The Nativity

Every year when I was a little girl, my sister would bolt upright before 6:00 AM on Christmas morning. My parents, groggy and unwilling to rise before the sun, would send us back to her bedroom to read. There we would nestle, two girls in matching Christmas pajamas, and to pass the time until our parents woke up, we would read. From the time my older sister became literate, we read two stories every Christmas morning: Dr. Seuss’s How the Grinch Stole Christmas and the account of Jesus’s birth in the Gospel according to St. Luke.

To be honest, as a little girl, I was much more captivated by The Grinch. The rhyming tale of too-small hearts growing three sizes and adorable children with names like “Cindy Lou Who” represented the Christmas season to me as much as candy canes and Christmas trees. Don’t get me wrong—I also loved the comforting lilt of my sister’s voice as she read, “In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus…” The story of Jesus’s birth tickled my ears and warmed my heart on those early Christmas mornings, but it wasn’t until much later that these words would penetrate my soul. It wasn’t until much later that I began to recognize the story in Luke’s Gospel for what it was: the narrative of Jesus’s nativity; that is, his birth.

The Nativity Narratives

Both the Gospels according to Matthew and Luke contain nativity narratives or stories of Jesus’s birth. Matthew begins his nativity narrative in chapter 1, verse 18, by saying, “Now the birth of Jesus Christ took place in this way.” For the word “birth,” Matthew uses the Greek word γένεσις, or genesis, signaling to us, the readers, that there is something extraordinary about this event. Jesus’s birth is, indeed, a genesis—it is the dawn of a new era and the coming of a new age. What I did not realize as a little girl listening to my sister read Luke 2 was that what I was hearing described is the birth of God. The second Person in the Trinity who, as St. Paul writes, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped or exploited, but who emptied himself to the point of becoming a floppy-limbed, dependent infant in the arms of the Virgin Mary. The weight of the nativity narratives can often be lost on us because of their familiarity and sentimentality. We must resist this temptation. The story of Christ’s nativity is, in a word, a genesis that recapitulates and redeems humanity’s first genesis. St. John Chrysostom summarizes the second genesis thus: “Notice here too the order of a mystery: The devil first spoke to Eve the virgin long ago, and then to a man, that he might administer to them the word of death. In the latter case, a holy angel first spoke to Mary and then to Joseph, that he might reveal to them the word of life.”

Point of View in the Nativity Narratives

When I worked at Juvenile Court during college, I served as a Deputy Clerk in the Child Support Division. Since we were constantly hearing moms and dads warring against one another in court, we often quoted an expression that summarized these fights: “There are three sides to every story: his side, her side, and the truth.” Now, this did not mean that “his side” or “her side” was dishonest or deceitful. Typically, our clients were very honest and forthright. What it did mean, however, is that one party did not have a full understanding of the other party’s situation. Our saying could have been reduced to this equation: “his perspective + her perspective = the truth.”

Often, the nativity narratives in Matthew and Luke’s Gospel are pitted against one another as if one story contradicts the other. Unfortunately, this idea misses the wonderful gift of having two nativity narratives included in the Gospels! Matthew and Luke’s nativity narratives are two sides of the same coin. The two narratives tell the same story, but with different details and from different points of view. As a result of the complimentary perspectives, we readers are given the gift of the true story of Jesus’s birth.

The Perspective of Matthew’s Gospel

Matthew’s Gospel begins by filtering the nativity of Jesus through the lens of his ancestry. If you struggle with wading through the difficult pronunciations in Matthew 1:1-17, Andrew Peterson’s wonderful song, “Matthew’s Begats,” summarizes the generations leading up to Jesus’s birth from Abraham to Joseph. This song closes with a summary of Matthew’s striking words, accompanied by fiddle and mandolin: “Now, listen very closely, I don’t want to sing this twice: Jacob was the father of Joseph, the husband of Mary, the mother of Christ.” Indeed, with the birth of Jesus, this genealogy became ours.

From there, Matthew continues with the aforementioned “genesis” of Jesus, told from the perspective of Joseph of Nazareth.[1] Many features of this story are familiar—an unnamed “angel of the Lord” appears to Joseph, telling him to resist the temptation to divorce Mary, because the child in her womb is from the Holy Spirit. Joseph obediently complies, naming the child Jesus, which means “Yahweh saves.”

Aside from the uniqueness of Joseph’s perspective, the true distinguishing factor in Matthew’s nativity narrative is his inclusion of King Herod’s jealousy and the Murder of the Innocents. King Herod, a historical figure who reigned with malevolence and injustice in the time of Christ, also represents of all the kings of the earth. Malcolm Guite’s sonnet, “Refugee,” encapsulates the spirit of this harrowing tale:

We think of him as safe beneath the steeple,
Or cosy in a crib beside the font,
But he is with a million displaced people
On the long road of weariness and want.
For even as we sing our final carol
His family is up and on that road,
Fleeing the wrath of someone else’s quarrel,
Glancing behind and shouldering their load.
Whilst Herod rages still from his dark tower
Christ clings to Mary, fingers tightly curled,
The lambs are slaughtered by the men of power,
And death squads spread their curse across the world.
But every Herod dies, and comes alone
To stand before the Lamb upon the throne.

It is often lost on modern readers that Jesus’s family were displaced peoples who fled from their homeland to escape the violence of an evil ruler. King Herod, quaking with rage at the announcement that “the King of the Jews” had been born, ordered his guard to murder all the male children in the region of Bethlehem who were two years old or younger. The inclusion of this story heightens our sensitivity to the evils of earthly powers and principalities over and against the omnipotent reign of God. Unlike Herod (and those who follow in Herod’s stead, even today), King Jesus has come to bring peace and perfect justice. He is a ruler who submits to weakness and humiliation so that he might “shepherd [his] people Israel” (Matt. 2:6).

The Perspective of Luke’s Gospel

Luke’s nativity narrative contains many of the same features as Matthew’s, but with the precision and detail of the Lukan texts. Luke also references Jesus’s genealogy, but not until much later (Luke 3:23-38). Instead, Luke begins with an annunciation[2], but not the Annunciation of Christ. In Luke 1:11ff, Luke tells us about a priest, Zechariah, and his wife, Elizabeth. We know a few things about this family: 1) the wife is a descendant of Aaron, so she’s of good stock. 2) They are righteous folks. 3) The wife is barren and they’re getting old. Then, one day, when Zechariah is praying in the temple, an angel named Gabriel appears and tells him that his wife is going to have a son, and his name is to be John. You’ve heard the rest of the story—Zechariah panics and the angel renders him mute for the duration of his wife’s pregnancy. Six months into Zechariah’s silence and Elizabeth’s pregnancy, the angel Gabriel visits another woman in a town in Galilee called Nazareth. This time, he visits a virgin, proclaiming the Lord’s favor, and announcing that she will conceive a child through the power of the Holy Spirit and bear a son. So, in the first chapter of Luke, we now have two annunciations—two extremely unlikely pregnancies: one to a barren, aging woman, the other to a virgin.

And the results of those two unlikely pregnancies are two remarkable baby boys. The first is John, who would be known as “the baptizer,” who would announce the coming of the other—Jesus, the son of God, “a Savior who is Christ the Lord” (Luke 2:11).

Though there are many features of Luke’s nativity narrative that are worth highlighting, there are two sections that are especially pertinent to our heritage as Anglicans. This past Fall, several of us gathered on Wednesday nights for Evening Prayer. In our prayers, every week, we prayed two sections of Luke’s nativity narrative: The Magnificat and the Nunc Dimittis.

The Magnificat, or “The Song of Mary,” is Mary’s outpouring of humble and obedient praise and thanksgiving in response to her cousin Elizabeth’s words, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb…for behold, when the sound of your greeting came to my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy” (Luke 1:42, 44). Every night, Anglicans all over the world pray these words, joining voices and combining praises with the Virgin Mary:

My soul magnifies the Lord, *
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior;
For he has regarded *
the lowliness of his handmaiden.
For behold, from now on, *
all generations will call me blessed;
For he that is mighty has magnified me, *
and holy is his Name.
And his mercy is on those who fear him, *
throughout all generations.
He has shown the strength of his arm; *
he has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.
He has brought down the mighty from their thrones, *
and has exalted the humble and meek.
He has filled the hungry with good things, *
and the rich he has sent empty away.
He, remembering his mercy, has helped his servant Israel, *
as he promised to our fathers, Abraham and his seed forever. 

The Nunc Dimittis, or “The Song of Simeon,” is the second canticle in the Evening Office lifted from Luke’s nativity narrative. Luke tells us that Simeon was a “righteous and devout [man], waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was upon him” (Luke 2:25, emphasis mine). By the power of the Holy Spirit, Simeon recognized Jesus for who he was when he was presented at the temple. Simeon scooped the infant Jesus into his arms and prayed,

Lord, now let your servant depart in peace, *
according to your word.
For my eyes have seen your salvation, *
which you have prepared before the face of all people;
To be a light to lighten the Gentiles, *
and to be the glory of your people Israel.

These ancient prayers, prayed in response to the coming of Jesus Christ into the world, occupy an important place in the prayer life of Christians today. We pray alongside the Virgin Mary and blessed Simeon as we declare the holiness of our God, who, while we were lowly and proud, dwelled in our midst, preparing before our faces the light and glory of His Son, Jesus Christ.

As this Advent season draws to a close, it is my prayer that we all might encounter anew the extraordinary story told by Sts. Matthew and Luke. This story is not the “maudlin sentiment” of legend or fairy tale—in the words of Stanley Hauerwas, “the only way to speak of what God has done for us in Jesus Christ is to tell the story, the story of Mary’s being found with Child.”[3] So snuggle up, put on your matching Christmas jammies, and tell the story: the Light has come into the world, and the darkness shall not overcome it.

Dcn. Bree Snow
Minister of Formation and Catechesis

[1] If you’re interested in hearing more about Joseph’s perspective on the birth of Jesus, my sermon from Advent IV (12/18/22) covers it in detail. You can listen HERE.

[2] An “annunciation” is simply an announcement. In the case of the Gospels, “the Annunciation” refers to the announcements of the angel Gabriel.

[3] From Matthew, Brazos Theological Commentary on the Bible, 35.