Once upon a time,
there was a king. His name was David, and his reign was a Golden Age. He was a
great general, and a brilliant diplomatist, and he ruled not only over his own kingdom
but also over a vast territory of vassal states. The nations knew that God was
with him. But that was long ago.
Whatever hopes,
whatever dreams, those loyal to David might have had, by the time of his
grandson the kingdom tore itself apart; Israel, in the north, breaking-free
from Judah to the south. Eleven generations later, the house of David and their
capital Jerusalem were a shadow of their former self. Another Empire is on the
rise: Assyria.
The kings of Aram and
of Israel feel the heat, and so they come to Ahaz, king of Judah, hoping that
he will join them in pre-emptive war. But Aram had been one of David's vassal
states, and Israel, half his kingdom; so Ahaz is not inclined to help. Let
judgement fall. And so, instead, Aram and Israel turn on him, intending to
replace him with a puppet king who will agree to march to war with them. And
though they fail at first, they do enough to shake him up - especially when
they persuade another part of David's former kingdom to side with them.
And it is to this
fearful royal court that Isaiah is sent; sent, to encourage Ahaz to stand firm,
trusting in God; trusting that God has not abandoned his promises to David. I
know, says Isaiah, that your faith is undermined by fear; and so God will
graciously give you a sign, a sign to give you courage: ask for whatever sign
you want. Anything: from the heavens above to the grave below. But Ahaz
refuses. He couches it in words that come across as full of faith; and yet, God
sees the heart. Ahaz turns his back on a sign that he would have to heed. He
plans, instead, to save Jerusalem by offering himself as vassal to Assyria, if
Assyria will overthrow his troublesome neighbours.
Nonetheless God gives
Ahaz a sign, a sign that employs both life and death, God's heavenly reign on
the one hand, and it's hellish opposite on the other. Isaiah points to a young,
pregnant woman: her child will be a son, and when this turns out to be true, he
is to be called God-is-with-us. By the time he is old enough to know the
difference between what is right and what is wrong, and to choose what is right
- to choose, perhaps unlike king Ahaz, to hold to God - Aram and Israel will
have been laid waste by Assyria. But, if Ahaz will refuse to stand firm in
faith, Assyria would sweep on and lay Judah to waste too. This boy, born in the
royal capital, Jerusalem, would live like a peasant in a land turned back to
nature; given over to wild bees; where there had been farms, now just one small
cow and two goats.
There will be a
turning-back to God, and Jerusalem itself will be spared, for now. But it is
short-lived. In time, an even greater Empire will arise: the Babylonians will
swallow-up Assyria, and more. Jerusalem will fall, and the house of David will
be carried into Exile...
Come with me now six
hundred years into the future. Perhaps enough time has passed, perhaps there
will be enough longing in the hearts of God's people for a sign, that God can
give the sign he hoped to give - this time in full. That is what Matthew tells
us. Here is Joseph: a son of David, heir to a kingdom long since lost, a
would-have-been-prince living as a peasant; but kingly in honour nonetheless.
And here is Mary, his peasant-queen, a young woman, pregnant with a son. This
son will be the sign God longs to give, that God-is-with-us. His growing up
will be a sign that God will act decisively and very soon, to rescue his
people, to restore his promise to king David. But more, this child will be both
sign and the very thing the sign points to: fulfilling and
fully-filling Isaiah's words. This child is both God-is-with-us and God-with-us;
both God saves! and God, come to save!
For those who stand
firm in faith, a sign of God's salvation, his coming to rescue the overwhelmed,
the besieged, the fearful. But heed Isaiah's words to Ahaz: if you won't stand
firm in faith, you will not stand at all. The sign of God's deliverance is also
the sign that we really do need a Saviour; that if we look elsewhere for our
salvation, the thing in which we place our hope - be it eternal youth, or
wealth, or power - will, in time, turn out to be our destruction...Haven't we
seen enough celebrity entertainers and sports-men and -women and politicians
swept away by scandal to have learnt that by now? Haven't we known enough
ordinary men and women crushed by the thing they pinned their hopes and dreams
on? Perhaps ourselves.
Come with me once
again, some sixty years forward, to eavesdrop on Paul writing to the church in
Rome. He writes that he has been made a sign, a sign to the Gentiles, a sign
that they have been included in this great restoration of the house of David.
Not as vassal states, as slaves; but, in Christ, as members of the household,
as heirs of God. And you, he writes - and us, who listen in - have been made
signs too. Saints. Not people-who-are-better-than-the-rest, but those whose
lives are signs that point to Jesus.
So what has this to
do with us? Well, here we find ourselves, in a great city whose Golden Age is
generations in the past...citizens for whom the immediate future looks bleak,
threatened by rising bills and cut-off incomes; people facing January with
dread, while false prophets proclaim, eat, drink and by merry! Here we are
sent, as signs that God is still with us; that - despite all apparent evidence
to the contrary - God is still coming to our aid. Every One for The Basket,
a sign. Every One For The Wardbrobe, a sign. Every welcome for the
asylum seeker, a sign. Every restoration of a broken-down life, a sign. Every
act of hope and faith and love, in the face of fear and skepticism and
self-interest, a sign. Every giving of grace and every waging of peace, a sign.
Here we find
ourselves, proclaiming in word and deed, in carol service and in caring
service, the greatest Sign of all: Jesus, the Christ-child, born of Mary.
Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus!
No comments:
Post a Comment