Rev. Jay Rowland
4th Sunday of Advent/December 22, 2019
Text: Matthew 1:18-25
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 Mary as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and they named the child Jesus.
Incarnation
On this fourth Sunday of Advent, we are drawing nearer to Bethlehem, nearer to the manger, nearer to Joseph and nearer also to Mary … “the virgin (who) shall conceive and bear a son and they shall name him Emmanuel …”
That one little detail, the virgin birth, is for many a sizable obstacle standing in the way. The Bible has its faults, of course, but for some, a virgin birth is the most conspicuous. Even so let’s not lose the forest for the trees of the Bible’s basic message just because of that because it’s worth holding on to. From beginning to end in the Bible, God exposes (and opposes) every threat to Creation and to God’s people. Put another way, the legion forces of destruction lined up against Humanity and Creation have no greater foe than God. Accept or reject the virgin birth if you must, but don’t lose sight of what God is doing!
Advent broadcasts the promises God has consistently made for millennia:
war and violence and terrorism shall cease;
kindness shall outlive violence;
God is coming to save us, even Creation itself will be saved.
If we don’t think we need to be saved, then all this Advent and Christmas and Jesus “stuff” isn’t worth spending any more attention or time (or money) on. Advent works in the tension between of our vulnerable span of life in this world, and the nature of our God who decided to inhabit a human body and community with all of the uncertainty and vulnerability that comes with it. The passage today from Matthew’s gospel presents some intense details surrounding this decisive moment in which God’s ongoing opposition to the forces of evil, sin, and death takes a new turn in the birth of Messiah in Bethlehem.
Oh but that’s old news, right?! We’ve heard this all before. December after December. And of course it’s good news but … I’m not convinced we’re as impressed as we could be. Incarnation is the ultimate measure of God’s commitment to save you and me and all of us. But sometimes I feel like we underestimate what’s involved in the Incarnation. Maybe we get hung up on details (like the virgin birth, for one example). Sometimes I wonder if people are … I don’t know, bored with it, as if Incarnation was something sort of ordinary for God, as ordinary as, say flipping a switch is for any of us—minimal effort—Boom. Done. Saved.
“Yay God! Pass the gravy.”
But wait a minute! This unprecedented, un-provable, largely unbelievable act of God--Incarnation--Jesus--this thing we celebrate every year, perhaps we don’t realize how vulnerable it was to powerful forces of opposition, vulnerable to human sin, cruelty, corruption and death, the very forces from which God endeavors to save us. There was no guarantee that Incarnation would succeed.
“Really! Huh. Wow. Um, okay, so, are you gonna wrap this up soon? I got stuff to do.”
The long-awaited Messiah shall arrive without fanfare--not even a quick blast of supernatural light or rush of a violent wind. Messiah’s arrival will not draw attention to itself nor demand the attention of the very people actively longing and waiting for the Arrival. Instead, Messiah will come into the world the same way you and I did: through the womb of a woman--well, in Messiah’s case, a young girl, actually, and a “nobody” (just like us) from an otherwise unknown town.
Since we know how it all turns out, perhaps we don’t appreciate that there was no guarantee that Incarnation would succeed.
Perhaps another reason we underestimate the moment is because maybe we presume childbirth is automatic—especially here in 2019. I hear that there are women out there who are able to, pardon the expression, pop out a baby with the same effort required of, say, a vigorous workout routine. But my wife is not one of those women. Three of our four babies came into this world with considerable trauma for both baby and mother. I’ve often wondered, if we hadn’t been in a hospital, what would the odds have been that either my wife or the baby would survive.
So when I think about Mary birthing her first baby a couple thousand years ago, whether in a pile of hay or on the floor of a cave or wherever, I wonder: what were the odds she or the baby Messiah would survive? Who knows what the mortality/survival rate was for pregnancies and child-birth two-thousand years ago. And the infant survival/mortality rate in so-called Third World countries. The odds had to be unfavorable whether childbirth happened in a castle surrounded by midwives, or in a hut surrounded by village women, or far from home with only your husband staring blankly at you.
No guarantee Incarnation would succeed.
From nearly every angle of its trajectory, Incarnation easily could have failed—maybe even SHOULD HAVE FAILED. Long before Mary’s labor pains arrived, it nearly did fail, not long after the angel departed from Mary.
Luke’s gospel presents the angel’s visit to Mary. It’s a warm and wonderful scene. We’re impressed by Mary’s willingness to do as the angel said. Mary could have refused. Matthew presents Joseph’s involvement. Joseph is introduced to us as “a righteous man” (v20). Before the verse ends, it becomes evident that righteous is an ominous description. Joseph’s righteousness apparently convinces him that he has no choice but to “dismiss her quietly”. Matthew’s narration gives the impression this is somehow kind of Joseph, that he’s “unwilling to expose (Mary) to public disgrace.” However “quietly” Joseph dismisses Mary, it remains a blatantly public declaration that had nothing to do with Mary’s pregnancy, which leaves her at the mercy of a culture in which severe punishment, perhaps even death, was applicable to any woman suspected of an unplanned pregnancy.
The very first threat to Messiah’s arrival comes from a "righteousness man”. A recurring theme in Jesus’ life.
Like women of every time and place, Mary is subjected to the realities-and cruelties-of a patriarchal (male-dominated) society/culture. Joseph isn’t required to have a reason to dismiss Mary quietly; he has the right to expose Mary to public disgrace simply because he is a man. It’s his word against hers. No contest. Whether this makes God’s choice of Mary a dangerous choice or an excellent one is an open question. Regardless, it would have been so much less complicated-and less dangerous-if God had skipped over the whole pregnancy process—virgin or not.
Advent put enormous pressure on Mary. Mary (and Messiah) find themselves on the path into mortal danger. Perhaps Advent might remind us that we live on that same path too. We are just as vulnerable as Mary was to the uncertainties and vulnerabilities of life on any given day.
So let us take courage: Advent is not deterred by mortal danger. Advent is not cancelled by the harsh realities of our perplexing world and its people. Advent “ushers in an age, long-expected and hoped for, yet … so unusual that it could hardly be anticipated" correctly (Charles Cousar, Texts for Preaching Year A). Advent unleashes the energy of God’s decisive action to save us. However, this doesn’t mean it was guaranteed to succeed or that this would be free of complications.
For example, God must dispatch an angel to separate Joseph from his righteousness. Scholar Richard Swanson goes so far as to say that the angel actually mocks Joseph for being afraid of a pregnant woman.[1] When the angel gives the unborn baby a name (actually two) and a (divine) purpose, it becomes clear to Joseph that something much more important his reputation is going on. The angel gives two names to Messiah, the name Jesus because Jesus will save God’s people. With the second name, Emmanuel, the angel evokes the Prophet Isaiah. The name Emmanuel would have hushed a room full of angry voices. It issues and reminds everyone of Messiah’s purpose. Particularly Joseph.
The reality erupting from Matthew's gospel is that Emmanuel/Jesus/Incarnation faced serious opposition the moment Mary accepted the Angel Gabriel’s proposition. God’s dependency upon ordinary people in the face of powerful opposition shows that the Incarnation is vulnerable to the very powers from which all of is was designed to save us.
We have grown accustomed to earth-bound examples of power; power which unleashes chaos and suffering and calamity on God’s people. We are not accustomed to the invisible “power” of God. It does not demand our attention like suffering and calamity and chaos do.
The past four Sundays the power of God’s promises have again been proclaimed. We light one candle for each Promise: Peace; Hope; Joy; God’s Faithfulness. Each flickering candle stands amid the dark winds stirred up by the mounting evidence contradicting each promise. The darkness shall not overcome it.
Again today, on this 4th and final Sunday of Advent, another promise of God (faithfulness) was proclaimed. And perhaps when it was proclaimed our brains did what brains do: applied the slightest rational consideration, measuring the objective reality of rampant human suffering against the sound of oft-repeated words to which our ears have grown accustomed. And perhaps in an unguarded moment the Advent promise, the miracle of Incarnation, God-with-us seems less and less likely, or perhaps less and less remarkable.
Regardless, God’s proclamations and promises have never been more worthy of our attention and devotion than they are right now.
The Gospel of Matthew begins and ends with Emmanuel first appearing in the opening chapter to dissuade Joseph of his own righteousness. It concludes with Emmanuel fully grown, promising to be with us always, every moment of every day, all the way to the end— of our life, or the end of “history” whatever comes first (Matthew 28:20). In between, Jesus is engaged in constantly undoing the damage inflicted by human sin, opposing all that continually harasses and threatens God’s people and God’s good creation.
The Incarnation happens with no guarantees. It prevails despite numerous threats at critical times along the way. Incarnation prevails because ordinary people carried it forward for God with no guarantee of success. It no less a miracle than the promised Incarnation itself to invest our all in an embrace of Incarnation. It is our turn to recognize Emmanuel’s arrival. It’s our time to join the heavenly choirs of angels singing praises to God as the Advent gives way to the Day of ChristMass, and the promised Arrival of Incarnation.
“Restore us,
O God of hosts;
let your face shine,
that we may be saved.”
[1] Richard Swanson, Provoking the Gospel, https://provokingthegospel.wordpress.com/2016/12/15/a-provocation-fourth-sunday-of-advent/
