Advent 4 A: God Really With Us
Dear Partner in Preaching,
Do you sense some of the heartache in Matthew’s story about the nativity?
If you didn’t catch it the first time you read or listened to the story, that’s understandable. It’s easy to miss. Part of reason is simply that Matthew’s depiction of Christ’s birth is so remarkably brief, contained in a half verse at the beginning of this passage – “Now the birth of Jesus took place in this way” (1:18) – and in the verse bookending it at the end – “but he had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus” (v. 25).
Another reason it’s easy to miss is our understandable focus on the extraordinary elements of the story. The appearance of the angel in a dream, fulfilled prophecy, the virgin birth – we tend to focus almost exclusively on these elements because they are not part of our daily experience and so miss other dimensions of the story.
But I think the chief reason we gloss over, or perhaps fail to detect entirely, the heartache at the core of this familiar story is that we have unintentionally domesticated it. Whether by hearing it read in hushed tones by candlelight, or because of beloved hymns which cast a rosy hue around it, it’s easy to forget that Joseph and Mary were real people. In our imagination, Jesus never cried, Mary looked more like a blushing young bride than someone who had just given birth, and Joseph is calm, protective, and paternal. So perhaps there is an opportunity this week, Dear Partner, to give a little more attention to some of the oft overlooked details of the story so that it may speak anew to us.
Let’s start with this matter of engagement. In the first century world of Joseph and Mary, this is not a romantic declaration of intent. Rather, it is a legal contract, binding in every respect. To be engaged – or espoused, betrothed, or pledged (some of the other words used in English translations) – was essentially be to married yet without having consummated that marriage or as yet living together. Which means that when Joseph learns that Mary is pregnant, he can only conclude that she has been unfaithful to him and so likely experiences the pain, anguish, and sense of betrayal that any of us would have felt at such a devastating revelation.
In Joseph’s day, there were only two realistic possibilities when faced with the possibility – or what must have seemed to Joseph as an unquestionable reality – of Mary’s infidelity. He could either publicly declare his injury, in which case Mary would likely have been stoned, or he could divorce – the translation “dismiss” softens the reality as “engagement” did earlier – her quietly, and he chooses the latter course.
If Joseph is suffering, it’s hard to imagine Mary comes through all this unscathed. Because Matthew narrates his account of the nativity from the point of view of Joseph, we get very little insight into Mary. But she likely detected the unexpected pain her pregnancy caused her betrothed and, if she sensed his intentions, would likely have had great cause for concern herself. Given the spare details of Matthew’s account, I recognize that much of this is clearly conjecture. But let’s keep in mind it takes a visit from an angel to calm all this down and orient Joseph to God’s intentions. And as angles usually get involved in the biblical story only when heavy-lifting is involved, I think it’s safe to say that the months leading up to Christ’s birth was not one blissful baby-shower after another but were fraught with anxiety and concern and flights of emotion we have all experienced at various times.
And that, of course, is the point. We have – each of us – experienced similar upheavals. Indeed, on the morning you gather to preach this sermon, who knows how many of the folks in front of you are struggling to hold it all together while at church. Families who struggle with discord, couples who feel disconnected, kids wondering what future they may have, elders wondering the same from a different point of view. Some seek jobs, some relationships, some any sense of acceptance or worth.
Please hear me: I don’t mean to paint an overly grim picture of the challenges faced by our people, but I also don’t want us to be fooled by the “Sunday clothes” we wear or “Christmas spirit” we’ve been trained to exude during worship. There will be a lot of love, hope, courage, and excitement in the people who gather this Sunday, and that is to be celebrated and strengthened. And there will also be heartache, and that is to be acknowledged. Because at this time of the year in particular folks can feel downright embarrassed by their struggles and perhaps even wonder if their anguish is unfaithful.
Which is why I think this passage provides a good opportunity, Dear Partner, to remind us that God worked through real people with real challenges. He didn’t choose a fairy-tale princess to bear the savior, but rather an unwed peasant girl. He didn’t choose a political or business success story to name and care for Jesus, but rather a man with his own doubts and questions who wanted to do the right thing but needed angelic guidance to accomplish it.
All of this helps flesh out the name “Emmanuel” that Matthew draws from Isaiah to apply to Jesus. “God with us.” Or, we might want to say, “God REALLY with us.” That is, God coming to be with us as we are. Not as we know we should be, or are trying to be, or have promised to be, or will be some day, but with us as we are now…today…in this moment. Perhaps that’s the promise at the heart of this passage – that as God came before to be with, use, accept, and hallow Joseph and Mary at the birth of Christ, so also God comes to us in Christ to be with us, use us for good, accept us as we are, and hallow us by God’s own presence. Yes, God is really with us. Yes, God is with us, really and truly as we are. Yes, this is our Emmanuel. Come, we pray, come again and always, through our words and songs and sermons.
Blessings, Dear Partner, on your proclamation, for through your words and your life you bear witness to this God, Emmanuel, the one with us and for us forever. Thank you.
Yours in Christ,
David
Post image: Rembrandt, 1625, “Joseph’s Dream in the Stable in Bethlehem,” detail.
Is the sentence, “Now the birth of Jesus (the messiah) took place in this way an introduction to the birth narrative, or can it be seen as a summary of the genealogy? I’ve been toying with the idea that it is a summary because it allows for seeing Jesus birth in the light of the faithfulness of Ruth, the adultery of David, the cynicism of Ahaz, and the mercy and open-ness of Joseph and Mary. In some sense, when we look at Jesus’ earthly ancestry there can be found a greater depth to the incarnation.
I like that a lot, Peter, and think the connecting Jesus’ birth to the history of Israel as Matthew does – both Israel’s struggles to be faithful and God’s steadfast refusal to give up on Israel – adds depth to the promise of God being with us.
This is generally the tone I set whenever I preach on this passage, that is, life is not always candy canes and jingle bells right now (if you’ll forgive the secular expressions) but a time when we must also acknowledge that the very real frustrations and grief that many of us associate with this upcoming season sometimes very closely align with the dismay and grief associated with Joseph’s predicament.
It’s one of the reasons my parish began a Blue Christmas service last year, one in which we acknowledge grief and loss in this season that is “supposed” to be filled with hope and happiness. So many have a hard time living into and observing the joy all around them, and we as pastors have an obligation to support them. Our music, prayers, and litany all reflect the quietness of grief that surrounds this upcoming season. And my job as preacher, is to remind them that even in their sadness, God is with them, that this Emmanuel accompanies them and is present as their light, however they may be able to access that. And if they cannot, that is okay, because God is Emmanuel, God with us, no matter what.
We’re proud of the liturgy we’ve created, and I’d be happy to share mine with anyone who is thinking of doing this, to copy outright or to adapt!
Thank you, David, as always for your thoughtful words and observations of the readings.
Thanks so much for offering that, Kyle. One of the great things about the world we’re in at the moment is the ease with which we can share ourselves and our work with each other.
We, too, have a Longest Night Service (or Blue Christmas) and I preach on this text, as well. Your insights are very helpful and will refer to what you said on Wednesday when we hold the service again this year. 2016 has been a hard year for so many and it is important to remember that God is with us in both our personal and corporate struggles.
Kyle I would love to see what you have developed for a Blue Christmas liturgy. Thanks for your willingness to share.
Kyle,
What a wonderful blessing to your congregation. We, too offer a service of Comfort and Remembrance the Second Sunday of Advent, followed by a dinner and time of sharing and fellowship afterward for those who wish to stay. Unlike the All Saints service which mentions those who have joined the great cloud of witnesses during the past year, this service takes time for each family in a more personal way, to corporately share the burden of grief they carry and acknowledge that this season is difficult. A reminder that they are not alone, that they are a part of the Body of Christ, with God at their center, in and among them, holding them in their sorrow is what gives this service its meaning. I’d love to see how you do your service.
Non-clergy person here. Currently reading your “Making Sense of the Christian Faith” for the second time and just finished Chapter Five surrounding the “Incarnation” this morning. Directly relevant in my interpretation. Thank you for encouraging the inclusive recognition of all people doing the Christmas Walk. For those of our brothers and sisters hurting at this special time of year, this gives visibility and respect to their reality. Happy or sad; here is the Christ Child came for us–just as we are, through people who lived life imperfectly then just as we do now.
Blessed Christmas to All
I love your typo: “…angles” are involved when there’s heavy lifting to be done. It’s an old family canard, complete with love notes to “my dearest angle.” But, truly, the physics, and physicality, of life often call for angles.
🙂