The Christmas story is so familiar to us and to our people that we may no longer see it clearly. Specifi­cally, I wonder if we can fathom how full of surprises was that event — and the days preceding it — for Joseph and Mary.

Between the two Christmas accounts (both Matthew and Luke offer versions of the story), we see both Joseph and Mary having angelic visitations and communications. Likewise, the shepherds outside of Bethlehem and Zechariah in the temple were visited by angels. Assuming such appearances were an uncommon thing, the story and the period are full of surprises.

Of course, for Mary and Joseph the surprise of angelic visitors is quickly eclipsed by the shock of the news that the angels brought: Mary is pregnant. She immediately knew that this was not humanly possible, and so was duly surprised. Joseph’s surprise was apparently experienced first at the more predictable hu­man level before he was introduced to the higher surprise of Mary’s condition.

In keeping with the theme of things unexpected, I assume that stable accommodations for them and for Jesus’ birth were unhappy surprises to Joseph and Mary. And while every new mother expects to have visitors — eager to congratulate, anxious to hold the baby — they are usually family and friends, but Mary and Joseph found themselves visited by complete strangers. First came the shepherds with their fantastic tale, and then, later, the Wise Men came — exotic guests from a faraway land following a cosmic sign. Mary and Joseph must have been constantly marveling at events as they unfolded.

And then, even after Christmas, the surprises just kept coming.

Isaiah 61:10—62:3

Perhaps the chief characteristic of Hebrew poetry is its parallelism. A single thought is expressed two or three times in slightly different forms — a rhyming of ideas rather than a rhyming of sounds, as has sometimes been observed.

Sometimes the parallelism is a purely literary technique: the idea is not necessarily advanced or nu­anced by the repetition, just reinforced. More often, however, the repetition adds another layer of imagery and insight, while still expressing basically the same idea. For example, in the case of the first verse from Isaiah 62, “For Zion’s sake I will not keep silent” and “for Jerusalem’s sake I will not rest” are two phrases that say essentially the same thing. Nevertheless, not keeping silent and not resting are two different im­ages, and the combination of the two strengthens the point that God is making.

Meanwhile, within the context of that parallelism, an idea that is expressed only once — not repeated, just stated — has a kind of emphatic quality. It stands in contrast to the pattern, and thus it stands out.

In our selected lection, two statements are given that kind of emphasis.

In the verses from the end of chapter 61, the rhyme pattern, such as it is, goes A-A, B-B, C-C, D-D, E. The “E” line is the one idea that is expressed without repetition: “The Lord will cause righteousness and praise to spring up before all nations.”

Likewise, in the first two verses of chapter 62, we are presented with a A-A, B-B, C-C, D, E-E scheme. In this case, the “D” line is the idea that is expressed without repetition, and therefore is emphatic: “And you shall be called by a new name that the mouth of the Lord will give.”

Names are an immensely important business in scripture. The Old Testament emphasis on the name of the Lord (see Genesis 4:26b; Exodus 3:13-15, 20:7; 1 Kings 8:14-29; Psalm 113:3; Proverbs 18:10) and the New Testament emphasis on the name of Jesus (see Matthew 18:20; John 16:23-26; Philippians 2:9-11) illustrate the profound importance of God’s name. Earthly names, likewise, are vested with power and significance.

Throughout the pages of the Old Testament, we see God’s people giving meaningful names to places — names, so often, that identify places as intersections with God (such as Beersheba, Bethel, Gilgal, Pe­niel). Likewise, we watch Eve, Rachel, Leah, and others name their children with great meaning, even at times with a sense of testimony. In Jacob’s two efforts to get blessings (Genesis 27:18-36; 32:22-29), we witness something of the significance of names.

It is against that larger backdrop, then, that we see the importance of being given a new name. The promise of a new name that appears here in Isaiah is echoed in Revelation (2:17), and it is revealed on a kind of case-by-case basis as we see the Lord giving new names to Abram (Genesis 17:5), Jacob (Genesis 32:28), and Simon (John 1:42).

The scripture theme and personal appeal of a new name manifested itself for many generations in the giving of a new name at baptism. The so-called “Christian name” symbolically affirmed the spiritual truth of becoming a new person in Christ. In the case of our selected passage, Isaiah does not reveal what the promised new name will be. We intuitively recognize, however, the beauty of a new identity that comes from God, the consequence of an intersection with him, and ever after a testimony about him.

Galatians 4:4-7

A group of folks in my church are endeavoring to read through the Bible in a year, and we are meet­ing together monthly to discuss what we’ve been reading. Recently, I took the opportunity of our monthly meeting to provide for the group an overview of the inter-testamental period. As we put together the puzzle pieces of the Diaspora, the Hellenism that followed in Alexander’s wake, the translation of the Septuagint, the network of roads in the Roman Empire, and the larger context of the pax Romana, we were impressed anew by “the fullness of time.”

Presumably, God could have sent his Son at any point during human history. He is sovereign, and he didn’t need much, if any, cooperation from us in order to enact his plan. In his famous retort in Jesus Christ Superstar, Judas questions the Lord’s timing, asking why Jesus came in such a “backward time” when there was no mass communication. Yet the timing of God is impeccable — far beyond the comprehension of Judas’ manifest misunderstanding.

Moffatt takes a somewhat different view of the timing issue. “But when time had fully expired,” he writes, “God sent forth his Son.” Reminiscent of judgment and eschatological passages, Moffatt sees the matter not so much as the time being right but rather as the time being up.

The expressed purpose of God’s carefully timed action was to “redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as children.” If we were to separate the two phrases in this sentence and ask Paul’s original audience to whom each referred, we might get two different answers. “Those who were under the law,” of course, is clearly a reference to the Jews. Those that “might receive adoption as children,” however, might have been construed as a reference to the Gentiles. After all, they are the ones who need to be adopted, right? Not the chosen people. Not the children of Abraham.

The whole impetus for the letter to the Galatians, you recall, was to answer the influence of the Ju­daizers in the midst of the Galatian churches. While Paul’s opponents were urging dependence on and conformity to the law among the Gentile Christians, Paul contended that even those who had had the law needed a new relationship with God.

The great signature phrase from this passage, of course, is Paul’s expression, “Abba! Father!” Paul uses the same expression in a similar context when writing to the Romans (8:15). Meanwhile, the only other New Testament occurrence is in Mark’s account of Jesus praying in Gethsemane (14:36).

Barclay notes that “the proof that we are sons comes from the instinctive cry of the heart.” The re­flex is quite a different matter from the deliberate act. The latter may be a calculation; the former is what comes naturally. And this is the great evidence of our adoption: that it becomes our reflex to cry, “Abba! Father!”

Finally, sports fans are fond of borrowing one fairy tale character and applying her name and reputa­tion to certain teams: Cinderella. A “Cinderella team” or a “Cinderella season” refers to the phenomenon of an improbable rise. Here was a team that no one took seriously, a team that was nobody’s preseason pick to make the playoffs, and here they are in the championship game. In the most dramatic cases, it’s a story of “from worst to first.”

That is something of the drama suggested by Paul’s imagery at the conclusion of this passage. Paul suggests a movement along a spectrum: from slave to child, and from child to heir. The jump from slave to child is enormous. Both persons can be said to “belong” to the one who is the head of the household, but see how different those experiences of belonging are.

A slave belongs to a master. He belongs in the same way as a field, a house, or a cow. He is a com­modity. He has a price — a limited, identifiable value. As he ages, he is a depreciating asset. And, to some extent, he is expendable.

A child, by contrast, belongs to a parent. And the child’s experience of belonging is not that of a pos­session but that of a member. He is priceless — of inestimable value — and he is nurtured and protected by the one to whom he belongs.

In the end, therefore, Paul manages to juxtapose two potent images: “slave” and “heir.” From slave to heir is the quintessential “worst to first” story. To go from slave to heir is to change from the one who is property to the one who inherits property, from one who is a belonging to one who belongs.

Luke 2:22-40

Each of the four gospel writers has his own characteristic style, themes, and emphases, and this pas­sage from Luke’s gospel is characteristic of its author.

First, it is commonly observed that Luke pays more attention to female characters in the telling of his story than the other gospel writers do, and we see that tendency demonstrated here. Of the four adult char­acters who cross the stage during this scene, two are women. Joseph is never mentioned by name, while Mary is. While Simeon evidently blessed both of them, he went on to speak a special word addressed per­sonally to Mary. Furthermore, while Luke’s identification of a woman, Anna, as a prophet is not unique, it is uncommon. Yet it fits with his egalitarian understanding of the church and of the Spirit’s work (as evidenced by his record of the early church in the book of Acts).

Second, Luke is particularly attentive to the theme of the Holy Spirit. His companion volume has sometimes been nicknamed “the Acts of the Holy Spirit” because of that unmistakable emphasis within that book. And, even within the gospel, Luke is mindful of the Spirit’s work. The most notable indication of that thematic emphasis in Luke’s gospel can be found in a comparison of Matthew 7:11 and Luke 11:13. In our selected lection, the Spirit is explicitly referenced three times, each in connection with Simeon.

Simeon’s famous exclamation — “my eyes have seen your salvation” — is remarkable in its context. Standing on this side of Jesus’ ministry, death, and resurrection, it is rather easy for us to behold Mary’s baby and recognize him as God’s salvation. But for Simeon to see this anonymous couple of nobodies and recognize that their infant was God’s salvation — this is an astonishing identification. How does one look through the nursery glass at the hospital and point out, from among the collection of almost indistinguish­able infants, which one is destined for greatness? How does one perceive, in a crowd, which parents are carrying a special child?

Luke wrote that Simeon was “guided by the Spirit,” and so it must have been. For it is always and only God that enables us to recognize God. So it was for Peter in his recognition of Jesus (see Matthew 16:16-17), for all who come to Christ (John 6:44-45), for all who come to know the Father (Matthew 11:27), and as Paul wrote in our New Testament lection for all who come to know God as Father (Galatians 4:6).

Simeon’s identification of Mary’s baby with God’s salvation is reminiscent of Jesus’ words to grieving Martha outside Lazarus’ tomb. She affirms a belief in a resurrection that is an event — “on the last day” (John 11:24). Jesus’ response, however, suggests that the resurrection is not found in an event or a point in time, but in a person — “I am the resurrection and the life” (11:25). Likewise, Simeon recognized that God’s salvation was not found in an event, an action, or a point in time; rather, God’s salvation was em­bodied and found in a person — in a little baby, no less.

At first, one senses in this scene and in Simeon a profound joy. He is the embodiment of the Israel that awaits the long-awaited Messiah, and indeed “the whole creation (that) has been groaning” (Romans 8:22). Now the promise is fulfilled. Now Simeon may depart in peace. But then, into that joy and peace, Simeon inserts an unsettling word: “A sword will pierce your own soul, too.” Who says that to a new mother? Yet such is the pervasive, intrusive shadow of the cross. On the heels of Peter’s grand recognition comes the first foretelling of the cross (see Mark 8:27-33). Only days after the beauty and celebration of Palm Sunday comes the pain and blood of Good Friday.

Meanwhile, we do not have an account of Anna’s words recorded, but her appearance seems to echo much of what we had seen in Simeon. As a prophet, we presume that it is the Spirit working in her that en­ables her to know something about this child. She, too, seems to perceive that God’s work is embodied in a baby. And then she goes a step further than we see Simeon go: “speak(ing) about the child to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem.” While it seems that Simeon spoke solely to God, Joseph, and Mary, Anna spoke to other people about Jesus. And so it is that Luke, who records for us the spread of the gospel in the book of Acts, shows us in the shepherds (2:17-18), and here in Anna, the very first evangelists.

Application

A person jaded by experience within a given relationship might say disparagingly, “Nothing you do surprises me anymore.” A human being, perhaps for his own sanity, seems to build up a certain resistance to surprises. After we have been repeatedly surprised, shocked, stunned, or disappointed in a given situa­tion, we become somewhat impervious to the surprises, for we come, in some sense, to expect them.

After all the astonishing things that Joseph and Mary had experienced in Bethlehem and the months leading up to it, you might think that a kind of immunity would have developed. After all they had been through, nothing could surprise them anymore, right?

But there in the temple, fresh off of their out-of-the-blue encounters with the shepherds and the Magi, Joseph and Mary are met by Simeon and by Anna — two more strangers with unusual interest in their child. And, as they listen to Simeon speak about their baby, “the child’s father and mother were amazed at what was being said about him.”

Still they are surprised. Even after all they had seen, heard, and experienced during recent months, they seem still to be surprised by the things Simeon was saying.

But then that comes with the territory, doesn’t it? We keep being surprised by God. The disciples were continually surprised by what Jesus said and did. Even though he had explained in advance three times what would happen in Jerusalem, still they were surprised by both his death and his resurrection. Beyond Jesus’ earthly ministry and into the book of Acts: the Pentecost crowd was surprised to hear the message being preached in their own tongues; the assembled believers were surprised by Peter’s miraculous re­lease from prison; and the apostles themselves seemed to be surprised by the Holy Spirit coming upon Gentiles.

Christmas was a time full of surprises: the incarnation, virgin birth, star, and angels. But the surprises keep coming long after Christmas. If we have known his power and his goodness, we might say that noth­ing he does would surprise us. Yet, we leave the manger and are filled with wonder and awe day after day, year after year, as we keep being surprised by our marvelous God.

An Alternative Application

Luke 2:22-40. “Patron Saint of Hope.” Luke reports that “it had been revealed to (Simeon) that he would not see death until he had seen the Lord’s Messiah.” What we don’t know, however, is how long Simeon had waited between the time when that guarantee was revealed to him, on the one hand, and the day he encountered Mary and her baby in the temple, on the other hand.

We know that there was considerable time between God’s first promise of an offspring to Abraham and the birth of Isaac. We know, too, that there were centuries between God’s promise that Abraham’s descen­dants would receive the land (Canaan) and the days of Joshua when they finally conquered and settled it. And we know there were 700 years between Isaiah’s promise of a sign to Ahaz — “The young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel” — and Mary giving birth to Jesus.

It may be, therefore, that Simeon had waited for many years between his special assurance and the day he held and beheld the baby Jesus.

Some number of people in our congregations may feel that they have been waiting for God for a long time. Waiting for a promise to be fulfilled. Waiting for a prayer to be answered. Waiting to behold some part of his salvation. And the turning of another calendar page may be, somewhere inside, a grim reminder for them of the passage of time.

For the sake of people who are waiting on this first day of a new year, I would try to help them climb into Simeon’s shoes. Help them experience his patient hope as they wait for the good thing that they know God has in store and help them refresh their own hope, recognizing that the next year may be when their eyes finally see and their hands finally hold the answer to their prayers.