Once there was a great intersection in the ancient city of Bethlehem.

We know a little something about great intersections. When we travel by car, we discover that the intersection of interstate highways becomes the epicenter of all kinds of activity: lots of traffic, and with the traffic come motels, restaurants, gas stations, fast food places, and more. Furthermore, within certain cities, some particular intersections have gained worldwide fame. The corner of Hollywood and Vine in Hollywood, Piccadilly Circus in London, Times Square in New York City -- these intersections have all gained renown beyond their towns.  And we have other kinds of busy and important intersections -- ones that are not just the juncture of roads. Train tracks and commuter traffic made Grand Central Station synonymous with hubbub and activity. Busy airports in cities like Chicago and Atlanta mark the modern intersections of flight connections. (I heard a preacher say years ago that, whether you go to heaven or hell, you'll probably have to make connections through Atlanta.) And recent years have introduced us to a whole new kind of intersection: the worldwide web. Without leaving our chairs, we are able to cross paths with people, institutions, and information from around the globe. 

The ancient world, too, had its great intersections. Trade routes, favorable harbors, and convenient terrain turned certain ancient towns into important intersections, and with that into great cosmopolitan cities.  Well, there was once also a great intersection in the ancient city of Bethlehem. Unlike some others, however, it was not the junction of two major highways, for Bethlehem was just a bit off the beaten path. Nor was it the corner where two or three great avenues in the town crossed, for this intersection was probably nearer to something like an alley or a driveway.  No, this was not merely the corner where thoroughfares met. This was no less than an intersection of Heaven and Earth. 

We see it time and again in the Christmas story. When the angels above bring good tidings to the shepherds below, it is an intersection of Heaven and Earth in the fields outside Bethlehem. When a star guides the Magi, it is an intersection of Heaven and Earth. And, most and best of all, when Mary conceives a child by the Holy Spirit -- the Incarnation is the grandest, most profound intersection of Heaven and Earth. 

Not since the Creator first breathed into that formed dust called Adam had there been such an intimate intersection of the Divine with the human. And this intersection in Bethlehem was even greater than that one in Eden: for originally God had only breathed into Adam's flesh; now God climbed into Adam's flesh. 

In our world, you know, some roads are not allowed to intersect. An interstate highway does not entertain junctures with ordinary residential streets or country roads. These must go above or below. And if the highway is a turnpike, then still fewer roads are given intersections with it. In our world, highways are not interrupted with stop signs, runways do not cross driveways, and turnpikes do not intersect with parking lots. Such planning would be foolish and unreasonable.  Likewise, by all rights, the intersection that took place in Bethlehem was an utterly unreasonable one. That the immortal God should put on mortal flesh, or that the Throne should be exchanged for a feeding trough, or that celestial glory should be replaced by stable odors, or that the Almighty should confine himself to such fragility: these are all too foolish even to suggest. What took place in Bethlehem that night was an astonishing intersection of Heaven and Earth. 

And it turns out that Christmas was only the beginning. For what begins in the Christmas story continues throughout the Gospel accounts of Jesus' life and ministry.  Luke reports that crowds from as far as Tyre and Sidon came to hear and to see Jesus. It is the incarnate Son of God, however, who had actually made the longer trip in order to be met by them there. For while they had made the trip to Galilee all the way from the Phoenician coast, Jesus had made the trip from heaven. Every encounter between Jesus and the crowds, therefore, was a profound intersection of Heaven and Earth. 

And a gracious intersection, too. The scene becomes especially poignant when Luke says that people were coming to Jesus to be touched by him, to be healed by him. These are not just the intellectually curious who have come to hear a provocative speaker. They are not merely spectators who have come to gawk at the latest magician. No, these are a needy lot. And when the Divine touch heals their frail bodies, when the eternal Son of God restores their corruptible flesh, it is a lovely and gracious intersection of Heaven and Earth. 

In the subway systems of some great cities, the trains and their tracks do not all run at the same depth. Some lines are deeper underground than others. At some junctures, therefore, one line runs below another, and making connections means going up or down flights of stairs.  So, too, with the intersection of Heaven and Earth: the intersection occurs at several levels. At the one level, there is the Incarnation itself -- Heaven and Earth intersect in Jesus Christ. At another level, we see the angels and the shepherds, the star and the Magi, the crowds around Jesus -- Heaven and Earth intersect by contact with one another, though always at Heaven's initiative. And, at another level still, we find the teachings of Jesus -- Heaven and Earth intersect in ethics and lifestyle. 

We have before us Luke's version of the teachings we call the Beatitudes (so named because of Jesus' recurring use of the word "blessed"). The underlying Greek word, makarios, can mean "blessed," "fortunate," and "happy." The Amplified Bible also includes "to be envied" in the connotation of the word. It is a supremely cheerful word.  If your experience was like mine, then perhaps you grew up seeing these Beatitudes on a poster in a Sunday school room or on an embroidery in the church parlor. We cherish these familiar teachings. I wonder, though, what the reaction was of Jesus' original audience. I wonder if they resisted these Beatitudes. They are, after all, quite surprising. Even counter-intuitive.  Blessed are the poor? Fortunate are the hungry? To be envied are those who weep? That makes little or no sense to us. Happy are you when you are hated? Excluded? Reviled and defamed? These kinds of blessings I think I can do without. 

We Christians say that we love the teachings of Jesus. In fact, I have found in my years of parish ministry that most church folks typically prefer Jesus' teachings above almost every other part of scripture -- certainly over everything in the Old Testament, apart from the Psalms. And yet, I fear that our love for his teachings is more sentimental than practical. After all, do we strive to be poor or hated? Of course not. Do we actually rejoice when we are excluded or defamed? No. On the contrary, we fuss about it and feel sorry for ourselves. Perhaps we complain to God about it -- or even blame him for it. 

And when Jesus goes on to say "woe" to those who are rich, those who are full, those who laugh, and those who are spoken well of, do we hear him speaking to us? Here I suspect we are not so eager for a contemporary application of the scripture. Here, perhaps, we are content to leave the teaching in its historical context, pointing at the Pharisees and other first-century hypocrites.  But the truth for most of us is that we are rich and we are full. We don't think of ourselves as rich, for we see the income and lifestyles of others in our culture -- professional athletes, entertainers, corporate CEOs, among others -- who have so very much more than we do. When we compare ourselves to the income and lifestyles of most of the world's population, however, then we are forced to confess that we are, in fact, rich. And we are certainly full. Our tummies are full. Our closets are full. Our drawers are full. Our basements and attics and garages are all full. 

Is Jesus saying "woe" to me? Is that possible? After all, I'm just an average, middle-class guy. I haven't stolen from anyone. I don't cheat anyone. I don't oppress the widows and the orphans. I'm just an ordinary guy who is trying to make a living and provide for my family, just like the next guy.  Of course, it may be that I am not meant to be just like the next guy. Perhaps I am called to be different from him. Even an example to him. 

The Greek word ouai is what we translate "woe," or sometimes "alas." As you might guess from trying to pronounce the unusual all-vowel word, it is not a harsh kind of exclamation. It doesn't have the kind of bite to it that makes for a curse word. Rather, it might better be understood as an articulate sigh, an expression of grief.  When Jesus says "woe" to those "who are rich," "who are full," "who laugh," and such, therefore, he is not shouting out a condemnation. Rather, I would say that he is crying out his sorrow. "How sad for you," he says. "How terribly sad." 

As a parent, I know the difference between things my children do that make me angry and things they do that make me sad. Because I love them, I naturally want what is best for them. And so I am sad when they make choices that miss the best.  To paraphrase another teaching of Jesus: "If we, being evil, know how to feel sad for our children, how much more will our heavenly Father feel sad for us when we miss out on what's best?"  And so our Lord says, "Woe," to us. He is sad when he sees us make decisions that preclude us from what is best, from what he has in store for us. And, like children, those decisions we make are typically short-sighted. An impatient child might say he'd rather have a treat now than enjoy a feast later. And that may be essentially our choice, too. 

Jesus says, "Woe to you who are full now." Perhaps the key word for us is neither "woe" nor "full." The operative word may be "now."  Our human instinct is to live for "now." And even the "laters" -- college, marriage, vacation, retirement, and so on -- that the most prudent of us might save and prepare for is still "now" in spiritual terms. Whether we are by nature impulsive or deliberate, whether impetuous or foresighted, for as long as we are preoccupied with this life and this world, we are living for "now." And the kingdom teachings of Jesus invite us to live for "later" -- to see this world's sorry little treats for what they are compared to the great banquet in the kingdom. 

Here, then, is the final intersection of Heaven and Earth. It is not the far-off experiences of the shepherds and the Magi. It is not the one-time event of the Incarnation. Rather, it is the intersection you and I experience daily. Indeed, it is the intersection that is our very address, for we live at the juncture of this world and the kingdom of God.

I live my life in this world, but not for this world. Your residency is in Heaven, even while your residence is on Earth. If I live for this world only, then I shall avoid poverty, hunger, sorrow, and ridicule at all costs. If I live for the Lord and his kingdom, however, then I shall follow him at all costs -- even including poverty, sorrow, and such. 

The Poseidon Adventure, the award-winning 1972 disaster movie, tells the story of a cruise ship capsized by a tidal wave, and follows the struggle to be rescued by a small handful of the passengers. The massive ship is turned over in the water, and so this small band of eventual survivors reasons that, in order to reach the "top," they must work their way toward the ship's bottom. It is an upside-down pursuit, and some of the other passengers on the ship disagree with the approach. In one eerie scene, the small band whom we as viewers follow crosses paths with another desperate group looking for the way out. They, too, are wet and scared. And they, too, are equally confident that they are heading the right direction. In the end, however, they perish. 

The teachings of Jesus invite us to our own kind of upside-down pursuit of salvation. Seeking the top, we make an unlikely journey toward the bottom. It is an approach to living in this world that runs contrary to what seems natural and reasonable. Once we recognize, however, that this world has been capsized by sin -- that this world is, in spiritual terms, upside down -- then it will make more sense to us to follow Jesus' directions to the bottom of this ship.

So it is that the Lord grieves -- cries out "woe" -- for those doomed souls who are headed the wrong way. Naturally disoriented by the Fall, they push headlong toward all that is perceived as the "top" in this world. Meanwhile, Jesus urges them -- urges us -- to turn around: to live contrary to our self-serving instincts. Not to be afraid of this world's "bottom" since, in the end, it leads to the kingdom's "top." To have the wisdom and foresight to live for the glorious "later" in the "now." 

This is our address -- yours and mine. This is the great intersection at which we live. It is the natural place, isn't it, for the servants of that God who became Incarnate? It is the embassy for those citizens of Heaven who are called to be ambassadors to Earth. It is the witness of Christ on Main Street: sometimes ignored, sometimes ridiculed, and sometimes saving. But no matter the response, how happy, how fortunate, and how blessed we are to live at the intersection of Heaven and Earth.