Sermon:
December 26, 1999

Scripture:
Acts 1:1-8

Many of you are surprised to see me here today. But this is not unusual, given that I have often preached the Sunday after Christmas. And I will be standing in this pulpit on New Year's Eve, although our service on that night will be a first ... for me ... for you ... and (given its once-every-1000-years-implication) for anybody, anywhere.

But I may not be here next Sunday, although you shouldn't read anything into that. Come Sunday next, the church will be here. The Halls will be here. Matt Hook will be here. And many of you will be here (fortified by those who will have returned from seeing grandparents ... returned from seeing grandkids ... and returned from snowboarding or body surfing, depending on whether they went north or south).

Where will I be? I'm not exactly sure. But it will be somewhere on this earth. Certainly not on some other one. Come January 1, I do not expect to be "raptured" because of my goodness. Neither do I expect to be "vanquished," because of my badness. Which means that I expect to be around. I am not looking for my life to end ... your life to end ... our collective lives to end ... or the life of the world (as we know it) to end. Wherever I am on January 1, I expect to return on January 3. Which means that we will have staff meeting on January 4 ... my Tuesday women's group on January 4 ... my Wednesday men's group on January 5 ... and I expect everybody to be there.

I am not oblivious to darker possibilities. There could be random acts of terror ... because people aren't always as good as I'd like them to be. And there could be random malfunctions of machinery ... because technology isn't always as good as I'd like it to be. But, for most of us, the greatest glitch in the new year will consist of remembering how to write the number "2000" on the huge checks we will be putting in the offering plate. Which is a healthy serving of optimism, whichever way you slice it.

There are some who say that this "millennial business" is much ado about nothing. Some figure we are doing it a year too early. And they're probably right. The third millennium of the common era ... the era that most of us still call ad ... meaning "anno Domini" ... meaning "in the year of our Lord" ... really begins January 1, 2001. Which is why one of you came up to me on Christmas Eve, saying: "Are you going to do all this end-of-the-millennium stuff next year, too, when absolutely nothing happens, and the mathematicians all come back and say: `Guess what ... we got it wrong ... we were a year off ... all of this was nothing but a dress rehearsal.'"

He's right, of course. But he's also wrong. We're not going to do it next year. Because it feels "right" to do it this year. Culturally, it feels right. Linguistically, it feels right. Historically, it feels right (given that there was a similar celebration when we went from 999 to 1000). So we will do it this year. Once a bandwagon this large gets rolling, I don't see any reason to stand in its way.

But if you're dating things from the birth of Jesus, then you're not one year too early, but a minimum of four years too late. Probably closer to six years too late. For while we do not know (precisely) when Jesus was born, we know it wasn't 2000 years ago on the day the calendar turned from bc to ad. Because the calendar didn't turn on that day. It turned years later. And mistakes were made, every time recalculations took place.

In David Duncan's helpful little book, Calendar: Humanity's Epic Struggle to Determine a True and Accurate Year, we are reminded that the calendar is "a rather arbitrary concoction in the first place," and that the 365 day year was a comparatively recent invention, and not a very exact one at that.

So when was Jesus born? Well, if we stick to one primary clue in the story, it could not have been later than 4 bc. Because Herod, who is said to have been the ruler of Judea at the time of Jesus' birth, died in 4 bc. So if Matthew was right on the specifics of Herod's reign (meaning that Herod was suspicious, easily troubled and prone to violence at provocations real or imagined) ... and if history is right on the date of Herod's death ... we've got to keep Jesus' birth in Herod's time, meaning 4 bc or earlier.

But we also have to consider Luke's little note that "all of this took place when Quirinius was governor of Syria." Which gives us another clue. But presents us with another problem. For Quirinius was never "governor" of Syria. In fact, the only known "Quirinius" within the officialdom of Syria was a "legate," not a "governor." And while legates had some power, they didn't have much. We're talking mid-to-low-level bureaucrat here. Still, we could have the right guy.

So when was Quirinius "legate" of Syria? Well, the only documentation seems to suggest that his term was short ... perhaps only one year. And when was that year? Six bc ... that's when it was. So Jesus could well have been born in 6 bc ... assuming that Luke was right about Quirinius ... and assuming that the history books have led us to the right Quirinius.

So Jesus could have been born on December 25, 6 bc, right? Well, maybe. But not likely. First, there is this little detail about "shepherds watching flocks by night" ... .presumably outdoors. Which, for a number of reasons, would not have happened in December. But which could have happened in the spring ... mid-to-late spring.

Which, if even remotely accurate, would put Christmas and Easter awfully close together. So how did they get set apart? Well, without going into epic detail, early Christians never claimed that the timing of Christmas was established because Jesus was born then. No, the timing of Christmas was established because the Romans had a feast then ... which Christians borrowed, co-opted, took over, claimed for themselves ... you pick the verb. But I'm right on this one. You can look it up.

But let's look at one more clue. I'm talking about "the star." Much has been written, of late, concerning its existence and locatability. And while there is no shortfall of theory, there is a significant shortfall of truth. Which is not to say that astronomers may not (someday) succeed in telling us what it was ... when it was ... and where it was. But they haven't yet.

But what if we are listening to the wrong people? What if, instead of listening to astronomers, we should be listening to astrologers? After all, it is highly likely that the three gift-bearing visitors from the Orient were neither kings nor wise men ... but astrologers. And not from the Far East ... but from the eastern region that historically went by the name of Persia (and currently goes by the name of Iran).

Follow me closely here. If you research Roman coins from very early in the first century, you will see (on one prominent coin face) the zodiacal sign of Aries the Ram, looking at a star. But, as I said a moment ago, there is nothing in astronomical records ... or in our planetary computer programs ... suggesting a visually-spectacular event taking place in the constellation of Aries at the time this Roman coin was minted.

But if the wise men were astrologers, doesn't it suggest we should look at "the bible of astrology" ... meaning the place to which first-century astrologers would have turned to make sense of the world from their perspective. And what is that "bible?" Well, it goes by the name of The Tetrabiles of Claudius Ptolemy (110-70 bc).

Now here's where it gets more complex. This Roman coin depicting Aries the Ram looking at a star was not minted by Romans in Rome. It was minted by Romans in Syria. But Aries (in astrological circles) symbolized Judea ... not Syria. Which is utterly confusing until you learn that Syria annexed Judea. When? In 6 bc. Verrrry interesting.

You should also know that astrologers of this period tended to look to Aries for "signs" concerning Judea (Herod's kingdom). So what bright light in the heavens could Aries be depicted as looking at, that would be interpreted by astrologers as a portent of something about to happen in Herod's territory?

Well, astrological charts suggest that Jupiter (moving eastward) would have been regarded as such an omen. And Jupiter (in astrological chartings) became such a star. When? April 17, 6 bc. Which would put it well before Herod's death ... well within the time when Quirinius was "legate" of Syria ... and well within in the springtime of the year, when shepherds watched their flocks by night, seated on the ground.

The reason little of this is known today is that astrology ... which was respected and practiced in the world of Jesus ... has fallen out of favor in our time. And as it fell out of favor (especially with Christians), astrological details about the star were lost. But before we leave this matter completely, consider this.

Close to the time of the Roman emperor Constantine (whose conversion to Christianity in 313 ad is one of the most significant historical events of any era), there was a Roman astrologer named Fermicus Maternus who, himself, became a Christian convert. Studying the chartings of the zodiac of his era, he noted the same conditions that prevailed on April 17, 6 bc and identified them as portents marking the birth of an immortal and divine person. He did not name Jesus as that person. But his inference is fascinating to ponder.

What does it mean? I don't really know. But if Jesus was born anywhere near April 17, 6 bc ... which certainly fits many of the biblical clues I have attempted to follow ... then the end of the second millennium actually occurred sometime in 1993. And we missed it. Because we were watching the Tigers play baseball, raking the winter kill off the vegetable garden or, here at the church, working on the Rummage Sale.

Over the past several months, it has become popular to equate the coming of the year 2000 ... not only with the arrival of a new millennium ... but with God's decision to "finish off" the world. Which there is absolutely no reason to believe. But, in some circles, it sells.

Not that there isn't always somebody claiming to have figured out when God is going to "finish off the world." One of the more recent ones being an Irish Catholic archbishop named William Usher. Archbishop Usher combined astrological understandings with biblical numerology and said that the earth would come to the end on the night preceding October 23, 1996. It did not, of course ... leading some to suggest that the good bishop failed to take into account the 13-day difference between the Julian and Gregorian calendars. So Archbishop Usher pushed the date forward 13 days to November 4, 1996. Which was a Monday. The next day ... a Tuesday ... was a rather interesting day, historically speaking. It was a presidential election day. Our presidential election day. But don't dwell overly long on the implications of that historical oddity.

Let's get something straight. Theologically speaking, Christians have absolutely nothing at stake in the change of a capriciously-concocted calendar from one year to the next. As the beloved St. Augustine once said: "Who cares? Christ wanted to make Christians, not mathematicians." Or, as Paul said to the Thessalonians: "I shouldn't have to waste my time writing to you about things like this" (I Thessalonians 5:1).

But I took today's text from neither Paul nor Augustine. I took it from Luke. In the book of Acts. Following the resurrection. Just prior to the Ascension. Jesus has died. Jesus has risen. Jesus is about to depart the earth. And the disciples, who never once got anything exactly right, say: "We have a question. Before you go, aren't you going to restore the kingdom to Israel?" Meaning: "Aren't you going to throw out the Romans (who don't belong here), and put us in charge (who do)?"

To which Jesus said: "None of that stuff is any of your business. Your business is to pray for the Spirit and get on with the work."

Then came the Ascension into heaven ... the "up, up and away moment" that I am totally at a loss to understand, except metaphorically. But, in the story of the Ascension, there is one precious little detail. Picture Jesus going up. Picture all of us looking up. Now picture two men dressed in white (angels? Episcopal priests?) saying: "Men of Galilee, why do you stand there looking up?"

The implication being: "That's not where the work is. The work is here on the ground."

Note: I am indebted to Peter Gomes for the account of Archbishop William Usher and to John Killinger and William Willimon for the tone of their comments about millennial observances. But my greatest debt is owed to Michael Molnar, author of a new text entitled The Star of Bethlehem: The Legacy of the Magi for his important distinction between astronomy and astrology, and his helpful introduction to the latter.