Caesar's Decrees are not Good News

Why Luke's Christmas Pageant Begins in Rome

Welcome to a number of new subscribers who joined last week. Today I’m sharing my sermon from the beginning of Advent, looking at the wider context of the birth narratives from Luke’s Gospel. Jesus was not born in a vacuum, and we should not preach Advent and Christmas without history. To understand hope, we must grasp the groaning and longing in challenging times.

Since the elections I have been focusing on maintaining perseverance, hoping for things I cannot yet see. I have been writing my elected officials regularly, and not letting myself off with the excuse that it doesn’t make a difference. Susan Collins, my Senator, was a hold up for Matt Gaetz, so I take courage in moving forward. I shared this on Notes last week, and received 750 likes and counting, and 30 new subscribers. I’m not a political analyst, and won’t be making regular action alerts, but do believe we need spiritual resources of faith, hope and love to persevere in the groanings around us. Read on, and take a moment to share what moves you in the comments.

We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. ²³ Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. ²⁴ For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? ²⁵ But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently. (Romans 8:22-25)

"In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world." (Luke 2:1).

Luke chooses to begin his Christmas pageant in Rome, which seems odd, but OK, I’ll roll with it. The point of a census is taxation. What a strange beginning for our sacred story. "Ceasar needs more money again. Get ready to pay!" Luke is grounding the story of Jesus in its historical context.

Luke the physician was a traveling companion of Paul the Apostle and likely the only Gospel writer who was more from a Greco-Roman background than a Jewish background. He wrote for the growing tide of Jesus' followers throughout the Mediterranean, who were increasingly frustrated with Roman rule. Luke's Gospel and Paul's letter to the Romans emphasize that hope often comes from places we do not expect, and that God is making a way forward when we don't see one.

So, imagine it's 6 BCE, and Mary and Joseph are having lox and bagels for breakfast at the Bakers Way Café in Nazareth. Mary's been struggling with morning sickness, and Joseph thought getting out would do her some good. Plus, the café was his primary source of news. Mordecai the Merchant has just returned from a sales trip to Tarsus and brings bad news, "Caesar has declared another census, and we all have to register in the town of our birth." Joseph feels stone cold inside as he looks at Mary's protruding belly. This trip will be dangerous for her at a critical time. They have already felt the joyous kicks of new life inside. Making ends meet is already challenging, and now the journey to Bethlehem means a month out of work to travel and unexpected expenses to make the trip. The thought of riding a donkey for two weeks while pregnant makes Mary nauseous, and she rushes outside to throw up.

You can feel the resentment simmering at the Baker's Way in Nazareth. Taxes have become more than a sore spot, but a threat to people's well-being. The math for taxes on Jewish peasant farmers or fisherman were brutal. After paying the Temple 10 percent of your produce for religious obligations, then Rome took a 10 percent cut of your grain produce and 20 percent on wine and olive oil. Then you had Herod's taxes. On top of this, tax collectors could be arbitrary and corrupt and take their cut, too. Many people were going into debt and eventually went through foreclosure. Peasant land was being redistributed to the wealthy class in Jerusalem and bought at bargain prices by the retired military officers of Caesar's legions.

This calamity isn't abstract to me because I was in college during the farm crisis in Iowa. Over one-third of our friends and neighbors lost their land, which had been in their family for generations. My father had to declare bankruptcy since he lost customers for flight instruction and charters. When something is this big, it isn't because lots of people were suddenly lazy or bad farmers; it was from decrees and decisions made far away. When I graduated from college, I knew there wasn't a promising economic future to stay in the Midwest, so I migrated to Boston for seminary. When I hear about people losing their homes and land anywhere, I still get a pit in my stomach. As I wrote the sermon, I started worrying that circumstances beyond my control could take everything I have worked to save during my life.

Luke doesn’t mention Caesar Augustus’s census as a dry historical note—it’s a vivid reminder of the empire's grip on daily life. Whether you were a tentmaker in Galatia, a servant in Corinth, or a silversmith in Ephesus, you felt the weight of Augustus’s decrees. Every coin you touched bore his image, crowned with a laurel, boldly declaring him the "Savior" and "Son of God." It’s jarring, isn’t it, to hear titles we reserve for Jesus used for Caesar?

Augustus rose to power through civil war, seizing control after Julius Caesar’s assassination. Declaring Julius a god, Augustus claimed the title divus filius—"son of God." He cast himself as the savior of Pax Romana, Rome’s so-called peace, spread not by love but by legions. On his birthday, heralds proclaimed the "good news"—the evangelion-of Augustus’ birthday. Sound familiar? Luke is going to use all of Caesar’s words to describe Jesus.

Rome decrees. Ordinary people must obey. Roman reality stands for the large forces beyond or control that shape our lives. Today imperial decrees still force millions of people to move from place to place, longing for a better future. Modern decrees aren't just from heads of state, but boardrooms in Silicon Valley. Podcasts may be more powerful than Senators. Interest rate decisions in Beijing or the Fed can suddenly upend our lives. We fear people in yachts and country clubs are carving up resources without concern for the public welfare.

Mary and Joseph must go to Bethlehem despite the great hardship. In Ukraine, hundreds of Mariiskas and Yosyps are forced to leave home because of decrees in Moscow. Mariam and Yosef are familiar names to both Palestinians and Israelis who must leave home again and again because of decrees of violence in Jerusalem, Tehran, and Gaza City. Jose and Maria take on the perilous journey over hundreds of miles through Latin America because of decrees in Caracas and San Salvadore that leave them impoverished. Joe and Mary sit at their dining room table in a small apartment in Portland, looking at bills for student loans and rent and feeling the futility of listings on Zillow, longing for a home to raise their unborn child.

All these Marys and Josephs need some good news, and that is what Luke is setting up. Just a few verses later, angels proclaim to shepherds:

"Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. ¹¹ Today in the town of David, a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ, the Lord. (Luke 2:10-11)

It reads like the imperial decrees, but to critique and overturn them. Don't believe all the official propaganda you hear on X or social media. They are not your savior. A true peacemaker is coming. Here is the sign. "You will find a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger." The hope for the world is deeply vulnerable to the might of Augustus and Herod. God's hope does not arrive like an army, a victorious election, or a magical transformation of our lives. Hope arrives needing tender love and care. Hope must be comforted and fed. Then you must burp it, and soon that diaper needs changing. Hope coos to us peacefully, the tender tone of miracles. And then it is hungry again and screams at us in the middle of the night. Hope can be frustrating and ambiguous as we try every means of comfort we know and fail. The cries only cease when we find the right rhythm, a gentle waltz around the room until our feet tire and we all rest. For a few hours, and then it starts again.

That baby born in a manger will grow to do great things, but the beginning human task is to nurture fragile hope, often through long, weary nights. Paul tells his readers in Romans that the challenges they face are birth pangs of God's new creation. He acknowledges the groanings of their challenges. The word for groaning here is not that of despair and lament but more like the struggle of childbirth. All creative work meets resistance, whether we are’facing a blank page, a committee, or whatever we are trying to bring into the world. Paul says all creation groans with us; all the life force of God's universe aligns with us as we struggle to bring hope into being.

"But hope that is seen is no hope at all,” Paul writes. “Who hopes for what they already have? ²⁵ But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently." (Romans 8:24-25) "A better sense of Paul's words might be, “We persevere, acting in hope even when we cannot see it."

You and I are called to cradle that fragile Advent hope. We are called to push back against the decrees of despair with acts of love, care, and justice. This week, how can you nurture hope in the world around us? It may be as small as a kind word or as bold as standing up for someone in need. But every step we take, every act of love we offer, helps to build a world where the cries of the despair turn into songs of joy. Like the shepherds, be not afraid of the decrees of Rome, but holding fast to the tender hope of Bethlehem.