If we want to be ready for mission in another location, we can start preparing by crossing cultural and other barriers closer to home.

Throughout Luke’s Gospel, Jesus ministers to those lacking status and power in his culture (such as the poor and non-elite women). Among those alienated from society, he reaches out to “sinners”—those marginalized by virtue of their behavior. His kingdom does not depend on human political or military power; he pursues the lowly, showing that God is not impressed with our worldly credentials. Yet Jesus not only ministers to the marginalized; he builds his new kingdom around them.

Scripture often reports that God is near the lowly but far from the proud (e.g., Matt 23:12; Luke 1:52; 14:11; 18:14; Jms 4:6; 1 Pet 5:5); he reveals himself in human weakness more than in what the world deems power (1 Cor 1:18-26; 2 Cor 12:9; 13:4). Jesus welcomes everyone, but it is those who recognize their desperate need of him who most welcome him. If we recognize our need to depend fully on God, we are blessed. If we do not, we need to spend more time among the broken and the lowly, learning from their hearts.

In Luke 7:36-50, he welcomes the controversial gift that one such marginalized person offers.

It was considered pious to invite a popular sage over for dinner, and Simon the Pharisee has invited Jesus for dinner (Luke 7:36). At banquets, guests typically reclined on large, backless couches (three or four diners per couch), their feet pointed away from the tables; sometimes outsiders might come watch. A woman of ignoble repute in the community (so 7:37) enters the house and begins washing Jesus’s feet, wiping them with her hair. Simon is offended: surely a prophet like Jesus would know this woman’s ill repute. Indeed, in his culture respectable married women (i.e., respectable adult women) covered their hair in public. Thus by wiping Jesus’s feet with her hair, as far as Simon was concerned, the woman put her sinfulness on display!

But Jesus is indeed a prophet—he knows what Simon is thinking. Jesus helps Simon to realize that those who recognize their need for forgiveness most are the most grateful to receive it. Then Jesus, though still addressing Simon, turns away from the table to finally face the woman. Washing Jesus’s feet, she has been outside the circle of couches; banqueters reclined on their left elbows and their feet pointed away from the tables (after all, who wants someone’s stinky feet in their face?)

Jesus reminds Simon that he offensively failed to provide Jesus with the most basic, expected courtesies in their culture. A host should provide a guest water for washing the feet (though a respectable host would not wash the guests’ feet himself, a more servile task). Likewise, one should give a light kiss of respect to a teacher; one might also provide oil for anointing. Simon has failed in all these courtesies expected of a host. Jesus might be a special guest, but for Simon, Jesus is not that significant, compared to Simon and his peers.

By contrast, this woman has provided Jesus all the honors that Simon failed to offer—displaying gratitude for her forgiven sins. By linking forgiveness to their treatment of himself, Jesus implies that he himself is the bearer of divine forgiveness. By honoring or dishonoring him people show their response to grace.

Meanwhile, other table guests recoil in horror from Jesus’s words: how can he forgive sins (7:49)? They do not recognize how central Jesus is to God’s plan. They do not understand his identity. And, like Simon, they are proud, more ready to judge Jesus than to learn from him. All because he welcomes sinners!

When we look down on others who received grace after we did (perhaps the incarcerated, or unwed mothers, or even someone who wronged us personally), we forget that we, too, can be saved only by grace. Of course, Jesus is not offering cheap forgiveness to those choosing to remain in sin; he forgives those who truly turn to him. Yet this woman was turning from being a “sinner” more readily than the Pharisee and most of his guests were willing to turn from sinful, religious pride. To be most ready for crossing cultural barriers in mission (the Book of Acts), we should begin crossing barriers near us, to experience and share God’s grace (his generous favor) to others around us.

That Jesus welcomes the woman’s gift—no matter what others think—reminds us of another theme in Luke-Acts: those who are initially objects of mission can become missionaries themselves. For the most part, Jesus chose as his first agents fishermen, a tax collector, and those of apparently nondescript professions rather than the more humanly obvious choices of priests or scribes. Peter, the “sinful man” (Luke 5:8); Paul the persecutor (Acts 9:13-15); and others become agents of Christ’s mission.

The Spirit empowering the apostles’ circle for mission at Pentecost (Acts 1:8) is also poured out on the Samaritans (Acts 8:17) and Gentiles (Acts 10:44-47) and all who are far off (Acts 2:38-39). Why? So all these groups can share in the apostolic mission of proclaiming Christ. Some who may begin as some sort of marginal minority within our circle of believers may be laying the foundations for future ministry. Cheryl Sanders, a pastor and professor of ethics at Howard University, has a valuable book called Ministry at the Margins: The Prophetic Mission of Women, Youth & the Poor. Her title catches one of the themes in Luke-Acts.

God does not usually start his activity where we expect or the way we expect. He does not need our wealth, status or power, because he does not want our pride. He often starts with the lowly and the marginal (Luke 1:51-53), pouring out his Spirit and surprising us with revival, just to remind us all that the power for his work comes from him and not from ourselves.

Craig Keener is author of commentaries on Matthew, John, Acts, Romans, 1-2 Corinthians, Galatians, and Revelation; his IVP Bible Background Commentary: New Testament, has sold more than half a million copies.

Jesus will redirect some of their excitement, but before turning to that, let me make a brief comment on the seventy or seventy-two. A majority of scholars believe that the number here should be seventy-two; some other manuscripts read seventy. It’s not surprising that early scribes who were copying the number considered both numbers significant. Jesus had already sent the twelve to expel demons and heal the sick (9:1). He no doubt chosen the number twelve to reflect his plan for the twelve tribes of Israel (Luke 22:30). Seventy, however, was the common Jewish reckoning of the number of gentile nations, based on the list of nations in Genesis 10. So this mission may prefigure the mission in Acts. Moses also appointed seventy elders over Israel (Num 11:16) in addition to heads of twelve tribes, and God empowered them to prophesy (11:25). But two other elders were not present, and God empowered them to prophesy also (11:26), bringing the number to seventy-two. In any case, Jesus is spreading the mission further, as Moses also would have liked (11:29).

Jesus sent them out to heal the sick and tell them while doing so, “God’s promised reign has come to you!” (Luke 10:9). That is, they were to preach that the expected kingdom of God was at hand, and people had to respond by either embracing this news or rejecting it. Jesus’s agents are heralds of God’s kingdom: “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger who announces peace, who brings good news, who announces salvation, who says to Zion, “Your God reigns” (Isa 52:7, NRSV; cf. http://www.craigkeener.org/good-news-about-jesus-christ-and-the-introduction-to-marks-gospel-mark-11/). As elsewhere in Jesus’s ministry, healing and deliverance demonstrated that the promised time had come (Luke 7:20-23; 11:20).

Now Jesus’s 36 pairs of disciples return with great news, reporting that not only were the “normally” sick healed, but that even demons had been subjected to them in Jesus’s name (10:17). They were subject “in Jesus’s name” because Jesus’s agents, who acted and spoke faithfully on his behalf, represented him—whoever accepted or rejected them, ultimately accepted or rejected him (10:16).

Jesus replies, “I was watching Satan fall from heaven like lightning!” (10:18). Is he changing the subject, only to return to it in the next verse (10:19)? We can take Jesus’s “watching” in one of two ways. One possibility is that Jesus refers to an earlier fall of Satan, noted in Jewish tradition (and probably reapplied in another way in Rev 12:9—but that is another story). (Contrary to popular thought, it is not reflected in Isaiah 14, or at least not directly; the context there refers only to the arrogant, self-deifying king of Babylon; see http://www.craigkeener.org/does-isaiah-1412-14-refer-to-lucifers-fall-from-heaven/.)

Thus he would be saying, “You don’t need to worry about Satan. He lost his place before God a long time ago!”

This makes sense, but the other possibility might make even better sense. Jesus could be saying, “As you were preaching God’s reign, I was watching Satan fall, being displaced from his authority in heavenly places. God’s kingdom was taking back ground that the devil had usurped.” In other words, Jesus was watching Satan’s kingdom retreat during his disciples’ mission. Jesus does in fact view his ministry of deliverance as an assault on Satan’s kingdom (Luke 11:18); he is liberating the strong oppressor’s possessions (11:22; 13:16; cf. Acts 10:38). Paul, too, understood his mission of proclaiming God’s kingdom as delivering people from Satan’s authority to serve God instead (Acts 26:18). Satan does claim authority over earthly kingdoms (Luke 4:6), though only under God’s permission and ultimately God can overrule him (Dan 4:32).

But how would this second possibility fit Satan falling “from heaven”? If we use NT cosmological imagery, Satan works on earth from a position above it (see e.g., Eph 2:2; 6:12). More importantly, even the immediate context applies this language figuratively for one who is exalted being cast down. Because Capernaum, privy to much revelation of Jesus’s identity, did not respond even more radically to his identity, Jesus declares, “And you, Capernaum: you won’t be lifted up to heaven, will you? No! You’ll be thrust down to the underworld!” (Luke 10:15). Scripture often uses such language figuratively; compare Lam 2:1: “He has cast from heaven to earth the glory of Israel” (NASB). It would seem even more appropriate for Satan, already fallen and now being displaced from authority through the advance of Jesus’s kingdom forces in Luke 10:17.

Indeed, Jesus was granting them authority over Satan’s ground forces: “I have given you authority to trample on snakes and scorpions and to overcome all the power of the enemy; nothing will harm you” (10:19, NIV). Here Jesus echoes the idea in Ps 91:13: “You will subdue a lion and a snake;you will trample underfoot a young lion and a serpent” (NET). (This is the same psalm the devil earlier tried to manipulate Jesus into abusing in Luke 4:10-11; Jesus, by contrast, does have authority to apply it the right way.) We see an example of this authority in a more literal sense in Acts 28:3-5, where Paul is unharmed by a viper. Traveling dirt footpaths throughout Galilee to proclaim him, Jesus’s agents would indeed value protection against snakes. But in this context, Jesus undoubtedly also implies protection against spiritual serpents such as the devil (cf. 2 Cor 11:3, 14; Rev 12:9; 20:2).

Jesus thus acknowledges their observation: indeed, demons are subject to them (Luke 10:17-19). But then he qualifies their celebration with another observation. There is far greater cause for celebration than the subjection of demons. They can rejoice that their names are written in heaven (10:20); salvation is the greatest reason to celebrate (15:7, 10, 32; Acts 13:48; 15:3), and rewards in heaven are causes for joy (Luke 6:23). Satan has been cast down from heaven (Luke 10:18), but they are established in heaven! This draws on the earlier biblical image of God’s record book (Exod 32:32; Ps 56:8; 69:28; 139:16; Mal 3:16), elaborated in Jewish tradition and noted elsewhere in the NT as a heavenly book of life (see esp. Phil 4:3; Rev 3:5; 13:8; 17:8; 20:12, 15; 21:27).

We celebrate many divine gifts, but the greatest of all is knowing that we can spend forever in the Lord’s presence, fulfilling the purpose for which we were designed. We may rejoice at exegetical insights, at opportunities to preach and see others turn to God, and even at discovering that as Jesus’s agents we can expel hostile spirits. But the ultimate cause of celebration is eternal life. It belongs to all who have come over to God’s side, who have embraced his kingdom, through Jesus. If you should happen to be reading this and not know whether you have that assurance, you have only to ask God for it in Jesus’s name. The God who gave his own Son to bring you to himself will certainly welcome you if you come.

Everything thus hinges on his identity; real faith in Jesus, therefore, is not a passive assent like some fire escape just-in-case. To genuinely believe in Jesus is to stake our life on his claims, to entrust our eternal welfare into his care. Our level of commitment to him may be directly proportional to the genuineness of our faith in him.

Statements about radically abandoning everything include an element of hyperbole, in that God knows that we have basic needs as physical beings. God promises to look out for Jesus’s followers having food and clothing (Luke 12:28-30), though he calls us to seek first his kingdom (12:31). But of course the point of hyperbole—rhetorical overstatement—is to grip our attention and make us consider our ways—not to let us dismiss them as “merely hyperbole.”

To come after Jesus was to be his disciple, his follower. Yet Jesus says that to come after him one must “hate” his parents, wife, children and siblings (14:26). From Jesus’s teachings elsewhere, it is clear that he does want his disciples to honor their parents (Luke 18:20), to remain loyal to their spouse (16:18), and to welcome and care for children (18:16). But by comparison with loyalty to Jesus, such loyalties can be depicted hyperbolically as hatred! Matthew’s Gospel puts this phrase more gently: anyone who loves another more than Jesus is not worthy of Jesus (Matt 10:37)—Jesus comes first.

When households are divided because some oppose Jesus, loyalty to Jesus must transcend loyalty to the household (Luke 12:53). When in times of persecution even relatives and friends might betray you to protect themselves (21:16), loyalty to Jesus must remain first. Jesus said this in a society where family ties were paramount and such betrayals might seem inconceivable. But persecution did come, and some families divided over how much Jesus was worth.

Jesus’s first disciples were ready to pay this price. When Jesus challenged the rich ruler to sell everything, give it to the poor, and become a disciple of Jesus, the ruler balked at the cost (18:18-25). Peter then reminded Jesus that he and his colleagues had “left everything we had to follow you!” (18:28). Jesus pointed out that whoever left home and family for the kingdom’s sake—perhaps driven away by persecution or by a calling that no one else would embrace—would receive great reward (18:29-30). The reward included both a larger spiritual family in this world and eternal life in the coming one (18:30).

Yet Peter and his colleagues themselves balked at Jesus’s further demand. We must love Jesus more than our own life; we must take up our cross to follow him (14:26-27). Despite Jesus’s clarity, when it came time to take up their crosses to follow him, all his disciples were in hiding, and soldiers had to draft a bystander, Simon of Cyrene, to carry Jesus’s cross (23:26).

Jesus wanted his disciples to understand, going into the mission, what it might cost them. As a young Christian zealously sharing my faith on the street, I sometimes was beaten or had my life threatened. I assumed this was par for the course, because I understood that my life in this world became forfeit from the moment of my conversion. Every moment after my conversion was a gift, an opportunity to make my life in this world count for something that matters forever. I already had what I needed, nothing which could be greater: eternal life in fellowship with my creator.

Jesus offers two examples in this passage of counting the cost. Why start a building and leave it half-finished? People who pass your building will laugh at your foolishness (14:28-30). (My wife assures me that this happens sometimes in her country of Congo.) Likewise, a sane ruler will not start a war against another ruler who has much greater firepower (14:31-32). Jesus is worth everything, but times of testing reveal how much we believe that, how much we value him. It is best to count the cost up front, and live accordingly so that it becomes an ingrained habit.

Some people suppose that Jesus told only a rich ruler, in the context of seeking eternal life (18:18), to sell everything and give to the poor (18:22). This reflects something of a pattern:

• Explaining his message of repentance, John declares that anyone with even just two shirts should share one with the person who doesn’t have any (Luke 3:11)
• Promising the kingdom, Jesus invites disciples to sell their possessions and give to the poor, so they will have treasure in heaven (12:33)
• Here in 14:33, Jesus declares, “none of you can be my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions” (NRSV).

Is there an element of hyperbole here? Luke’s glowing description of the early Jerusalem church suggests that there is. Rather than selling everything upon their conversion, they sold it as needed afterward to help those in need (Acts 2:44-45; 4:32-35). This was a sign of their experience of the Spirit, an experience that empowers radical discipleship. We do not lose all our property at the moment of conversion. We do, however, lose our ownership of it, as Charles Finney aptly pointed out during nineteenth-century revivls. Our resources are now God’s resources, to be deployed most effectively for the purposes of his kingdom.

Jesus then compares his disciples to salt. Salt was important in antiquity, but if salt loses its identity as salt, it becomes worthless (14:34-35). True disciples must live out the values of the kingdom.

We who have eternal life in Jesus need not balk at any price in this world. Instead, we can invest our resources in ways that count for all eternity. A mediocre life that comes and goes in this world may lack significance. But a life devoted to Jesus has ultimate significance, as we devote our resources to his cause, caring for those in need. Those needs are far greater than our resources, which is why we never have good reason to neglect our mission.

I want to devote all my time and money to things that will last forever. I don’t waste time on frivolous games or entertainment; I don’t waste money on petty trinkets or fashion that will not advance the kingdom. Of course sometimes I must bend for the sake of others who don’t share or understand these commitments. My desire, however, is that in counting Jesus worth everything, they too will invest all their resources in matters of eternal significance. Why waste anything when the world’s need is so great and our resources can count forever?

Each person must decide for themselves what such a lifestyle of devotion looks like. Stewardship demands wisdom—some investments generate more returns for the kingdom. Some of us will seek to earn more to invest in serving people for Jesus. Some others will seek to have more free time to invest in serving people for Jesus. Some have only a widow’s mite to invest, but God looks on what we do with what we have. This is not about judging someone else’s commitments by how much they put in the offering plate or coach Little Leaguers or the like. But each of us should consider: what kind of difference we want to make in this world. We each have just one life: how will we deploy it in service of the kingdom? What will have eternal significance? What will count forever?

Christmas is a joyful time for many parents, but also a time of grief for those who have lost children. (This is also true for other deep relational losses, some of which my wife and I have experienced, but few losses run deeper than the loss of a child—something Mary would eventually experience.) This may be especially true for those who believe that God has shown them about their child’s destiny and, at least so far, things appear to be working differently.

Jesus’s birth, of course, is special in a way that no other birth is. But we can still learn some lessons from how Mary responded to clear revelations about Jesus’s identity and mission.

The shepherds testified about what the angels had said: this baby would be a savior, Christ the Lord (Luke 2:8-17)! This testimony confirmed the message that Mary had already received directly from the angel Gabriel (Luke 1:28-37). Many in Bethlehem marveled at the shepherds’ testimony (2:18). Mary, however, preserved these matters in her heart (2:19). She does the same thing later after the young Jesus’s encounter with Bible experts in the temple (2:51). (Luke might even tell about Mary’s memory of these events to suggest that Mary is his source for this information; certainly he met at least briefly with Jesus’s brother James, in Acts 21:18.)

The term used for the “matters” or “words” she kept in her heart appears often in the preceding context, for Gabriel’s message to her (1:37-38), for God’s wonderful work for Zachariah and Elizabeth (1:65), and for the angels’ message to the shepherds (2:15, 17). It will soon be used for God’s prophetic message to Simeon (2:29). All children are special, but Mary, more than any other mother, had good reason to know that her child was the most special of all—the one we all must depend on.

Soon after this event Simeon in the temple prophesies that this child, God’s Messiah, will embody salvation for all peoples (Luke 2:26-32; cf. 2:38). This goes well beyond what Mary and her husband would have imagined (2:33). This message also fits a theme that Luke develops further throughout his work (e.g., 3:6; Acts 13:47; 28:28).

Yet Simeon also prophesies that this child will face opposition and that Mary will face pain (2:34-35). He is prophesying what the Spirit is saying—not simply making a “positive confession” about what Mary might want to hear, or what Simeon might want to come to pass. He is not merely expressing everyone’s hopes for the child. There is a difference.

Simeon’s message underlines a steep price to Jesus’s mission. God has appointed Jesus to expose what is really in the hearts of people (2:35), using Greek terms that Like later uses for Jesus revealing the hypocrisy of many religious people (5:22; 6:8) and even the wrong thoughts of his own disciples (9:47; 24:38). By showing people for what they were, he would become a stumbling block for many, what Simeon calls their “falling” (2:34; cf. 20:18). By contrast, he would be for others a promise of resurrection, what Simeon calls their “rising” (2:34; everywhere else in Luke-Acts this means the resurrection of the dead). Jesus as a sign will also be “spoken against” (2:34: antilegô), a term also applied to hostility against his followers (21:15; Acts 13:45; 28:22).

Further, a figurative “sword” will also pierce Mary’s own heart (Luke 2:35), perhaps initially fulfilled when her son is missing (2:43-48), because she cannot yet understand his life mission (2:49). It may have been further fulfilled when, instead of immediately answering Mary’s concerns, Jesus embraces his disciples as mother and siblings (8:19-21). He warns that loyalty to himself comes before loyalty to parents (12:53; 14:26; though Jesus still affirms honoring parents, 18:20). Even Mary herself must accept the role of disciple as well as mother (Acts 1:14). Jesus’s death would surely prove most traumatic of all.

Sometimes a prophecy is true and it comes to pass in ways that do not make sense to us. The cross was a steeper price than Mary would have imagined; and how could the cross lead to Jesus embodying salvation? Joseph’s father disapproved of his dreams (Gen 37:10), but his father kept it in mind (37:11), just like Mary did centuries later. Yet with Joseph’s apparent death, any possibility of the dream being fulfilled seemed hopeless (37:33-34). Unlike Jacob, the reader of Genesis 37 knows that Joseph remains alive. But how will his exploitation as a slave lead to his exaltation?

Jacob’s son Joseph still has enough faith to remain loyal to God (39:9). He has enough faith—or at least such irresistible gifting—to continue interpreting dreams (40:8-22). And finally this gift exalts him, ironically fulfilling part of his own dream many years earlier (Gen 41).

That is often how God works: he brings humility and often even humiliation before exaltation (Prov 15:33; 18:12; Matt 23:12//Luke 14:11; Luke 18:14). That pattern climaxes in the cross: our divine Lord humbled himself. He did so even to the point of the most shameful and humiliating of deaths, execution for treason against the mighty and widely feared empire of his day (Phil 2:8). Yet every knee will bow at Jesus’s name (2:10) and every tongue confess that he is Lord, to the glory of God the Father (2:11). God’s plan was fulfilled (Acts 2:23-24).

Unfortunately, not all prophecies are clear. Moreover, in circles today where we believe that God’s Spirit still speaks to us, we also need to do a better job of testing today what some claim that God is saying. Some circles risk watering down real prophecy, even inadvertently, with their own interests. Toward the beginning of their callings, God warned both Jeremiah and Ezekiel not to be moved by the opposition they would face for speaking the truth (Jer 1:8, 17; Ezek 2:5-7; 3:8-9). Those who prophesied only what people wanted to hear were suspect (Jer 28:9), and if their hearers were living ungodly lives, the prophecies of peace were false (Jer 4:10; 6:14; 8:11; 14:13; 23:17; Ezek 13:10, 16; Mic 3:5). Of course, not all prophecies include elements of reproof or bad news; two of the seven New Testament churches in Asia Minor were spared reproof, and one was even spared any bad news (Rev 2—3).

Scripture is worth standing on. Scripture also says that we should hold fast true prophecies from God (1 Thess 5:20-21). The same context, however, warns that prophecies must be tested (5:21-22; 1 Cor 14:29). Circles that believe that God will bring about whatever one speaks in faith weaken the distinction between what they say and what God says. Yet “Who can speak and have it happen if the Lord has not decreed it?” (Lam 3:37, NIV). Genuine authority to command mountains (Mark 11:23-24) presupposes faith in God (11:22), which in turn presupposes that what we are trusting for, God actually supports.

Not everything that everyone says to us is God’s message, and that may be true especially in circles where people believe they can make “prophetic declarations” apart from genuine direction from God’s Spirit. When those declarations are made publicly and fail, they can make true prophecy harder to believe. But of course more people today, like most people in Jeremiah’s day, will listen to those who tell them what they would like to hear (2 Tim 4:3). Full disclosure: I personally also absolutely prefer what is positive! But in the long run, truth is what matters most of all. God is not wrong simply because someone spoke wrongly in his name. But when we speak in God’s name and are wrong, we dishonor God’s name. Whether in prophecy or in the gift of teaching Scripture, we should be very careful when we say, “The Lord says.”

Other times are more like the above examples from Jesus’s childhood, or the earlier story of Joseph’s dreams. God really has spoken, but we do not understand the message’s full import until it is fulfilled.

Sometimes what God has spoken is best kept in our hearts, as in the case of Mary, until we understand how it will be fulfilled. This helps prevent bringing dishonor on God’s name; a prophecy, like a biblical text, sometimes needs interpretation. Our understanding is finite, and our interpretations are limited. Not everything God tells us is for public consumption, especially when it seems foolishness to outsiders, and especially when we are not yet sure enough of the meaning to risk God’s honor in case we are wrong.

We know in part and we prophesy in part (1 Cor 13:9), but we can truly trust that God has everything under control. We know he works things for our ultimate good, even when we do not understand how (Rom 8:28). In faith, we do our best to follow his leading. In faith, we trust that he knows what he is doing even when we do not.

Part of our Christmas story is a tale of two kings: one powerful in the eyes of the world, and the other identifying with the lowliest of people. It is the latter who is the true King, and this reminds us that we serve a God who is not impressed with power or status, but who dwells close to the lowly (Ps 34:18; Is 57:15). If we want to find God’s presence, we too will likelier find Him among the lowly.

This passage opens with a decree of Augustus Caesar, who displays his power here by censuses used to collect taxes for Rome and its empire (Lk 2:1). Augustus had achieved power by brutally crushing his competition, and he maintained power through absolute political control. Emperors fed Rome with free grain levied as taxes on Egyptian farmers—whose children sometimes starved. His was an empire maintained by force and propaganda, utterly different from the unpretentious kingdom that Christ came to bring.

All the important people would feel honored to be in Caesar’s presence; by contrast, Christ was born to a betrothed village couple from Judea’s “frontier” of Galilee, forced to migrate to Bethlehem for Caesar’s census. In contrast to Caesar, Christ was not born in what people of status would have viewed as a “respectable” family.

For readers in the Roman Empire, the narrative here is full of similar contrasts. Augustus lived in a palace; Christ was born in a feeding trough meant for animals. Choirs in Augustus’ temples hailed him as a god, lord and a “savior” for the empire; an angelic voice hailed Jesus as “born this day a savior,” “Christ the Lord” (Lk 2:11). The empire celebrated Augustus’ birthday; heaven celebrated Christ’s.

Imperial propaganda announced and celebrated the “Pax Romana,” the “peace” that Augustus established (i.e., imposed) for the empire by subduing (i.e., conquering) many of its enemies (i.e., neighbors). By contrast, at Jesus’ birth heaven announced God’s offer of true peace to humanity (Lk 2:14).

Virtually everyone in the empire knew of the emperor. Yet God chose to reveal Jesus’ identity to shepherds, who were outcasts to most of ancient Mediterranean society. Who would heed shepherds? Yet they faithfully proclaimed what they had experienced to anyone who would listen (Lk 2:18). Some ancient laws rejected the testimony of shepherds and women; yet Luke’s Gospel opens and closes with such testimony, approved by God.

If Augustus had a son now, he would be born in a palace and clothed with expensive garments (cf. Lk 7:25). But some time after Mary and Joseph reached Bethlehem, Mary gave birth and laid Jesus in a manger in a cave, apparently because the house was too crowded. (Contrary to most translations, there was no “inn” involved; if anyone excluded them from the house at all, it was apparently not an innkeeper, but relatives!) Mary wrapped Jesus with “swaddling cloths” (wrappings meant to help a baby’s limbs grow straight), not royal robes.

At Christmas we celebrate the incarnation of God in flesh, the incomparably great one sharing our broken humanity and ultimately our mortality. When God came among us, he came not among the great and mighty. He was not impressed with the pretension of human power, as if the prestige of powerful human empires mattered anything to him. Instead, he came among the broken, among the lowly, and showed us that we do not need to pretend to be anything great; he welcomes us by his own generosity. Like the shepherds, let us recognize the love of our king who cares for each of us, and tell everyone about him.

Literally, Mary says, “May it be with me according to your word.” This is only the second time in this Gospel that Luke has used this Greek term for “word” (rhema); the first was in the preceding verse: “For nothing will be impossible with God!” (Luke 1:37), or, “For no matter [rhema] will be impossible with God!” This announcement closely echoes God’s promise concerning Sarah’s birth of Isaac, in the ancient Greek translation of the Old Testament: “There is no matter [rhema] impossible with God” (Gen 18:14).

No matter will be impossible with God; Mary embraces instead the matter or word that God has spoken. Mary had wondered at Gabriel’s greeting (Luke 1:20) and questioned how such a thing could be, since she was a virgin (1:34). That is, her conception was inconceivable. But as her son will later explain, what is impossible with people is possible with God (18:27). The maker of heaven and earth is not subject to the patterns of existence with which we mortals are familiar. She believes the unbelievable, and God does what he has promised.

By contrast, Zechariah, the respectable, aged priest serving in the temple, gets in trouble because he did not believe the angel’s “words” (Luke 1:20). Luke uses a different term for “word” here, but they were often interchangeable. God fulfills the promise anyway, but Zechariah’s response falls far short of Mary’s. Later in Luke we read about those who believe the message and are saved (Luke 8:12), so long as they continue in the faith (8:13). In Luke’s second volume, the Book of Acts, we continue to learn about those who believe the Lord’s message of good news (Acts 4:4; 13:48; 15:7).

Mary is not the only one to receive the Lord’s rhema. When Zechariah’s son John is born and Zechariah is able to speak again, news (rhemata, plural) spread throughout the area (Luke 1:65). The shepherds eagerly enter Bethlehem to see the matter (rhema) the Lord had made known to them (2:15), and they spread this news (rhema) around (2:17); Mary guarded all these matters (rhemata) in her heart (2:19). When Simeon in the temple sees the baby Jesus, it fulfills the message (rhema) that God had spoken to him (2:29). Later the prophetic message (rhema) comes to Zechariah’s son John in the wilderness (3:2).

It’s at Jesus’s word that Simon Peter lets down the fishing nets (Luke 5:5) and discovers an extraordinary catch of fish. His disciples did not understand his teaching (rhema) about his impending death and resurrection (9:45; 18:34). After his words (rhemata) came to pass, his followers recognized that they were true (22:61; 24:8), but the male disciples were not ready to believe the message (rhemata) of the women who announced that Jesus had risen (24:11). Throughout this Gospel (and into the Book of Acts), God provides a true message. Sometimes people believe it enough to act on it (for example, Peter with the nets), but sometimes, as with the resurrection, the message seems too good to be true. (Again, I could have given more examples still had I included references to the other Greek term for “word,” which Luke often uses interchangeably with this one.)

Yet a teenage virgin from the village of Nazareth responded with greater faith, and she becomes a model of discipleship for us. Gabriel’s good news to Mary was virtually unbelievable, but she believed it. Even when God’s message to us seems too good to be true—that he has sent a Savior to deliver us from sin’s penalty and from sin’s power—that good news remains true, because God is its author. May we, like Mary, respond, “I’m here! The Lord’s servant! Let it happen for me just as you have said!” (Luke 1:38).

Session 4, addressing unity of Luke-Acts, parallel lives (relevance for Luke-Acts), etc., and miracle claims.

Continuing the theme of Acts as historiography from previous lectures. 1 hour.