Now the birth of Jesus
the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to
Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the
Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose
her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had
resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said,
“Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the
child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you
are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” All this
took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: “Look,
the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,” which
means, “God is with us.” When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of
the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, but had no marital relations
with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus. --Matthew 1:18-25
We are told that Advent is a season for preparing and waiting.
I’m okay the preparing part, but I’ve never been too good at waiting. A year
ago, in these weeks before Christmas my big anticipation and excitement was for
the new Star Wars movie—The Force Awakens, which I saw on
opening night. This year, there’s another new Star Wars movie—Rogue One,
which takes place prior to the 1977 movie we all know as the original Star Wars,
later renamed A New Hope. Now, I
really thought that I would be able to wait and would see it in Minnesota with
my brothers. But it turns out, I couldn’t. This time I didn’t go on Thursday—opening
night—but instead yesterday afternoon on its second day. That’s sort of like waiting,
right? It was totally worth it. It’s a stellar movie. Get it, Star Wars, stellar?
And as much as I couldn’t wait, it seems the compliers of
our lectionary couldn’t wait either. Because, although we are only in the Fourth
Sunday of Advent, we have just heard the Christmas story as Matthew’s gospel
tells it. Which, as you may have noticed, is much shorter than Luke’s telling,
the more familiar version we will hear on Christmas Eve and again on Christmas
morning. There’s still the conception by the Holy Spirit, but there are no shepherds,
no manger, and no heavenly host singing glory to God in the highest. None of
that good Christmassy stuff. There are wise men in Matthew’s story, his primary
contribution to Christmas tradition, but they come later at Epiphany.
The other big difference is that Matthew’s report of events is
told from the perspective of Joseph. Mary is there, of course, but she doesn’t
have any speaking roles (in Luke, by contrast, it’s all about Mary—the angel
appears to her, she sings the magnificent, she treasures and ponders everything
in her heart). But not here. Rather, Joseph is the star. That’s because Matthew
is written to appeal to the first century’s Jewish Christian community. Like
the new Star Wars movie, Matthew’s
gospel is stellar. He draws upon the stars of Jewish religious history to tell
his story. For example, Joseph is a reminder of Joseph in the Book of Genesis,
the one with the coat of many colors, whom God also spoke to in dreams—the son
of Jacob, grandson of Isaac, and great-grandson of Abraham.
In that history and society, men were the active players—at least
from the perspective of the gospel author. Women were treated as property,
passed in marriage from their fathers to their husbands. Later on, Jesus, as an
adult, will challenge his society’s concepts of marriage, and especially
divorce, which he takes a particularly harsh view of because of its detrimental
impact on women—interesting in light of his own birth story, which easily could
have included a divorce, if not for some divine intervention.
Here’s what we need to understand about marriage in first
century Jewish communities. It was a two-step process. The first was the
betrothal, far more than an engagement in our understanding. Usually,
betrothals were arranged by a couple’s parents, the fathers mainly, often when
the pair were quite young, as early as 12 or 13 years old, and perhaps when
they didn’t even know each other, or just barely. The fathers set in motion a
binding and legal contractual arrangement between their children—actually, it
was a binding contract between the father of the bride and the husband to be.
The couple didn’t live together right away, but in legal terms they were
married, referred to as husband and wife, with absolute fidelity required.
Then, maybe a year or two later, when the husband was able to support a family,
but still very young by our standards—14 or 15—they would hold a banquet for
family and friends, after which they lived together in the way that married
couples do. But the legal aspect of the marriage was enacted in the betrothal
and could only be dissolved in a divorce.
That was the situation between Joseph and Mary. They were
legally married, but hadn’t yet lived together. In fact, they probably didn’t
know each other very well, since men and women maintained fairly separate lives
outside of their immediate families, and all of their interactions before
moving in together would have required a chaperone. It is in that context that
we learn that Mary is pregnant. For some reason, in my mind I always thought it
was the angel who told Joseph that Mary was pregnant, but if you pay close
attention to the gospel passage as written, it wasn’t the angel who announced
the news to Joseph. Joseph already knows Mary is pregnant when the angel
appears in the dream. Maybe Mary told him, or her father told him, or maybe
it’s starting to become obvious to everyone and people are talking about it,
whispering, snickering, pointing fingers. It’s actually quite soap-operaish,
when you think about it. And very close to real life.
And that, I think, is the point. The story of Mary and
Joseph and Jesus is real life. It’s not a Star
Wars movie. It’s not a fairy tale. Mary is not a beautiful fairytale
princess, or even Princess Leia, Joseph is neither Han Solo nor prince
charming. This is not the story of legend. It is the story of real lives—lives
a lot like ours, in which things don’t always go according to our plans and hopes
can easily be extinguished. For Mary and Joseph, as for so many, the news of an
unexpected pregnancy was not an opportunity for rejoicing, but instead probably
felt like a nightmare.
Stop to imagine how absolutely frightened Mary must have been,
trying to find a way to tell Joseph this unexpected news. Fearing for her own
life, as well as for her baby. And for his part, Joseph is probably going
through an emotional wringer himself. Who is the father? Are people assuming
that he’s the father? What kind of girl is this Mary anyway? What kind of
future will he have if people assume that he’s the kind of guy that fools
around? For comparison, imagine that this were happening in an Amish community,
or maybe a Hasidic Jewish or strict Muslim society. How would people react?
What’s the “right” thing to do when it appears to Joseph and their families,
friends, and neighbors that this girl was unfaithful, had broken her promises, and
made a fool of him?
If Joseph had wanted to, he could have made a big deal out
of the whole thing. He could have exposed Mary, set her up for public ridicule,
and possibly even stoning. That would have been his right. She was technically
his “property.” Though, the gospel emphasizes that he was righteous and had
decided against that approach. He wasn’t heartless, even if maybe he was
heartbroken and probably more than a little angry, too. His plan, instead,
probably when he had mustered enough courage to confront the
situation—remember, he’s likely no more than 14,15, or 16 himself—was to
dismiss her quietly, issuing a writ of divorce.
Maybe he planned to encourage her to move someplace else
where people wouldn’t know her. She could claim her husband had died or
something. Joseph may have thought that he would have to do the same thing
himself—move someplace else, come up with some sort of plausible story about a
wife who died in childbirth or something, since back home people would always
wonder if he really was the father, even if he said he wasn’t. It was an
impossible situation.
And so, Matthew tells us, it is into this mess that the
angel appears in a dream and tells Joseph not to worry. He should accept Mary
as his wife, and accept her child, God’s child, as his own. Now, you have
dreams. I have dreams. Rarely do I follow mine. Usually I wake up confused,
wondering why on earth my sleepy imagination would come up with the crazy,
neurotic “adventures” it does. But Joseph actually listened to his. Who knows,
maybe he thought that even if the angel were just his imagination, it still
offered the best solution to what seemed like an impossible situation. Or,
maybe he awoke with a great sense of clarity and purpose, confident God had
visited him with a new revelation. Whatever it was, Joseph put away his pride,
summoned whatever courage he could against the gossip, innuendo and pointing
fingers, and raised Jesus as his own. Mary and Joseph wouldn’t have been the
first couple trying to salvage a normal life out of a difficult situation.
Now, I can’t say for sure why Matthew told his story exactly
the way he did. But what I do know is how helpful it is to us in our lives
today—if we really listen to it. If we recognize that even in difficult and
unexpected circumstances God can break in with a message of hope, and love, and
encouragement. Because like Mary and Joseph, our lives aren’t always perfect
either. They don’t always work out the way we hope or expect, and yet God
appears—sometimes in dreams, sometimes through family and friends, and
sometimes in moments of profound clarity—and offers us new and grace filled
possibilities and opportunities, if like Mary and Joseph we set aside our fears
and trust in God’s grace, trust in God’s possibilities and opportunities.
Like Mary and Joseph, sometimes the lives we have planned
and hoped for, for ourselves or perhaps for our children, don’t turn out in the
way we envisioned. Sometimes our relationships don’t work out, and they are
marked by disappointment. Sometimes kids grow up to be gay or lesbian or
transgender, and parents and grandparents struggle to come to terms with a
different reality than they had imagined when the children were babies. Sometimes
people we love, or we ourselves, struggle with mental illness or addiction or
physical impairment. Sometimes we and the people we love struggle with cancer
and serious illnesses. The details of our lives are unique to each of us, but
the love and grace of God are the same. It is the same love and grace that gave
Mary and Joseph the courage to set aside their fears and doubts, and with faith
open their hearts to the future that God had planned for them.
Even better than a Star
Wars story, God took a perplexing, upside down situation, and transformed
it into something new. Not only for Mary and Joseph, but for us all, by coming
to dwell with us. In our confusion. In our fear. In our crazy and sometimes
messed up situations. In real life. God came to live with us, among us, and in
us, as Emmanuel. And then through that life, God showed us a new way. God
showed us a compassionate, loving, hopeful, and transformational way to live—first
through the example of Mary and Joseph, and then even more powerfully by living
it himself in Jesus, born to that confused, perplexed and stunned couple—breaking
down barriers, challenging assumptions, healing divisions. Bringing
abundant life. Bringing good news of great joy for all the people. Bringing us
and the world a New Hope.
To God be the glory: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
Amen.
© The Rev. Matthew P.
Cadwell, PhD
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