One morning in 1872, David Livingstone wrote this in his diary: "March 19, my birthday. My Jesus, my king, my life, my all, I again dedicate my whole self to thee. Accept me, and grant, O gracious Father, that ere the year is gone I may finish my work. In Jesus' name I ask it. Amen." Just one year later, servants came to check on their master's delay. They found him on his knees in prayer. He was dead.
Livingstone's testimony is powerful on many levels, but the one that is most striking is his claim upon Jesus as "my king." This has been a common declaration of the church throughout the ages. Even in our era, when democratic social movements topple kings and weigh in against tyrannical regimes, the largest social organization in the entire human race, the Church of Jesus Christ, holds as one of its core tenets of belief that Jesus is king.
Mary's beautiful song is one of the key passages undergirding all New Testament theological testimonies that declare Jesus to be king. Why should Jesus be a king? He was born into a poor family during a time of foreign occupation of their country. He was never trained in schools of leadership and had no desire to claim any throne. He seemed to alienate the rich and powerful, rebuffed the efforts of his disciples to start an armed rebellion, hushed the adulation of those who were the recipients of his mighty power, told the existing rulers that if he had a kingdom it was not in direct competition with theirs, and died an ignoble death meant for the worst of society's scalawags.
Yet from the first connections people made with Jesus, he was often identified as king. Foreigners traveled hundreds of miles to Judea when he was born, telling folks along the way of their astrological readings and projections: a truly great international king had been born! Palestine's powerful King Herod was afraid of Jesus and felt he might be competing for the throne Herod had worked so hard to control. Jesus' own words, while never clearly self-identifying him as a king, were constantly filled with language about the kingdom of heaven or the kingdom of God, of which he seemed to know a great deal more than anyone who was not directly connected with the key governing authority. Then, a Roman centurion assigned to Jesus' execution squad made the remarkable testimony, using language otherwise reserved only for the emperor himself, that "surely this man was the Son of God." Somehow people kept viewing Jesus as a king.
The affirmations only continued after Jesus disappeared from the scene. He is above all principalities and powers, Paul wrote, and said that every knee in heaven and on earth would bow to him. John saw him as an all-powerful ruler (Revelation 1) and had a vision of him as conquering king (v. 19). Even in their prayers, members of the early church addressed Jesus as "sovereign Lord," a term that could hardly be less than royal acknowledgement (Acts 5).
How did such nomenclature, which we today take for granted, come about? The key is in the promise made by God through Nathan to David in 2 Samuel 7. David was an unlikely king himself, set on a track to power during Israel's trial run at monarchy under the roller-coaster leadership of King Saul. Although he tried not to compete with the one he knew had also been selected for high office by Yahweh, David increasingly found himself on a trajectory that put him on Israel's throne. Yet he wanted, even there, to affirm that this nation's truest political structure was a theocracy.
The God of the Exodus and the Sinai Covenant was Israel's primary ruler.
For this reason, David brought the Ark of the Covenant, Yahweh's portable throne on earth, to Jerusalem, the new capital city of the nation (2 Samuel 6). Moreover, he wished for the building that would house the Ark to be a splendid palace, worthy of the nation's great king. To this task he set his purposes and resources, affirmed, at first, by his advisor, the prophet Nathan (v. 3).
Yet that night Nathan received a new word from the Lord. Although David's desires were laudable, he was too much a man of battle to build a palace of peace. David should gather the resources and make the plans, and then pass along to his son the mandate of temple-building.
But the prophetic word went further. Because David had tried to do the right thing, God wanted to honor him in a unique way. Although David was not permitted to build a house for God at this time, God would build a house for David. God made a pledge, a promise, a non-conditioned royal grant covenant to David. For all the years to come (as Randy Travis would sing: "Forever and ever. Amen!"), into perpetuity, David would have a descendent on the throne of the nation that was called God's chosen people.
This was an amazing commitment, and it came back in big ways as Israel's history unfolded. Even when Solomon's son Rehoboam should have lost the throne entirely, a remnant of the nation stuck with him as king. Their faithfulness to God's commitments proved accurate, for later the large portion of the nation that split off under Rehoboam's rival Jeroboam was destroyed by the Assyrian Empire in 722 BC. Through the shenanigans of Queen Athaliah and King Ahaz, or the turncoat despotism of King Manasseh, or the selfish panderings of Kings Jehoiakin and Zedekiah, Yahweh remained faithful to the divine promise, and the nation survived international threats that beat down many more powerful neighboring kingdoms. In fact, Judah was never really destroyed. While the Assyrians obliterated the Northern Kingdom, and Judah was made subject to Babylon for a while, a good portion of the nation survived intact as exiles. Eventually they returned to their patrimony and began hoping anew for the return of the Davidic monarchy and national restoration.
That's when good ancestral records became vitally important. Every family connected to the royal line would remember this promise of Yahweh and hope and pray that from their household the next great ruler would arise. So it was, that to an otherwise unimportant couple in Nazareth, about a thousand years after Yahweh made this pledge to David, a miraculous birth happened for two people who were both members of the royal family. On the basis of 2 Samuel 7, Jesus was born a king. While there was much that needed proof and confirmation about his character and his potential, once these things were seen by those around Jesus, the pieces quickly fell into place. That is why, when Jesus entered Jerusalem a week before his crucifixion, the crowds could shout with certainty and conviction, "Hosanna to the Son of David!" King Jesus had arrived.
For Israel, through the centuries of her sometimes much scarred existence, the promise of an eternal reign for David's great sons was like Christmas gifts bought early in November or December and packaged prettily for display under a tree until Christmas. One even has my name on it; all in the family know that it will bring me wonder, joy, and blessing, but its exact content remains a mystery until the wrappings are ripped away. So too with God's long-planned activity of salvation. The package was clearly set before the world in the national identity of Israel but until the specifics of the gift were revealed through the person of Jesus, it remained a "mystery." Even the prophets were somewhat in the dark about the exact contours of the great gift that was to be revealed. But now the wrappings are off, and the proclamation of Jesus is the hope of the world.
Some gifts we receive are simply add-ons to the polite niceties of the relationship. For instance, a man might give a woman a book as a Christmas gift. He knows she likes to read and this happens to be a best-seller she has not yet gotten into, so he gives it to her as a reflection of his thoughtfulness.
On a second level, however, other gifts might more directly tie into their relationship. He might buy a bottle of expensive perfume. When she opens the gift she is not only aware of his care but also enters a conspiracy with him toward a deepening level for their friendship. She applies the perfume to her body, and its scent becomes part of their special language of love. When she uses the perfume she thinks uniquely of him. When he smells the perfume, he thinks solely of her. The gift is not simply an add-on in their friendship; it has become a symbol of their relationship itself.
There is also a third level of gifting. Suppose the man and the woman are married. Along with gifts like books and perfumes they also have sexual intercourse as an expression of their love. When a baby is born, it is a gift for both of them, since neither could produce it alone. Yet it is more than just an outside gift that is brought into the relationship; it is itself the relationship come to expression. The gift is not just a thoughtful gesture (level 1) or even a meaningful enhancement to the relationship (level 2); this gift is the essence of the relationship come alive in a unique and special way (level 3).
So it is with Jesus. In the past God spoke of the divine commitment of care to the human race (providence; level 1). God also gave unique testimony of love through the nation of Israel (revelation; level 2). Now, however, God comes to live with us, to be part of our world and to transform our lives in ways that we had never before considered (salvation; level 3).
Mary is a marvelous figure. Although Reformers rightly reacted against the excesses of "Mariolatry," she deserves a lot more honor than many Protestants have accorded. So it would seem that today's gospel reading ought to raise Mary's name and identity as a key component in our Advent preaching. But that is not necessarily the case. Although the story is largely about Mary, the message is not. True, she is "highly favored," but when Gabriel explains why, the focus is on Jesus, not Mary. She will conceive and bear a son, but the son's name is already declared (mother Mary has no choice in the matter). Her son (not her) will be great. In fact, he will be identified with God, not Mary. And all the promises made to great King David in 2 Samuel 7 will come true in this person she will carry for nine months.
Even when Mary questions how such marvelous tales could become reality, she is again set in the background. "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the most high will overshadow you." Mary will be acted upon and almost consumed under the weight of glory that crushes her. The only thing people will remark about, as these things unfold, is that "the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God."
Why does Luke tell us the story this way? He reminds us, at the beginning (Luke 1:1-4), that there are other reflections on the life and teachings of Jesus in circulation. Mark, in his gospel, did not think it appropriate even to talk about the weakness of Jesus when he was just a baby; so his tale begins as the full-grown Jesus strides decisively through the hills and valleys of Galilee, healing and teaching and proclaiming the kingdom of God in sanctified frenzy. Later in the century John, too, will follow this path, speaking of Jesus' initial coming only in the metaphors of philosophy and liturgical symbolism. And Matthew's approach included a few notes about Jesus' miraculous birth but tied them quickly to stories of other great deliverers who were born to save Israel.
Luke's purpose is more clearly seen when the gospel as a whole is read with care. Among the many things that mark Luke's literary passions and style is his desire to locate the story and message of Jesus within its historical context. These are the days of Caesar Augustus, and Quirinius, and Pontius Pilate, and Claudius. The way that Luke relates the events and actions of Jesus' life reflect on incidents that others in the larger Greco-Roman world would appreciate quickly. Everyone knew, for example, that Cyrus the Great of the Persians, who had conquered the Babylonians and sent the Jewish exiles home, was miraculously born. His mother claimed that on the night of his conception a bolt of lightning had flamed from heaven and pierced her womb. That is why her son became powerful, a ruler of nations.
So too with the next "great" ruler of recent history. Alexander, born to Philip of Macedon (supposedly a direct descendent of the god Heracles) and his wife Olympias, was reputed to have come along only when one of the gods visited each of them in dreams and declared the divine qualities of their future son. Not only that, but the Temple of Artemis (or Dianna) in Ephesus caught fire the night Alexander was born. Rumor had it that the gods were so busy midwifing this birth that they neglected their usual care of that honored site.
Then there was the case of Caesar Augustus himself. An astrologer had foretold incredible things about him when he was born. Although his early years as Gaius Octavius Jr., did not betray great promise, by the time he was twelve he gave a funeral oration for his grandmother that stunned the crowds with its insight, passion, and brilliance. He was on his way to become a divinely appointed ruler.
While Luke would not wish to merely place Jesus among that crowd as a product of myth and superstition, he does understand that the exceptionally great leaders among the nations are prepared and equipped by God. Thus, at the start of Jesus' life story, it is important to Luke that the great divine plans be highlighted. Only in this way will the full impact of Jesus' ministry be understood.
So we need to honor Mary. But we must be careful not to take any of the attention from her son. Mary's role in the birth of the Messiah was truly unique. Yet it was only a portion of the long and heaven-directed planning by which God took up residence on earth for the salvation of all nations. This is Luke's emphasis and Mary's song. The balances of power on earth are about to be tipped through this new king, born in the most unlikely of circumstances.
So how do we measure power? Alan Redpath tells of a prominent businessman in South Africa who was duly impressed with the luxury of Rolls Royce automobiles. He ordered one for himself and marveled at its speed and handling. He looked through the manual but found no test results listed indicating the horsepower of the engine. So he went to the dealer.
"I'm sorry," the dealer told him. "The company never states the horsepower of their engines."
But the man was not to be put off and he was too powerful a person to be ignored. So the dealer sent a cable to Derby, England, asking the head office for an answer in the matter.
Within a short time, there was a reply. It was brief and to the point, a response of only a single word. How much horsepower does the Rolls Royce engine develop? "Adequate." That's all. That's enough.
So it is in the birth story of Jesus. The power of God will come down and engender this powerful life. How powerful will the baby be? He will be king. With how much authority? Enough. Adequate. To rule all nations on earth and everything within them will change. Amen.
