Glory and Peace

Text: Luke 2:1-20

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

            “In those days, a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered…” So begins one of the portions of Scripture that nearly every cradle Christian had to memorize for a Sunday School Christmas pageant at one point in their life or another. Perhaps you memorized it in the King James Version, “that all the world should be taxed,” but it’s all close enough that you can recall clips and sentences of it, even years and decades later.

            We tend to skip over that first name mentioned in our Christmas reading, Caesar Augustus, sprinting ahead to the good stuff. But perhaps we should take a moment and consider this hugely important man in the history of Western civilization, the world, and the history that St. Luke presents us in the life of our Savior. Caesar Augustus was the emperor of Rome who solidified the power of that throne and made the Roman Empire into what it was, standardizing and regulating things to a point of stability that would last through generations of rulers, wars, and everything else that half a millennium could throw at it. He allowed no rivals. His word was law. Caesar Augustus knew that he and he alone was in command of the world’s largest and most powerful empire. He was in control of his own life. He answered to no one. So when he gave the word that all the known world—the world under the banner of Rome—should be taxed, it was to be done. Everyone under its sway was expected to pick up and leave their lives behind to go to their hometown, their families’ town, to be counted. And where do you think the money for that would go? To the treasuries of Rome, to be used as Caesar saw fit.

            Yet for all his pomp and power—for that matter, all the pomp and power of any ruler before or after—we continue on to read and find out that everything Caesar did, everything that happened in Rome, everything in the history of Rome, Israel, Judea, Nazareth, and Bethlehem; everything in the history of the world up to that point, was done for the sake of the infant who is at the beating heart of St. Luke’s account. It’s all done for the sake of Jesus coming to this world to redeem it.

            All of history, every empire, every rise and fall, everything in all creation, was being done for the sake of the child of Mary. Every decision made, every decree declared, every royal edict, it all was done to serve this infant—even without the ones doing these things knowing who it was they were serving. Caesar’s stabilization of the empire made it safe for Jesus’ mother to travel with her betrothed to his hometown, the roads patrolled and kept safe by the mightiest military machine to have existed. The crowding of Bethlehem, too little to be numbered among the tribes of Judah, led to fulfillment of the ancient prophecies about this infant’s humble birth. Even the vast orbits and paths of the stars were set in order for this moment, so that a star would arise at the exact right time to lead kings to kneel before this Child. And all the while, Caesar, Herod, the weary Judean travelers, everyone serving this infant was entirely unaware that it was all for Him.

            It’s easy to fall into this mistake though. We too have our confusion that our decisions are ours alone, or that they serve some other purpose or person. It’s especially true at the holidays. We either have our decisions made for us—by loved ones, by circumstances, by hectic schedules—or we pick and choose what will be done and what will be left undone. We carry that forward into our lives after the holidays, making our decisions, issuing our edicts, setting out our timelines and calendars. And all the while, secret and hidden, we’re making the same error as Ceasar Augustus, missing the forest for the trees and forgetting that everything is bent not to our wills, but to this Savior who has come into this world to save it and rule it.

            Everything is for sake of the Child given to us tonight. Every song we sing, every reading we hear, every prayer, every word, every tiny light atop our candles. Our schedules have shifted away from the madness of the world’s holiday exhaustion and we’ve decreed that these few hours are for this. And what is this all for? For a nice mental holiday postcard? For nostalgia? For sugary sweet sentiment? No, this night is for the Child of Mary, the Savior, who is Christ the Lord. It’s all about Him. All roads lead to the manger.

            But here’s the twist: everything that this Christchild does is for salvation of the world. Everything He will do—the innocence of His holy life, the bumps and bruises of His early years, the study of the Scriptures, the teaching, the healing, the nails and spear, the crown of thorns and cross—all that He does is for you, for your peace, for your redemption, to save you from all that mad running around, all that we had earned through the arrogant belief that we were running the empires of our own lives.

            All that Jesus has done and will do is so that the song of the angels is fulfilled: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!” God’s glory—not Caesar’s, not Herod’s, not Quirinius’, not yours—God’s glory is sung and achieved in the highest. And for you, peace. For you, the calm confidence that comes from the forgiveness of sins, knowing that you are not at odds with your God, that He has come to your world and shares your human nature now, elevating you to be with Him in the highest. You have peace that passes all understanding, all because of what Jesus does.

            So what do you do with this? How does the angels’ song tonight reshape your life? First, unplug and unconfuse yourself. Your life was never your own; it was bought with a price and given to you as a gift. Your time was never your own; each breath, each moment was won for you by Jesus and shared with you freely. Let the angels teach you again who this night, who this entire season is about: it’s about Christ the Lord, Jesus, the Child given to you. It’s about what He gives you: peace with God, life that cannot die, the promise of eternity with Him. It means that you’re set free from ruling and governing your life, your world, the way that all the Caesars and Herods and princes and presidents and any other quickly passing mortal decrees you should. You’re even set free from yourself and the taxes of time and expectations and questions of whether you’ve been good enough to earn your gifts from Him.

            That all means peace. You have holy, divine peace. Even if empires fall, even if your holidays go off the rails, even if you burn the Christmas dinner, even if you bought the wrong presents, or received the wrong presents, or didn’t receive any presents; even if your life spins out of your control (because let’s be honest, it was never in your control to begin with), even if you lose something you hold dear, even if death invites itself into your world—no matter what, you have peace. Your God has entered this world. He’s come here to put it back together and save it. He’s come to save you. He’s come to rule everything, every event, every star, every snowflake, every rise and fall for you, for your good, for your forgiveness and never-ending life. Glory to God in the highest, to Christ the Lord, and to you peace, for in Jesus God is well-pleased with you. In the name of Jesus, Son of God and Son of Man, Amen.