| Christ’s
History, and Ours
by Gustavo Gutiérrez
The
Gospel of Luke tells us that “In those days a decree
went out from Caesar Augustus that the whole world should
be enrolled. This was the first enrollment, when Quirinius
was governor of Syria” (2:1–2). The Gospel of
Matthew adds that Jesus was born “in Bethlehem of
Judea, in the days of King Herod” (2:1).

Favoring Girls,
by David Diggs
Who
is Christmas for?, by David Diggs
A
Martyr's Reflections on Christmas,
words from
Oscar Romero
Is
There Room?, by David Diggs
The Cleansing
Touch, by Shelly Satran
Welcoming the
Christ Child Among Us, by David Diggs
Christmas
Bells, Wooden Bells, by David Diggs
Room for Christ,
by Dorothy Day
No Silent Night,
by David Diggs |
These
simple texts convey a profound message: Jesus was born in
a particular place at a particular time. He was born under
Emperor Octavius, who had himself named Augustus when he
reached the pinnacle of power; when Quirinius was governor
of Syria; during the reign of Herod, who was traitor to
his people and had sold out to the occupying power. It was
during this time that Jesus was born, a man of no importance
in the eyes of the cynical and arrogant authorities as well
as in the eyes of those who disguised cowardice as peace
and political realism.
“We cannot merely observe the promise of the first
historical Christmas. It is in the concrete circumstances
of our lives that we must learn to believe.”
He
was born in Bethlehem, “one of the little clans of
Judah” (Mi. 5:1), where at his birth he was surrounded
by shepherds and their flocks. His parents had come to a
stable after vainly knocking at numerous doors in the town,
as the Gospels tell us; we are reminded of the popular Mexican
custom of las posadas. There, on the fringe of society,
the Word became history, contingency, solidarity, and weakness;
but we can say, too, that by this becoming, history itself,
our history, became Word.
It
is often said at Christmas that Jesus is born into every
family and every heart. But these “births” must
not make us forget the primordial, massive fact that Jesus
was born of Mary among a people that at the time were dominated
by the greatest empire of the age. If we forget that fact,
the birth of Jesus becomes an abstraction, a symbol, a cipher.
Apart from its historical coordinates the event looses its
meaning. To the eyes of Christians the incarnation is the
irruption of God into human history: an incarnation into
littleness and service in the midst of overbearing power
exercised by the mighty of this world; an irruption that
smells of the stable.
The
Son of God was born into a little people, a nation of little
importance by comparison with the great powers of the time.
Furthermore, he took flesh among the poor in a marginal
area – namely, Galilee; he lived with the poor and
emerged from among them to inaugurate a kingdom of love
and justice. That is why many have trouble recognizing him.
The God who became flesh in Jesus is the hidden God of whom
the prophets speak to us. Jesus shows himself to be such
precisely in the measure that he is present via those who
are the absent, anonymous people of history – those
who are not the controllers of history, namely, the mighty,
the socially acceptable, “the wise and the learned”
(Mt. 11:25).
Christian
faith is a historical faith. God is revealed in Jesus Christ
and, through him, in human history and in the least important
and poorest sector of those who make it up. Only with this
as a starting point is it possible to believe in God. Believers
cannot go aside into a kind of dead-end corner of history
and watch it go by. It is in the concrete setting and circumstances
of our lives that we must learn to believe: under oppression
and repression but also amid the struggles and hopes that
are alive in present-day Latin America; under dictatorships
that sow death among the poor, and under the “democracies”
that often deal unjustly with their needs and dreams.
The
Lord is not intimidated by the darkness or by the rejection
of his own. His light is stronger than all the shadows.
If we are to dwell in the tent the Son has pitched in our
midst, we must enter into our own history here and now,
and nourish our hope on the will to life that the poor of
our continent are demonstrating. If we do so, we shall experience
in our flesh the encounter with the Word who proclaims the
kingdom of life.
Gustavo
Gutiérrez (1928– ), a Peruvian priest, is a
“father of liberation theology.” This essay
is reprinted from Watch for the Light: Readings for
Advent and Christmas, which originally appeared in The
God of Life, by Gustavo Gutiérrez.
|