(Homily for Gayton Road Christian Church's Sunday Worship on December 18, 2016, Advent IV)
A Nickname Heavy with Memory
My earliest Christmas memories take me across the mountains to Kentucky, where my family would always drive to visit with Maga and Granddad, Grandpa and Grandma, and all my aunts and uncles. The most memorable scene among these recollections is the cheerful ruckus that would greet us upon our arrival. After a long journey in the car, listening to the same Christmas tapes again and again, playing twenty questions, solving crossword puzzles, and counting cows, we were completely exhausted. But in an instant, that all changed. Upon our arrival and before we could all get out of the car, my grandparents and aunts and uncles would be out the front door, swarming us with hugs. Uncle Noel would bend down, embrace me against his prickly whiskers, and say, “Big Jon!” Granddad would say something silly, like, “There’s my honey-bun!” (Please know that I was only three or four when Granddad called me this. I wouldn’t tolerate it for much longer.)
“Big Jon.” “Honey-bun.” They were nicknames that I only heard once a year, but I still hear their echo every Christmas. They remind me of times gone by, of a time when I was the smallest and hearing “Big Jon” made me feel on top of the world, of a time when I was the youngest and hearing “Honey-bun” made me feel most treasured among all the family.
Chances are, you have a few such nicknames yourself. Nicknames that whisk you away back into a very specific time or place. Nicknames that only a special friend would say, or nicknames that you would only hear on special occasions.
Jesus has just such a nickname. It’s a nickname that we really only hear once a year. We read it in both of today’s scriptures. “Immanuel.” In Hebrew, it means “God with us.”
Most of us are familiar with the name. It probably comforts and reassures us. Immanuel. “God with us”: not God above us, or God beyond us, or God against us. God with us.
But just like “Big Jon” and “Honey-bun,” just like any special nickname you’ve ever had, Immanuel—“God with us”—has a special history. Immanuel is a nickname heavy with memory and full of meaning. It whisks us all the way back into the world of the ancient prophet Isaiah, into the very words that he proclaims in today’s scripture.
Ahaz and the Bullies
In Isaiah’s day, the king of Judah, Ahaz, faced a dilemma. On the one hand, the massive empire of Assyria was conquering people after people, nation after nation, and King Ahaz was next in line. On the other hand, there were a couple of other middling kings like Ahaz himself who were conspiring against Assyria. They came to Ahaz with a proposition: join us and fight back against the Assyrian juggernaut…or we’ll just conquer you ourselves and make use of your resources.
To put it more simply, King Ahaz found himself cornered in a dark alley. Off to the distance on one side stands the biggest bully in town. On the other side are approaching two smaller but no less capable bullies. There’s simply no way out. Beside Ahaz is his puny compatriot, Isaiah, a prophet. And while Ahaz contemplates whether to fling himself at the mercy of the big bully or the two smaller tough guys, Isaiah keeps whispering into his ear, “Don’t worry about these bullies. Just trust in God!”
Today’s scripture picks the story up at this point. God is repeating Isaiah’s plea: Just trust me. Ask for a sign, and I’ll prove to you that you can trust me (cf. 7:11). Ahaz responds, “I will not ask, and I will not put the Lord to the test” (7:12). He probably hopes that his response will pass for piety.[1] But the truth is, Ahaz doesn’t want to test God because Ahaz doesn’t want to trust God. He’s already made up his mind to trust the gods of power, which is to say, he’s decided to throw himself at the mercy of the world superpower, Assyria.
The God of Immanuel Versus the Gods of Power
Isaiah calls his bluff: “Is it too little for you to weary humans, that you weary my God also?” (7:13). “My God,” Isaiah says. He already see that Ahaz trusts in different gods, in the gods of war with their thundering chariots and iron-cast weapons and fearsome warrior kings.
Even so, the Lord God insists on giving Ahaz a sign to prove that the Lord God is on his side. The bizarre thing is, the Lord God chooses probably the last sign that would convince Ahaz: a baby boy. His name is Immanuel. This baby boy is the sign that God is with Ahaz and the fearful people of Judah. This baby boy is proof that God stands with them.
So imagine with me again: Ahaz is cowering in that dark alley, cornered between the biggest bully in town and two other sizable bullies. The puny Isaiah suddenly presents him with a baby child and says, “See! You can trust God.” We can understand, perhaps, why Ahaz would shake his head with a smirk. If God had given him the sign of an angelic army or an unstoppable new weapon, then perhaps he would have trusted God.[2] As it is, Ahaz must be practical. He must be realistic. And so he chooses to submit himself to the greatest power he can see, Assyria. It’s only smart to join the side that’s going to win. Right?
God in the Shape of a Child
Brigitte Kahl, a New Testament scholar in New York, grew up in the former East Germany. Her father, like many other Germans of his generation, served in Hitler’s army. When that army invaded the surrounding countries of Europe, the German soldiers wore belt buckles engraved with the words, “Gott mitt unz.”[3] “God with us.” Immanuel.
Over two thousands have passed since the time of Isaiah. But we have not progressed much further than Ahaz himself did. Much of the world still worships a warrior God, a God of power. For much of the world, the sign of “God with us” is triumph and success. The sign of “God with us” is the megachurch with thousands or the superpower nation that dominates the globe.
That’s why it’s important to remember the special history behind Jesus’ nickname, “Immanuel,” the memory that makes it heavy with meaning. When we sing, “O come, o come, Immanuel,” or when we read about Immanuel being born by Mary, we are also reciting the story of King Ahaz. We are proclaiming that in our darkest hour, God comes to us not in the shape of power but in the shape of a child. We are changing the tune of history, trusting in infants instead of infantry, cheering on children instead of chariots. We are singing a song of love instead of power. Indeed, if the rest of Jesus’ story is anything to go by, the story of Immanuel means that God’s “power” is love. A love that forgives people and empowers them to have new life. A love that welcomes outsiders and empowers them to have new life. A love that embraces the lowly and empowers them to have new life. A love that makes peace with the enemy and empowers them to have new life. Love is a powerless “power,” as powerless as a child. And yet it does what no warrior king or army of chariots ever can.
Love bears new life.
Prayer
God who is Love,
Who stirs ever in the womb
Of a world shackled still to power—
Be born among us
In the little and the lowly.
As you entrust your life to us,
So may we entrust ours to you.
May the shape of your love
Shape our hearts
And bring heaven to earth,
Close by us, we pray.
Amen.
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[1] On the face of things, this seems like a pretty pious response. Jesus said something similar when Satan tempted him in the wilderness. But whereas Jesus refused to test God as a result of his trust in God, Ahaz refuses to test God because he does not want to trust in God. He’s already made up his mind to trust the gods of power, who at that time are embodied by Assyria.
[2] Cf. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, God Is in the Manger: Reflections on Advent and Christmas (trans. O. C. Dean Jr.; ed. Jana Reiss; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2010), 11: “A shaking of heads, perhaps even an evil laugh, must go through our old, smart, experienced, self-assured world, when it hears the call of salvation of believing Christians: ‘For a child has been born for us, a son given to us.’”
[3] Barbara Lundblad, “Commentary on Isaiah 7:10-16,” https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1942, accessed on December 15, 2016.
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