The First Christmas

by Marcus J. Borg

  This is how many experienced the Pax Romana: “they make a desert and they call it peace.” But Rome and its emperors saw themselves as having brought “peace on earth.”

  The song of the angels proclaims a different source and kind of peace. Jesus—as Savior, Messiah, and Lord—is the one who brings peace on earth. This is the peace of the kingdom of God, a peace based upon justice. The peace of empire is based on oppression and violence. Just as Matthew tells the story of Jesus’s birth as a conflict between two kingships, so Luke tells the story of his birth as a conflict between two different kinds of peace. There is the “good news” of empire and the “good news” of Jesus.

  The angelic revelation comes to shepherds. Tourists and pilgrims to Bethlehem today are commonly shown not only the Church of the Nativity, but “Shepherds Field,” where the angels appeared to them. These are sacred sites, even as they are not historical. And within the parabolic narrative of the birth stories, shepherds have a particular significance.

  Shepherds were from the marginalized peasant class, the class that most acutely experienced oppression and exploitation by Rome and her client rulers. They were therefore among the “lowly” and “hungry” of Mary’s Magnificat hymn in Luke 1:52–53. Their occupation may also recall David “keeping the sheep” of his father Jesse (1 Sam. 16:11) and protecting them (1 Sam. 17:15–36).

  That they are the first ones to hear of Jesus’s birth is significant: the good news comes to the poor and despised. It is consistent with the portrait of Jesus in the gospels. Matthew, Mark, and Luke all report that Jesus’s message and activity were directed primarily to the peasant class. According to them, the only city that Jesus ever went to was Jerusalem. Otherwise, he was active in the countryside, in small towns and villages where the peasant population lived. As Luke later puts it, Jesus’s message was “good news to the poor,” “release to the captives,” “sight to the blind,” and “to let the oppressed go free” (4:18). The message to the shepherds foreshadows the message of Jesus.

  ROME: APOLLO OR PYTHON?

  This book is based on the birth stories of Jesus in Matthew 1–2 and Luke 1–2, and we usually think of them as the only two such narratives in the New Testament. But there is actually a third one, an absolutely fascinating mythological one, and one that serves to consummate their anti-imperial thrust.

  This third birth story of Jesus has a dragon in it. It is found in the book of Revelation (also known as the Apocalypse), written near the end of the first century by an early Christian known as John of Patmos (Patmos is an island off the coast of Asia Minor). Like the stories in Matthew and Luke, it uses imagery associated with light and darkness to challenge Rome’s claim to be the light of the world.

  In Revelation 12, one of John’s visions describes a woman about to give birth to a child “who is to rule all the nations.” But a dragon waits to devour the child. In the symbolic and mythological language that abounds in Revelation, which is often interpreted without regard to its late first-century matrix:

  A great portent appeared in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars. She was pregnant and was crying out in birth pangs, in the agony of giving birth. Then another portent appeared in heaven: a great red dragon, with seven heads and ten horns…. The dragon stood before the woman who was about to bear a child, so that he might devour her child as soon as it was born. And she gave birth to a son, a male child, who is to rule all the nations with a rod of iron. But her child was snatched away and taken to God and his throne. (12:1–5)

  Later the dragon is called “the ancient serpent” (12:9) and “a beast rising out of the sea” (13:1).

  It is clear that the child is Jesus, and the dragon, the ancient serpent, the beast, is Rome, the incarnation of empire of that time. After the dragon, the beast, the ancient serpent, loses a battle in heaven, he is cast down to the earth, where he rules the world. Later in Revelation, we are told that the beast is the city built on seven hills that rules the world (17:9, 18). In the first century, that could only mean Rome.

  Moreover, we are told the “number” of the beast: “Its number is six hundred sixty-six” (13:18). Using an ancient Jewish technique for encoding a name into a number, called gematria, the number 666 decodes into “Caesar Nero,” the emperor Nero. Nero ruled the empire from 54 to 69 CE and was the first emperor to actively persecute the followers of Jesus. According to early Christian tradition, both Peter and Paul were executed during Nero’s reign.

  John’s vision directly challenges Roman imperial theology. His vision of a woman about to give birth while a great serpent waits to devour the child mimics and subverts the story of the birth of Apollo. Recall that Apollo, the god of light (and reason and order) was the father of Caesar Augustus. Augustus was “Son of God” by Apollo—and Apollo in turn was “Son of God” by Zeus, the supreme god of the Roman and Greek pantheon.

  The story of Apollo’s birth is narrated in the myth of Apollo and Python. Apollo was conceived by Zeus in his human mother, Leto (or Leda). As she was about to give birth to Apollo, a serpentine monster named Python waited to devour him. Though we use the word “python” to refer to a particular species of large snake, Python in this story is a mythical creature, the primeval monster, the ancient serpent, the primordial dragon, the source of evil and chaos. But Zeus comes to the rescue of Leto and Apollo, snatches them up from Python’s menace, and carries them to a place of safety. After Apollo has grown up, he slays Python, bringing light, order, and reason to the world. Apollo, god of light, triumphs over primordial chaos.

  The author of Revelation knows and echoes this story, but applies it to Jesus. It is a magnificent reversal, a stunning subversion, of imperial theology. Rome and its emperor are not Apollo, the bringer of light, but Python, the primordial serpent that seeks to destroy the light and to throw the world into monstrous chaos. Augustus was the son of Apollo, as were his successors. Indeed, Nero—whose name is 666—sometimes even dressed as Apollo. But, the author of Revelation asserts, Jesus is the true light of the world. Jesus is Apollo—Rome and its emperor are not. Rome, empire, is Python, the beast.

  Thus Matthew and Luke and Revelation make rich use of the archetypal imagery of light. As in the Old Testament, light is associated with the presence of God and God’s glory. Light in the darkness is about illumination and seeing. It includes seeing that imperial theology legitimates darkness and the rule of “the beast.” And light is associated with salvation—about the coming of God’s ideal world, of God’s dream for the earth.

  LIGHT: PERSONAL AND POLITICAL

  The imagery of light in the darkness has been central to the Christian tradition since its beginning. Ancient Christian prayers as evening falls sound the theme again and again:

  Light and peace, in Jesus Christ our Lord.

  Jesus said, “You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one lights a lamp to put it under a bucket, but on a lampstand where it gives light for everyone…. And you, like the lamp, must shed light among all people.”

  For the same God who said, “Out of darkness let light shine,” has caused his light to shine within us, to give the light of revelation—the revelation of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.

  Almighty God, we give you thanks for surrounding us, as daylight fades, with the brightness of the vesper light; and we implore you of your great mercy that, as you enfold us with the radiance of this light, so you would shine into our hearts the brightness of your Holy Spirit.

  Dispel the darkness of our hearts, that by your brightness we may know you to be the true God and eternal light.

  Be our light in the darkness, O Lord, and in your great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night.

  O gracious light, pure brightness of the ever-living God in heaven, O Jesus Christ, holy and blessed.

  Like much of the Bible’s language, the imagery of light is both personal and political. The contrasts be
tween darkness and light are correlated with other central contrasts: bondage and liberation, exile and return, injustice and justice, violence and peace, falsehood and truth, death and life. These contrasts all have a personal meaning as well as a political meaning. It is important to see both. So it is with the stories of Jesus’s birth. They address our personal yearning and the politics of his world and ours. To see only the personal meaning is to miss half of their meaning.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JESUS AS THE FULFILLMENT OF PROPHECY

  The fulfillment of prophecy is a major theme of the Christmas stories in Matthew and Luke. Both emphasize that Jesus is the fulfillment of God’s promises to Israel and the consummation of its longing.

  To some degree, we have already treated in earlier chapters how Matthew and Luke use the Old Testament. Recall how the story of Pharaoh and Moses shaped Matthew’s story of Herod and Jesus; how both Matthew and Luke proclaim that Jesus is the completion of the Law and the Prophets, not their replacement; and how both use light symbolism from the Old Testament in their testimony to the significance of the birth of Jesus.

  In this chapter we focus on how Matthew and Luke sound the theme of fulfillment as they use texts from the Old Testament in their stories of Jesus’s nativity. They do so in very different ways.

  MATTHEW AND THE OLD TESTAMENT

  Matthew’s testimony to Jesus as the fulfillment of prophecy treats specific texts from the Old Testament as if they were predictions of Jesus. He uses what is commonly called a “prediction-fulfillment formula.” With minor variations, the gist of the formula is “Then was fulfilled what had been spoken by the prophet,” followed by a passage from the Old Testament. This is a characteristic of Matthew as an author in his gospel as a whole. He directly quotes the Old Testament forty times. Thirteen or fourteen times (scholars differ on the number), he uses the prediction-fulfillment formula cited above.

  In his Christmas story, he does so five times. We list them here together; later we will comment on each.

  Following the story of an angel telling Joseph that Mary’s pregnancy is from the Holy Spirit: “All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: ‘Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel, which means “God is with us.” ’” (1:22–23)

  In the context of scribes telling Herod the Great where the Messiah was to be born: “For so it has been written by the prophet: ‘And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.’”(2:5–6)

  In the context of the holy family’s return from Egypt after they had fled there to escape Herod’s plot to kill Jesus: “This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, ‘Out of Egypt I have called my son.’” (2:15)

  Following Herod’s slaughter of children under two in and around Bethlehem: “Then was fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah: ‘A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.’” (2:17–18)

  Following the move to Nazareth of Jesus and his family: “There he made his home in a town called Nazareth, so that what had been spoken through the prophets might be fulfilled, ‘He will be called a Nazorean.’” (2:23)

  Before we analyze these texts, we note the effect of Matthew’s use of the Old Testament on the understanding of the relationship of Old Testament prophecy to Jesus. Through the centuries, most Christians have extended, consciously or unconsciously, Matthew’s use to their hearing of Old Testament citations in the New Testament as a whole. It became a paradigm, a way of seeing, the relationship between the Old Testament and the New Testament.

  It led to the notion that the Old Testament predicts not only the birth of Jesus with detailed specificity, but also his life, death, and resurrection. It created the notion that there was a collection of “messianic prophecies” in the time of Jesus. These, along with their fulfillment in the New Testament, are listed in Bible handbooks widely read by Protestant Christians a half century ago and still used in conservative Christian circles today. It is the basis for what is sometimes called “the argument from prophecy”; namely, the fulfillment of prophecy proves that Jesus is the Messiah, the promised one of Israel.

  It has also led to a negative attitude toward “the Jews.” How could the Jewish people fail to recognize Jesus as their Messiah, despite the clarity and precision with which he had been predicted? From this point of view, only darkened minds (or even willful blindness) could fail to see how exactly Jesus fulfilled the Old Testament. It has contributed, sometimes unconsciously, to Christian anti-Semitism, just as, at the other end of Jesus’s life, a common reading of the stories of his crucifixion has contributed to Christian disparagement of “the Jews” because “they rejected their own Messiah.”

  The author of Matthew perhaps bears some responsibility for this, even though he could not have known how his words would be heard and used by Christians centuries later. Even more, what is responsible for this way of seeing his use of the Old Testament is a historically uninformed reading of his Christmas story. We turn now to the light that a historically informed reading sheds.

  They Are Not Predictions

  We begin with the foundational claim of a historical approach to Matthew’s use of the Old Testament. In their historical contexts in the Old Testament, none of the five passages is a prediction of the distant future or a prediction of Jesus. Because this claim is crucial for seeing what is going on in Matthew, we illustrate it in each case. We warn readers that our exposition will seem negative for the next few pages, as if we are discrediting Matthew. But the result is, we are convinced, a richer understanding of these passages.

  Virgin Birth Predicted? Matthew’s first prediction-fulfillment formula cites Isaiah 7.14 to comment on Jesus’s conception and naming: “All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: “‘Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him ‘Emmanuel,’ which means ‘God is with us.’”

  Yet in its context in Isaiah, it is not a prediction of an event far in the future. The fuller context is Isaiah 7:10–16. Rather than printing the passage in full, we summarize it, even as we encourage readers to read it themselves. The words are addressed to King Ahaz, ruler of the southern kingdom of Judah in the eighth century BCE. The kings of two neighboring countries have surrounded Jerusalem with their armies in order to conquer it and replace Ahaz with a king more to their liking.

  Ahaz, of course, is frightened. But Isaiah promises Ahaz a sign from God that he and his kingdom will be delivered. The sign will be the naming of a child soon to be born. This is the context for 7:14. It reads slightly differently in Isaiah from the way Matthew quotes it:

  The Lord himself will give you a sign. Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel.

  In Hebrew, the name to be given to the child, Immanuel, is not a proper name, but a phrase. As already noted, it means “God is with us.” This will be the sign to King Ahaz: the symbolic naming of a child who is about to be born.

  The symbolic naming of a child with a phrase that conveys a message occurs elsewhere in the prophets. Isaiah mentions two others: in 7:3, a child named Shear-jashub, which means “A remnant shall return”; and in 8:3, Maher-shalal-hash-baz, which means “The spoil speeds, the prey hastens.” Hosea also gave symbolic names to children. Lo-ruhamah means “Not pitied” (1:6) and was a sign that God would not show compassion upon an Israel that had grown radically unjust and idolatrous. Another child was named Lo-ammi, “Not my people” (1:8), meaning that the Israelite kingdom of the eighth century BCE would no longer be God’s people.

  To return to the Isaiah text, the sign is the naming of the child, “God is with us.” The meaning of the naming in its historical context of the eighth century BCE is clear: Isaiah proclaimed
that God would be with Ahaz and the people of Jerusalem in their present crisis.

  The rest of the fuller context supports this reading. The two verses immediately following Isaiah 7:14 locate the meaning of the sign in its present and immediate future:

  He [Immanuel] shall eat curds and honey by the time he knows how to refuse the evil and choose the good. For before the child knows how to refuse the evil and choose the good, the land before whose two kings you are in dread will be deserted. (7:15–16)

  By the time this child named “God is with us” is old enough to know the difference between right and wrong, the siege of the city would be lifted and the crisis Ahaz was facing would be over.

  Two differences between wording of the text in Isaiah and Matthew’s citation are worth noting. First, the Hebrew text of Isaiah 7:14 uses the word for “young woman.” It says nothing about virginity. Of course, if she were unmarried, her virginity could virtually be taken for granted in that culture. People didn’t date. But the text doesn’t say that she was unmarried; the natural assumption is that she was a young married woman who would soon give birth. Matthew, however, uses the Greek word for “virgin.” So does the early translation of the Hebrew Old Testament into Greek known as the Septuagint, the one most widely known by early Christians. Most likely, Matthew was using the Septuagint.

  The issue of whether to translate Isaiah 7:14 as referring to a virgin or to a young woman has caused controversy among Christians. Until recently, most English translations of the verse used the word “virgin,” thus conforming it to Matthew’s use. Then, just over fifty years ago, the Revised Standard Version of the Bible (RSV) correctly translated the Hebrew word in Isaiah 7:14 as “young woman.” Some Christians reacted strongly, alleging that the translators of the rsv were denying the virgin birth of Jesus by denying that it was predicted in prophecy. In a few places, Christians even burned copies of the rsv.