COMMENTARY: Going off the grid at Christmas

(RNS) Away from the seat of imperial power, away from religion’s holy places, members of the Holy Family were unregistered guests staying in a stable far from home, unknown to anyone. The Magi who came to pay respects went home “by another road,” themselves now “off the grid.” Jesus grew up “off the grid,” first […]

(RNS) Away from the seat of imperial power, away from religion’s holy places, members of the Holy Family were unregistered guests staying in a stable far from home, unknown to anyone.

The Magi who came to pay respects went home “by another road,” themselves now “off the grid.”

Jesus grew up “off the grid,” first as an exile in Egypt, then in an obscure Galilean village.


His ministry, too, was spent largely “off the grid” — in outlying villages, among outcasts, across the borders of respectability. He was a nomad, not a rock star, and he led his followers into a world of new names, new occupations, new companions.

It’s also where Jesus died — outside the city, crucified between two criminals, his only identity tag a piece of Roman mockery.

Christians have become so eager to hold power and so concerned about fitting in — not offending their neighbors, not straying from community values, not endangering tax-exempt status, not seeming odd, not losing anyone’s favor — that living or working “off the grid” is commonly shunned.

Like Pharisees jousting for banquet seats, we demand that our creche scenes be awarded places of honor in public squares. We want our buildings to be deemed architectural treasures and our leaders treated with deference.

If we pay attention to our own story, however, Christmas can be a liberating reminder that the world’s “grid” is no place we need to seek.

The Messiah’s birth needed to be out back, where the noise of revelry from the inn wouldn’t drown out the angels’ chorus. His bed needed to be in a stable, so that outcast shepherds would feel welcome. His parents needed to be nobodies, because the somebodies would sell him out.


His star needed to shine far from the Temple, so that gentile kings would be welcome, and far from the rulers who would kill hope, rather than yield power.

This was new creation, not a mild tinkering with the settled order. This was a radical departure, not safe gradualism. This was new life, not the old life politely burnished.

The Christian enterprise has little to offer until it moves “off the grid.” Yes, we can amass crowds and erect majestic buildings; we’ve been doing that for centuries. But our charge is to transform lives, to speak truth to power and to do what Jesus said: feed the hungry, clothe the naked, shelter the homeless, welcome strangers, love enemies and make peace.

Moving “off the grid” isn’t as easy as becoming Idaho survivalists waving “Don’t Tread on Me” flags. We live in the world, earn our livings in the marketplace, take our part as citizens.

If faith is our center, however, we don’t derive our values from the world. We don’t join the cheaters and predators in profiting from other people’s frailty. We don’t obstruct society to gain power. We don’t insist that being right gives us license to demonize others.

If faith is our center, we keep some core values just for God. We save some place in our lives where we serve without calculating tax benefit. We keep some time that is God’s to use, some corner of home that isn’t consumed by work and worry.


A Christmas observed “off the grid” is a moment after the cultural rituals when we enter a humble place, kneel in humble awe, and give thanks to God for giving us new life.

(Tom Ehrich is a writer, church consultant and Episcopal priest based in New York. He is the author of “Just Wondering, Jesus” and founder of the Church Wellness Project. His website is http://www.morningwalkmedia.com. Follow Tom on Twitter (at)tomehrich.)

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