"To This End Was I Born" (John 18:37)

The setting was Jerusalem on a spring morning which broke warm and clear.  The season was Passover, a time when the entirety of Judaism collectively anticipated their deliverance at the hands of the Messiah.  This particular paschal season would prove to be especially memorable, indeed the great plan laid from the foundation of the world would culminate in the scenes now unfolding.  All the hosts of heaven must have waited with baited breath to hear the great crescendo.  This holiest of weeks had begun with the triumphant entrance of a man, Jesus of Nazareth, who in recent years seemed to have gained equal measures of glory and infamy among the Jewish people.  To be certain he had built quite the following of devoted disciples who, upon his arrival in Jerusalem, thronged the streets, laying palm branches at his feet and filling the air with the cry of “Hosanna.”  Now, just a few brief days later, another crowd had formed in Jerusalem as a result of this man called Jesus.  This time the crowd was not lining the entrance to the ancient city but rather was focused on a building known as the praetorium, located in the Roman quarter of the city.  The layman in the crowd surely must have looked at the men and women standing on either side and wondered if the same voice now shouting “Crucify Him” had merely days earlier been crying “Hosanna.”  

So it is that while the taunting and jeering crowd waited in the courtyard below, inside this building, Pontius Pilate, the governor of Judea looked into the face of a prisoner whom the Jewish leadership seemed absolutely determined to ensure would receive no mercy at his hand.  Pilate’s apparent confusion as to why this particular prisoner seemed so disdained must have been heightened when it became apparent he was questioning an innocent man.  Pilate would even go so far as to admit to the crowd “I having examined him before you find no fault in this man.”  Nonetheless, his Jewish associates seemed to want nothing more than to see this man, whom many referred to as their king, tried before him.  So it is that the trial began.  As he had done before and undoubtedly did again in the future, Pilate questioned the prisoner arraigned before him in order to determine what his fate would be.  However, rather than begging for mercy or pleading for understanding like so many other, guilty, prisoners had done in this predicament, this prisoner who had come “to open the prison and set at liberty them that are bound” made no petition on his own behalf.  Quite to the contrary, nearly every question was met with dignified silence.  Finally, after some time, Pilate inquired “Art thou a king then?”  In response the Savior drew the mind and memory of all present that morning or to any reading the account in this modern world to another spring day years prior when a new star was hung in the heavens, angelic choirs sang and a virgin mother held salvation in her arms.  “Thou sayest that I am a king.  To this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world.” (John 18:37)

None of us can ever truly celebrate Christmas without looking to the events of Easter.  Without looking to this moment, when "the Son of Man was delivered into the hands of men."  When the Prince of Peace won the victory over sin and conflict of infinite varieties.  When the Babe of Bethlehem could look back upon scenes from his mortal experience, scenes of miracles, teachings, poverty and at least once outright betrayal, and say in the greatest of all triumphs "Father, it is finished, into thy hands I commend my spirit."  If these scenes from Gethsemane and Calvary are not the focal point of our celebration at Christmas then those celebrations will have largely become hollow and insignificant.  We celebrate this particular birth among all others because of the path the baby would walk utterly and entirely alone in order to open the gate to eternal life for all who would follow him.  Remove the events of Easter from Christmas and we celebrate the birth of a tremendous example and master teacher, but not a Savior.  The birth of a great and notable leader, but not the Shepherd and Bishop of our Souls.  If the life of this little baby had not been destined to culminate in a garden, a cross and an empty tomb then that "night of wondering awe" would have merely marked the beginning of an exemplary life in tragic poverty.  His birth marked the entrance of a light, the light, into a world which had gone hopelessly and otherwise irreparably dark.  As the world lay hushed in physical slumber on that sacred night it was also caught in a far more terrifying spiritual slumber which could only result in eternal ruin.  The prince of darkness had established his kingdom and it seemed impossible to stay the tide of evil flooding the world.  Until this night.  Until this moment.  Until a star appeared.  Until angels descended to the earth.  Until a stable was, in many ways, turned into a temple.  Until the crying of a newborn made heaven, earth and eternity collectively shudder in joy.  At last he had come!  At last he had been born “With healing in His wings.”  At long last a God had been born.  

I have pondered many times on the thoughts which must have filled the minds of Mary and Joseph as they held the Savior in their arms that first Christmas night.  As the child was wrapped in swaddling clothes I wonder if Mary knew she would one day wrap her son in burial linens and place him in a borrowed tomb.  I wonder if, as her newborn son held her fingers, Mary imagined she could already feel the marks of the nails which would one day be driven through those same hands on her behalf.  I wonder if Joseph thought he could feel the prick of the crown of thorns which his son would one day wear as he softly stroked his head.  As Mary kissed the face of her newborn baby I wonder if she knew another woman would one day kiss his feet and bathe them with her tears as she begged for mercy and forgiveness at his hand.  I wonder if she knew her son would declare in that moment and countless others through eternity "Woman, thy sins be forgiven thee."  I wonder if, as these two young parents comforted the little king and hushed his crying, they knew not many years in the future he would plead with his eternal Father to have the most bitter of all cups taken from him but there would be no support of relief to be found.  I hope they knew he would drink that cup to the dregs without anyone to aid him.  As shepherds and kings knelt in worship before their son did Mary and Joseph know that harlot, zealot and tax collector alike; that you and I, would also bow before their son and declare in sincerity "neither will I forsake thee."

To Pilate's question from so long ago, "Art thou a king then?", I give my own unequivocal and emphatic answer.  Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the Alpha and Omega, our Bright and Morning Star, is the King of kings, Lord of lords and Prince of Peace.   This Christmas and always I stand in wonder at the birth of a baby.  A baby who condescended to subject himself to a degree of agony I can never comprehend for the sole reason of saving me from my own self-inflicted faults.  With the angels that night I declare "Glory to God in the highest."  Glory to God because through his Son, Jesus Christ, there is the eventual promise of "peace on earth and goodwill toward men."  Glory to God for a new star guiding men, women and children of every age and circumstance to a manger.  Glory to God in the highest for sending his Son and glory to that Son for every moment of his beautiful and incomparable life.  Glory to God because of Christmas, glory to God for a season when the world collectively tastes something, a little, of the joy only that baby can provide.  Glory to God for the hopes, even the dreams, which were made realities on that night when heaven and earth rejoiced.

"That night when in [the] Judean skies

 The mystic Star dispensed its light,

 A blind man [groped] in his sleep,

 And dreamed [that] he had sight.

That night when shepherds heard the song

Of hosts angelic choiring near,

A deaf man stirred in slumber’s spell,

And dreamed [that] he could hear.

That night when in the cattle-stall

Slept Child and Mother [without talk],

A cripple[d] [man] turned his twisted limbs,

And dreamed [that] he [could walk].

That night when o’er the new-born Babe

The tender Mary rose to lean,

A loathsome leper smiled in sleep,

And dreamed [that] he was clean.

That night when to his Mother’s breast

The little King was held secure,

A harlot slept a happy sleep,

And dreamed [that] she was pure.

That night when in the manger lay

The Sanctified, who came to save,

A man moved in the sleep of death,

And dreamed there was no grave."

May each of us have a wonderful, peaceful, and joyful Christmas is my prayer, which I offer in the name of the baby, even the Lord Jesus Christ, Amen.