Human Relations Sunday - Second Sunday after Epiphany

On the liturgical calendar, the Sunday immediately before MLK Day is designated as Human Relations Sunday. This special focus continually confronts us with our attitudes toward those who are not like us, calling into question how we treat them.

The gospel lesson for this particular Sunday is the story of Philip and Nathanael (John 1:43-51)—two of the lesser-known disciples of Jesus. Like Peter and Andrew, they were from the fishing town of Bethsaida (John 1:44).  

The story begins with Jesus finding Philip and inviting him to be one of his disciples. “Follow me” (John 1:43). Philip, in turn, found Nathanael and told him “We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth” (John 1:45). Nathanael responded by asking, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” (John 1:45).

Nathanael’s response captures the theme of Human Relations Day. It reflects the challenge we all face—our attitude toward others, particularly those who are not like us. Our attitude, in turn, determines how we treat them.

“Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”

Nathanael was from Bethsaida, a fishing village on the northern shore of the sea of Galilee. It was an economically thriving community located on the trade route linking Egypt with Damascus and Syria (and, thereby, with the Tigris-Euphrates River Valley and its links to the Far East).

In contrast to Bethsaida, Nazareth was located in the western foothills of Mt. Tabor, on the eastern edge of the great Plain of Jezreel. It did not enjoy the economic prosperity or cosmopolitan influence associated with the international trade route as Bethsaida did. Nathanel’s question captured the attitude of much of the region toward the people of Nazareth. Nazareth was nothing more than an insignificant, out-of-the-way country village. In today’s language, its citizens would be considered “hicks” or “country bumpkins.” (Adding to this negative view of Nazareth was Sepphoris, the political center of lower Galilee. The Jewish historian Josephus described Sepphoris as “the ornament of all Galilee.” Sepphoris, located just five miles north of Nazareth, overshadowed it in every way. Some historians believe Jesus had Sepphoris in mind when he spoke of “a city built upon a hill” (Matthew 5:14).)

“Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”

Nathanael’s question reflects an attitude with which we all struggle. It is inherent to our human condition. We hold disdain for those who are not like us, looking down on them as inferior and “less than.”

Nathanael assumed Jesus could not be who Philip said he was—a person of spiritual, religious, political, and national significance—simply because he was from a place that was socially and economically different from his. Jesus was from Nazareth.

The “Nazareth” we use to justify our “they’re less than” attitude toward others is multifaceted. Most are reflected in our nation’s polarization: ethnicity, cultural region, political identity, political-social-moral issues, religion, theology, socioeconomic status, education, sexual orientation, etc.

Each of these identified issues are but the content we use to justify our attitude toward the other. We seldom look beyond them—that is, beyond the surface—to identify the underlying source of our attitude. In other words, our attitude toward the other is not fueled by the issue we use to attack them.

That which fuels our attitude toward another actually has nothing to do with them. The underlying issue is about us, not them. Remember Jesus’s teaching: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:39). His words tie how we view and treat our neighbor with how we view ourselves.

Our negative, discounting attitude toward those who are not like us is evidence that we carry a deep-seated, negative attitude about ourselves. We carry a shame-based identity. This shame-based identity is captured in the negative messages that haunt us: “You are no good. You are flawed. You’ll never measure up. You’ll never be good enough. No one will ever love you. You’ll never amount to anything. You are nothing but a loser.” All of these messages say “less than”—the very thing we say about the other.

Because of the pain this shame-based identity stirs, we push it outside of our awareness—into our unconscious mind, into what Jung called “the shadow.” We push it underground. It then surfaces in how we view and treat others.

Unfortunately, we cannot push the old messages out of our awareness. They haunt us, surfacing at unexpected times and in unexpected ways. The pain they stir is the pain of our shame-based identity.

To compensate for this shame-based identity, we manufacture an egocentric identity. This manufactured identity is based upon what the world told us we needed to be and do if we wanted to be accepted and valued. This conformity to the world’s standards is how we offset the old “less than” messages. It allows us to feel “better than” those who fail to measure up—those who are not like us. We prop up our fragile, egocentric identities by viewing and treating them as “less than.” We build ourselves up by tearing the other down. We feel good about ourselves at the other’s expense.

Philip did not challenge Nathanael’s view of Jesus, i.e., his attitude about Nazareth. Instead, he invited Nathanael, “Come and see” (John 1:46).

The only way to overcome our negative attitude toward others is through relationship—through an encounter that challenges our assumptions. We have to experience who they are as a beloved child of God.

Encounter and relationship require us to get outside of our self-affirming bubbles of those who think like us and look like us. Getting outside our bubble is the invitation embedded in Human Relations Sunday.

“Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Come and see.

Baptism of the Lord, 2024

All four of the gospels tell the story of Jesus’s baptism by John in the Jordan. The three synoptic gospels record the details of the story (Matthew 3:13-17; Mark 1:9-11; Luke 3:21-22). The gospel of John made reference to it (John 1:29-34). This unified witness speaks of the significance of the event.

The details of the baptism communicate its significance for Jesus. They affirmed for him his sense of identity—his understanding of who he was: the Messiah.

The baptism was a mystical as well as a physical experience for Jesus. As he was baptized by John, Jesus saw a vision and heard a voice. Both the vision and the voice reflected Jesus’s understanding of who he was.

The vision was of the Spirit descending upon him in the form of a dove (Mark 1:10). In the Hebrew Scriptures, the Spirit was given to select individuals who had been chosen by God for a special calling—prophets and kings. The vision of being anointed with the Spirit confirmed for Jesus that he was God’s chosen Messiah. (As you know, the word “messiah” means “the anointed one.”)  

The voice Jesus heard reinforced the vision. What the voice said was composed of two parts. Each part was a line from a song in the Hebrew Scriptures. The first part of the affirmation—“You are my Son, the Beloved”—was from Psalm 2, the coronation psalm. This psalm was sung in the coronation of a new king. It declared the special relationship the king had with God as a beloved son. This line reinforced the message of the vision—Jesus was the Messianic king, the son of David. The second line—“with you I am well pleased”—was from one of the four servant songs of Isaiah (Isaiah 42:1). This line indicated that Jesus was the suffering servant of Isaiah—the one who would suffer and die on behalf of the people (Isaiah 52:13-53:12).

These two lines reflect Jesus’s unique understanding of the Messiah: the Messiah was the suffering servant of the LORD. Rather than being a warrior-king, the messianic king was a servant who would suffer and die for his people. Jesus was the first person in Hebrew history to combine these two historic roles.

His baptism was Jesus’s commitment to embrace and live out of his identity. Immediately after his baptism, Jesus experienced a period of testing in the wilderness—what we commonly call his temptations. This time of testing was based upon his self-understanding. From there, Jesus began his public ministry, proclaiming “the kingdom of God has come near” (Mark 1:14-15).

While each synoptic gospel tells the story of Jesus’s baptism, each used the story with a different purpose in mind. Mark’s gospel used the story as the central feature in the introduction of his gospel.

The opening statement of the gospel established the theme of the introduction (Mark 1:1-15). “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God” (Mark 1:1). The original audience would have understood the opening words as a political statement. “The good news” (or gospel) was a phrase used throughout the Roman Empire when a new edict from the emperor was proclaimed: “the good news of Emperor Tiberius.” “The Son of God” was a title used in reference to the emperor (as were the titles Savior, Lord, Prince of Peace). The gospel of Jesus offered an alternative to the ways of the Roman Empire.

In the final lines of the introduction, Jesus proclaimed the good news of the kingdom of God (Mark 1:14-15). The reign of God “has come near.” The word means here, now, in your midst. A new way of life—one at odds with the ways of empire—was available for all to experience, participate in, and contribute to.

How the kingdom was different from the ways of the empire is reflected in Jesus’s baptism. As the Messiah, Jesus used power to serve—i.e., as a servant—embracing every person as a beloved child of God and seeking their good. As the suffering servant, Jesus sought the other’s good at great cost to himself. By contrast, the Roman Empire was hierarchical. In it, power was used by those in positions of authority over, down against those in lower positions in the hierarchy. Power was used for personal benefit at the other’s expense. The contrast between the two—the empire of Rome and the kingdom of God—was clear.

Jesus came to proclaim and establish the kingdom of God—a world that lived the grace-based, servant ways of God. He called all who heard his message to follow him, learning from him this new way of living. The gospel tells the story of the followers of Jesus as they moved from the ways the world trained them to think—“the yeast of the Pharisees and the yeast of Herod” (Mark 8:15) —to thinking shaped by the character of God and the ways of God.

Jesus’s baptism marks the beginning of his ministry. Similarly, the Baptism of the Lord Sunday begins the liturgical calendar’s march toward Easter. It calls us to remember our baptism, reaffirming our identity as the beloved children of God and as the followers of Jesus. It calls us to live the alternative ways of the kingdom through the power of the Spirit.

Remember your baptism. Embrace your identity as a beloved child of God, called to be a follower of Jesus. Knowing you have been anointed with the same Spirit that anointed Jesus at his baptism, live out of this identity by learning and living the ways of God that Jesus taught.

Epiphany, 2024

Epiphany. On the liturgical calendar, Epiphany is the feast day that follows on the heals of the twelve days of Christmas.

Epiphany is about light. The word literally means “shining upon.” The Child whose birth we celebrate at Christmas was/is the light of the world. “All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it” (John 1;3-5).

The metaphor of light communicates the idea of seeing and knowing. Darkness keeps us from seeing. To be “in the dark” is to not know or understand. Light drives the darkness away, enabling us to see, to know, to understand.

As the light of the world, Jesus helps us to see God and understand the ways of God. “No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son who has made him known” (John 1:18). As Jesus said to Philip, “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father” (John 14:9). In Jesus, we catch a glimpse of God. In him, we see the heart of God. Through his life, we come to understand the ways of God.

Traditionally, Epiphany is associated with two different texts.

The first text is the story of the magi found in Matthew 2. The magi were scholars—likely priests associated with the royal court of Persia. They were Gentiles, not Jews. They came seeking the newborn king of the Jews. Their story calls to mind the words of the prophet Isaiah: “I will give you as a light to the nations that my salvation my reach to the end of the earth” (Isaiah 49:6). As the servant of the LORD, Jesus was “a light to the nations” (Isaiah 42:6). Through him, people of every nation—represented by the magi—could know God and the ways of God.

The baptism of Jesus is also commonly associated with Epiphany. Jesus’s baptism marked the beginning of his public ministry of proclaiming the kingdom of God. Through his ministry, “the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined” (Isaiah 9:2). “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life” (John 8:12).

While Epiphany points to Jesus as the light of the world, it also reminds us that Jesus has “rescued us from the power of darkness” (Colossians 1:13). It calls us as the followers of Jesus to “walk in the light as he himself is in the light” (1 John 1:7). To walk in the light is move beyond the way the world trained us to think and live. It is to allow our thinking to be shaped by who Jesus revealed God to be. It is to live the ways of God that Jesus taught. “For once you were darkness, but now in the Lord you are light. Live as children of light” (Ephesians 5:8). The light of Christ shines upon us, guiding us in living the ways of God. In addition, the light of Christ shines through us into the world, driving back the darkness so others can see God and know the ways of God.

The light of Epiphany—the light by which we see and know God—the light that shows us the ways of God—the light that guides us in living the ways of God—the light that drives out the darkness. Epiphany is the celebration of Jesus as the light of the world.   

“Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you. 

For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples;

But the LORD will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you.

Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn" (Isaiah 60:1-3).

Forgetting What Lies Behind - New Year's Day, 2024

It was something the apostle Paul said in his letter to the Philippians as he described for them the all-consuming desire that shaped his life. He said, “forgetting what lies behind,” that is, what lies in the past. His words instruct us as we begin a new calendar year—2024.

His full statement is found in Philippians 3:10-14. “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death, if somehow I may attain the resurrection from the dead. Not that I have already obtained this or have already reached the goal; but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Beloved, I do not consider that I have made it my own; but this one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.”

Paul identified “knowing Christ” as the desire that shaped his life. “I want to know Christ” (Philippians 3:10). To know Christ was to participate in Christ’s life. It was to fully embrace and live out of Christ’s pattern of suffering, death, and resurrection (Philippians 3:10-11). Paul said Christ had claimed him—“Christ Jesus has made me his own” —so that he (Paul) could share in Christ’s resurrection life.

To know Christ, to participate in Christ’s pattern of living (i.e., suffering, death, and resurrection), to share in Christ’s life was the goal which Paul passionately pursued. “I press on to make it (this goal of sharing Christ’s life) my own” (Philippians 3:12). It was the prize to which God in Christ Jesus had called him (Philippians 3:14).

Like Paul, God has called us to know Christ and to share Christ’s life. We do so “by becoming like him (Christ) in his death” (Philippians 3:10). We embrace his pattern of death and resurrection as our way of life. We die to the way the world trained us to think and live. We die to the egocentric self we constructed by following the way the world trained us to think and live (Mark 8:34-35). We die to the values of the world in which we live.

God’s call to share Christ’s life includes God’s promise that—when God’s work in our lives is complete—we will share Christ’s character of self-giving love as our own. As we grow spiritually in the likeness of Christ, we participate in his life. We experience “the power of his resurrection” (Philippians 3:10). We experience the transformation of our suffering as the Spirit works in it to teach us and mature us into the likeness of Christ. We experience the Spirit’s work of bringing life out of death. We know by experience that God works in all things for our good, using every experience of life to conform us to the image of the Son (Romans 8:28-29). We experience Christ’s pattern of suffering, death, and resurrection.

Paul is quick to say that he has not perfected this way of living. “Not that I have already obtained this or have already reached the goal” (Philippians 3:12). Rather, he intentionally, deliberately pursued this way of living. “I press on to make it my own” (Philippians 3:12).

Paul’s pursuit of becoming like Christ and sharing Christ’s life involved “forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead” (Philippians 3:13).

“Forgetting what lies behind” is an important part of spiritual growth.

Paul’s words do not mean the past is not important. Our experiences in the past are a huge part of how we learn and grow. We learn—hopefully—by experience. Unless we learn from our experiences, we continue to make the same mistakes over and over again. We get stuck in a destructive pattern that robs us of life. We remain stuck in emotional-relational-spiritual immaturity.

Paul’s words—forgetting what lies behind—remind us that the past has the power to sabotage the present. They are a warning that the past can thwart our spiritual progress, that the past can be a barrier to how God wants to work in our lives.

The past sabotages the present when it invades the present.

Regret and guilt and shame are one way the past invades the present. These invaders indicate experiences from the past—failures, mistakes, wrongdoing—that are unaddressed and unresolved. These experiences from the past—unaddressed and unresolved—are still alive inside us, robbing us of focus and energy and initiative.

Sorrow and grief are another way the past invades the present. Sorrow and grief are normal. They are how we process our loss. They are how we come to terms with a loss. They enable us to turn loose of what we loss, to move on beyond what was, and to begin to rebuild our lives. Prolonged grief, however, indicates we have not dealt with our loss. We are stuck—in our grief, in clinging to what was. The past is thus a barrier to any work we might do in the present.

Most of us carry old messages from our formative years. Most of them are shame-based messages—messages that say we are inadequate, that we are nothing but a screwup, that we are no good, that we are worthless, that we will never amount to anything, that we are not acceptable, that no one will ever love us. These old messages—living deep in our psyche, pushed outside our conscious awareness—shape how we think about ourselves as well as how we relate to others. They determine the patterns of our lives. In them, the past invades the present, sabotaging it.

Paul knew it was important to forget what was behind. He described his life before his encounter with the Risen Christ (Philippians 3:4b-6). He had much in his past that could feed his egocentric self: a strong heritage, religious training as a Pharisee, a seemingly blameless life patterned after the scribal interpretations of the Law, a religious zeal that surpassed his peers. All of these things he set aside, viewing them as nothing more than rubbish (Philippians 3:7-8). (The Greek word Paul used literally means bodily waste, but the English translators sanitized his language in their translations.) Paul had discovered something of much greater value than any of these: the grace of God that provided a righteousness that came from God, claimed through faith, not a righteousness based upon conformity to the Law (Philippians 3:8-9). This gift of righteousness positioned him to know Christ, to experience Christ’s pattern of living, and to share Christ’s life.

Paul ended this section of his letter by calling everyone who was spiritually mature to embrace this attitude out of which he himself lived (Philippians 3:15): forgetting what lies behind, pursuing the goal of knowing Christ, embodying his pattern of living, and sharing his life.

As we enter a new calendar year, let us forget what lies behind as we press on toward the goal of being like Christ and sharing his life.

Joseph - the 7th Day of Christmas, 2023

The liturgical calendar reflects the wisdom that liturgical churches inherited—a wisdom embodied in its worship. This wisdom is seen in how it deals with Christmas.

In the liturgical calendar, Christmas is not a single day as it is in popular culture. Rather, Christmas is the second season of the liturgical calendar. It is a twelve-day celebration, i.e., the twelve days of Christmas—December 25 through Epiphany on January 6.

The twelve days of Christmas teach us that the birth of Jesus is more than an event in the past that is to be remembered and celebrated. Rather, the birth of Jesus embodies a profound mystery—something beyond our normal human understanding. This mystery invites us to reflect on it—to sit with it—to be still before it—to allow its truth to come to us. This mystery carries the promise of deep knowing that is more than human understanding.

Today is the seventh day of Christmas. As we continue to celebrate and reflect on the birth of Jesus, we shift the spotlight from Jesus to a member of his supporting cast: Joseph. Joseph’s story helps us reflect on the meaning of Jesus’s birth.

In the gospel of Matthew, the biblical writer tells the story of Jesus’s birth by telling Joseph’s story. His story is found in Matthew 1:18-25. In telling Jospeh’s story, the biblical writer first set the stage by presenting the situation. Then, the writer recorded three different movements in the story—three different scenes:  Joseph’s dilemma, Joseph’s dream, Joseph’s response

The story begins with the situation in which Joseph found himself. “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” (Matthew 1:18). In this one verse, the biblical writer sets the stage for the drama that was to unfold.

Joseph and Mary were engaged—that is, a marriage contract had been arranged between them. Tradition would suggest this contract was made with Joseph by Mary’s father. In this engagement stage, Joseph and Mary did not yet live together as husband and wife, but they were committed to one another. Their marriage agreement was a legal, binding covenant. It could only be undone was through divorce. 

During this engagement period, Joseph learned that Mary was pregnant—and he knew the child she was carrying was not his. The news of Mary’s pregnancy created Joseph’s dilemma.

Scene 1—Joseph’s dilemma. Joseph would have been devastated by the knowledge of the pregnancy. The pregnancy represented a violation of the marriage contract—a betrayal of their covenant—a flagrant rejection of Joseph. It was an affront to Joseph’s reputation and standing.

In addition to the pain he felt, the pregnancy created a dilemma for Joseph: what was he to do?  According to the Law of Moses, Mary was to be punished by being stoned to death.

Rather than doing what the Law required, Joseph resolved to divorce Mary privately. His decision sought to protect Mary from public disgrace. “Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly” (Matthew 1:19).

In recording Joseph’s decision, the biblical writer used two phrases to explain Joseph’s decision to divorce Mary privately.

The writer described Joseph as “a righteous man.” The term meant Joseph was one whose life was patterned after the Law of Moses. He was a man who wanted to live a life that was pleasing to God. He dis so by living in obedience to the Law.

The writer also noted that Joseph was “unwilling to expose her to public disgrace.” Joseph did not want Mary to experience the disgrace and humiliation that accompanied being unmarried and pregnant in that culture. He wanted to protect her from that cultural shame. In this desire to protect Mary, the writer portrayed Joseph as compassionate. He was sensitive to what Mary felt. He was compassionate and merciful in the way he responded to her and her situation.

These two descriptions would have been significant for those for whom the gospel was written. The term righteous points to the Law of Moses while the term compassionate echoes the call of the Hebrew prophets. Joseph’s life reflected the two major portions of the Hebrew scriptures: the Law and the prophets. Describing Joseph as righteous and compassionate, the biblical writer portrayed Joseph as one who, desiring to live a life that was pleasing to God, patterned his life after the teachings of Hebrew scripture.

In Joseph’s decision, compassion took precedence over obedience to the Law. The Hebrew prophets called for compassion and mercy. They denounced external obedience to the Law and prescribed rituals of worship when those practices were not accompanied by compassion and mercy. Joseph is portrayed as one who moved beyond the demands of the Law to live out of the compassion and mercy proclaimed by the prophets.

Joseph’s decision set the stage for scene two in the story: Joseph’s dream.

Scene two—Joseph’s dream. Having decided to divorce Mary quietly, Joseph had a dream. His dream reflects the struggle that was going on inside him. He had made a decision, but he was not at peace. He was still filled with inner turmoil.

In the dream, an angel of the Lord appeared to him. The angel instructed him to do two things, Matthew 1:20-21: he was to marry Mary; he was to name the child Jesus. In these instructions, the angel said two things about the child Mary was carrying. The child conceived in her was “from the Holy Spirit” (Matthew 1:20); “he will save his people from their sins” (Matthew 1:21).

The common Jewish belief, reflected in Hebrew Scripture, was the Spirit anointed select individuals whom God had chosen for a special work, e.g., prophets and kings. The Hebrew word messiah and its Greek translation Christ meant “the anointed one”—one anointed with God’s Spirit for a special work. The unusual twist in the angel’ message was that the child Mary was carrying was not anointed by the Spirit but rather was conceived by the Spirit. This child was brought into being by the Spirit. The language suggests the imagery in Genesis 1 of the Spirit brooding over the waters of chaos, bringing forth order and creation and life (Genesis 1:2).

This reference to the Spirit’s work in the child’s conception meant the child Mary was carrying was not just another child. In this child, God was calling into being that which had never been.

The name Jesus would have had significance for the original audience. It is the Greek form of the Hebrew name Joshua. The name means “Yahweh saves.”

The common Jewish belief was that God would work through the Messiah to save his people.  Just as God had saved the people from Egyptian bondage and from Babylonian exile, so God would use the Messiah to save them again. The unusual twist in the angel’s message was that this child that Mary was carrying would save the people from a different, greater kind of bondage: bondage to sin. “He will save his people from their sins” (Matthew 1:21).

We commonly understand the term sin as referring to personal failure and wrongdoing. In the gospel, however, the term probably referred to the sin of the nation—the nation’s failure as the people of God to live the ways of God. This child would teach them the ways of God and lead them to live the ways of God—ways that were different from what they were currently taught and which they sought to live, ways that centered on self-effort to conform to the scribal interpretations of the Mosaic Law.

The writer interrupted the flow of the story to point out how this child’s birth was the fulfillment of what was said in the Hebrew Scriptures. “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’” (Matthew 1:22-23).

The common Jewish belief was that God was “with us.”  The Tabernacle in the wilderness had been built so that God could dwell among them. The temple in Jerusalem—which replaced the Tabernacle—was viewed as God’s dwelling place on earth. Thus, God dwelt in their midst in the Temple. The unusual twist in the angel’s message was that God would be “with us” in an unheard-of way: in this child. In this one, God would dwell in their midst—in the flesh, as a human being. 

While this 2nd scene appears to bring the child center stage, the writer’s emphasis continues to be upon Joseph—specifically on how Joseph responded to this message with its unusual twists.

Scene 3—Joseph’s response (Matthew 1:24-25). Joseph acted on the dream by doing what the angel had commanded him to do. He took Mary as his wife. He named the child Jesus.

In this scene, Joseph is portrayed as being obedient to God (as opposed to being obedient to the Law). He chose to be a participant in this unusual thing God was doing—a partner in God’s work. Although not told in the story, Joseph’s obedience would have been at great cost to himself. Throughout his life, he would bear the stigma of having a wife who was pregnant before they were married. In spite of what he surely knew his obedience would cost him, Joseph gave himself to—abandoned himself to—what God was doing. He sacrificed his own thoughts and will to the will of God.

This scene portrays Joseph as one who was open and receptive, as one who was responsive to what God was doing. He is portrayed as being open, not closed to new ways of thinking, as being teachable, not rigid in his thinking. When God acted in new and different ways—in ways different from the past—Joseph did not question or reject the new thing he was told. Rather, he was receptive to and responsive to that work. 

Joseph's story is the story of one who—patterning his life after the teachings of Hebrew scripture, particularly after the prophets—was compassionate and merciful, of one who was open, teachable, and responsive to what God was doing, of one who abandoned himself to God and God’s will.

Why did the gospel writer focus upon Joseph, making him center stage instead of Jesus?

The gospel of Matthew was written for a Jewish audience—specifically, Jewish Christians after the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 C.E.  After the destruction of Jerusalem, only two religious groups survived:  Pharisaic Jews and Jewish Christians. Both worshiped in the synagogue. The synagogue was under the control of the Pharisaic Jews. Using the threat of excommunication from the synagogue and shunning by the community, these Pharisaic Jews pressured the Jewish followers of Jesus to live in obedience to the scribal interpretations of the Law, i.e., to be disciples of Moses rather than disciples of Jesus.

The followers of Jesus for whom the gospel was written were faced with a difficult dilemma. If they were to be disciples of Jesus rather than disciples of Moses, they would be excommunicated from the synagogue and abandoned by their families. They would pay a high price to be followers of Jesus. In Joseph’s dilemma and struggle, these believers would see their own. They would have identified with Joseph and with his struggle. Joseph would have been for them a model for how to live as a faithful follower of Jesus. 

Joseph’s choice to move beyond rigid obedience to the teachings of the Law, to live out of compassion would have called them beyond the Law as taught by the synagogue. It would have called them to live out the compassion and mercy that Jesus taught and lived in his embrace of the outcasts—lepers, sinners, children, Gentiles, women.

Joseph’s openness to the new thing God was doing in Jesus—abandoning himself to that work even at great cost to himself—would have called them to be faithful in living as followers of Jesus, bearing the cost.

In the same way, Joseph’s is for us a model of how to live as the followers of Jesus today: allowing the teachings of scripture and the compassion of Jesus to shape our lives so that we too are compassionate people; seeking to be open to, receptive to, and responsive to what God is doing; abandoning ourselves to God’s will and work.

Our inclination is to make the baby Jesus center stage in our Christmas celebrations. Doing so makes us passive recipients of what God is doing, sitting in the audience observing.  By putting Joseph center stage, Matthew’s gospel calls us from being passive recipients sitting in audience to being on stage ourselves. In Joseph, the gospel writer calls us to be faithful disciples whose lives are shaped by the teachings of scripture, who go beyond external obedience to rules to being compassionate and merciful, who are open and teachable, receptive and responsive to the new work God is doing in us and among us, who abandon ourselves and our agendas to what God calls us to do.

As we move through this Christmas season, may God help us move out of the audience onto the stage!

What Child Is This? - Christmas Day, 2023

There was nothing about the child that distinguished him from any other newborn—other than his situation, that is.

His mother was a young peasant girl, barely old enough to be married—which, according to the story, she wasn’t. She was engaged to Joseph, but not yet formally married (Luke 2:4-5). That fact—that his mother was pregnant before she was married—was a stigma that followed him like a shadow, even into adulthood. He was not the only person, however, who was the child of an unwed mother.

He was born in a stable—a shelter where the various kinds of livestock were housed to keep them out of the elements. Not many people can boast of being born in a barn. His first bed—his baby bed—was a feed trough lined with straw. These humble circumstances suggest the poverty in which his family lived. He was not the first child—nor will he be the last child—born to a family living in poverty.  

Other than these unusual circumstances, he was like any other newborn. Perhaps that is the point—or a point—of the story. He was just like us. He was one of us. He was as fully human as each of us.

Yet, over two thousand years after he was born, we still remember and celebrate his birth.

What Child is this?

The prophet Isaiah called him Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace (Isaiah 9:6).

The writer of the gospel of Matthew identified him as the Son of David, the Messiah (Matthew 1:1). He was Emmanuel, God with us (Matthew 1:23).

The angel who announced his birth to the shepherds said he was the Savior, the Messiah, the Lord (Luke 2:10-11).

The writer of the gospel of John identified him as the Word made flesh, the one who made known to us the heart of God, the one from whom we have received grace upon grace (John 1:14, 18, 16). He was the true light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it (John 1:5, 9).

The writer of Colossians described him as the visible image of the invisible God in whom all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell (Colossians 1:15, 19).

The writer of Revelation called him King of kings and Lord of lords (Revelation 19:16).

What child is this?

This child is Emmanuel—God with us. He is the Son of God who reveals to us the heart of God (John 14:8-10). Through him, we know that God is love. Through him, we are claimed as beloved children of God (1 John 3:1). Through him, we experience God’s grace. Through him, we know God’s forgiveness, God’s acceptance, God’s glad welcome. Through him, our hearts are changed, our lives are transformed, and we are conformed into his image (Romans 8:29). In him, we are a new creation (2 Corinthians 5:20). Through him, God is establishing God’s reign on earth, creating a new heaven and a new earth that is patterned after God’s own character and follows God’s servant ways of grace. In him, we are God’s partners in this eternal, redemptive enterprise, working and praying for the kingdom to come on earth as it is in heaven. All of this—and more—is what the angel meant when he proclaimed, “To you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord” (Luke 2:11).

No wonder we remember and celebrate his birth. We remember and celebrate his birth because we have opened our hearts, our lives to him and to the God of love he revealed—and in doing so, we have experienced grace upon grace.

What child is this?

His name is Jesus (Matthew 1:25).

Mary, the Mother of Jesus - Christmas Eve, 2023

The angel Gabriel addressed her as “Favored one” (Luke 1:28). His word, in the original, described her as one who had received grace and was immersed in grace and would always be surrounded by grace. The word carried the idea of chosen. She had been chosen by God to be the mother of the Messiah. In the song of praise she sang—according to the gospel of Luke—Mary acknowledged that she would be called “blessed” throughout all generations (Luke 1:48).

The reality of her experience was far from the honor and privilege most expected for the mother of the long-awaited Messiah. It was not what most people would call “blessed.”

Rather than being honored as the mother of the messianic king, Mary bore the stigma of being pregnant and unmarried. That stigma would have included being shunned and shamed by the community in which she had grown up and, possibly, by her own family. (Other than her cousin Elizabeth, the gospels do not speak of her family.) She would have had to endure the whispers and the stares, the glances over the shoulder as people moved past her without acknowledging her, the isolation as childhood friends treated her as though she were a leper, the loneliness of having no one with whom she could share what she knew. Her isolation and loneliness would have been compounded by the anger and resentment, hostility and rejection she endured from Joseph to whom she was engaged to be married—emotions and reactions rooted in the sense of betrayal he undoubtedly felt.

Yet she was—as the language of the angel Gabriel suggested—surrounded by grace. Before the shunning and shaming began, before she experienced the isolation and loneliness, before she faced Joseph’s hurt and anger, God prepared her. God gave her one who was compassionate and understanding, one who was supportive and affirming. That one was her cousin Elizabeth. After the visit from the angel Gabriel, Mary “went with haste” to the home of Elizabeth and Zechariah in the Judean hill country (Luke 1:39). There, Elizabeth—drawing on her own experience of an unusual pregnancy (Luke 1:8-25) and on the response of her unborn child to Mary’s greeting (Luke 1:41)—validated Mary’s experience and affirmed her understanding of Gabriel’s message. Elizabeth’s validation and affirmation prompted Mary’s song of praise in which she reflected on her experience of God’s grace in being chosen to be the mother of the Messiah—“from now on all generations will call me blessed” (Luke 1:48). Her song also spoke of the world-renewing work the Lord would do through the child she carried in her womb (Luke 1:46-55). 

Armed by her time with Elizabeth and the confirmation of her understanding of the angel’s message, Mary returned to her hometown where she would encounter the shaming and shunning, the isolation and loneliness of being pregnant and unmarried.

The gospel of Matthew records another gift of grace Mary received when she returned to Nazareth. That gospel tells the story of how an angel appeared to Joseph in a dream, explaining Mary’s pregnancy. The angel’s message moved Joseph beyond his sense of betrayal. He embraced Mary and her pregnancy, taking her as his wife (Matthew 1:18-25). In Joseph’s embrace, as in Elizabeth’s care, Mary was wrapped in grace.

The reality of Mary’s experience of being blessed continued to defy the popular meaning of the word.

A decree by the Roman emperor required her to journey with Joseph to Bethlehem during the last days of her pregnancy. Her journey would have likely been by foot although our modern depictions of the journey reflect her riding on a donkey. Because the couple could not find a place to stay in Bethlehem, her delivery room was a shelter used for livestock—a stable. Was there a midwife or some other woman to assist her during this critical, intensely personal time? Our traditional nativity scenes do not suggest the presence of anyone but Joseph. Having given birth to her son, she used a feed trough for his bed (Luke 2:1-7). Surely no other mother of a king has ever endured such harsh conditions for the delivery of her son.

Yet even there, in the lowliest of places, God’s grace was poured out. Reaffirmation came to them in the form of shepherds with stories of angels announcing the child’s birth (Luke 2:8-20). The affirmation continued as, eight days after his birth, they took the child to the temple to dedicate him. First Simeon, then Anna spoke to them about the child’s identity as the Messiah (Luke 2:25-35).

Simeon spoke of the revolutionary role her child would play in the life of the nation. His work would draw opposition as he challenged those in positions of authority, both in the religious and political realms (Luke 2:34). His work would strip away the veneer of the nation’s religious life, exposing “the inner thoughts of many” (Luke 2:35). As the Messiah, her son would challenge the status quo, calling the nation back to the ways of God proclaimed by the prophets. Though proclaimed as good news, his message would be viewed as a threat to all who enjoyed position and power, status and affluence within the nation (Luke 1:51-53).

Being the mother of a revolutionary would bring its own pain. It would bring misunderstanding and confusion (Mark 3:20-21). It would bring fear and dread. It would bring its own isolation and loneliness. It would bring soul-wrenching grief. Simeon spoke of this pain when he said to Mary, “A sword will pierce your own soul too” (Luke 2:35). As she cradled her newborn in her arms, nursing him at her breast, Mary could not foresee the day when she would cradle his dead body in her arms at the foot of a Roman cross.

This Christmas Eve our focus is on the child born to Mary—and rightly so. He is the Chosen One, the Messiah. He is Emmanuel—God with us, God for us, God at work for our good. He is the Word made flesh—God robed in human flesh (John 1:1-5, 10-14). He is the Son of God through whom God is made known (John 1:18). In him, we—like Mary—have received grace upon grace (John 1:16-17). In him, we too have received grace and are immersed in grace and will always be surrounded by grace.

As we remember this child of Mary who was/is the child of God, let’s not forget Mary. Even though we cannot begin to imagine what it cost her to be chosen by God—to be blessed—let’s not overlook her. In remembering her, perhaps we can learn from her what it means to be “the servant of the Lord” (Luke 1:38).