On January 26, 1905, Captain Frederick Wells was doing his regular rounds of the Cullinan mine—a mine located outside of Pretoria, South Africa. Looking up, he saw a flash of light reflected by the sun on the wall of the mine shaft. He initially thought it was a piece of glass—something which workers were known to do as a practical joke on their bosses. But getting closer, Wells saw it was a partially exposed crystal. He removed it with his pocket knife. Upon examination, he realized he had discovered the largest diamond in the world – a specimen of over 3100 carats weighing just over 1 1/3 pounds. Named the Cullinan Diamond, the decision was made to present this rare jewel as a birthday gift to King Edward VII of England. But news of a discovery like this traveled fast. How does one safely get a priceless gem halfway around the world? Here’s the part of the story I love. Under heavy security and much fanfare, a decoy stone was sent back to England on a steamship. The real Cullinan diamond was mailed to Britain in a plain, brown paper parcel—registered, of course, but a brilliant deception nonetheless.1 There were soldiers and sailors, armed detectives and stealthy jewel thieves all active here while over there the largest diamond in the world made its way to England in a small brown package. This amazing diamond was handled by postal workers and mail carriers as if it were nothing special even though it was the most precious thing in the world.
Of all the nights in the year tonight is made for a story like the one about the Cullinan Diamond. Why? Because of the Christmas story we just heard from Luke’s gospel. Think of its opening lines again: In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. The story begins focused on the capital city of ancient Rome with Caesar seated on a golden throne – one who had the power to demand all his subjects be counted so they could be drafted, taxed, or both. In picturing Caesar’s power we might review the borders of his vast kingdom and notice humble Judea in the southeast corner, but there was nothing there to hold our attention. Now hear the second line from Luke: This registration was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. Again our focus is on courts of power, although for some reason Luke decides to tell us about one man from one small clan in Israel who had to make a journey of 70 miles with his pregnant wife. All the world cared about was the gold of Rome and the iron armor on the soldiers of Augustus and Quirinius. And yet over there, as if in a plain brown package, a child was born—not to power, but in poverty; a Christmas diamond, the likes of which had never been seen by the world before.
Could they have sent the Cullinan diamond by steamship with an armored guard under high security back to the King of England? Of course. But then they would have been relying on the ways of the world—of deterrent force, weapons and power. On some level they knew these things are far from perfect, so they chose a different way—a way of basic trust, of postmen and plain brown packages. Could the Son of God have been born in a palace, heralded by gold trumpets from the towers of a king’s stronghold? Or course. But that would have caused Christ to be defined by the world’s standards, as if gold and armor were the highest truths in the world. Jesus the Christmas gift came in a plain brown wrapper in a back street of ancient Bethlehem to challenge, subvert, and thankfully to save the world.
A pastor was leading a confirmation class bible study on the baptism of Jesus. As the students looked at Mark chapter 1, their eyes fell on the unusual verse that says, “As Jesus was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens opened.” The pastor noted that the Greek verb for “opened” was actually much stronger—that it really meant “torn apart” so now all the people of the world had access to God in heaven. But one student challenged the pastor and said, “That’s not what the verse means. It isn’t that we now have access to God; it’s that God has access to us. The protection is gone. God is here among us, on the loose.” Isn’t that also the heart of the Christmas story? The old borders between earth and heaven have been torn apart. Our false sense of protection is gone. God in Christ is here among us, on the loose. And this God is everywhere – on the margins of power, in the back streets of our cities, as unnoticed as a plain brown paper package yet the most precious thing in the world.
Having this Christmas perspective changes everything. It’s surprising and, if we’re honest, a little unsettling. Mayor Peduto went undercover recently and met people in Pittsburgh with hard jobs and personal trouble. So in the ways of the world and “feel good” Hollywood, his episode of Undercover Boss ended with gifts being handed out—promotions, donations, scholarships—all done to choke us up and make us smile through our tears. But when the cameras turned off, the question remained: Was anything done so that other social workers, busy helping people get out of poverty, are paid enough so they can afford a home of their own? Was anything changed so that all maintenance men in housing projects not only have more help beside them but elected officials are doing more things city-wide to get people homes with dignity instead of living in concentrated poverty where doors need constant repair and graffiti must always be painted over?
We re-tell the stories about shootings in Ferguson and chokeholds in Staten Island because by looking at those surprising, unnoticed places we ask ourselves ‘If God is on the loose in the world, do our lives in these places reflect that fact?’ We grieve over police officers being shot and then pause to consider how the mentally ill and troubled are adequately cared for, and wonder how many people put themselves at daily risk to protect us. We see a wounded vet with a prosthetic arm or leg and we remember for an instant how our choices put young women and men in harms way and the brave souls who accept that challenge.
Christ is on the loose and he’s often not where we expect him to be—the diamond hiding in plain sight right in our midst. Even our secular Christmas stories remind us of this surprising good news.
Fifty years ago Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer first aired on NBC. Where does Rudolf end up when the world rejects him? The island of misfit of toys. Yet it was the misfit deer and Herbie the dentist elf who end up saving the day. Or consider the other examples we read to you earlier. Frosty the Snowman looked like a regular snowman until a special hat and eyes of love turned him into something magical. The Grinch couldn’t steal Christmas with all of its packages, boxes and bags, because Christmas will “always be as long as we stand heart to heart and hand and hand.” What about “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”? No, there’s no moral message in that silly song. What if wise men truly brought us gifts, not of frankincense, but of common sense? What if, as Bob Hope suggested, we honored the heart of Christmas by loving one another more than just one day a year? What if we truly believed what the apostle Paul wrote long ago—“What no eye has seen nor ear heard, nor the human heart conceived, that is what God has prepared for those who love him”? What if we stopped looking to Washington D.C. and Moscow, to Fox News and MSNBC, to Amazon, Google, Netflix and Facebook for what they determine to be most important in life and we look hard at all the little Bethlehems of our world today—if we take time to notice finally where that bright star is leading us—and if we listen once more for a baby’s quiet cry heard somewhere over there, off the beaten path?
God in Christ is now on the loose. That’s the surprising good news of this day. Christ can be anywhere, like a priceless diamond passing right by us in a plain, brown paper parcel. Christ can be anywhere, bringing hope into every dark corner of this world—bringing new life and forgiveness for sins to every one of this world. Christ is here and out there—and that’s the surprising good news of Christmas Eve. Born to us is a Savior, Christ the Lord—our wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Thanks be to God!
1 Mark Miodownik, Stuff Matters: Exploring the Marvelous Materials that Shape our Man-Made World, 2013, p. 164.