From one of the little clans . . .

Fourth Sunday in Advent

Micah 5:2-5, Luke 1:39-55

I think that, sometimes, God must chuckle at us. At least, I think God smiles at our insistence that anything of worth and note must be large and perhaps even grandiose in scale.

Most of us have been around church and religion long enough to recognize our feeble attempts at conjuring up grandiose displays of our affections for God. In the ecclesiological world, bigger is better. The last couple of decades in American church life have witnessed the rapid rise of the phenomenon known as the “mega-church.” Churches have grown to such huge scale that they purport to be “all things to all people” – boasting initially of gymnasiums and activities buildings, building larger and larger auditoriums, and some churches going to the extent of having deli lunch counters and shopping opportunities, right there within the halls of the church grounds. They offer opportunity, but sometimes, I wonder, opportunity for “what.”

You could turn on the television this evening, and watch a Christmas mass, or worship service, at some remote location of our nation, or perhaps from somewhere across the globe. And if you were to do so, undoubtedly, it would be on a grandiose scale – great pomp, for these circumstances.

We can blame it on God, I suppose. He did send angels to announce the birth of our Christ. But God sent those angels to – shepherds. Lowly shepherds. Young boys, most likely. Perhaps, even, tending the temple flock. We don’t know. And we could blame God for letting Israel talk Him into a king, way back there with Saul. I think that’s when things really started going south as far as mankind seeing God in the small things. From that time on, smallness was the watchword only from the lips of the prophets.

I think when God starts over with us, God does so in smallness.

“But you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah, who are one of the little clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel, whose origin is from of old, from ancient days.” From one of the little clans . . . Not the stuff from which epic stories begin. Nothing grandiose here – small clan – small nation – one of the “unnoticed” groups blessed of God. Or was it so “unnoticed?”

We’re not completely sure of the etymology of the second word Micah uses to describe Bethlehem – the word is Ephrathah. It is most probably an ancient name for the place, but when you go back to the book of Genesis, even then, they used both names. It was the place where Rachel died, more accurately, where she was buried, and at that time, the name of the town was Ephrath. Genesis 48 tells the story where the aged Jacob virtually adopts his grandsons, the sons of Joseph as his own, and in verse 7, recounts his sorrow at the death of the love of his life, Rachel – “Now, as for me, when I came from Paddan, Rachel died, to my sorrow, in the land of Canaan on the journey, when there was still some distance to go to Ephrath; and I buried her there on the way to Ephrath (that is, Bethlehem).” I think it’s interesting that even at this early date, both names were being bandied about as descriptive of this holy place.

The name may also refer to one of the twelve tribes. The original twelve tribes came from the sons of Israel, or Jacob. Those sons were Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah, Dan, Naphtali, Gad, Asher, Issachar, Zebulun, Joseph, and Benjamin. When God assigned the role of priests to the tribe of Levi, the names of the sons of Joseph became the other two tribes – Manasseh and Ephraim. Evidently, the tribe of Ephraim settled in this region just to the south of Jerusalem – Bethlehem.

The town was best known as Bethlehem. The Hebrew word means “house of bread.” This smallish town was just south of Jerusalem, some 5 or 6 miles, and would be described as the hill country to the south. Important biblical references include the story of Naomi and Ruth – Ruth, who gleaned in the field owned by Boaz, her kinsman/redeemer. It is possible that the name “house of bread” came from the fact that they grew significant amounts of wheat in that region.

Bethlehem was also the birthplace of David – Israel’s greatest king, and we suddenly arrive back at that “greatest” concept. The promise from God was that the savior would come from the house and lineage of David. David was Israel’s greatest and most beloved king, and the biblical and societal expectation was that the Messiah would surpass David’s greatness in every way.

The gospel for today is broken into two readings, from the same passage. Luke 1 tells the story where Mary conceives, as does her much older cousin, Elizabeth. Verses 46 – 55 are known as Mary’s “magnificat” – where her soul “magnifies” the Lord. “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.”

Mary had many good reasons to rejoice, not the least of which was her selection as the mother of God. She was, by any standard, insignificant in that day and age. She was young – we surmise somewhere in her early to mid teens. Her status in that day and age would have been about that of a servant. But she was person enough to recognize the activity of almighty God when she saw it. She’s one up on many of us in that regard.

We can think even smaller again. Later in that same chapter of Luke, Elizabeth’s blessing of her cousin in verse 42 – “. . . Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.” The smallness of a child. From conception, a child begins small. Originally, the division of a single cell. People start out small.

Now, Chelsea was never small. She started out larger than her brother was at birth, and she had a significantly larger set of lungs. But Travis – weighed into this world at 6 lbs, 1 oz. Over the next couple of days, lost down to 5 lbs, 7 oz. Three days after his birth, they rushed him to the hospital in Ft. Worth, and when I saw him there the next day, he had become a giant. He dwelled as a giant for 20 days in the land of neo-natology – children smaller than the mind can conceive. I saw one child who could fit in your hand.

But there’s nothing small about the impact of a child. Every child that I have ever heard of disrupts and otherwise discombobulates the home into which they are born. They start out small, but their impact is mighty.

I guess as we think about the smallness of the work of God, at least in its beginnings, it seems somewhat natural that growth occurs. I guess I’m just a little cynical when it reaches the standard we might call “grandiose.”

Now, I have a pastoral word for us, as a church. We mustn’t ever discount our smallness. Often, when I invite people to attend our church, they say the same thing – “You are that little church there, with the cross outside, and the marquee. I love to read your marquee.” Isn’t it funny how something as seemingly insignificant as our decision to put a marquee out front has such a profound impact?

Anyway, people in this town, and I suspect even in the larger community of Baptist churches, think of us as a little church. I think they couldn’t be further from the truth. We are small, yes, in number. But one doesn’t measure the impact of God’s work in the world by numbers. Lord knows, we try. I remember the days when we would attend “Minister’s lunch” on Mondays, and one of the major functions of this activity was to report on what had happened the day before. Those pastors who had a good day were high as a kite, and those pastors who were thinking about resigning that Monday were lower than a snake’s belly. It never made much sense to me, because of the extremes of the day, don’t you know. I’ve long since given up on that ridiculous practice.

No, our contribution is seen in more significant ways. We hand out food to people who can’t afford food. One such fellow stopped in this week, and I gave food to him and his companion. We pay electric bills for people who are out of work, or who have been beset by staggering medical bills. We received a thank you from one such family this week, and I’ve posted it back there on the back window. We gather up our old reading glasses to send with our friend the doctor and his youngest son – you remember, the boy all of us thought we were going to have to shoot, and then tell God we lost him. He’s turned out pretty good. We send our other children off on mission trips to Mexico, and our pastor off to Romania, and another of our laymen on a junket to Juarez. We minister to children, who eventually grow up to the point that they have the audacity to ask this same Christ – the babe of Bethlehem – to come and live in their own hearts.

And we perform myriads of other acts of mystery and service and worship. We gather up resources for those who have less, and we share our journeys of faith with those who are struggling with their own journey. We gather a few hearty souls to practice, that we might sing songs of praise to God the Father. We take our skills at decorating, and we decorate the house of God. We take our gifts of cooking, and we fill the homes of hurting people with the smell of bread, straight from the house of Bethlehem. We do so very much.

Is it enough? We all know the answer to that question. My dad said it well, as he was passing from this life. He said, “Richard, there are never enough days.” Well, Cornerstone, there are never enough acts of service, and ministry, and worship. We know that we can do more, and we shall.

But we must always remember – the genesis of God’s work in us begins small. Hardly even noticeable. Seemingly insignificant. It is up to us to notice, and then nurture the work of God in our midst.

Richard W. Dunn, Ph.D.