If Jesus were to be born tonight, where would it happen? If Jesus were to be born in late December of 2005, what would the setting be for his birth? What does the first story of Christmas suggest? 

Would it be in a homeless shelter? Perhaps with an IHN family, perhaps even in this church? Or would it be under a bridge along one of Pittsburgh’s rivers, where homeless people hover for warmth on a cold winter night? 

Perhaps the greatest irony of the Christmas story lies right here. God chose to enter this life in a way so different that no one—even the greatest of the Old Testament prophets—could foresee it. We don’t know all the details. But the story is consistent and clear. Jesus came in a gentle vulnerability. 

THE GENTLENESS 

First, the gentleness. Luke sets up a stark contrast for us, very deliberately. How does he start the Christmas story? With these six words: “In the days of Caesar Augustus…” Can you sense what Luke is doing here? 

Caesar Augustus was the greatest of all the Roman emperors. He began his rule of Rome at the age of 19. He was conqueror of the known world at the age of 31. He ruled by power and might for almost 50 years. He brought peace by sheer military might. The Roman senate named him “Augustus”, meaning “The Exalted One.” He was called by many the “Prince of Peace.” By some he was called the “Savior of the Whole World.” 

Luke is setting up a contrast for us. Luke is saying, “In the days of Caesar Augustus, in the days of the great peacemaker…” Come backstage with me for a moment. Over here, in Judea, in Bethlehem. You see that little stable? Go ahead, look inside. Look over there in the corner. That family with the newborn child. Do you see that tiny child? There is the Prince of Peace. There is the exalted one. And there is the Savior of the whole world. 

Luke sets up a gentle image in the face of enormous power. In the days of Caesar Augustus, a child is born. Here is a child announced not by thunder, but by singing. Here is a child announced not by prestige, but by simplicity. Jesus came into the world gently, as Paul puts it, “Born of a woman, born under the law.” 

Paul Sherer’s great quotation applies here. “On that first Christmas night, God walked down the stairs of heaven with a child in His arms.” 

So many of our Christmas carols reflect this gentleness:

• “Infant holy, infant lowly, for his bed a cattle stall”
• “Away in a manger… the little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay”
• “What child is this… on Mary’s lap is sleeping”
• “There’s a song in the air… and a baby’s low cry”

And then the favorite for many of you that we will sing a little later in this service, “Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright.” 

Gentleness prevails in the story throughout. 

VULNERABILITY 

And then there is vulnerability. Can there be anything more vulnerable than a newborn child? Luke says to us, “Jesus arrived not with pomp, not with power; but with a gentle vulnerability. Again there is a stark contrast in all of this. 

Is there a lesson in all of this for us tonight? Does the way Jesus entered this life give us any clues as to how we are to live? I believe the answer is “yes.” I believe there is a lesson for me in the way Jesus was born. The one called “Wonderful counselor, mighty God, everlasting Father, Prince of Peace” entered this life in a gentle vulnerability. Within that news is a lifestyle and a lesson for my journey. 

GENTLENESS IS A WAY OF LIFE 

First, Christmas means that gentleness is a way of life. There’s a story out of Germany from the 1930s about a pastor who was thrown in prison because of his kindness to the Jews. The prison guard was particularly rough and ruthless. He would not allow the pastor to call his family to let them know whether he was dead or alive. At mealtime he would skip the pastor’s cell deliberately. He made him go weeks without a shower. He blasted his short-wave radio and left the light burning at night to interrupt or deny his sleep. He did everything he could to break the man’s spirit. 

The pastor prayed over and over that God would not let hate consume him. He made some faith choices. He chose to forgive. He chose to try to show God’s unconditional love. He chose to thank the guard whenever his meals did come. When the guard was near his cell he told the guard about his wife and his family. He even questioned the guard about the guard’s own family. He asked the guard about his goals in life. What were his visions, what were his dreams? Occasionally the pastor would share brief glimpses of Jesus and his love. 

The guard never indicated that he heard, and he never responded. But obviously the repeated gentle attempts on the part of the imprisoned pastor made an impression. Finally after many months the gentle love of God broke through. One night, the guard cracked a smile. The next day, the pastor got two lunches instead of just one. He was then allowed to shower as long as he wished. The lights were turned off. The radio was turned down. 

One night the guard asked the pastor for his home phone number. The guard then made the long delayed call to the pastor’s family. A few months later the pastor was mysteriously released. No questions were asked. 

We are people of “The Way.” The way is the way of gentleness. Gentleness defeats power every time. 

The scene tonight is a scene of gentleness. A hospital maternity nurse has made an interesting observation. She made it after being present for about 100 births. She observed that a mother invariably smiles when the newborn baby first cries out. She said, “It is not an ordinary smile, but a secretive, gentle, ineffable smile. I became accustomed to wait for that smile and I was never disappointed.” 

I imagine Mary smiled also. She smiled gently and secretively. I learn from that image. 

We live in a culture that does not value gentleness. Our culture prefers power and strength and self-fulfillment. Christmas calls us back to gentleness. 

CHRISTMAS MEANS VULNERABILITY AS WELL 

Christmas means vulnerability as well. Someone gave me a definition of “vulnerable.” For women it means “fully opening of one’s self emotionally to another.” For men is means “playing football without a helmet!” 

Christmas reminds us of an inevitable vulnerability—the willingness to be hurt, the readiness to be last and to receive the least. It does not always make sense, and such vulnerability is not always sell-able. But vulnerability is the way of Jesus. It describes his way more than any other word. And it brings the deepest and most lasting peace. Is this the faith community’s witness at Christmas time? 

One year in a mythical kingdom, the entire stock of grain became poisoned. Anyone who ate it would become insane. Grain had been stored from other years, but it was in short supply. The king was in a quandary. Should they eat the grain and become crazy? Or should they starve to death? 

Finally he decided to feed the people the contaminated grain. However, he reserved a little of the unpoisoned grain for a small handful of folks. He did it so that—as he said—“someone would know the rest of us were crazy.” 

With a life built on gentleness and vulnerability, the church is analogous to that unpoisoned grain. While everyone else may seem to live insane lives, and while the world may go a bit insane at Christmas time, it is up to the church to preserve a vision of what God would have us do and be. It is up to us to preserve the way of gentle vulnerability. That’s the heart of the Christmas message. 

James Harnish puts it this way: “There is no room in the manger for all the baggage we carry. There is no room for pious pride and self-righteousness. There is no room for human power and prestige, no room for bitterness and greed. There is no room in the manger for anything other than this absolute reality: we are very human, very real, very fragile, very vulnerable, who desperately need the gift of love that God desires to give us.” 

There’s an old story of a Christmas night. A family was preparing to head for Christmas Eve services at the church. The husband and father of the family did not have much use for the Christmas story. He said he would stay home and tend the fire while the family went to church.  

After the family left a cold wind began to blow and a heavy snow began to fall. Suddenly there was a thump against the picture window. Then another thump. Then another. The man looked to see what was happening and realized that a small flock of birds had gotten caught in the snowstorm and were trying to get somewhere for warmth. They had not anticipated the cold and the wind. 

The man tried to decide what to do to give the birds some help. He got some crusts of bread, put on a warm coat, and tried to lure the birds toward a garden shed. He put a trail of bread crusts toward the shed and opened the doors. But the birds did not come. 

The man said to himself, “If only I could become a bird for a few moments, I could tell these creatures how to get to a warm, safe place.” At that moment the church bells chimed Christmas in the distance. Suddenly he realized what he had said. In a moment of prayer, he looked up to heaven and said, “God, I now understand why you had to do it.” 

Yes, we are vulnerable. But we are loved by a mighty God who shows us this night the kind of power that saves us and makes us whole. It is the power of a gentle vulnerability. As Phillips Brooks once put it: “Where meek souls will receive Him still, the dear Christ enters in.”