Have a Great Christmas Insurrection!
Luke’s story of Jesus’s birth was a political pamphlet against the most powerful man on Earth.
We love Hans Christian Anderson’s tale of the pompous emperor who strutted around in elegant clothes and who was hoodwinked by two swindlers who offered to tailor him a designer suit that was so fine it would not be seen by anyone too stupid to appreciate its finery.
Neither the prime minister nor the chancellor were willing to admit they couldn’t see the cloth, and the townspeople were only too keen to learn how stupid their neighbors were. It took a child to call out the charade: “The emperor is naked.” Only then did everyone else begin to shout, “The boy is right! The emperor is naked!”
The emperor in Anderson’s story reminds me of the pompous Roman emperor, Octavian, who loved giving himself pretentious titles. After he succeeded his uncle Julius Caesar as emperor, he titled himself “Caesar.” In 29 BC, Octavian ended a century of civil war, ushering in a golden age of peace within the Roman Empire. The Pax Romana had begun. This was good news. In 27 BC, the Roman senate gave Octavian the title “Augustus” or “the August One.” Thus the emperor was now called Caesar Augustus.
The month of August was named after him. Augustus was hailed as the king of peace. He was declared to be the “Son of God.” Rome erected a temple in his honor. He was hailed as the “savior of the whole world.” The Priene inscription proudly proclaimed: “The birthday of the god marked the beginning of the good news for the world.”
Luke’s Infancy Narrative Subverts Caesar Augustus
But 25 years later, just when Caesar Augustus began celebrating the silver jubilee of his Pax Romana; just when the crowds were exuberantly proclaiming Caesar as Lord, Son of God, and savior of the world, a little baby wrapped in swaddling clothes in a one-horse town called Bethlehem stuck out his tongue and cheekily cried out: “The emperor is naked!”
The Christmas story in Luke’s gospel (2:1-14) is a political pamphlet against the most powerful man on earth and the most powerful institution in the world. In his Christmas story, Luke devotes five verses to the policies of Augustus, but only two verses to the birth of Jesus. Luke juxtaposes two kings: Caesar and Christ. He targets the emperor at the peak of his policy making and implementation.
Why do I say this?
Because Augustus had decided to flex his political muscles by calling for a census of the “known world.” Quirinius, governor of Syria, was in charge of the census. The census was for purposes of taxation, but it also was the emperor’s way of demonstrating who was boss!
“Censuses then raised the sharp and dangerous questions of who runs the world, how it’s run, who profits by it all, and who is the most powerful man of all,” writes biblical historian N.T Wright.
Luke’s Christmas story exposes the census as a charade. For him, the census was the equivalent of the emperor’s new clothes. The emperor had consulted his figurative prime minister and chancellor — in this case Quirinius, his administrator. But the all-powerful king overlooked a couple of tiny details: a powerless baby in a modest crib and a few marginal characters around it. The emperor failed to take the prophecies of the coming Messiah into account. Ultimately, it was Christmas that would discredit his census and debunk the myth, might, and monopoly of his empire.
The Emperor’s Census Is a Charade
From a human perspective, the census uprooted Joseph and Mary from Nazareth in Galilee. They were required to travel 80 miles to Bethlehem to register. But from God’s perspective the census was a vehicle to fulfill Micah’s prophecy from the Old Testament, which predicted that the Messiah would be born in Bethlehem (Micah 5:2).
The characters surrounding the crib expose Caesar’s ambition to enroll the “whole world” (universus orbis) in his census as a failed grasp for godhood. The shepherds, moving with their flocks, slipped through his grasp, undermining his authority from the ground up. The angels challenged Caesar’s control from above, forming a celestial multitude too vast to be counted. The characters around the crib — Mary, Joseph, the shepherds, and the angels — effectively illustrate the fragility of Caesar’s claims to power. For all his imperial glory, Caesar Augustus stands exposed as a superficial figure, incapable of overseeing even a proper census.
Luke continues to dismantle Caesar’s claims to sovereignty. He audaciously enthrones the infant child as the ultimate ruler of this world, thus subtly dethroning the emperor. Augustus dwelt in a palace, was seated on a golden throne, and was decked in the finest of royal robes — but really, the emperor was naked. The real king lay in a manger, slept on a bed of straw, and was robed in swaddling clothes.
Augustus had heralds who would trumpet the good news of Pax Romana throughout the empire. But his gospel was bogus. Roman peace was only achieved by brute force. Only the gospel of the Prince of Peace could bring “peace on earth.” His heralds were shepherds — people who were considered to be so dumb, dirty, and dishonest they were not permitted to be witnesses in court.
In a dramatic reversal, these shepherds were called to witnesses the birth of Christ.
Luke Transfers Caesar’s Titles to the Baby Jesus
The final act of treason comes when Luke confers the emperor’s titles onto the baby. It is Jesus who is Lord and Savior, not the pretentious Octavian Augustus Caesar. It is Jesus who is Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, and Prince of Peace. It is Jesus who will bear the government upon his shoulders. His followers will proclaim exclusive allegiance to Him and not to any emperor, ideology, or structure.
The emperor is naked. His glory is a sham, his power an illusion, his pretentions vain, his reign of peace fleeting. His claims are challenged by a baby — born in poverty and obscurity, without pomp or ostentation. It is the humble Prince of Peace and not the pompous King of Peace who will save the world.
While Caesar’s sycophants pay him homage, the angels sing: “Glory to God in the highest.” Men may build an altar to the Pax Augustae, but a heavenly choir proclaims the Pax Christi: “Peace on earth to those favored by God.”
The story of Jesus’s birth, which today may appear as sentimental and innocuous as a Hallmark greeting card, once sent shockwaves through the ancient world. It held the power to provoke and disrupt; it was seen as treasonous. Those who embraced the Christmas story were, in essence, declaring their intention to challenge Caesar’s authority and elevate Christ to sovereignty.
Reviving Christmas as a Metanarrative of Resistance
It’s hard to fathom that a story with such revolutionary implications has transformed into a mere festival of domesticity. This very potency — this subversive spirit of Christmas — is why it has been repackaged, sanitized, and domesticated over the years.
There are at least two reasons why I believe in Christmas. First, as a historian I have studied the sources. I find compelling evidence for the historical truth of Christmas. Second, I am a rebel. I tend to rebel against the dominant orthodoxies of culture; I tend to rebel against the Caesars of today — against the monotheism of the market, the manipulation of the media, the machinations of Big Government, and against all that is fake and fleeting. As a rebel, the Christmas story provides me with the narrative of resistance, protest, and defiance.
Christmas for me is the critical narrative against the crass stupidity and mass gullibility of our times; the critical narrative against the messy, muddled, and meaningless narrative of so much of my own life. Christmas reminds me that the emperors of this world are naked; the celebrities of this world are impostors; the ideologies of this world are counterfeit; and the values of this world are phony. It is precisely because the imperial order is always attempting a comeback that the Christmas story needs to be told and retold.
Christmas is the ultimate critical narrative that empowers me to stand in a crowd, defiantly stick out my tongue, and shout, “The emperor is naked! Jesus is King!” Amen.
Dr. Jules Gomes, (BA, BD, MTh, PhD), has a doctorate in biblical studies from the University of Cambridge. Currently a Vatican-accredited journalist based in Rome, he is the author of five books and several academic articles. Gomes lectured at Catholic and Protestant seminaries and universities and was canon theologian and artistic director at Liverpool Cathedral.