FOURTH SUNDAY OF ADVENT

Isaiah 7:10-16

Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19

Romans 1:1-7

Matthew 1:18-25

Prayer of the Day: Stir up your power, Lord Christ, and come. With your abundant grace and might, free us from the sin that hinders our faith, that eagerly we may receive your promises, for you live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

“Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit.” Matthew 1:20.

The assertion that Jesus was “born of the virgin Mary,” has generated a great deal of controversy and consternation on many levels in recent decades, so much so that some Christian theologians and teachers have advocated abandoning it altogether. For example, the late Bishop John Shelby Spong declared in a lecture given in 2016 that the doctrine was “likely fictional and largely irrelevant.” The bishop’s focus was on ridding the church of “fundamentalism” which, in his view, had caused “a massive exodus of young people from the organized church into the secular city…” According to Rev. Spong, “Christianity needs to return to its Jewish roots.” That means ignoring parts of the gospel narrative, such as the “virgin birth,” which are gentile interpolations. See “John Shelby Spong Questions the Virgin Birth,” The Chautauquan, June 28, 2016.

I respectfully disagree with the bishop’s Jew/gentile dichotomy. Scholarship has shown that the Judaism of Jesus’ day was in constant dialogue with Greco-Roman religion and philosophy. Hebrew scriptures composed centuries before Jesus’ birth evidence profound Hellenistic influence. Moreover, the greater part of the Jewish population in the First Century was made up of the “diaspora,” Jewish communities located at various other parts of the Roman Empire. These largely Greek speaking Jews were exposed to and incorporated the thinking of their gentile neighbors and doubtless brought it with them on their visits to the holy city. Consequently, I am not convinced that the binary distinction between Jewish and gentile thought is a reliable hermeneutical method for understanding and preaching the New Testament. Rather than viewing Greco Roman thought as a contaminant poisoning the pristine waters of the Hebrew scriptural witness, I believe it is more helpful to view it as seasoning that deepens, enriches and expands biblical faith.

Moreover, while I heartly agree with Bishop Spong’s criticisms of fundamentalism, I do not believe it is responsible for the exodus from organized religion he accurately describes. My own ELCA, which has long rejected fundamentalist interpretations of the Bible, is hemorrhaging members as are other so-called progressive churches. There are numerous reasons for that, many of them having nothing to do with what the churches are preaching, teaching or singing on Sunday morning. But I believe one factor fueling the disinterest in church for young and old alike is our poverty of imagination and the absence of all capacity to entertain mystery. On this level, fundamentalism and much what passes for “progressive” Christianity are two peas in the same pod. The former binds the imagination to acceptance of finite doctrinal propositions that must not be questioned regardless how untenable they seem to reason and common sense. The latter binds the imagination by compressing it into the confines of rationalistic modernism where nothing that cannot be proven empirically gains admission. The numinous, spiritual and miraculous must 1) be expressed in terms that are rationally and empirically explicable; 2) reduced to metaphors or 3) dispensed with altogether. Both kinds of religion are, well, boring. Neither is worth giving up a Sunday morning with the Times, a good cup of coffee and a Jersey bagel with cream cheese.

I don’t believe we must settle for either of these two bland, white bread offerings. The last several decades have seen the sciences breaking out of the rationalistic straight jacket characterizing their formative years in the Nineteenth Century. We are beginning to understand that the so called “laws of nature” are simply observed patterns of regularity that are malleable, relative and subject to changing conditions. The many fields of physics employ as much intuition and exploratory reasoning as deduction from “hard data.” Biologists are discovering that the assumptions we have made over the last couple of centuries concerning human supremacy have colored and distorted our perceptions of the natural world. As a result, we are learning that consciousness, intelligence and self awareness are far more layered and complex than we assumed and that they pervade the biosphere of living things. Improved telescopic, microscopic and clinical methods are expanding both our knowledge of the universe and revealing how much more we have to learn. Increasingly, the questions of scientists are beginning to resemble those that have been posed for centuries by poets, storytellers, musicians, philosophers and theologians. There is, I believe, a turning away from simplistic binary thinking and a greater openness today toward mystery, spirit and the numinous in all disciplines.  

When it comes to biblical narratives like our gospel lesson for this Sunday, the tendency is to say either too much or not enough. Matthew tells us simply that Jesus’ conception is “from the Holy Spirit.” In the lengthy and monotonous genealogy preceding the story of Jesus’’ birth, we discover that the sacred line of the messiah runs through scandalous episodes of violence, incest, prostitution, adultery and seduction. The Spirit works not above but within the lives of flawed people with less than holy ambitions. Thus, the assurance that Mary’s child was “from the Holy Spirit” might have been cold comfort for Joseph. Yet Joseph is called upon to take Mary as his wife on the basis of this assurance. The most we can glean from the narrative is that Joseph accepts the angel’s assurance that there is more to Mary’s pregnancy than he is assuming. That’s not much to go on, but it was evidently enough.

The conception of Jesus was undoubtedly a miracle. That does not mean it was necessarily “supernatural,” though for all we know it might have been. I do not discount the occurrence of an event merely because I cannot explain its causation in terms of what I understand. Neither do I discount the miraculous nature of an event because I can easily explain its causation in such terms. Because I believe in a God who works in and through God’s creation in all of its manifold processes, some of which I understand and many of which I do not, understanding the mechanics of God’s works is not necessary. In the final analysis, I am not convinced I will ever get my head around the mystery of the Incarnation, of God’s becoming and remaining human in our midst. That is what our text is seeking to convey and what it challenges us, like Joseph, to trust. Faith may seek understanding, but it can also do without it.  

I have thought much about how to preach Jesus’ birth by the activity of the Holy Spirit.  I offer the following sermon, not as a model of homiletic excellence, but as an example of the directions my thinking has taken me. I need to explain that this is a “sermon” I preached at a Christmas Eve candlelight mass. I have discovered over the years that, by the evening of the night before Christmas, those who manage to get to church are generally exhausted, stressed and tired. They have not come for deep theological reflection or to struggle with titanic moral issues. They just want to sing the old Christmas carols, participate in the rhythms of the liturgy and unwind. Thus, rather than preaching a sermon, I customarily compose a short story touching on the biblical text. A sermon usually requires some effort to engage. A well told story picks you up and carries you along. Fictional narrative is not my home genre, but occasionally I dabble in it. So, for what it’s worth, here is my sermon/short story for Christmas Eve of 2016 on Sunday’s text.

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The rain was falling heavily that Christmas Eve, driven by fierce gusts down the empty streets of the little borough. It was the kind of rain that soaks you to the skin in a few minutes time, the kind of storm that blows first this direction, then that turning umbrellas inside out and rendering them useless. A sad, solitary figure in a drenched raincoat was making his way up the street to the one establishment with a light in the windows, the one place that appeared to be open. It was a bar-the small neighborhood type. He pulled open the door, stepped into the foyer and then into the bar itself. The place was nearly empty. The bartender was standing behind the bar drying some freshly washed glasses. There was a young kid, maybe in his twenties, sweeping the floors. He stood for a few minutes wondering whether the bar wasn’t actually closed and someone forgot to turn the sign around and lock the door.

          “You coming in or not?” asked the bartender. “If you’re going to stay and have a drink, I’d appreciate you’re hanging that coat on the rack to your right. Don’t need anyone falling on a wet floor. Nothing like a lawsuit to spoil the holidays.”

          The man nodded, hung up his coat, walked over and sat down at the bar.

          “What’ll it be?” asked the bartender.

          “What do you recommend,” the man replied a little hesitantly.

          “You don’t do much drinking, do you?” said the bartender.

          “Actually, very little. None to tell you the truth. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

          “Well,” said the bartender. “There are usually just two reasons for a man coming into a bar all by himself. He’s either broken up with a woman or looking to hook up with one. If you’re the hooking up kind, you’re out of luck as you can plainly see.”

          “I am out of luck alright,” the man replied. “But I’m not here to find a date. I’m in the break up category-and about that drink-guess I’ll just have a club soda, sir.”

          “You got it,” said the bartender. :And don’t be calling me ‘sir.’” I haven’t been called or called anyone ‘sir’ since my Army days. Didn’t like it then. Don’t like it now. My name’s Angelo-and you?”

          “I’m Joe.”

          “Well, Joe, sorry to hear about your break up. But maybe it’s all for the best. Like they say, there’s always more fish in the sea.”

          “Not like Mary” Joe replied. “She is one of a kind. They broke the mold when they made her.”

          “So who ended it-you or her?”

          “Well, I did. Or at least I am going to. It’s complicated.”

          Angelo laughed. “It’s always complicated, Joe. Show me a relationship that isn’t complicated! And boyfriend/girlfriend stuff-that really gets messy.”

          “It’s a little more than just boyfriend and girlfriend.” Said Joe. “Mary and I were engaged. Just yesterday, I would have told you that I’m the happiest man in the world. I found someone who is so kind, so honest and so strong-I didn’t know there were people like that in the world.”

          “So what happened overnight to spoil all of that?” asked Angelo.

          “Well,” said Joe, “last night Mary came over to my apartment to tell me she was pregnant.”

          “That’s it?” asked Angelo incredulously. “So what’s the big deal? Just move the wedding up a few months and nobody will be the wiser. Do you really think people sit and count down the months when they get a birth announcement? Shoot, they don’t even care anymore. In half the weddings I attend the bride and groom have their own kids being ring bearers and flower girls. This is the twenty-first century, Joe. Nobody is going to brand you two with a scarlet letter.”

          “This may be the twenty-first century,” said Joe. “But Mary and me, we are old school. We-ah-how shall I say. We don’t believe in doing it before marriage. And we didn’t. So…”

          “So the kid isn’t yours,” Angelo finished the sentence for him.

          “Yeh, that’s right,” said Joe.

          “Gee,” said Angelo. “That must have been hard to hear.”

          “Oh, you’re not kidding!” said Joe. “I was angry at first, then deeply hurt. I spent last night and most of today just walking around in the rain thinking about all this. But now I am more at peace with it. I look at it this way, Angelo: a person can’t help who she falls in love with. Maybe Mary never really did have the love for me that I had for her. Maybe I wasn’t right for her. Is it her fault that she didn’t find the man she truly loved until after she met me? Is it her fault that she felt caught between the promise she made to me and the pull of genuine love? And if you love someone, like I love Mary-you want them to be happy, right? You want what’s best for them, don’t you. So here is what I’m thinking I’ll do. We will just break things off mutually, tell our families and friends that we discovered we really weren’t meant for each other after all. That way, there’s no embarrassment, no judging or finger pointing. Mary can be with the man she loves, the kid can be with his true father-and me, well, I can get on with my life.”

          “Very generous of you, Joe” said Angelo. “A  lot of guys in your shoes wouldn’t be half so charitable.”  

          “Well, at least this way nobody gets hurt-I mean, not anymore than necessary. I want to do the right thing. And this is the right thing to do, isn’t it Angelo?”

          “How does Mary feel about it?” asked Angelo.

          “Well that’s what’s really strange about all this,” Joe replied. “Mary insists that she still loves me. She says that she would never betray me and that she has not been unfaithful to me. She wants to go through with the wedding. But of course, I know that can’t be true. I mean, she’s pregnant for crying out loud. You don’t get pregnant behind the  back of your husband to be without being unfaithful.”

          “Not as far as I know,” said Angelo. “So you think Mary is lying when she says she still loves you and wants to marry you?” Joe was silent for a moment.

          “Lying? Well not exactly. I wouldn’t put it that way. I mean, it isn’t like Mary to lie. She’s the most honest person I ever met. She always gave me the truth-even when I didn’t want to hear it. Now that I think about it, I can’t imagine her lying about anything-it’s not part of her makeup. It doesn’t seem possible.”

          “So,” said Angelo, “you believe her?”

          “Well of course not!” Joe snapped. “I mean, she is pregnant with a baby-and I know for a fact it’s not mine. Mary couldn’t have gotten pregnant without being unfaithful to me. You said so yourself.”

          “I didn’t say that,” said Angelo. “I said I didn’t see how that could happen as far as far as I know. But I don’t know everything. Fact is, I probably know next to nothing. My little life is just a splash in the pan over the life of the whole universe. Billions of years of stuff happened before I was born and billions more will probably happen after I’m gone. I don’t know a fraction of what it’s possible to know-let alone what can’t be known. I’m in no position to say something can’t happen just because I have never seen it before. Heck, I’ve never seen the Eifel Tower, but that doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

          “Come on, Angelo,” said Joe, “That’s not the same thing and you know it. We both have it on good authority that the Eifel Tower is standing in Paris. Nobody disputes that. But you’re asking me to believe something nobody has ever seen. You’re asking me to believe the impossible.”

          “Well,” said Angelo, “Seems to me you don’t have much choice about that. You’ve got two impossibles in front of you. You tell me it’s impossible for you to believe that Mary could be pregnant without having been unfaithful to you; but you told me a while ago that you find it impossible to believe that Mary could lie to you. Seems to me one of those two impossibles has to be possible. And you are going to have to figure out which impossible you are going to believe.”

          “I’d love to believe Mary,” said Joe. “I would love to be able simply to take her at her word. But Angelo, how do you explain the pregnancy? How am I supposed to make sense out of that?”

          “You need an explanation in order to believe?” Angelo laughed. “I believe a whole lot of things I can’t explain-and I bet you do too. Every day when I come into this place, the first thing I do is turn on the computer. I don’t know how it works. I just turn it on and expect it to do what I want it too. When it doesn’t, I call a teenage kid down the block to come over and take a look at it. In an hour or so, he has it working again. I don’t know what makes the computer work; I don’t know what makes it crash; and I sure don’t know what that kid does to get it up and running again. But I trust the science and mechanics that make that computer go, and I trust that kid who has the smarts to fix it. At the end of the day, it’s not what you understand, Joe, it’s who you trust. Trust is a matter of the heart. Your brain will only take you so far. After that, you have to listen to your heart. Most important decisions we make in life are made in the heart. That’s a fact. So what’s your heart telling you, Joe?”

          “My heart,” Joe replied, “tells me that Mary is trustworthy, that her love is true and that she would never do anything to hurt me. But that is contrary to everything I know.”

“Well,” said Angelo, “You have to make up your own mind. But me? I listen to the heart every time.”

Joe was silent for a long time. Then he looked up from his half-finished club soda and said, “Angelo, I think you just saved me from making the worst mistake of my life. I still don’t understand all of this. I have no idea how it will all work out. But I know I can trust Mary. I know her love for me is true. I know that our lives are bound together by something that is bigger than both of us. Together, I believe we will find our way-wherever that is.”

“Best of luck to both of you,” said Angelo. “And Merry Christmas!”

 “Merry Christmas Angelo-and thanks.”

          As Joe stepped back out onto the street closing the door behind him, Angelo turned to the young man who was now wiping down the tables. “Time to close up for the day, Gabriel. Our work here is done.

          Angels. They don’t always have wings. They don’t always shine like the sun and they don’t always have haloes. Angels are, after all, simply the messengers God sends into our lives to nudge us in the direction of the manger and the New Born King lying within. They point us in the direction of Jesus. They remind us that God has a hand in what is happening in our lives; that God’s creation, God’s purpose for us and God’s love is so much bigger than we can see and understand. They call us to listen to our hearts. So be attentive this Christmas season to the voice of the angels God is sending into your life to bring you back into friendship with Jesus and back into the orbit of God’s love.

          And may the peace of God which passes all understanding keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus in this holy season and always. Amen.