A Reason for the Season: Dreams Coming True

Matthew 1: 18-25 Marianne Niesen December 12, 2010

Throughout Advent, we have been looking at the traditional and well-known stories of the season and asking a simple question. What does this mean? What does it mean in Luke’s account of the birth of John the Baptist that his father Zechariah couldn’t talk through Elizabeth’s pregnancy? What does it mean that Zechariah and Elizabeth were old and long past child-bearing when they conceived their child? What does it mean that Mary and Elizabeth visited with one another about their immanent pregnancies? This ‘meaning’ question is important, I believe, because arguing about – or even just discussing – the details of these stories can be quite frustrating. The details differ. Matthew’s details are different from Luke’s and they really cannot be reconciled. Most of us don’t even know that. But, when we discover it – and when we begin to thoughtfully ask the inevitable questions – we sometimes think we have to throw the whole thing out or make it all into some cohesive narrative. And the problem with that is that Matthew and Luke themselves were clearly not concerned about such things. They were concerned about the meaning of it all. Their scientific knowledge was limited but their heart knowledge was vast and people of faith will always miss a lot when they fail to ask what does this mean – for me, for us, for the world?

Through the years, people have interpreted the Christmas story in many different ways. If you don’t believe me, just look sometime at a few different crèche scenes. Every nativity set is a different interpretation of what the birth of Jesus looked like and meant - and means today. Watch now with me as we see Eliana’s version of the Nativity. [1]

Besides being delightful, Eliana teaches us something about the finer points of translation and understanding - which are always challenging! Did they follow a store (which would be difficult) or a star (which, quite frankly, wouldn’t be much easier!)? How did Josef spell his name and did he wear a green shirt? And, are those things important? Most of us, I think, would say ‘not really’ but we could certainly argue about such details! And, what about the Magi – or the ‘misemen’ – how did they travel? If we say they traveled ‘on camels,’ I’ll bet you never considered the possibility that they might have simply done exactly that – walking on the camels, rather than carried along on the top of one. And before you laugh too much, let me give you some news. There are no camels mentioned at all in Matthew’s version of the story. Nor are there Magi or wisemen – to say nothing of misemen–anywhere at all in Luke’s gospel. And, however they arrived – if indeed they did - what gifts did they bring? Were they gold, frankincense and myrrh or, as Eliana suggested, a bike, a teddy bear and a surprise? And did they wear party hats or crowns? And, perhaps most importantly, why does it matter? Because, despite our laughter, Eliana got to the same place the Biblical writers got . . . this is a story about the gift of God to us, which inspires, hopefully, a generosity in us worthy of that very special birthday. The gifts we give one another are meant to be an expression of our gratitude for the gifts we’ve been given. The question that should haunt us as we appreciate every crèche scene and hear every one of the traditional stories is what does it mean and why does it matter?

And, with that introduction, let’s hear today’s scripture text from Matthew’s gospel. The last two Sundays we’ve been hearing the story from Luke. There, the miraculous birth of the Christ Child is announced to Mary by an angel. Matthew doesn’t seem to know about that. He tells us, instead, about Joseph (with a p-h). Without any preliminaries about Zechariah or Elizabeth or John the Baptist or a Temple or Mary coming to visit, he jumps right to the point and it goes like this . . . Matthew 1: 18 - 25

For Matthew, unlike Luke, the focus of the story of the announcement of the Nativity is Joseph. Still, he tells us very little about him. Most of what we know we gather from bits and pieces. He was apparently a carpenter [2] in the small village of Nazareth. It was respectable work although not particularly lucrative. Still, there was always work for carpenters. Some even think he worked not with wood but with stone since there are far more rocks than trees in the area. Either way, however, he worked with his hands. It would probably have been a family trade - something he learned from his father and a trade he, in turn, would teach to Jesus and to his other sons. (There is no mention anywhere of a green shirt.) He was betrothed to the young - and, we imagine, lovely - Mary. Betrothal was a marriage contract which promised a couple to one another. It was a firm commitment even though they would not yet live together (that is, consummate the marriage) until after the ceremony. And it was during that time - between the betrothal and the marriage - that Mary must have told Joseph she was ‘with child’ by the Holy Spirit. In other words, she claimed a miraculous pregnancy.

Remember that, as the story goes, these two didn’t know one another all that well yet. That is what it means to say the pregnancy happened between the betrothal and the marriage. That was the getting-to-know-you time. What was a fiancé to do with news like that? Talk of angels and visions and dreams wasn’t all that odd but - a heavenly vision resulting in pregnancy? That would have been a new one, even for Joseph! We assume his immediate response would have been disbelief, even anger. Then, as he thought about it more, perhaps he gave her the benefit of the doubt imagining she was a victim of rape by Roman soldiers but didn’t want to cause an uprising of outrage. Or, perhaps he thought she had simply been foolishly unfaithful and was protecting someone else. But, whatever he thought about her, he had something else to consider. This was a culture that valued the sanctity of virginity. If he simply ignored it all, people would talk - not just about her, but about him. They could assume he had violated the pre-marital vow. He would have felt tremendous internal pressure. He knew the law, and he knew the child wasn’t his, but when Mary stuck to her story, what was he to do? Righteousness before God meant everything . . . could he be righteous by choosing compassion? Could there be an exception to the rules? The story sets up a huge dilemma for this good man and facing it would have been enormously difficult. Even more difficult was the choice he finally made. He resolved to ‘divorce her quietly.’ Think about it - that could not have been easy. A stoning would have been more public and Joseph would have been vindicated, his innocence clear to all lookers. A quiet divorce left room for doubt.

So, what does it mean that Joseph chose quiet divorce over something else? That’s the important question here. Don’t miss the power of this moment. Joseph had a right to revenge. The law was on his side. The gospel writer Matthew knew that and he invites us to witness in Joseph the struggle between the law and compassion, requirements and mercy. Even before he’d had his dream, Joseph had the inner strength to choose the path of compassion. This is important and it tells us, I think, that Joseph was probably one of Jesus’ most important teachers. Later, Jesus would tell his followers “you’ve heard it said ‘an eye for an eye’ but I say to you ‘love your enemies, do good to those who hurt you.’” That was Joseph. That was the strength of Joseph. That was the power of his love.

And then, the compassionate, principled Joseph had a dream – a dream that told him – don’t divorce her or kill her – marry her instead. Don’t be afraid, marry her. Taken on its own terms, it was a crazy proposition. But, Matthew tells us that was exactly what Joseph did. There has been a long tradition in Christianity that Joseph was an old man at the time all this happened. There are a couple theories about why this developed and they both center around Mary. As the tradition developed that Mary remained a virgin throughout her life, Joseph got older. The theory, of course, was that if he was elderly, with children from a previous marriage, he would have been satisfied with a platonic relationship with his young bride. The other historical phenomenon that aged Joseph was the growing interest in Mary. The more devotion in the early church centered on her, the more it was important to help Joseph fade away. So he became an old guy who played his part and then bowed out – that is, died. But we don’t know that. In fact, if he had been elderly, that probably would have been mentioned in the Bible. It isn’t. So, most scholars, if they deal with him at all, would say that Joseph was very likely the typical marriageable age for men - about 18. He was ordinary and that’s important because it means that God worked then - as God works most often - through ordinary folks. Ordinary folks like a teenage mother and a worried dad. Ordinary, yes, yet entrusted nevertheless with an extraordinary task . . . choosing compassion over the law, life over death, mercy over judgment. And from such ordinary faithfulness, a child was born.

A couple years ago, I came across a humorous description of the Christmas story by columnist Dave Barry. It is too good to share only once, so here it is again:

“My most vivid childhood memory of Christmas that does not involve opening presents, putting batteries in presents, playing with presents and destroying presents before sundown, is the annual Nativity Pageant at St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church in Armonk, New York.” Mrs. Elson was the director, and she would tell the children what role they would play, based on their artistic abilities. For example, if you were short you would get a role as an angel, which involved being part of the Heavenly Host and gazing with adoration at the Christ Child.

“Shepherd was my favorite role,” recalls Barry, “because you got to carry a stick, plus you spent most of the pageant waiting back in the closet with a rope that led up to the church bell and about 750,000 bats. Many were the happy rehearsal hours we shepherds spent back there in the dark, whacking each other with sticks and climbing up the ladder so as to cause bat emission products to rain down upon us.

“After a couple of years as shepherd, you usually did a stint as a Three King. This was not nearly as good a role because you had to lug around the gold, the frankincense and, of course, the myrrh, which God forbid you should drop because they were played by valuable antique containers belonging to Mrs. Elson. Nevertheless, being a Three King was better than being Joseph, since Joseph had to hang around with Mary who was played by a girl. You had to wait backstage with this girl and walk in with this girl. Needless to say, you felt like a total wonk, which was not helped by the fact that shepherds and three kings were constantly suggesting you really liked this girl. So during the pageant Joseph tended to maintain the maximum allowable distance from Mary, as though she were carrying some kind of fatal bacteria.” [3]

And that’s how it was, and probably still is, to play Joseph if you are an ordinary 10 year-old boy. But, the challenge of playing Joseph in a Christmas pageant is nothing compared to being Joseph in real life. And, in a sense, that is what this part of the Christmas story invites us to do. To be Joseph. To stand with the girl . . . and the baby – and others in need. To listen to the promptings of the heart. To choose compassion over judgment.

To be Joseph is to be ordinary in an extraordinary kind of way. To be Joseph is to allow God – through the likes of you and me - to touch the world with compassion and love even when it is not convenient. In the end, it will be through the ordinary faithfulness of the Josephs of the world that God’s eternal dream of peace on earth, good will for all - will finally come to pass.

[1] For those who are reading this sermon, you can see this short clip called A Very Special Baby at http://www.worshiphousemedia.com/mini-movies/11939/A-Very-Special-Baby

[2] see Matthew 13:55