Lectionary Commentaries for December 31, 2023
First Sunday of Christmas

Luke’s story of Jesus being presented in the temple explicitly suggests that his parents brought him to Jerusalem in accordance with the Law of Moses. The story mentions at least four times that Jesus’ parents did with regard to him what was required by the Jewish law (2:23; 2:24; 2:27; 2:39) and, in doing so, highlights his Jewish background. The city of Jerusalem is mentioned six times in this chapter. Within Luke’s ecclesial and social context, these explicit references to Jewish traditions and sacred spaces signify Luke’s commitment to present Jeus and his parents squarely within the Jewish tradition.

Luke’s introduction of Simeon parallels that of Zechariah and Elizabeth. Luke makes a point of highlighting that Simeon was both righteous and devout, just as Elizabeth and Zechariah were. Simeon appears to have a lot in common particularly with Zechariah. Both were associated with the temple and were described as maintaining the commandments of the Lord, but Simeon’s story takes a slightly different turn than Zechariah’s, which was marked by a lack of belief in the announcement about John’s birth.

Simeon is presented as a leader filled with the Holy Spirit and was faithfully awaiting the consolation of Israel. As John Carroll notes, the noun paraklesis, translated as “comfort” or “consolation,” reminds readers of “second Isaiah’s proclamation of approaching salvation for Jerusalem” and the comfort that has been granted (Isaiah 40:1-2).¹ Within its literary context, the suggestion that Simeon was waiting for the consolation of the nation reveals that he lived not so much for himself but for others in the nation.

Simeon’s declaration that he will now go in peace, having met Jesus, reminds readers of the peace the great company of the heavenly host announced to people of good will (2:14). Simeon’s peace comes not from thinking that everything will be peaceful in light of Jesus’ arrival—it will not be—but from deep awareness that Jesus will challenge the Roman Empire that offered its own version of peace and reserved it for a select few. Simeon’s peace comes from the assurance that everyone will benefit from that challenge to the empire, and from redemption.

Simeon’s emphasis on the theme of salvation to all nations is important within the canonical context. Prophet Isaiah introduced the theme in Isaiah 40 and 49:13. But Isaiah’s vision of salvation is extended to the gentiles as well (Isiaiah 49:6). This theme of salvation to both communities—rather than one or the other—plays out in the rest of the Gospel and in Acts.

Simeon predicts that the Christ child will cause the falling and rising of many. His prediction hearkens back to the Magnificat in Luke 1 and offers a prophetic confirmation of what Mary had already sung about the nature and content of Jesus’ mission. The Greek verbs in this story differ slightly from the Magnificat, but the order of the falling and rising is the same in both texts. The phrase “falling and rising of many” suggests that Jesus will disturb the existing structures that are hierarchical and will consequently face resistance. He will become a stumbling block to many in the nation.

Simeon’s prediction that a sword will pierce Mary’s own soul is intriguing for at least two reasons. Both Joseph and Mary appear in this story, similar to previous sections, but Simeon’s words are addressed to Mary alone. As with previous sections, Joseph remains in the background as Luke introduces Mary as the central figure who will walk with Jesus in this journey. Within this literary context, Simeon offers Mary a realistic warning about what awaits her, now that her life is intrinsically connected to Jesus’ mission of challenging the powerful.

Gabriel, other angels, and the shepherds offered wonderful predictions about Jesus, but Simeon offers a slightly different and necessary perspective on the life of Jesus. It is as if he says, “I know there have been many amazing predictions about Jesus, but there is more to the story. Not everything that will occur will be joyful or comforting.”

Simeon speaks about the peace and salvation Jesus brings, but he also speaks about the resistance and violence they will experience. His eyes have seen salvation, but they also see a sword that will afflict Mary. From Simeon’s perspective and, by extension, from Luke’s perspective, the two realities are not mutually exclusive. The gospel certainly means good news to some and bad news to others, but at times it brings joyful news and challenging times for the same group of people.

Simeon’s prophecy helpfully complicates the story and offers a realistic view of what challenging the empire entails. Simeon warns Mary—and by extension the readers—about the consequences of the Christ event and the varied responses to it, and invites them to be prepared for both the good and the ugly. Even as he anticipates the salvation Jesus will bring, he seeks to prepare them for the violence the empire will unleash to prevent its actualization. The story cautions us against embracing simplistic narratives that are convenient.

The narrator consistently makes observations about Mary’s response in all key encounters. Mary posed pointed questions to Gabriel, responded affirmatively at the end of her conversation with angel Gabriel, sang about the mission of Jesus after her meeting with Elizabeth, and “treasured up all these things” that she heard from the shepherds and “pondered them in her heart” (2:19). But this time, the narrator says little about how Mary responded to Simeon’s prophecy that a sword would pierce her own soul. Mary rarely responds with silence, but this time she chooses silence.

It is a poignant prophecy about what awaits her and her family requiring great sacrifice on their part. Mary’s destiny is tied to that of the nation, but the same news that brings comfort to the nation will bring her immense pain. Jesus’ work of confronting structures of power will bring redemption, but it will also put Mary and others in harm’s way. The force of Simeon’s prophecy and the complex realities it anticipates require a profound response, one that words could not sufficiently articulate. And Mary offers one through her profound silence. Silence becomes that emotional and intellectual space where Mary holds the two anticipated realities in tension.

Notes

1. John T. Carroll, Luke (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2012), 76.

An enduring challenge for preaching prophetic literature in the Advent and Christmas seasons is to avoid the idea that the Old Testament is some kind of coded message—as if, when run through the correct cipher, it will reveal “Jesus” as the one right answer. After all, Old Testament texts were meaningful on their own in their ancient contexts, and they continue to make meaning today on their own terms, for Jewish and Christian interpreters alike.

At the same time, Christians do read Old Testament texts through the witness of the incarnation of Jesus, and it is important to be honest and forthright about when and how we are doing that. The Gospel writers and Paul, like Jesus himself, were interpreters of the Law and the Prophets in conversation with other first-century Jews, and Christian belief branches out from this ancient tradition of reading Scripture, and rereading Scripture, and rereading Scripture again.

Isaiah 40–66, sometimes called “Deutero-Isaiah” or “Second Isaiah,” is widely understood to represent early postexilic additions to the largely eighth-century Isaianic material in Isaiah 1–39. Chapters 40-55 probably date from around 539 B.C.E., right at the end of the Babylonian exile. Chapters 56–66 are a bit later, as they seem to presuppose the reconstruction of the temple, which was completed in 515 B.C.E.  Thus, this week’s Old Testament reading probably dates from the end of the sixth century B.C.E.

The soaring, hopeful poetry of Isaiah 40–55 bespeaks the mood of optimism that must have accompanied Cyrus the Great’s call for the exiles of Judah to return to their homeland and rebuild their temple there. Isaiah 56–66 retains a hopeful tone, but it also reveals more of the messiness involved in post-war community-building under the watchful eye of the Persian Empire. The joy of return is tempered by internal conflicts, as well as the persistence of some unrealized expectations in the work of restoration.

The volatile political situation in postexilic Judah reminds us that there is an immediacy to these prophecies in their ancient context. The prophets behind Isaiah 40–66 were not just waxing poetic about theology. They were advocating competing visions for what the reconstituted community in Judah might look like, and they were looking for God to restore and vindicate Jerusalem, still reeling from its destruction and defeat over seventy years earlier, in full sight of the nations around it. At the same time, exactly what this vindication looks like is not always clear. It is still poetry, after all, and the book turns to metaphor to describe an imaginative, expansive vision of the future—not a granular strategic plan.

The passage’s metaphors are rich and varied. First, the prophet praises God for dressing the prophet with “the garments of salvation” and the “robe of righteousness” (Isaiah 61:10). As far as biblical clothing metaphors go, Isaiah 61:10 paints a very different picture than, for example, the “armor of God” in Ephesians 6:10–17. Rather than a uniform for spiritual warfare, these “garments of salvation” are celebratory and lavish, like the outfits a couple wears at their wedding. Moreover, God is the one doing the dressing—“he has clothed me.” God’s agency as the one “doing a new thing” (see also Isaiah 43:19) is emphasized throughout much of Isaiah 40–66, and this passage continues that motif.

Next, the prophet turns to an agricultural metaphor to describe how God will bring the salvation of the prophet and his people to “all the nations”; “righteousness and praise” will “spring up” before them like shoots in a garden (Isaiah 61:11). Again, Zion’s vindication (also translatable as “righteousness”) and salvation will be made known to the nations, this time with the metaphor of light, “like the dawn” or “a burning torch” (Isaiah 62:1). Finally, Jerusalem will be “a crown of beauty in the hand of the LORD, and a royal diadem in the hand of your God” (Isaiah 62:3). The glory of Jerusalem will showcase to all nations God’s fidelity and power.

The lectionary pairs Isaiah 61:10–62:3 with Luke 2:22–40, Jesus’ presentation at the temple as a child. In that New Testament story, Simeon and Anna stand in the stream of interpretation that is shared in Isaiah, which looks for Jerusalem’s righteous vindication.

In their day, Judah is under the power of the Roman Empire, just as it was under Persia’s control in the time of Deutero-Isaiah, and just as it was under Babylon’s control when Jerusalem was destroyed and its elites exiled. Simeon is “looking forward to the consolation of Israel” (Luke 2:25), and the prophet Anna begins “to praise God and to speak about the child to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem” (Luke 2:38).

Luke’s vague description of Anna’s speech is a classic move visible throughout Luke-Acts. He does not say exactly what Anna was saying, nor exactly what that redemption has to do with the child.¹ The style is reminiscent of the somewhat off-putting phrase “If you know, you know,” with its wink to fellow insiders.

But the result of leaving those connections unarticulated is not just a nod to the ones who are presumed to “know.” It is also an invitation to any reader to try to draw those connections themselves: in other words, to interpret. Luke accomplishes (intentionally or not) with a rhetorical flourish what Deutero-Isaiah accomplishes with poetry: to craft a vision of hope for God’s ongoing love of God’s people that resonates anew with different audiences in different eras.

Both Isaiah and Luke leave lots of room for interpretation. Preachers today stand in that stream of interpretation, not to decode but to imagine: to craft a vision of hope that assures their listeners of God’s faithfulness through the generations.

Notes

1. Compare, for example, Philip’s interaction with the Ethiopian eunuch in the book of Acts, where the prophet Isaiah is brought into the story specifically, but Philip’s interpretation is reported with the same vagueness as Anna’s prophecy: “Then Philip began to speak, and starting with this scripture, he proclaimed to him the good news about Jesus” (Acts 8:35). How exactly Philip understood the connection between Isaiah and the good news is never spelled out in the text.

Psalm 148 is third in a set of five hymns bounded by “hallelujah” concluding the psalter.¹

This hymn focuses on creation and God’s sovereignty, particularly God’s design for creation to harmoniously coexist and praise God.

Whereas other hymns, like Psalm 146, vividly recall Israel’s experiences of marginality, oppression, and suffering, Psalm 148 reflects a transition to summons for praise, or rather, an entirely positive view of creation disconnected from the lived reality of suffering. This shift away from human pain and injustice toward idyllic order might function as a proclamation of God’s intent for creation, or it may be an intentional forgetting of their pain following the exile. Either way, this praise of God separated from human passion shapes the people who rely on its formula for worship, ushering status quo and complacency rather than transfigured renewal.

The first section of Psalm148, verses 1-6, focuses on praise from heavenly beings and from the heavens themselves. Reminiscent of Genesis 1-2, this psalm celebrates God’s nature and purposes, revealed in creation. Can you imagine if when congregations read Genesis 1-2, rather than falling into scientific skepticism or prooftexting battles, they burst into songs of praise for how God created all that is? How does the season of Advent potentially change our perspective on collective praise?

The second section, Psalm 138:7-14, focuses on praise from earthly creatures and objects, both animate and inanimate. Stars best serve God by shining brightly, and the wind by blowing. Everything best serves God simply by being what it was created to be. Creation exists symbiotically, under the sovereignty of God.

Just as each element of creation honors God best by existing as created, so humankind can best fulfill God’s command by living as God created us to live. Our purpose in life is to praise God alongside of and as part of God’s creation. From animals to the natural elements, from the sun and the moon, and from the most powerful leaders to the youngest child playing outside, this psalm calls creation to join together in praise of God. Humans might be tasked with stewardship of creation, but as servants rather than as having dominion. Humanity best honors God when it serves creation. As commentator James Limburg paraphrased, “Praise is the business of all that exists.”

Psalm 148 models a fully inclusive invitation to praise God. Israel will be one of many participants in praising God. Humans are partners with multitudes of others, including creation itself, in praise. This recalls Genesis 1 and Genesis 9, where all living things and the earth itself praise God and exist in relationship with God. In the New Testament, Jesus teaches that if humanity ceased to praise God, the very rocks would cry out in praise. Being the people of God has never been an exclusive opportunity, but rather, God has always invited all of creation to live in sacred, covenant relationship with God.

The placement of this psalm near the end of the psalter is critical for orienting readers. Life will continue to have ups and downs, ecstasy and tragedy, harmony and division, and yet, God calls us to live in praise. Holiday seasons will usher in a mixture of celebration and mourning. By orienting and reorienting ourselves to praising God’s creation, we not only remember God’s promises, but we literally re-member ourselves according to God’s design of harmonious creation of loving community.

How does God’s creation guide us in how we are to relate to each other and to creation itself? What is the role of prayer in reorienting ourselves toward God’s plan for creation and our part within that larger pageant? As we enter the season of Advent, what does it mean to join with all creation in praise of God? How does anticipation of Jesus’s birth unite creation and reorient us to God’s design?

Are there times when harmony interferes with justice? Can disharmony at times be pleasing to God? If so, what does authentic praise look like in moments of justice-centered disharmony? What does reconciliation look like, and how can prayer and praise be part of reaching and achieving reconciliation? How do our commitments to justice and community influence our decisions about how we spend our holidays?

The Christmas holidays are especially difficult for many believers. What grief are you and your congregation bringing into worship during Advent? How does this grief isolate you from others, and how can it bring you together with others? How do experiences of trauma and suffering shape us theologically, psychologically, and physically, and can our answer to this question different at this time of year? How might traumatic experiences and suffering influence the way we worship? As we praise God for all that God has done and is doing, how do we hold our experiences in tension with God’s promises, and to which promises in particular?

Are there “good” and “bad” ways to praise (or to celebrate the holidays), or can God be glorified in all forms of praise/celebration? Are there particular songs, movements, or postures to which you repeatedly turn for spiritual formation and comfort during Advent, or throughout the year? What traditions have been most meaningful to you?

Notes

1. Commentary published on this site on Dec. 29, 2019.
   

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References

Brueggemann, Walter, Israel’s Praise: Doxology against Idolatry and Ideology (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1988).

Cotter, Jim, Psalms for a Pilgrim People (Harrisburg, PA: Morehouse, 1998).

deClaissé-Walford, Nancy, Introduction to the Psalms: A Song from Ancient Israel (St. Louis, Chalice Press, 2004).

Mays, James L., Preaching and Teaching the Psalms (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2006).

Mays, James L. Psalms: Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville: John Knox Press, 1994).

Limburg, James, Psalms (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2000).

McCann, J. Clinton, “Psalms,” In The New Interpreter’s Bible, Vol 4, ed. by Leander E. Keck, et al. (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996).

Reid, Stephen Breck, Listening In: A Multicultural Reading of the Psalms (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1997).

Our celebration of Christmas is built upon a Christian theological tradition that drastically differs from Paul’s apocalyptic Jewish theology that we see in Galatians. But also, our traditions are built upon interpretations of Paul’s theology, many of which misunderstood his Jewish context and specifically gentile audience. How can this more accurate and challenging understanding of Paul’s theological argument help us proclaim the “fullness of time” that we just heralded in the celebration of Jesus’ birth?

Context matters: Gentiles, adoption, and Galatia

Readers tend to perceive Paul’s letter to Christ-followers in Galatia as an “angry” letter: “You foolish Galatians! Who has bewitched you?” Paul writes in 3:1. It appears (based on what Paul says in the letter) that Paul and the Galatians disagree over a question with major theological implications: if gentile Christ-followers now have faith in the historical God of Israel, then to what extent are these gentiles accountable to Jewish law, part of God’s covenant (through Moses) with the descendants of Israel?

Paul firmly believes, although God’s covenant—including the law—remains holy and firm for Jews, that gentiles, though once accountable to law, have a new path to show faith in God through Jesus Christ’s faith (see Galatians; Romans 3:21–31). Gentiles, Paul argues, need not follow the law; in fact, he believes it is nearly impossible for gentiles to follow a covenant that was never intended for them, which is why God provided them a different path through Jesus as the Christ (christos, the Greek translation of the Hebrew messiah). 

This theological concern about gentiles’ relation to Jewish law appears to have been widespread, since Paul touches on it in most of his authentic letters. Paul is especially angry with the gentiles in Galatia because it sounds like he taught them his way and then some of them decided they disagreed after they heard other teachers. These teachers seem to have convinced some Galatian Christ-followers that gentiles should follow at least some portions of Jewish law, including the command of circumcision (removing the penis’s foreskin). Galatians is Paul’s passionate theological response to what he has heard of their differing theological arguments. 

This context is critical for understanding 4:4–7. When Paul writes of Jesus, “But when the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, in order to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as children” (4:4–5), he specifically speaks about the redemption of gentiles. Paul’s “we” includes himself to rhetorically bring his audience into agreement with him (even though Paul is not part of this gentile group in need of redemption).

Paul’s theology aligns with ideas that were common in apocalyptic Jewish texts and thought: God is coming to bring justice to the world, and gentiles currently face God’s wrath because they are incapable of faith in God—making them also incapable of following the law (see Romans 1:18–32). God’s covenant with Abraham, however, promised to make him the “father of many nations.” In Greek, the term “nations” (ethnē) is the same term used for “gentiles” (the translation of the Hebrew goyim).

Paul believes that Jesus’ appearance in the world (including his death and resurrection) signals that this apocalyptic moment has come: God’s judgment and justice are imminent. “The fullness of time” is now, and this means gentiles have a path to display faith in God. Paul likens this path for gentiles to adoption in 4:6–7 (see also Romans 8:12–17). In doing so, Paul adopts a metaphor from Roman imperial life and law.

Adoption in the Roman world legally brought children (mostly sons) into the official lines of the Roman household. Adoption was critical for inheritance and preserving the Roman bloodlines and chain of control. It is the same with Paul’s adoption metaphor into God’s household. “So you [gentiles in Galatia] are no longer a slave but a child [huios, “son”], and if a child then also an heir, through God” (4:7). Adoption is ultimately about inheritance: sons inherit; enslaved people do not. 

Though it sounds liberating, Paul’s use of enslavement should give pause. Paul’s use of adoption assumes that child/son status is inherently superior to that of enslaved persons. By saying God adopts (faithful) gentiles into God’s lineage (with the material benefit of inheritance), Paul does not dismantle the household system that keeps others enslaved. As with Roman law, adoption confirms the household hierarchy. Though Roman law permitted Roman householders to adopt enslaved people, this was extremely rare in practice.

Romans mostly used adoption to confirm elite status on folks who were already of good Roman blood—some of whom may not have been a direct relation to the adopter. This fits Paul’s apocalyptic theology described above. Just as Rome (theoretically) made a legal path for enslaved people to become part of the Roman household, God has made a path for gentiles, through Christ, to become part of God’s justice. There is hope here, but it is important to remember that this metaphor retains the hierarchy of the household that keeps some people enslaved.

Questioning assumptions

Paul’s Roman context and apocalyptic Jewish theology differ from Christian theology in the present. As we continue to celebrate Jesus’ birth, understanding Paul’s context and theology can help us recognize and avoid ways we might talk about “the law” in passages like Galatians 4:4–7. Christian and Christmas readings of this passage have a long history of assuming that Jesus replaces the law, rendering Judaism obsolete (Christian supersessionism). These theological assumptions lead to anti-Judaism.

Though our theologies and worlds differ from first-century Rome, we can also recognize resonances. Understanding the logic behind Paul’s adoption metaphor helps us to see the differences between ancient and contemporary practices around adoption. When we see how Paul’s metaphor makes assumptions about the value of being a “slave” versus a “child” that retain an oppressive hierarchy, we discover ways to investigate the systems of power that we assume in our own language.

In what spaces might we need to reconsider how we talk about families? What hierarchies do our own metaphors leave in place? Who are we leaving out when we use the language of “family” or “adoption” to talk about our communities and congregations? Exploring these questions beckons us toward the fullness of time when God’s justice becomes fully incarnate around us.