Love Will Not Fail
You’ve got to hand it to Matthew: next to the birth narrative that Luke gives us, this one is pretty succinct. Matthew starts by giving us a list of some of Jesus’ ancestors, shows us this brief interaction between Joseph and this angel, and then boom—there’s a baby. Just like how it happens in real life. The version of Jesus’ birth that we see in Matthew doesn’t really stand out. Unlike Luke’s account, Matthew’s doesn’t really make for good pageant material—there are no shepherds and no angels singing, there’s no pilgrimage to Bethlehem, no census. There’s no song of praise from Mary, no prophecy from Zechariah. Matthew’s version doesn’t match the brevity of John’s “In the beginning was the Word” and “the Word made flesh” riddles that begin his account of Jesus’ life. Of course, Matthew has more to say about Jesus’ birth than good ole Mark, who doesn’t have time for all that baby nonsense and just says, “so there was this guy, Jesus, who’s a fully-grown adult and always has been.” But when compared to the whole drawn-out tale that Luke gives us, the one that we break out every year on Christmas Eve because it makes the best story, Matthew’s version is underwhelming. And what’s more, Matthew went out of his way to tell us about the fact that Jesus was born, only to write Mary out of most of the story. We don’t see an interaction between Mary and an angel, we don’t hear any of Mary’s thoughts or words, and we don’t even really see Mary as a character in this story—especially not an active one.
Indeed, Mary isn’t really seen to be doing much of the acting in this account. The text doesn’t even say that she tells Joseph that she’s pregnant, only that she was “found to be pregnant by the Holy Spirit.” I’m not even really sure what that means exactly. I’m not sure how you could intuit or infer or find evidence that someone had become pregnant by the Holy Spirit. Surely that knowledge has to come from testimony, right? Does Mary know in this account how she got pregnant? Joseph clearly doesn’t know, or didn’t believe Mary when she told him, if she did. Joseph is the only one we see in this account who is visited by a divine messenger, the only one who is seen trying to decide what to do next. Obviously, because Joseph is described as a righteous man, deciding what to do next means following the law, and that would mean leaving Mary. The correct action for Joseph, the righteous thing for him to do from a socio-cultural and legal standpoint, is to distance himself from the woman who must surely have committed adultery. We’re told that Joseph has resolved to do this. He has made up his mind to follow the law, to consider the engagement void, and move on with his life. I suppose we’re supposed to admire the fact that he decided not to make a big deal about it, even though Mary would have had to reckon with being a single mother whom everyone would know had once been engaged to Joseph. Maybe he was more conflict-averse than righteous.
While centering the role of Joseph might make those of us who love the vocal and empowered version of Mary uncomfortable or even angry, I do think that there is some value in this account of Jesus’ birth. And I do think that there is assurance in this passage that love will not fail. To see this value and know this assurance, we need to begin by challenging the characterization of Joseph in this passage. Even if Joseph, and the writer of Matthew’s gospel, characterize Joseph’s planned actions as “righteous,” there is no getting around the fact that they are, ultimately, self-serving. Joseph doesn’t want the embarrassment of marrying an alleged adulteress, doesn’t want the burden of raising someone else’s child, and doesn’t want the legal question of whether or not he should go through with marrying Mary. Joseph is acting out of a desire to conform, to save face. He’s making it all about him. That’s his initial response, his reflex, and also the course of action he settles on after considering his options for a little while. There’s no sign that Joseph seeks to uncover the truth about Mary’s situation, or that he talks things over with her before making his decision. His decision which, again, benefits him more than it benefits Mary. Do we know for sure that Joseph didn’t wrestle with this decision, that he didn’t lie awake at night wondering and praying about what he should do, how he could handle this situation in a way that would be acceptable to both him and Mary? No. But, even if he did, he still settles on a solution that results in less hassle for him, and more burden on Mary.
Before anyone thinks that I just have it out for Joseph, his motivation is called out by the angel in his dream, who tells him not to be afraid to take Mary as his wife. Joseph is afraid. Afraid of the consequences, afraid of the public perception, afraid of what his family and friends might think. He’s afraid, perhaps, to go against tradition and the law. These fears should all sound familiar, not only because they may resonate with many of us today, but because they are themes that echo throughout the ministry of Jesus. Jesus is constantly challenging social customs and the ways in which the law is understood. He challenges readings of the Sabbath that put strict obedience above ensuring that rest can actually be practiced, even by those whose labor is exploited. He talks to single women alone, and to those deemed untouchable due to their gender, ethnicity, illness, or disability. He calls disciples to follow him, leaving behind their livelihoods and their families. He strikes down our concepts of family and neighbor, defining each not by geographic or genetic proximity, but by lived relationships. Not by legal status, but by love. Love, which is the measure of all that Jesus teaches. Love, which is the lens through which we are to examine the law and how we move through the world.
Joseph’s call, through this dream of his, is to reject fear and embrace love. It is to be a part of the birthing of love into the world, a part of raising that love to fulfill the call that is placed on the life of this love incarnate. His call is to cast off the fear that leads him to wonder “what will they think of me…of us?” His call is to measure what is right not by the law or by social convention, but by love. This, too, is our call. When we see queer love threatened by laws and by violence, God’s unfailing love demands that we abandon our fear and stand with those who are threatened. When the love of migrants and refugees is threatened by ICE and by the violence wrought by white supremacists and Christian nationalists, God’s unfailing love demands that we abandon our fear of the other and stand with those who are vulnerable. Whenever love is forgotten, neglected, made to feel underserved, seen as an abomination—God’s unfailing love calls us not to be afraid, but to walk in solidarity with those left hated and hopeless by the world. Our call is Joseph’s. Not to make it all about us, not to simply do what’s easiest or most beneficial for ourselves, not to make decisions out of fear—but to be compelled by the love that does not measure worth by our social standing, and that sacrifices what’s normal for what is right. Love that supplies support, that holds hands and breathes through the pain. Love that is God’s solidarity with the suffering made known.
As we come to the end of our Advent journey, remember that it is still Advent. Even as we hear stories of the birth of the Christchild, we are still preparing for his arrival. So let us prepare, and let us heed this call, to cast aside our fears and embrace the love that comes down at Christmas. Let us live this love, each day, as those who seek to walk as Christ walked before us. Amen.