The Unashamed Savior
December 24, 2024
Preached by Benjamin Vrbicek
Scripture Reading
Hebrews 2:9-12
9 But we see him who for a little while was made lower than the angels, namely Jesus, crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone.
10 For it was fitting that he, for whom and by whom all things exist, in bringing many sons to glory, should make the founder of their salvation perfect through suffering. 11 For he who sanctifies and those who are sanctified all have one source. That is why he is not ashamed to call them brothers, 12 saying,
“I will tell of your name to my brothers;
in the midst of the congregation I will sing your praise.”
This short passage from Hebrews has a lot of words. I won’t be teaching all of them. On Christmas Eve, I simply want to zero in on one phrase, the phrase “not ashamed,” and offer a few reflections about the wonder of Jesus. The fuller phrase is “[Jesus] is not ashamed to call them brothers,” meaning “brothers and sisters.”
I’ll start by talking about another phrase. I’m not sure if you’ve heard the phrase “awkward family photos.” We have family friends who visit us from out of town most years. And they are self-aware, but they take the strangest Christmas picture every year and put it on a card and send it around to all their friends and family; it’s always like this kind of riddle to see who can figure out what movie or cryptic pop culture reference they are trying to spoof. I almost never know. Their pictures qualify as awkward family photos.
But there’s actually a whole company with that name. It started with one photo on ski slopes that was sort of goofy, sort of awkward. And now employees have collected, as the name suggests, family photos that are, well, awkward. They have a website. If you live near their in-person studio, you go with friends and family and take awkward photos the way you might take an old-time family photo.
On the website, you can see Christmas theme photos. There’s one photo of a whole family—children included—smoking cigarettes in front of a Christmas tree. Strange, right? If someone wants to smoke, okay. But to take a family picture that way is odd. Another picture has a husband and wife and their pet dog in front of their tree. That’s not so strange. But the dog had the cone of shame on it. And, of course, so did the husband and wife. So strange.
It all makes me think back to this verse. Jesus is not ashamed to call Christians his brothers and sisters. Does that amaze you?
I’ll put it like this. Imagine you have a new neighbor move in just down the street. They move in around Christmas. You’re a nice person, so you bake some cookies and bring them over, along with a Christmas card of your family. The neighbor says, “Oh, thanks. Come on in while I put your cookies away, and I’ll let you put your card with others.”
You go the fridge, and you see a good many Christmas photos. You see a picture of the whole family smoking. That’s awkward. You don’t know your neighbor well, but, hey, they invited you in, so you say, “Huh, tell me about this one.”
Your neighbor is a little reluctant but shares how that’s his brother and his family.
Then you see other strange, awkward pictures. You see the whole family in the cone of shame, and you say, “Tell me about this one.”
“Well,” he says, “that’s my sister and her boyfriend and Sparky.”
Then you start to notice all of them are a bit odd—or a lot odd. Trying not to sound too concerned, you say, “Are these your family?” Your neighbor looks a bit ashamed.
You ask again about another picture that catches your eye. It’s of a guy in an orange jumpsuit who appears to be in prison. You say, “Oh, is this like a Halloween picture or something?” Your neighbor looks away and says, “No, that’s what it looks like.”
You say, “Oh, how did you know each other?”
Your neighbor says, “Oh, we were roommates.”
You say, “Oh, like back at college or something?”
He says, “No, we were roommates there . . . together . . . before here.”
So you say something about enjoying the cookies and having a nice Christmas and bolt.
I think about that story, and, again, I think about Hebrews 2:11; I think about how Jesus is not ashamed to call Christians his brothers and sisters.
The Old Testament, in a lot of ways, could be called a giant coffee table book of photos. Sometimes the photos are glorious. But any family we have any number of pictures of, without exception, there are also some awkward family photos. You have priests and kings, you have mothers and fathers, you have sons and daughters, who you’d be ashamed to claim as family. You might not put their pictures on your fridge at Christmas.
As I read the New Testament, especially as I read the stories in the Gospels, and I read about the sort of people Jesus befriended, and I think, “Well, this could be Volume II in that coffee table series.”
There were Jewish tax collectors who Jesus befriended. That doesn’t hit us as hard as it would have hit the first audience. But tax collection sort of worked like the mob. You pitched Rome on how much tax money you thought you could get from an area; then you tried to beat people up to get more than that and “the extra” you could keep for yourself. It would be one thing to do that as a Gentile, but to be Jewish and do that to other Jews was worse than awkward. And yet, right there among the twelve leaders is Matthew’s picture.
I think of the sick and suffering who were constantly around Jesus. There were blind men, women with bleeding issues, and lepers who had skin diseases that ordinary, healthy people wouldn’t come within twenty yards of. One time, while Jesus was at a dinner party with a wealthy, pious religious leader, a wayward woman came and anointed Jesus’s feet with her tears and her hair. It’s one of the most awkward stories in the New Testament, yet Jesus seems to be right at home.
And think of the children who came running to Jesus. Again, this doesn’t hit us in the same way. Oh, of course, Jesus loves the little children, we think. We sing songs about it. And he does love children. But you’ll remember that when the children tried to come to Jesus, the disciples proceeded to shew the children way. That scene, I guess, was pretty awkward too. Surely, Jesus has more important people and less noisy people to spend time with, you know, important adults who might be able to give him something in return, not little, dependent children who can only give Jesus their need and their curiosity.
Consider the shepherds off in the fields. It was their job to be there, but no one really wanted to be around them because they were so rough. Yet the angels come to them first, announcing good news of great joy for all people.
And on the cross—as he’s dying the most shame filled way to die—Jesus makes a friend with a criminal. Or maybe we could say that Jesus makes one criminal into a friend. (This is how author Erik Raymond puts it in his book He Is Not Ashamed.) The cross was not just a way for Rome to kill people. It was their way of saying to the world, shame on you, don’t ever ever be like these people.
This is why I like us reflecting on Hebrews 2:11 and the real Christmas story on Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve is an invitation—a confrontation, actually—with Real Christianity and Real Christmas. I say “Real Christmas,” as opposed to simply “Nostalgic Christmas” and “Sentimental Christmas.”
Now, I like Christmas lights and Christmas trees and Christmas presents and Christmas songs and Christmas food and drink and friends and family and time off work and time off school and the travel and all of that. But by themselves, without the real Jesus, these are only the nostalgic and sentimental Christmas. And the real Christmas story is better.
The nostalgic and sentimental Christmas (and the nostalgic and sentimental Christianity) simply asks us to try a bit harder and, you know, be nice instead of naughty. The nostalgic and sentimental Christmas story tells us to put on a smile no matter what.
But the real Christmas story is better. It tells the story of how God came to dwell with us—not as we wish we were but as we are. The Real Christmas story is a confrontation with the real us and the real God. Which reminds us, if we’re honest, we need a real savior. And at Christmas, we’re reminded that we have one.
This Advent season we preached about how Jesus is the savior for the weak, wounded, wayward, fearful. He’s the savior for the person riddled with doubts. He’s the savior of the person with a crumbling second marriage. He’s the savior for the dad who works too much and drinks too much and doesn’t know yet how to stop. He’s the savior for the woman who had an abortion but is too ashamed to ever mention it in her Bible Study.
If those feel awkward to you, you haven’t really spent much time looking at the coffee table book of pictures of people who seem like they shouldn’t be there.
I’ll close reading the verses again, and then I’ll pray and invite the music team back up to sing a few songs. During the second song, we’ll begin lighting candles, as an expression of the light of world, Jesus, coming among a people that need his light.
9 But we see him who for a little while was made lower than the angels, namely Jesus, crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone.
10 For it was fitting that he, for whom and by whom all things exist, in bringing many sons to glory, should make the founder of their salvation perfect through suffering. 11 For he who sanctifies and those who are sanctified all have one source. That is why he is not ashamed to call them brothers, 12 saying,
“I will tell of your name to my brothers;
in the midst of the congregation I will sing your praise.”
Not only is Jesus not ashamed to call us brothers and sisters. But these verses even picture Jesus, among the congregation, singing praise to God with his brothers and sisters.
I’ll say it this way, Jesus is unashamed to stand with you in this congregation and sing with you. That is, as long as you’re not too ashamed of him. What a story.
Let’s pray. . .
