile test or something else similarly sinister. (Merry Christmas.)

45 million people – men, women and children – are at imminent risk due to a drought in Western Zimbabwe, which some say will likely leave much of that part of God’s creation uninhabitable for the people who call it home. (Merry Christmas.)

And during the week of Christmas over 235,000 people have been on the move, in and around a province called Idlib, in Syria. They’re being chased out of their homeland for fear of their lives, thanks to Russian-backed Syrian airstrikes, barrel bombs and other heavy artillery, that threaten them. (Merry Christmas.)

(Google Maps says, with usual traffic, Idlib, in Syria, is about a 9-hour drive from Bethlehem, but that the roads might be restricted.)

All of this is to say and to show what we know, but sometimes forget: that it’s not always an easy calling, this living with the eyes of faith. It’s hard to keep our collective chins up and to press on, believing and proclaiming the Good News of the Gospel, when the world shows us so much, so completely to the contrary. Still, this story about Herod’s evil ways, paired with what we know and see in the world around us, might also be another call to see God as alive and active in the lives of God’s people – for the sake of the world – especially when that’s hard to believe.

Some might choose to point a finger and to blame God for not doing what we would like, or doing what we would do, if we could. Some might get angry and pretend this sort of evil and destruction and ugliness appears out of thin air, even though we know it grows out of decades and centuries of human misunderstanding and broken relationships and sin, pure and simple. We can blame and doubt and deny and dismiss the troubles of the world around us till we’re blue in the face.

Or we can read this story … and give thanks for Christmas … and see a God who longs to live with and lead and love people. With this story, we’re reminded again in a big way of who and how and where God is, when it comes right down to it.

Our God is in the middle of it. Born into the thick of it. You’ve heard me say before that our God isn’t one who magically swoops down from heaven to get us out of trouble at every turn – that’s not what the Christmas story pretends. Our God is one who has come down to be in the world and in the midst of our trouble with us – no matter how grave or ugly or scary that trouble might be. This story is about Emmanuel – which means “God with us,” remember – and just exactly why we’re still celebrating in these hard, holy days after Christmas.

Because this is still our story. We are hurting and scared in our own ways. We are sick and suffering in our own ways. We are lost and looking for our own purpose and our own hope and our salvation, still.

So I wonder if you noticed something else in this morning’s Gospel story? That phrase that showed up over and over again? Matthew seems to use it as a reminder of God’s plan and purpose and intention for us … “so that what had been spoken by the Lord, through the prophets?”… Our Christmas hope is in “what had been spoken by the Lord, through the prophets,” friends.

And, what has been spoken by the Lord, through the prophets is full of Good News remember – for us, for all of God’s children, and especially for those who need it most:

The prophet Isaiah promised God, in Jesus, would judge the poor of the earth with righteousness and decide with equity for the meek. Merry Christmas.

…that with the breath of his lips he would kill the wicked; that faithfulness would be the belt around his loins and righteousness the belt around his waist. Merry Christmas.

What had been spoken by the Lord, through the prophet, is that the earth will, one day, be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea. Merry Christmas.

The prophets also proclaimed release to the captives … and recovery of sight to the blind … and freedom for the oppressed. Merry Christmas.

That’s the presence of God we celebrate at Christmas and every day, especially when it’s hard. It’s where we find faith to believe that God is with us, still, in the midst of life as we know it. It’s the kind of presence that is our strength and confidence, our comfort and our hope as we move ahead into another year that’s certain to be full of new struggles and new celebrations, of new challenges and new opportunities to be God’s people – in and for the sake of the world – where God’s love, born in Jesus, is still very much alive and well and with us as we go.

Amen. Merry Christmas. Happy New Year.