Advent 4                                 Matt. 1:18-25                                          12/19/04

                                                        “Faith”

 I often feel sorry for fathers.  When the small child needs parental comfort, he or she usually calls, Mama.”  When a parent of a successful and famous adult is recognized for contributing to that success the commendation is usually, “I couldn’t have done it without my mother’s support and love.”  And when we hold the yearly celebrations of parenthood, we hear far more PR for and greetings on Mother’s Day than Father’s Day.  In a break with that tradition of paying more attention to mothers than fathers, I want to spend my sermon time talking about Joseph today.   

Funny isn’t it?  I don’t know about you but when I hear or read the name “Joseph”, I immediately think of the Old Testament son of Jacob rather than the New Testament father of Jesus, even in Advent.  Such is the fate of poor Joseph.  Since he totally disappears from the Gospel story after bringing Mary and baby Jesus back from Egypt, it’s like he had only a walk-on part in this divine story.  Yet, we can learn much from the faith of Joseph. 

It was no small matter for Joseph to continue to accept Mary as his betrothed after she became “great with child”.  Everyone in their village either would have thought Joseph had inappropriately caused the pregnancy or that he was a fool for not denouncing her for adultery – something that almost certainly would have gotten her stoned.  If Mary had to endure the sly looks and whispers of the neighbors, Joseph had to endure more.   

And there are consequences to Joseph’s acceptance that we may not realize.  The angel tell Joseph what to call this child he didn’t father.  In the culture and social rules of ancient Israel the father always named the child.  This naming was the father’s acknowledgment of paternity.  Thus, by calling him Jesus, Joseph is saying that he is the father of this baby. 

The consequences are greater though than they would be today.  Jesus would be Joseph’s first born son if Joseph acknowledged him.  That would make him his heir.  This means not only that Jesus would receive all of his father’s property upon Joseph’s death, he would also carry on the line of Joseph.  Since at that time most Jews believed that life after death consisted in having your name continue through your son, having a son of your own blood was all important.  It would have been nearly unthinkable for a man to allow a boy he hadn’t biologically fathered to be his hope of continued life.  Yes, there was the hope that Jesus would be great in some way, that he would somehow save his people, but that would not have been as important as the purity of a man’s blood line.  So, it took great faith for Joseph to claim Jesus as his son, even on orders from an angel. 

The angel does give Joseph a sense though that he is part of a much larger plan of God’s.  Though he probably had no idea what was ahead for this son, he couldn’t help being impressed that this birth was being linked to a prophesy of Isaiah.  It would take humble faith to not try and make that plan fit his own ideas for a son. 

We must wonder too what it was like to contemplate raising a child who is described as Emmanuel, meaning “God with us.”  The responsibility must have been awesome.  Then also, how do you relate to someone this special?  How do you parent the representative of God? 

But the most impressive thing about Joseph was how radical his faith was.  He not only must deal with these various challenges to the way life is supposed to go, he must turn his life over to God and live at His direction.  He will not only accept Jesus as heir, give him a name chosen by God and adjust to having Emmanuel, “God with us” in his charge, Joseph will at a moments notice leave all he has, take Mary and Jesus to Egypt and stay there until God tells him it is safe to return.  How many of us, fathers or mothers (or single people) could demonstrate this kind of faith today. 

Of course, because nothing more is said about Joseph’s later involvement we don’t know how well he holds onto that faith.  Did the dream fade over time?              Did he sometimes falter, worry about the future or resist God’s will, like we do?  Did he forget the specialness of the child at times and take him for granted as we sometimes do with our children? 

Thankfully for us, Joseph’s child *was* Emmanuel, “God with us”, our Savior.  Because of that when our faith grows weak, God sends us the Spirit to renew it.  When our dream of living with an awareness of God with us everywhere and always fades, God sends us an updated version that’s bright and clear.  When we forget the specialness of our children, of ourselves or of each other, God whispers in our ears, “You are all my beloved.  And most of all, when we falter, worry about the future or resist God’s will, God forgives us for His Son’s sake.  Thus forgiven and renewed we are able to look forward to the future reign of God again, holding to God’s promise to be with us through all of time.  Holding to that promise in faith. 

I’d like to close with a story poem by Max Lucado that I just read yesterday and was so moved by I wanted to share it with you: 

(Exert form "Joseph's Prayer" are in blue click on the link for complete text)

So, now we are almost at the end of our Advent waiting.  In these precious days before Christmas and in all the days before Christ returns in glory may we remember the qualities we need for a God centered wait.  May we keep alert for the signs of Christ in our lives.  May we hold to our hope in Jesus love no matter how bad things may be.  May we have patience with God, ourselves and others.  And may we look to Joseph to remind us what faith is all about.  Amen. 

This isn't the way I planned it, God. Not at all. My child being born in a stable? This isn't the way I thought it would be. A cave with sheep and

 donkeys, hay and straw? My wife giving birth with only the stars to hear her pain?

This isn't at all what I imagined. No, I imagined family. I imagined grandmothers. I imagined neighbors clustered outside the door and friends standing at my side. I imagined the house erupting with the first cry of

 the infant. Slaps on the back. Loud laughter. Jubilation. 

That's how I thought it would be. 

But now. Now look. Nazareth is five days' journey away. And here we are in a. . . in a sheep pasture. Who will celebrate with us? The sheep? The shepherds? The stars? 

This doesn't seem right. What kind of husband am I? I provide no midwife to aid my wife. No bed to rest her back. Her pillow is a blanket from my donkey. My house for her is a shed of hay and straw. 

The smell is bad, the animals are loud. Why, I even smell like a shepherd myself. 

Did I miss something? Did I, God? 

When you sent the angel and spoke of the son being born--this isn't what I pictured. I envisioned Jerusalem, the temple, the priests, and the people gathered to watch. A pageant perhaps. A parade. A banquet at least. I mean, this is the Messiah! 

Or, if not born in Jerusalem, how about Nazareth? Wouldn't Nazareth have been better? At least there I have my house and my business. Out here, what do I have? A weary mule, a stack of firewood, and a pot of warm water. This is not the way I wanted it to be! This is not the way I wanted my son. 

Oh my, I did it again. I did it again didn't I, Father? I don't mean to do that; it's just that I forget. He's not my son . . . he's yours.

The child is yours. The plan is yours. The idea is yours. And forgive me for asking but . . . is this how God enters the world? The coming of the angel, I've accepted. The questions people asked about the pregnancy, I can tolerate. The trip to Bethlehem, fine. But why a birth in a stable, God?

Any minute now Mary will give birth. Not to a child, but to the Messiah. Not to an infant, but to God. That's what the angel said. That's what Mary believes. And, God, my God, that's what I want to believe. But surely you can understand; it's not easy. It seems so . . . bizarre. 

I'm unaccustomed to such strangeness, God. I'm a carpenter. I make things

 fit. I square off the edges. I follow the plumb line. I measure twice before I cut once. Surprises are not the friend of a builder. I like to see the plan before I begin. 

But this time I'm not the builder, am I? This time I'm a tool. A hammer in your grip. A nail between your fingers. A chisel in your hands. This

 project is yours, not mine. 

I guess it's foolish of me to question you. Forgive my struggling. Trust doesn't come easy to me, God. But you never said it would be easy, did you? 

One final thing, Father. The angel you sent? Any chance you could send another? If not an angel, maybe a person? I don't know anyone around here and some company would be nice. Maybe the innkeeper or a traveler? Even a shepherd would do. 

I wonder. Did Joseph ever pray such a prayer? Perhaps he did. Perhaps he didn't. 

But you probably have. 

You've stood where Joseph stood. Caught between what God says and what makes sense. You've stared into a sky blackened with doubt. And you've asked what Joseph asked.

You've asked if you're still on the right road. You've asked if you were supposed to turn left when you turned right. And you've asked if there is a plan behind this scheme. Things haven't turned out like you thought they would. 

Each of us knows what it's like to search the night for light. Not outside a stable, but perhaps outside an emergency room. On the gravel of a roadside. On the manicured grass of a cemetery. We've asked our questions. We questioned God's plan. And we've wondered why God does what he does. 

No, the Bethlehem sky is not the first to hear the pleadings of an honest heart, nor the last. And perhaps God

 didn't answer every question for Joseph. But he answered the most important one. "Are you still with me, God?" And through the first cries of the God-child the answer came. 

"Yes. Yes, Joseph. I'm with you." 

There are many questions that we won't be able to answer. Many times we will muse, "I wonder . . ." 

But in our wonderings, there is one question we never need to ask. Does God care? Do we matter to God? Does he still love his children?  Through the small face of the stable-born baby, he says yes. Yes, your sins can be forgiven. 

Yes, your name can be written in heaven. 

Yes, death has been defeated. 

Because God has entered the world. 

Immanuel. God is with us.