The First Christmas

by Marcus J. Borg

  Luke had already used that title twice in his Christmas story before the angelic usage to the shepherds—once for God and once for Jesus. In her Magnificat, Mary “rejoices in God my Savior” (1:47), and Zechariah’s Benedictus praises the God who “has raised up a mighty savior [literally, a horn of salvation] for us in the house of his servant David” (1:69). But think now of Roman imperial theology and how Augustus “saved” the Roman Empire from civil-war suicide, as summarized in Chapter 3, and how he was then upgraded and celebrated as “Savior” of the world. Here are three examples—one in a poem and two more on inscriptions.

  The contemporary poet Propertius generally preferred love poetry to war poetry, but even he rhapsodized in his Elegies about that salvific victory of Augustus off Cape Actium. He has the god Apollo leave his native island of Delos and take his stand above Octavian’s flagship. “He spoke: ‘O savior of the world…Augustus…now conquer at sea: the land is already yours: my bow battles for you’” (4.6.37–39). The god Apollo—who had conceived him—names Augustus as Savior of the World. That is, of course, salvation by victory.

  Myra of Lycia, on the southern coast of western Turkey, is where Paul changed ships on his way to Roman imprisonment according to Luke in Acts 27:5. The city’s inhabitants dedicated an inscription to the “divine Augustus Caesar, son of a god, imperator of land and sea, the benefactor and savior of the whole world.” If you move northward around the southwestern curve of Turkey’s Aegean coast from ancient Myra, you come to Halicarnassus in Caria. Here is an even more effusive inscription from that city:

  Since the eternal and immortal nature of everything has bestowed upon mankind the greatest good with extraordinary benefactions by bringing Caesar Augustus in our blessed time the father of his own country, divine Rome, and ancestral Zeus, savior of the common race of men, whose providence has not only fulfilled but actually exceeded the prayers of all. For land and sea are at peace and the cities flourish with good order, concord and prosperity.

  Augustus is, once again, not just Savior of Rome, but Savior of Humanity. Notice, however, that final sentence about “land and sea are at peace.” We turn now, in conclusion, to focus on that peace and to ask what type of savior and mode of salvation will bring peace to our earth.

  WHOSE IS THE GOSPEL OF PEACE ON EARTH?

  In citing the angelic message to the shepherds in Luke 2:8–20 above, we deliberately held this central—and inserted—section until now:

  Suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying,

  “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”

  When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” (2:13–15)

  The Peace of God

  The above is the correct translation of the Greek in 2:14 rather than the King James Version’s “and on earth peace, goodwill toward men.” That is incorrect, and even more so is the contemporary version we hear every Christmas: “and on earth peace to men of goodwill [toward one another].” That is simply bad translation and, for Christians, bad theology as well. We turn now to discuss the location, format, and, especially, the theology of that mini-canticle in 2:14 within those frames of 2:13 and 2:14.

  You know by now that Luke usually operates with single divine messengers in his Christmas story: to Zechariah (1:11–20), to Mary (1:26–38), and to the shepherds (2:9–13). You can also see from our citation above how Luke integrates this mini-hymn into his composition about an angelic message to the shepherds with the key words “angel” and “heavenly host” at the start (2:13) and “heaven” and “shepherds” at the end (2:15) of his insertion. Luke clearly wants this pre-Lukan poem integrated into the midst of his own announcement of the birth of Jesus.

  In this two-strophe poem, each sentence has three concepts to be taken within this parallelism (although this is not the present Greek word order):

  What about that final word, “favor” or “goodwill” (Greek eudokia)? In this poetry, peace is only for those humans “of—God’s—goodwill,” that is, of God’s preference, choice, and election. Notice how that word adds a final qualification to the balanced triad of glory/peace, heaven/earth, and God/ humans, so that a mention of God occurs—directly or indirectly—at the end of each verse. But that qualification raises a problem.

  Although Luke quotes the mini-canticle from another source, he modifies its theology or, at least, a possible misunderstanding of its theology. If that final qualification about “God’s favor” might seem to emphasize an exclusivity of divine predestination, Luke deliberately counteracts that understanding both before and after he inserts the unit.

  Before that insertion, the individual angel had announced “good news of great joy for all the people” (2:10). Not just to a predestined some, but to all the people. After the insertion, in the Nunc Dimittis, the next and final canticle of Luke 1–2, Simeon takes the infant Jesus in his arms and announces God’s “salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel” (2:30–32). Even more clearly here, “all peoples” include both Jews and Gentiles.

  So, granted that Luke has to emphasize that divine inclusivity, why does he want this pre-Lukan poem precisely at this point? The answer is that it allows him to bring together two of his most important concepts—gospel and peace. To understand the importance of that combination for Luke, we go—before continuing with him—into its context within Roman imperial theology. The contrast here is between the birthdays of Caesar the Augustus and Jesus the Christ, the nativity of two saviors, each claiming the gospel about the new creation of a peaceful world.

  The Gospel of Caesar Augustus’s Peace

  If you continue northward again along the Aegean coast of modern Turkey from ancient Halicarnassus, mentioned above, you come to ancient Priene, just south of Ephesus, where, in Chapter 3, we saw that temple dedicated, in Greek, TO THE AUTOCRAT CAESAR, THE SON OF GOD, THE GOD SEBASTOS.

  We look here at another inscription from Priene, which is now in Berlin’s Pergamon Museum. It is, in many ways, an extraordinary inscription and the most significant one for seeing the confrontation between early Christian and imperial Roman theology. It concerns the very subject of this book—the good news about the birthday of a divine child who will save the world from destruction by establishing permanent peace.

  Almost immediately after the battle of Actium, Paulus Fabius Maximus, governor of the Roman province of Asia Minor, offered a golden crown for the best proposal for adequately honoring Augustus. About twenty years later he won the contest with his own proposal:

  [It is a question whether] the birthday of the most divine Caesar is more pleasant or more advantageous, the day which we might justly set on a par with the beginning of everything, in practical terms at least, in that he restored order when everything was disintegrating and falling into chaos and gave a new look to the whole world, a world which would have met destruction with the utmost pleasure if Caesar had not been born as a common blessing to all. For that reason one might justly take this to be the beginning of life and living, the end of regret at one’s birth…. It is my view that all the communities should have one and the same New Year’s Day, the birthday of the most divine Caesar, and that on that day, 23rd September, all should enter their term of office.

  Notice the words we have italicized. Augustus’s birthday is—“in practical terms”—a new creation. It is “the beginning of everything…the beginning of life and living.” It has saved “the whole world” from descending into chaos and all from wishing they had never been born.

  By 9 BCE, the League of Asian Cities accepted the governor’s suggestion and thereby made Augustus Lord not only of place, but of time as well:

  Since the providence that has divinely ordered our existence has applied he
r energy and zeal and has brought to life the most perfect good in Augustus, whom she filled with virtues for the benefit of mankind, bestowing him upon us and our descendants as a savior—he who put an end to war and will order peace, Caesar, who by his epiphany exceeded the hopes of those who prophesied good tidings [euaggelia], not only outdoing benefactors of the past, but also allowing no hope of greater benefactions in the future; and since the birthday of the god first brought to the world the good tidings [euaggelia] residing in him…. For that reason, with good fortune and safety, the Greeks of Asia have decided that the New Year in all the cities should begin on 23rd September, the birthday of Augustus…and that the letter of the proconsul and the decree of Asia should be inscribed on a pillar of white marble, which is to be placed in the sacred precinct of Rome and Augustus.

  We have again italicized those key words—“epiphany,” “savior,” “peace,” and especially “good tidings” (or “gospel,” euaggelia)—connected with Augustus’s birth, which was greater than any good news remembered from the past or imagined for the future.

  (In that same year, 9 BCE, a magnificent Altar of Peace was dedicated in Rome’s Campus Martius. It was consecrated not just to the Pax Romana but, more precisely, to the Pax Augustana. It is, then and now, the Ara Pacis Augustae, the Altar of Augustan Peace.)

  But it is especially the incarnation of Roman imperial theology in the birth of Augustus, as summarized in that Priene text, that is the Roman matrix for the birth of Jesus in Luke 1–2. That is why the Lukan challenge to it comes not just from a single angel, but from “a multitude of the heavenly host” (2:13). We return now to that conjunction of gospel and peace in Luke-Acts.

  The Gospel of Jesus Christ’s Peace

  The Greek noun euaggelion (singular) or euaggelia (plural) is composed of eu (“good”) and aggelion (“news” or “message”). Thence came the Old English word god-spel (“good message”)—combining god, meaning “good,” with spel (akin to spiel), meaning “news” or “message”—from which we get gospel.

  Luke, however, only uses that noun euaggelion, or “gospel,” twice in all of Luke-Acts, but he uses the verb “to gospel” (euaggelō) twenty-five times; it is one of his favorite terms. That repeated usage is obscured by the fact that the same Greek verb is given several different translations in English:

  “To proclaim the good news” (14 times; Luke 3:18; 4:43; 16:16; Acts 5:42; 8:4, 12, 25, 35, 40; 11:20; 14:7, 21; 15:35; 16:10)

  “To bring the good news” (8 times; Luke 1:19; 2:10; 4:18; 7:22; 8:1; 9:6; Acts 13:32; 14:15)

  “To tell the good news” (2 times; Luke 20:1; Acts 17:18)

  “To preach the good news” (1 time; Acts 10:36)

  Despite that diversity in translation, Luke’s consistent verb is (literally) to evangelize or to gospel, that is, to proclaim the gospel.

  Furthermore, the content of that gospel-ing is variously cited in Luke-Acts. In the Christmas story, the gospel content is the conception (1:19) and birth (2:10) of Jesus. Thereafter, in Luke, it is “the kingdom of God” (4:43; 8:1; 16:16). In Acts it is “Jesus as the Messiah” (5:42), “the kingdom of God” (8:12), “Jesus” (8:35), “peace by Jesus Christ—he is Lord of all” (10:36), “the Lord Jesus” (11:20), “what God promised to our ancestors” (13:32), “the word of the Lord” (15:35), and “Jesus and the resurrection” (17:18). And, when he uses the noun in Acts 20:24, the gospel content is “God’s grace.”

  Luke combines (to) gospel and peace twice. We have just cited one instance in Acts 10:36: “You know the message he [God] sent to the people of Israel, preaching peace by Jesus Christ—he is Lord of all.” But the most interesting conjunction is in his Christmas story and that message to the shepherds:

  The single angel: “I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people.” (2:10)

  The angelic host: “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors.” (2:14)

  Precisely by inserting that pre-Lukan hymn in his angelic message to the shepherds, Luke was able to combine (to) gospel and peace along with an emphasis that peace comes not from earth, but from heaven to earth. And the theme of peace continues through Luke-Acts.

  First, that theme began even earlier in the Christmas story when Zechariah proclaimed, in his Benedictus canticle, that Jesus was the dawn light “to guide our feet into the way of peace” (1:79) and Simeon announced, in his Nunc Dimittis canticle, that, with the advent of Jesus, he was now ready to die “in peace” (2:29). Next we see it when Jesus tells his disciples: “Whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace to this house!’ And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person; but if not, it will return to you” (10:5–6).

  Then, on what we call Palm Sunday, Luke makes changes to his Markan source that are very significant for his understanding of Christian peace. Compare, for example, the anti-triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem in Mark and Luke:

  Mark 11:9–10

  Luke 19:37–38

  Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting, “Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David! Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

  The whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!”

  That last sentence of Luke’s above recalls the conjunction of glory and peace in 2:14. Peace comes from heaven down to earth, but is always and ever a heavenly gift of God. That gift is further specified in the very next section, a unit found only in Luke:

  As he came near and saw the city, he wept over it, saying, “If you, even you, had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes. Indeed, the days will come upon you, when your enemies will set up ramparts around you and surround you, and hem you in on every side. They will crush you to the ground, you and your children within you, and they will not leave within you one stone upon another; because you did not recognize the time of your visitation from God. (19:41–44)

  Luke is writing after the destruction of Jerusalem by the Roman legions in 70 CE. The peace of God did not come to Jerusalem (the city of peace) from Roman imperial violence, but neither did it come from Jewish colonial rebellion.

  There is an ironic comment on that in Acts. When Paul is accused before the new governor Felix by the high-priestly authorities in the later 50s, Luke has their lawyer Tertullus say, “Your Excellency, because of you we have long enjoyed peace” (24:2).

  But how, then, does the peace of heaven descend to earth? It can only come from nonviolent resistance. So, after Rome has crucified Jesus and God has raised him, he returns to the disciples, stands among them, and says to them, “Peace be with you” (Luke 24:36).

  Peace on Earth—But by What Means?

  All of this raises one very clear question. In Matthew’s Christmas story, Jesus is the Davidic Messiah who is the God-appointed King of the Jews. But Herod is the Rome-appointed King of the Jews. How exactly do those alternative kingdoms compare with one another? What is the essential difference between them—granted, of course, that any final answer must come not just from this overture, but only from the entire life story to follow?

  The same question arises in Luke’s Christmas story. Caesar Augustus brought “the whole world,” as he claimed, under the peace of the Roman Empire—the Pax Romana, which was also the Pax Augustana. What, then, is this new peace announced as the good news of Jesus’s birth as Savior, Messiah, and Lord? What is the content of this alternative—granted, once again, that any final answer must come not just from this overture, but only from the entire life story to follow?

  How does Christ differ from Caesar? How does Roman imperial theology differ from early Christian theology? It will not do just to keep repeating claims without content or titles without interpretation
—because they are the same for both sides.

  Both proclaim that it started in heaven. For Augustus it was Jupiter’s “good pleasure” in Aeneid 1.283 and for Jesus it was “God’s favor” in Luke 2:14. In other words, both claim heavenly pleasure, favor, decision, and decree. Both visions announce the gospel of peace on earth and proclaim it as a new creation, a whole new start for the human race. And both link that gospel to the divine conception of a predestined savior.

  Furthermore, both Roman imperial theology and early Christian theology assert the same titles for Augustus and for Jesus: Divine, Son of God, God, God from God, Lord, Redeemer Liberator, and Savior of the World. So, when you commit your life by faith to Augustus or to Jesus, and to Caesar or to Christ as their continuations, to what—precisely—do you pledge allegiance?

  The Roman vision incarnated in the divine Augustus was peace through victory. The Christian vision incarnated in the divine Jesus was peace through justice. It is those alternatives that are at stake behind all the titles and countertitles, the claims and counterclaims.

  Recall, from Chapter 3, that the viceroy for God’s Great Cleanup of the World was to establish a world of nonviolence. But can that ever be done by violence—even by messianic, transcendental, angelic, or divine violence? Can it ever be done by the victory of a Great Final Battle or must it be done—if ever it is done—by the justice of a Great Final Feast?