Sermon for December 13th, 2015

Luke 2:1-7

In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. 2 This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. 3 All went to their own towns to be registered. 4 Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. 5 He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. 6 While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. 7 And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

O Night Bovine

I said the cow, all white and red
I gave Him my manger for His bed
I gave Him my hay to pillow His head
I said the cow, all white and red

Ok, people. First of all, let's get a few things straight. I heard your song. It's nice and all; the kids are cute. But I am NOT a cow. That is udderly false. I mean, seriously... you see any udders here? Didn't think so.

I am an ox. A Bovine. A steer. A bullocks. Or, if you're into scientific classifications: Animalia Chordata Mammalia Theria Eutheria Artiodactyla Bovidae Bovinae Bos taurus taurus. Just don't call me a cow, ok?

But the song is right about a few things. This IS my manger. And you are in MY stable. You're welcome. Come in. Sit down. Have a drink. Thanks for knocking. What's that? You didn't knock? Oh don't worry...no one knocks anymore. It appears my stable is quite the place to be, these days. We've got sheep, donkeys camels, shepherds, carpenters, angels, wise men, kings, and big bright star overhead that screams, "Come on over!" halfway across the continent.

But it wasn't always like this. It used to be a nice, warm, quiet stable--just me, my manger, my hay; those two love birds up there in the rafters; from time to time, maybe a horse passing through. I like horses. They're quiet. They keep to themselves, unlike...donkeys. Donkeys move in, and there goes the neighborhood.

Personally, I blame the governor. It's always the politicians. Governor Quirinius... What kind of Roman fool implements a census by sending people away from their homes and property to be registered... in the town of their ancestors? Everyone knows that people aren't the most important thing being counted in a census. It's the livestock, of course.

You seem surprised. What does your government count each year, in order to tax you? Is it you? Or is it your wealth?

That's right. The measure of a man is not what he does, but how much he owns. My inkeeper owns me. It's not much, but it's something. I, in turn, own this manger, this hay. Well, except for that one time when I didn't... [chews thoughtfully for awhile]

Long before coins and checks and credit cards, we cattle were the currency of choice. Numbers were invented to count us. The first letter of most alphabets represented the horned head of an ox. Of course the Romans went and turned it upside down. They never could tell their heads from their tails, those Romans.

So you see, I'm kind of a big deal. In the cradle of civilization, I was revered as Gugalana, the Bull of Heaven. In Egypt I was Mnevis, the bovine manifestation of the Sun god, Ra. To the Greeks I was Minotaur, immortalized in the stars as the constellation Taurus. To the Northmen, I was audumla, the world-cow who licked mankind into existence. And in Israel, I was known as Ba'al. I was the golden calf the people worshipped when Moses went up the mountain.

Moses. He had some kind of a beef with golden calves (still not sure what that was all about). Mmmmmm...We never had much stake (steak) in Israel after that incident. Still--the point is, we cattle are outstanding in our field. Well, except when we're inside, standing in our stables. You get the picture.

So the governor had his census, and the people came to Bethlehem. Most came by foot, a few rode on their animals. We had extra company in the stable, but nothing compared to all the racket inside the inn. That is...until the donkey showed up. I told you donkeys were trouble, didn't I?

The donkey brought the carpenter, and the carpenter brought the girl. Someone forgot to explain to them the difference between an inn and a stable, apparently. I heard them say something about "no room at the inn" but of course there's always room at the inn...for the right price. Now if they had brought a few heifers instead of that donkey--well, 50 cents and a donkey might buy you a cup of coffee here in Bethlehem, especially if you hid the donkey around the corner.

It was obvious that the carpenter was poor. And it was obvious that the girl was pregnant. And it was REALLY obvious that no one was getting any rest in the stable that night.