A Sound is Heard in Ramah

For those of us who keep track of these things, today is still a part of the Christmas season. I know, I know, the 25 Days of Christmas on ABC is over. Some of the more organized folks have already taken down the Christmas tree, but on the Christian calendar, Christmas doesn’t actually start until Christmas, or maybe the night before. And it goes until the traditional celebration of when the three wise men got to Bethlehem, January 6th, also known as Epiphany. But that’s not until next week.

Today, we get to be in the odd position of continuing to celebrate Jesus’ arrival after the non-churchgoing world has turned its attention elsewhere. And, to be honest, who can blame them? There’s the story on Christmas Eve – shepherds, angels, Silent Night, and a beautiful, mysterious birth. Plus, oh by the way, Santa, presents, and the Christmas Spirit. Something nice that everybody can kind of agree with. For the most part, anyway. But the Bible can sometimes be challenging, and the scripture lesson this evening/morning is a part of the Christmas story we don’t hear much about.

It starts like this: the three wise men, or scholars, as one translation puts it, after they saw that star in the west, set out in search of the great king. And so naturally, when they realized they were trying to find a king in Israel, they went to Jerusalem, the big city, the center of power. Jerusalem, sparkling with beautiful, tall office buildings, gorgeous cathedrals, a wonderful arts scene. Jerusalem, home to the who’s who of Israel, the power brokers, the academics and the best-known universities. Jerusalem. Of course any self-respecting professor of predictive astronomy would go to Jerusalem.

The wise men go to Jerusalem, and they go right to the governor’s mansion to get their answers. This is an incredibly important moment in the history of Israel, they say to themselves, so of course Herod’s people will be able to direct us to the new king. But when they get there, the governor’s bureaucracy is totally flummoxed. A king born here? Now? You can almost hear the air deaden at the question. Um do you have a form for that? Finally, somebody digs up an old sacred text: The next king will come from David’s home town: Bethlehem. And off the wise men go on their merry way, gifts in tow.

But Herod senses a threat. A new king born on his land? Not so much. Israel may not be the biggest colony in the Roman Empire, but still, it’s good to be the king. Herod has a lot to lose – a healthy salary, a good-sized pension, generous health care benefits, the shiny new Cadillac Escalade, and of course the prestige, the influence, and the respect of being Tetrarch in Israel. It’s good to be the king, and Herod isn’t about to give any of that up. He waits for the scholars to come back to him with a professional assessment. But they don’t. A month passes, then two months. Nothing.

It’s not like this is just a personal problem for Herod. Really, he’s there at the whim of the Romans. He knows how to wine and dine them, but still, those Romans are always breathing down his neck, making sure there are no insurrections in the works. Not that Herod would ever revolt. He’s seen Roman soldiers in action. It’s not worth the risk to life and limb.

So in the end, Herod does the regrettable, but unavoidable. He sends his soldiers to Bethlehem, to kill every baby boy under two years old. You can’t let these things get out of hand. There’s just too much to lose.

A sound is heard in Ramah, weeping and much lament
Rachel weeping for her children, Rachel refusing all solace,
Her children are gone, dead and buried.

Joseph wakes up from his dream in a cold sweat. They’re coming for him, for Mary, and for Jesus. Bethlehem isn’t safe any more. This isn’t like those other dreams, full of hope and promise and beauty. But it is like them, too, in the strange clarity that he knows can come only from God. “We’re leaving, Mary, to go to Egypt. We aren’t safe here.” He packs their things for yet another journey, this time to the land that once held his people captive. Just a few months ago, Joseph was a regular guy, just trying to have a nice, simple family life. But now Egypt’s power is now the least of his worries, with the petty tyrant Herod on the throne. And yet somehow Joseph wouldn’t trade anything for that strange and beautiful visit from the wise men. They’ll have to live in exile, but he’s promised God he’ll protect this baby.

A sound is heard in Ramah, weeping and much lament.

For the past several weeks, this church has focused on the ONE campaign, which addresses extreme poverty and the humanitarian crisis presented by HIV and AIDS worldwide. Nearly forty million people are infected around the world, with so many in Africa that it is tearing at the very roots of society. A generation is being lost to HIV/AIDS, and 12 million children in sub-Saharan Africa have lost one or both parents to the disease.

A sound is heard in Ramah,
Rachel weeping for her children, Rachel refusing solace.

Sometimes, it’s easy to be overwhelmed by the staggering numbers of a tragedy like this. How many is 12 million orphans? Bigger than the city of Dayton. At least 12 times as big as the metropolitan area. But what does that really mean, spread over half a continent? How many people know an orphan? How many grandparents are raising their grandchildren? It gets to be a little hard to grasp after a certain point. No less tragic, but somehow the mind just doesn’t have the capacity to imagine it.

My ministry is with volunteers who spend a year in full-time service at non-profit organizations in Baltimore, Maryland and Wilmington, Delaware. Lutheran Volunteer Corps is also found in eight other cities in the United States. During the year of service, the volunteers live in intentional community and practice simplified living. I was a volunteer myself after college, and I think one of the most valuable parts of the experience is that it gives you a chance to learn, hands-on, the practical ways non-profit organizations serve the poor.

So for example, one of my volunteers this year works at a hospice for people with HIV and AIDS. Most of these folks are low-income people who have run out of family members who can care for them. They live in a house together, as a kind of surrogate family for each other, and people like my volunteer help out in practical ways: by cooking, cleaning, taking them to appointments, paying attention to medications. If there is change in the lives of these people, it is slow, and it comes through the accumulation of those small, practical acts of love and the relationships built through them.

In our Scripture lesson today, Joseph is the one who is able to see what God is doing, and to be a part of it through the practical acts of love that keep Jesus and his mother Mary safe and alive. Joseph isn’t rich or powerful, he’s just ready to listen to God, and to act. Herod, by contrast, has his ears stuffed close with all the things he’ll lose if he lets a new kind of king reign in Israel.

So where does that leave us? First, it presents an important question: Are you Herod in this story, or are you Joseph? Are you ready to hear God’s call and to act on behalf of those most in need of practical care? Or do the trappings of a comfortable life make it hard to hear that true word from God and to respond? Are you going to be a part of what God is doing? To be fair, most of us probably would answer both yes and no. Some days are easier than others when it comes to following our somewhat unpredictable God. Global poverty, HIV/AIDS – these are tough problems, not something easily or quickly addressed.

But what I’d like to close with is this: What God offers us in the arrival of Jesus, what God offers us by coming to earth as a little baby, what God offers us in this humble, practical, stunningly generous gift, is the good news of true freedom. Herod thought that he would be losing everything to let Jesus live, but the truth is that all the things that kept Herod from hearing God’s word are the things that trapped him and kept him captive. God comes to us as a baby, vulnerable, poor, and insignificant. And yet that birth is the one that matters most, the only thing of true value, and to follow Jesus is our true calling and our true freedom. Freedom from sin, from meaninglessness, and ultimately, freedom from death. May we hear the call and answer. A sound is heard in Ramah. Thanks be to God. Amen.