Isaiah 62.6-end; Psalm 97; Titus 3.4-7; Luke 2.(1-7) 8-20

THERE are two options for this Gospel; the short one stops at the nativity. The longer one (which dinner, drink, and presents tempt us to ignore) is preferable, because it ties the fact of the nativity to its divine meaning.

Luke’s nativity story begins with a divine saviour bringing peace to humankind. But it also begins with the story of a human saviour who was seen by many as divine, and who claimed to bring peace to humankind.

Jesus Christ, the Son of God, Prince of Peace, great High Priest, our Saviour; or Octavian Caesar Augustus, Father of his Country, Prince, Chief Priest, Saviour? Within the first five verses of the Christmas Gospel, the two identities stand side by side. The emperor Augustus was revered — especially in Eastern lands — as a saviour (rescuer), as divine, as a religious figure; he was also, by his own boast, a bringer of peace.

What is Luke’s reason for constructing this remarkable parallel? He surely has no intention of implying that Jesus was “as great as Augustus”; and certainly not to suggest that Augustus was “as great as Jesus”. His writing is more subtle. He is showing that human history and divine history are bound up together, and that God can use even foreign rulers as agents of his holy will.

This should not come as a complete surprise, historically speaking. Isaiah does something similar when he brings forward Cyrus, king of Persia, and calls him God’s “shepherd” and his “anointed”: the instrument of the Lord’s design to restore Israel (Isaiah 44-45). Although God made himself known, first, as the god of his ancient people, the Jews, he was still sovereign, Isaiah reveals, over other nations, other peoples — even other kings. Cyrus proves it. So, for Luke, does Augustus.

Augustus, like Cyrus, promoted works of rebuilding. But, where Cyrus had enabled the rebuilding of the Jerusalem Temple, Augustus was solely concerned with building in order to honour himself, as he went about making his mark on ancient Rome in a way that is still visible in the modern city. His ancient biographer records how the emperor boasted of “finding the city made of brick, and leaving it made of marble”.

Luke, like Jesus, has no interest in human constructions of brick, marble, bronze, or any other material (Luke 21.5). But he is interested in peace. The most important parallel between the saviour and the emperor lies in this: they were bringers of peace, and not just locally but universally — peace for the world.

The history of Rome was saturated in war. By tradition, the gates of the temple of the god Janus stood closed in peace, open in war. They were closed only twice before Augustus’s time. But he closed them three times. That, to him, was a stupendous achievement, because the closing of those gates marked an absence of war, not just in Rome but throughout the empire (which was seen as the whole world). Luke’s concept of “the world” is similar when he explains how Augustus ordered “all the world” (the word he uses means “the whole inhabited world”) to be enrolled.

Peace was fundamental to how people understood the Roman Empire. It imposed peace, which meant stability, justice, order, an end to violence. But it did so through force, not freedom. That same Augustus who closed the gates of Janus three times also boasted of building a temple to Mars Ultor (“the War-God, the Avenger”). The hand that imposed Rome’s peace was a hand drenched in blood.

This Gospel gives Christians the gift of a better vision, a better kind of peace (2.14). We know Luke as an Evangelist who has a way with words, but the phrasing of the angels’ words is markedly artistic even for him. The Greek runs:

Glory | in heaven | to God | on earth | peace.

“Peace” and “glory” are the frame, enclosing “heaven” and “earth”; in the centre is “God”. When writers use artistic expression for impact, there is always a risk that their readers may regard such artistry as at odds with simplicity, or even with truth. Yet, in the words of the angels to the shepherds, the artistry enhances the simplicity. These eight words (the number is same in Greek as in English) are an icon of the Christmas message: peace and glory embracing heaven and earth — with God at the centre.