Matthew’s account of Jesus’ birth is a complicated human story that is still tragically relevant in our context. The incarnated God is, and always has been, deeply present in the broken places of our world, and God grieves with us every instance of violence and suffering.

Vicar Bristol Reading
First Sunday of Christmas, Year A
Text: Matthew 2:13-23

Matthew’s Gospel is missing all the familiar, sentimental elements of the Christmas story. In Matthew’s narrative about Jesus’ birth, there are no cattle lowing at the manger-side, no surprised shepherds cuddling their sheep, no glorious angels singing alleluia.

Instead there’s a family of scared refugees and a man driven mad by power.

That man was Herod, a Roman-appointed ruler of Judea, the region where Jesus was born. Herod feared the loss of his authority so much that he was willing to do anything in order to eliminate potential rivals. He’d been told there was a new “king,” born in Bethlehem. But, deceived by the visiting magi, he was unable to clearly identify the newborn Messiah, so Herod ordered the execution of all male babies in Bethlehem who were near Jesus’ age. This may have meant the death of some twenty children, an unnecessary and horrifying tragedy.

The holy family, Joseph, Mary, and Jesus, were warned by God of this coming violence, and fled in the night. They ended up in Egypt, of all places, the land where their ancestors had once been enslaved. And they lived there for a few years, until Herod’s death allowed them to return to their homeland. Even then, it wasn’t safe for them to go back to Judea, so they settled in Galilee, a few days’ travel north.

This is the Christmas story in Matthew: a tyrannical ruler, a traumatized community, and a displaced family. Like so many stories in the Bible, it’s a sad and scary story, and it’s a really human story.

From the perspective of the people experiencing all this, it must have been hard to see the bigger picture, to understand how all of their lives were intertwined, to understand why this was the way God’s salvation came into the world.

Mary and Joseph were just starting figure out how to be a family together, when they were called to follow God’s lead into the unknown. Their fates were caught up with the decisions of the Magi, those foreign strangers who decided to defy Herod, at great risk to themselves, in order to protect the holy family. Jesus did survive Herod’s wrath, but many in the Bethlehem community did not. So the fate of those grieving families, too, was caught up in the events of Jesus’ birth.

And the Gospel writer makes it clear that all of these people were part of the longer arc of Israel’s history. In Matthew’s account, we hear echoes of Rachel, the great Matriarch from whom Jesus is descended, and of Pharaoh and Moses. We hear the voices of the Hebrew prophets who longed for the peace and justice a Messiah would bring – a Messiah who has at last been born in Bethlehem.

Matthew evokes these sacred stories, then weaves them together with the narrative of these first century people. The result is a tangle of human stories and relationships.

And at the center of this complicated mess is God, born as a tiny, vulnerable baby, the light in all the darkness. Jesus, God incarnate, is caught up in all this humanness.

From his birth, Jesus’ life is under threat. The Son of Man has no place to lay his head. Jesus’ human existence is marked by suffering, rejection, and violence, start to finish. This is not a savior who shrinks away from the gritty realities of what it means to be human. Christ will embody divine love as a human person. Throughout his ministry Jesus will be a presence of healing, mercy, and compassion among the people he encounters. He will declare that all people, even enemies, are worthy of love.

That commitment to love will eventually get him killed. Although Jesus escapes death as an infant, he accepts death as an adult. He goes to the cross out of love for all creation, and even as he faces death, his words and actions speak forgiveness in response to violence.

God is in the midst of the whole story of human history, not as the cause of suffering but as one who suffers. This means that you don’t have to wonder whether or not the Creator of the universe understands or cares about your suffering because God has suffered – for you and with you. None of the violence in this human story is God’s intention. God’s dream for creation is one of peace; Christ’s kingdom is not of this world.

Perhaps the hardest part about Matthew’s Christmas narrative is how timeless it is. The horrors of this ancient story are painfully familiar to all chapters of history: tyrannical leaders imposing violent rule on poor people, families becoming refugees to protect their children’s future, the senseless death of innocent people. We know these stories in our time, too.

We are closing out a decade during which authoritarian leaders across the world stage enacted oppressive policies,  millions of people became refugees fleeing from violence, and, in our own nation, hundreds of children were shot in their own schools.

Our wailing and lamentation joins that of Rachel, just as the tears of the Bethlehem community did following Herod’s actions. We grieve every instance of suffering, displacement, and violence.

And we know that God grieves them, too. If our hearts break for these things, we can only imagine how much more God’s heart breaks. God doesn’t look away from the cruelties of our world, but comes to be with us in the most broken of places, and to overcome the greatest darkness with the light of love.

When Matthew says that Rachel is weeping for the children she has lost, he is quoting from the book of Jeremiah. And in the book of Jeremiah, Rachel’s cries do not go unanswered: God hears her and God responds with a word of comfort. “There is hope for your future,” says the Lord (Jeremiah 31:17).

There is hope. God’s reminder is that the grief is not the end of the story: there is a future. When the night seems impossibly dark, there is a dawn of tomorrow yet to come. That doesn’t mean there isn’t incredible pain today; it means that, through God, there is hope to hold on to, always. Loss and death are not the end: that truth is part of the incarnation story, too, because resurrection is part of the incarnation story.

The “why” questions of human suffering, loss, and injustice are still with us, as they have been for generations and generations.

All our human stories – past, present, and future – are tangled up with one another, in ways beyond what we can see from our perspective. And as we see in the incarnated Christ, God is not distant from any of it, but deeply present in all of it.

God’s presence is not an answer to all your questions; God’s presence is a constant in the midst of your questioning. In all the complexities and tragedies of the human story, God is there. Matthew’s story begins with Emmanuel, God become human to be with us, and the Gospel ends with these words, spoken by Jesus: “Remember, I am with you always…”

Amen.

We are sentinels on the lookout for signs of God’s presence in the world, and we joyfully share the good news of Christ’s presence with the world.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Nativity of Our Lord
Texts: Isaiah 52:1-3, 6-10; John 1:1-14

Even though we spend four weeks of Advent getting ready for Christmas, it’s hard to really feel ready when Christmas actually gets here. It’s hard to take in the true meaning of this day. Maybe it’s because December is so full of holiday festivities and time seems to speed up as the month goes on. Or maybe it’s because the message of the incarnation gets lost amidst the cultural messages about Christmas.

But set all that aside for a moment, and hear this incredibly good news again: the light of Christ is here, dispelling all the world’s darkness. The light of Christ is here! This is what you’ve been waiting and watching for all Advent. Are you ready for it? What will you do with this news?

If you need a model for how to respond to long-awaited good news, you can look to the Isaiah text we read this morning.

In Isaiah’s context, Israel has been invaded and conquered by a foreign empire, Babylon. The Babylonians have destroyed the holy city of Jerusalem and forcibly exiled many of the Israelite people. Beyond the sheer physical destruction of this war, the people are also suffering spiritually: they’re afraid that God has rejected and abandoned them.

There are some, though, who are hopeful that God will still come and save them. Like sentinels, they keep waiting and watching for a word from God.

Sentinels were in charge of the city’s protection. They stood watch through the long nights, peering into the dark, hoping for dawn. Others could rest in safety because the sentinels were on guard. If the enemy arrived, they would sound the alarm and raise the city from sleep. But they hoped that, instead of attack, they would see deliverance. So they waited.

To be clear: the ancient Israelites waited for God a lot longer than four weeks. They waited for generations.

But eventually, a herald arrived bearing a message from God. Having traveled hundreds of miles over mountainous terrain, the messenger is too tired to manage more than succinct sentences. The Hebrew conveys just single words: “Peace,” “Good News” “Salvation”! This is God’s word for the beleaguered Israelites! Can you imagine how it would have felt to receive this news of victory after so many  years of waiting?

This means the end of war, the end of exile. This means return and rebuilding. It had looked like all was lost, but now this messenger proclaims that God still reigns. No enemy, not even Babylon, is strong enough to defeat God.

Now, the sentinels are ready to respond to this good news. They raise their voices, but instead of calling the people to battle as they’d expected, they call the people to celebration: “Wake up! Get dressed, get going! God is here!” For so many years, their plea had been, “O come and ransom captive Israel,” but now they cry, “Rejoice! Rejoice!” What has been subjugated is made free. What has been broken is made whole. God has spoken, and God’s word proclaims liberation.

The sentinels don’t just tell the good news; they sing it, as loudly and joyfully as they can. Their song is so persuasive that even the ruins of Jerusalem find a voice and join the chorus, and that music can be heard even to the ends of the earth. Everyone everywhere will know that God has been faithful.

Now that’s how you respond to good news: You join all of creation in a mighty anthem of praise to God! You sing a song so joyful that it brings ruined places to life.

This Christmas morning, we’re a long way from ancient Israel, but there are still so many ruined places in our world, even in our own hearts. Babylon, the imperial enemy of the Israelites has long since turned to dust. But, other oppressive empires have arisen in its place throughout the centuries. Other peoples have been exiled. Other nations have faced war. The powers of evil still threaten. The question is still asked in the darkness: Has God abandoned us? Will God come for us?

But, like Isaiah’s sentinels, you have received a message of good news in the midst of a hurting world: God has not abandoned you, and God has come for you, bringing peace, goodness, and salvation!

God has come in a surprising and unexpected way, to be sure. God has come as a baby, the word made flesh as John says, a living, breathing person who dwelt among us and showed us the face of God.

That person brought life and light for all people, even though the world rejected him. Even the enemies of sin and death are not strong enough to defeat God, and no amount of darkness can overcome the light of Christ. Nothing can ever separate you from the love of the Triune God. Emmanuel, God-with-us, means God with all of us, God everywhere, forever. What good news!

So go share this good news!

The promise of the incarnation isn’t only about Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem all those years ago. Christ is still coming into the world, this and every day. All of creation is “charged with the grandeur of God,” as the poet says.¹ God’s presence is everywhere.

You are the sentinels on the lookout for signs of that presence. And when you find it, you are the ones who call out to everyone: “Wake up! See that God is here! And here! And here!”

Do not stay silent: let your words and your actions proclaim what God has done for you. Let your life embody God’s shalom. You have seen God’s face in the person of Jesus, so now you are called to live with the same compassion that Jesus did. You are sent out to do that work of healing and liberating, to be part of God’s mission to bring wholeness and freedom to all people in all places. God’s mission set in motion here at Christmas, with a tiny baby, salvation in the most unlikely way.

You’re ready for this news: you know what to do in response. You celebrate it! You give praise to God with your whole heart, with your most joyful song. The waiting can feel long, but the good news always arrives. God always shows up. God’s love always wins.

Believe that this good news is for you and for all creation: God is here, with you always, and God is bringing you peace, goodness, and salvation. Go bear that news to the world.

Amen.

1. This is a line from Gerard Manley Hopkins’ poem “God’s Grandeur.”

Mary smuggled God, smuggled Love Incarnate, into the world in her own body. Now you can, too, until Love has brought all things into God’s heart.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Eve of the Nativity of Our Lord
Texts: Luke 2:1-20; but using 1 Corinthians 13 and John 1 and Genesis 1 as the core.

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Love is patient. love is kind.

Love is not envious . . . or boastful . . . or arrogant . . . or rude.

Love does not insist on its own way; love isn’t irritable or resentful.

Love doesn’t rejoice in wrongdoing – love rejoices in the truth.

Love bears all things, trusts all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never ends. (1 Corinthians 13:4-8a)

But that means:

Love is extremely vulnerable. Love gets taken advantage of.

Love will not fight fire with fire, so love will get burned.

Love will not use force against force, power against power, so love will be hurt, sometimes even killed.

So: if you are the Triune God, a being whose identity is relationship, whose breath is love within yourself, between Father, Son, and Spirit, whose life together is one and yet three, lived in a dance of love, and you long to share that love, what do you do?

You take a great risk and open a space within your life, your dance, your love, for a universe.

In creating all things, God made room within the Triune dance for a rich, diverse, ancient, and awesome beauty, room for stars and galaxies, creatures and dark matter, planets and comets, water and earth and fire and air, a universe beyond our imagining.

And God said, “this is good.” And the plan we have heard is that all along, from that first “this is good,” the Triune God hoped to draw this universe, this creation, even this tiny planet, into the life of God, into the dance.

Love, patient, kind, never-ending, would be the song the universe would sing in harmony with the Creator.

But in this, another great risk couldn’t be avoided.

For love to be what it is in God’s heart, it must be freely given and received, chosen and lived. If Love at its center will not force its own way, then this universe must be given freedom to be. To choose. To live.

Even if that universe, or even just one species on one tiny planet on the edge, decided not to love, not to join the song, not to enter the dance, this was the only way love as the Triune God lives it could be truly love for the creation, too. The dance is what it is, and must be freely chosen.

So, as witnesses of faith have spoken for millennia, have written in our holy Scripture, God continues to reach out to draw all creation, all things, into God’s heart, God’s life. To join the dance of love.

But – and this is really important for you tonight – what will God do with those who refuse the dance, who turn from the love? Who put up walls of hatred and division against their own people? Who build systems to crush some of God’s children while benefiting others? Who live lives that seem only interested in themselves, not in joining the dance of God, the dance of creation, the dance of love?

How could the Triune God, not willing to break the way of love, break through walls, and dismantle systems, and draw back into God’s heart a species that seemingly doesn’t want to be there?

Well, God does what we humans have learned to do in the same situation: God sneaks in.

Even in our broken world, life finds a way in where it seems blocked. People sneak things across borders, sneak people across. Things are hidden, brought in, and revealed. We learned this from God.

Because from the beginning of our human existence, when it was clear we were not going to love each other or God, God started sneaking in. Talking to individual people and revealing love and mercy. Abraham and Sarah, Moses, the prophets. God found ways to get the word into the world.

But tonight we rejoice at the fullness of God’s plan here. If we would not be drawn into God’s heart, God would have to enter our world in person. To show Love’s goodness by sharing our existence. To be a face, a voice, a Love we could follow back to God.

In short, as a wise theologian has said, “Mary smuggled God into the world in her own body.” ¹

Mary smuggled God in. And God, as we have said, is love. Patience, kindness, joy, endurance, hopefulness, truth, without ending. Mary smuggled the Triune Love into the world in her own body. And that changed everything.

Because if you are the Triune God who made all things, you know how those things work.

You know that single drops of water can wear great canyons out of the hardest stone. That a tiny seed stuck in the crack of the greatest wall will grow a plant that will break that wall apart. That if even the life and love of God were absorbed in the power of death, that heart of life and love would break death itself apart into nothing.

So, Mary smuggled God into the world in her own body. And suddenly love’s inside the wall, a part of the system, sneaking into hearts and minds, and changing them. Being that seed growing inside the wall and eventually breaking it apart, that bug in the system that eventually brings it to its knees. Even ending death.

In this baby, God, Love Incarnate, smuggled never-ending patience, kindness, joy, truth, endurance, hope, humility, into a world to plant those seeds. So that such love would grow and eventually win over this species of God’s children, and bring this planet into the great dance of the universe in God.

So, my friends, what do you want to do with this grace?

Our brother Paul of Tarsus heard the song and sang us the shape of this Triune Love in words we can understand. And even live. Patience. Kindness. Joy. No arrogance, no boasting. Just truth, and trust, and never-ending, enduring, love.

Might you be willing to smuggle God into the world in your own body yourself?

It’s risky, of course. Love is vulnerable, can be hurt. You might get taken advantage of. But your holy and Triune God says, “join the club – that’s what happens for me, and will for you.”

But in this mystery of God, when you smuggle God in, Love becomes Incarnate, embodied, in you, and starts cracking everything open in this world that seeks to crush it. You become part of God’s underground, God’s secret, hidden, work, that keeps popping up in all sorts of inconvenient ways for the powers that seek to stop it.

Until even this planet, and this species of God’s children, join the great dance of God’s Love.

Like Mary, all God needs from you is a yes.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

¹ A profound line borrowed with thanks from my dear friend, the Rev. Dr. Will Healy, whose wisdom has blessed me for years, and with thanks to God for his forty years of faithful ministry as he retires this Christmastide.

You are needed by God for the Incarnation of God’s love into the world, maybe in ways that seem small, but are still challenging to you: don’t be afraid, then. God is with you.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Fourth Sunday of Advent, year A
Texts: Matthew 1:18-25; Isaiah 7:10-16

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Maybe . . . maybe you also need to take Joseph of Nazareth seriously. ¹

It’s not obvious that you should. Joseph is barely in the Gospels. Only Matthew gives any part of his point of view, and after the escape to Egypt, Joseph disappears. Except for when his twelve-year old son says, “you’re not my real father” after being absent for three days.

Joseph isn’t the one Mary’s first-born son called the greatest ever to be born of a woman. That’s the great forerunner of the Messiah, John the Baptist. Joseph isn’t asked to carry the Savior of the world in his own body, and become beloved to two millennia of people. That would be Mary, the Theotokos, the one who bears God into the world.

But Joseph is worthy of your serious attention, nonetheless.

Hear again the greeting from God’s angelic messenger in Joseph’s dream.

“Do not be afraid,” the angel said. Pretty common greeting. God’s angels often say this. Mary heard it at the beginning. So did the Bethlehem shepherds. Jesus essentially said “don’t be afraid” to John the Baptist last week. But Mary and John had critical jobs they were asked to do for God’s mission, big jobs that certainly could frighten. The shepherds were about to see a terrifying mass of angels in the sky.

What fear did the angel want Joseph to put aside? “Don’t be afraid to get married,” the angel said. That’s it. Go ahead and take Mary as your wife. It’s an anti-climactic mission compared to the others. Marry this woman, and don’t be afraid of that.

Joseph’s job in the Triune God’s entering human life is to be a husband. To provide for this mother and this child. To protect them, even from hateful kings. Over the years, the Church has called Joseph of Nazareth “the guardian.” That was the job.

And yet, and this is what you need to notice, he still was told not to be afraid of this calling.

That’s not as easy as it sounds.

Trusting God enough to follow God’s call, trusting that all will be well, even in your confusion or fear, isn’t easy. King Ahaz of Judah couldn’t do it. Or didn’t want to. As we heard a couple weeks ago, he was wicked, and didn’t worship the God of Israel. But Isaiah still told the king, as he trembled in fear under the threat of Assyria and anxiety over the northern alliance, “ask the God Who Is for a sign. Trust God will be with you. Don’t be afraid.” Ahaz refuses.

Isaiah gives him a sign anyway. “Immanuel,” Isaiah says. A child will be born with a name which means “God-with-us.” God is with you, Ahaz, even though you’re a terrible king and a wicked person. God will protect Judah, and before a child can be born and weaned, this political crisis will be over.

Joseph was also asked to set aside his fear and trust God.

Marriage wasn’t what he was really afraid of. He was engaged to Mary, after all.

But in light of Mary’s pregnancy, he faced shame and scandal and humiliation among his fellow townspeople. He faced the loss of his hopes and expectations that he would have a quiet life, working his trade, raising children to carry his name and his bloodline to the next generation. There was plenty to fear.

And even if they had more children, which Scripture says they did, he would never have a first-born son with Mary, and with this particular child he’d always be in a supporting role. A side player. Just there to protect and keep safe, and, we hope, to love. Mary would be called Mother of God. “Father of God” wasn’t Joseph’s call.

Joseph’s call diminished his expected role as father and head of the family, and, hardest of all, required him to believe Mary’s story about the pregnancy. That great pain hovered behind all this.

But of course, his role was critical. Mary needed to give birth safely. This child, God-with-us, would be vulnerable for years and needed to be fed and clothed and cared for and kept safe until he could do what he needed to do. A poor, single mother, without means of support, fending for herself and her child in the world is never a safe reality. Joseph’s role, small as it was, was absolutely necessary for God.

That’s what Joseph needed to trust. To set aside his fear about.

That’s why Joseph of Nazareth is so important to you.

Here’s what Joseph is for you: someone who does a critical job for God, only it’s one that’s barely noticed, that to the world looks unimportant, that might even cause embarrassment or sadness, that needs a change of expectations.

But it was also a job only Joseph could do. In this whole story, only one person was engaged to Mary, chosen for him by his family and hers. No one on this planet was in Joseph’s position to be guardian for her and for this baby.

Joseph asks you a simple question: what if you’re like me, and there’s something that only you are suited for, something God needs for only you to be and do as God’s Christ in the world? And what if it’s not very important? What if it seems insignificant? What if it means sacrifices for you? What if it’s being the person in your family and among your friends who guards the love of God, makes sure it’s revealed and lived in your life? Would you be willing to do that?

Now can you understand the angel’s greeting: “Don’t be afraid”?

God will ask you to do something today, or tomorrow, that will cost you in some way, but that only you can do. Maybe your expectations about how your life will go, or what you deserve will have to change. Maybe it will be inconvenient, or make you fear embarrassment, or be really challenging.

Maybe you won’t ever get an angel visit – or even an angel in a dream – though some certainly have experienced that, even to this day, and perhaps even in this community. But God gets the message through, always, and the call, always.

And always, God’s message to you is: “don’t be afraid to do this. To be this.” God’s message to Joseph (and to Ahaz, if he’d have listened), and to you, is “I am with you.” Emmanuel. My Spirit is in you, giving you courage and hope, to do what I need you to do.

And therefore, all will be well. Even if it’s sometimes hard to see that can be true.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

¹ Borrowed from the opening line of Vicar Bristol Reading’s powerful sermon from last week, 3 Advent A, with thanks. Go read it. Better yet, watch the video at the link below. – J. C.
https://www.mountolivechurch.org/2019/12/15/impossible/