Merry Christmas!

Good News of Great Joy

Luke 1:26-35; Matthew 1:18-25

Technically, our passages tonight come from way before events of Christmas—Mary spoke with Gabriel back in March, and Joseph more than likely, using our traditional timing, probably met with the wandering angel about the time school started around here. That does not lessen their impact for our celebration, however. In some ways, it heightens their power.

God sent Gabriel on miraculous errands whose miracle is not the basic fact of an angelic visit, but rather in the contact God makes with ordinary human beings. God chooses to interrupt life exactly where life happens—in homes, in daily routines, in times of decision, and all the other places where we have to deal with mundane matters that are completely inescapable. God frees himself from temple, cathedral, or shrine. Our religion often tries to corral God there, but God will not be contained. No, the miracle proclaimed at Christmas is just how intimate God seeks to be with us. God wants to be here and now, in the mess and muddle, in the simple success of Christmas dinner served well to the bickering between children over who got the best of Santa Claus—God wants in!

But God wants to do far more than simply participate.

God wants in for a reason—the total transformation and transcendence of all that is ordinary, making it as holy as the most beautiful apse lit by a rose window. 

Begin with Mary’s annunciation—the day God chose her. There is nothing in her story that marks her as something other than a typical young woman of ancient Palestine. She lived at home, waiting the day her parents would find a suitable husband who would further the programs of both his family and hers. She assumed no more than becoming a good wife, managing children and hearth, praying Joseph would survive their marriage so she would not be on the street with the other proverbial widows and orphans completely dependent on charity to live. God interrupts. God changes everything. God takes this simple human vessel and makes her holy beyond all imagination—in Eastern Christianity, she becomes theotokos—Mother of God—and they fully proclaim the full mystery, power, and otherness that title entails—to hold God within oneself—how could one ever be the same? Yet, as the Bible unfolds her story through glimpses of her in the Gospels, we find she remains very much who she always was—she is a worried mother; she is a concerned parent; she tries to be supportive; she tries to stay out of the way; and she also is torn by the unimaginable grief of outliving her child. You see—the proclamation is quite clear—being with God does not remove us from life, but alters how we engage with life. As faith takes hold of heart and mind, we open ourselves to becoming conduits of God’s work. Our love becomes God’s love; our compassion becomes God’s compassion; our presence becomes God’s presence—all through the miraculous indwelling of God.

Now move to Joseph’s annunciation—the day God chose him. He carries a name by birth—he is somewhere in the family tree of David, the archetypal king of Israel, so powerful in Israel’s imagination, he comes to define God’s presence with God’s people. However, Matthew and Luke are very careful to remove the idea that he was somehow exceptional. They tell a story of an ordinary man caught up in what is sadly ordinary human mess—a broken promise that threatens to undo a marriage even before it starts. However, Joseph walks with God—hence, Matthew calls him “a righteous man.” That walk opens him to God’s presence. That openness brings the angel—word from God—revealing a path to redemption for everyone in the mess. The miracle that comes here is that redemption requires nothing especially holy, sacrosanct, or transcendent to happen. Instead, Joseph has to work very real, very actual things to be who God needs him to be. He makes sure Mary gives birth safely. He then does whatever is necessary to make sure the baby makes it through those opening days, weeks, and perhaps years to be who he is born to be. Then he vanishes from the story—it is not really his story, anyway. This last bit may rankle a bit, but it is utterly faithful—the mighty work of God is ours to proclaim, to be useful in realizing, but they are not our works—they remain fully and completely God’s. In faith, we make sure that truth is never hidden, veiled, or misdirected. Joseph makes it so. He models all we need to be—here is a practical, possible life of faith.

Now we are ready to celebrate the birth. Mary and Joseph show us not only how to celebrate, but how to live this miracle of God with us. 

Go, tell all that you have seen and heard. Sing for joy—we have good news!