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The Mustard Seed Invasion

Yesterday in our church's meeting I shared the first few verses of Luke 2.  It's the story of the first Christmas briefly and wonderfully told.
Luke 2:1-7 (NIV)
1 In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world.
2 (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.)
3 And everyone went to his own town to register.
4 So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David.
5 He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child.
6 While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born,
7 and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn. 


I talked about the world power, and how those in power didn't realize what God was doing.
I talked about Mary and Joseph, the insignificant nobodies who traveled 75 miles to fulfill their duty - and didn't realize what God was about to do.
I talked about the mysterious, secret, "mustard-seed" act of God as the baby Jesus is born...vulnerable and small, without consequence, without majesty, without a sense of "look what God has done".


This is the nature of the Kingdom of God.  God came down, not in "Kingly" pomp and circumstance.  The old Scottish pastor and novelist, George Macdonald put it this way:
"They were all looking for a King 
to slay their foes and lift them high:  
Thou camest, a little baby thing 
That made a woman cry.

God invaded...not with armies of angels, nor with thunder and lightning.  Not flexing his muscles and commanding obedience...no fire and brimstone...just a tiny baby.
Mark 4:30-31 (NIV)
30 Again he said, "What shall we say the kingdom of God is like, or what parable shall we use to describe it?
31 It is like a mustard seed, which is the smallest seed you plant in the ground. 


Max Lucado wrote this:  
She looks into the face of the baby. Her son. Her Lord. His Majesty. At this point in history, the human being who best understands who God is and what He is doing is a teenage girl in a smelly stable. She can’t take her eyes off Him. Somehow Mary knows she is holding God. So this is He. She remembers the words of the angel, “His kingdom will never end.” 
He looks like anything but a king. His face is prunish and red. His cry, though strong and healthy, is still the helpless and piercing cry of a baby. And he is absolutely dependent upon Mary for his wellbeing. Majesty in the midst of the mundane. Holiness in the filth of sheep manure and sweat. Divinity entering the world on the floor of a stable, through the womb of a teenager and in the presence of a carpenter. She touches the face of the infant-God. 
(Max Lucado, God Came Near)


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