In the Bible, when an important person is going to be born, we often get a family tree or a description of the person’s birth story. We learn about the significance of the person’s name and what he will do in the world. Sometimes the promises of what the person will accomplish are good–like the coming of Abraham and Sarah’s son Isaac who would help fulfill the promise that Abraham would be the father of many nations. Or, the foretelling of the birth of Samson who would be a nazirite–someone who would follow a strict dietary code and not cut his hair–and would “begin to deliver” the people from the Philistines. Sometimes the promises about the person or people are troubling. When Rebekah became pregnant, she felt distressed about how active the child in her womb was, and so she asked the Lord what was happening to her. The Lord replied: “Two nations are in your womb, and two peoples from within you will be separated;

one people will be stronger than the other, and the older will serve the younger.” And so, we learn before their birth how much of a struggle the relationship between Jacob and Esau would be.

Matthew’s Gospel begins with both a genealogy and a promise. I don’t know about you, but I don’t often find the genealogies in the Bible to be very interesting. Quite often as I read, my eyes begin to glaze over, and I feel a little bit lost. These lists of frequently include names we struggle to pronounce and people we have never heard of. On the rare occasion we find the name of a biblical character we’ve heard of, our ears perk up and we start to pay attention. The genealogy of Jesus–Jesus’s family tree–is different. This list includes some of the most well-known, pivotal figures in the history of the Jewish people–from Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, to King David. Even for those of us who find genealogies to be difficult to get through, there is no doubt that this family tree is different. I imagine an early Jewish audience for the Gospel of Matthew would have found themselves becoming more hopeful and excited with each name listed in the family tree of Jesus. 

After a star-studded genealogy, Matthew begins the story of the birth of Jesus with a problem: “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.” This was a serious problem. Mary and Joseph’s engagement was not just a verbal agreement. In the eyes of their community, and according to Jewish law, they were basically married. The only thing between them and marriage was the wedding itself, and a problem arising at this stage of the marriage process was complicated. 

When Joseph learned that Mary was pregnant, he could have publicly divorced her or even initiated a process that would lead to her being stoned for adultery. This option was legally available to him, but Matthew states that Joseph had already decided to do something compassionate instead. Verse 19 says this: “[Mary’s] husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to divorce her quietly.” Rather than pursuing vengeance for himself, he chose compassion, and Scripture calls him a righteous man, in part because of his kindness in an unbelievably difficult situation. Even though we don’t learn a lot about Joseph in the rest of the New Testament, his character here is clear. He was a man who was willing to feel hurt in his own heart without causing hurt to others. He was a man who was willing to be vulnerable because of love. 

On this fourth Sunday of Advent, we have almost made it to the manger. We are only days away from peering into the scratchy, hay-filled feeding trough to see the miracle of God made flesh. And on this Sunday, we pause and reflect on love. How fitting that the Scripture readings today give us the profound example of Joseph’s love. When faced with a crisis, he chose love. And when the angel appeared to him in a dream and assured him of taking Mary as his wife, Joseph accepted out of love for God, love for Mary, and love for what God was about to do in the world. Just as Mary said “yes” to God’s call to become the mother of Jesus, Joseph said yes to an uncertain path that would be filled with sideways glances and judgments from others. And as a sign of his “yes” to God’s plan, Joseph would be given the role of naming Jesus. As Professor of New Testament Holly Hearon writes, “The act of naming is also an act of adoption: it draws Joseph and Jesus into relationship so that later in the narrative, people will refer to Jesus as ‘the carpenter’s son.’” Joseph’s love and faithfulness point us toward God, whose faithfulness and deep love for us compelled him to send his only son into the world so that we might have life. 

Every year, in the final days leading up to Christmas, I feel that surge of overwhelm as I think about all of the things left on my to-do list. I feel the familiar stress of “Will it all get done,” and then something shifts in my heart. When I finally allow myself to slow down enough, my mind starts to wander and wonder. I start to reflect on the mystery and miracle of that first Christmas, and I find my heart laid open and bare. Humanity had walked away from God. Over the course of decades and centuries, people chose to live in ways that broke God’s heart. Righteous people tried their best to follow the calling of God, but far more people ignored God’s voice. Time and again, God sent prophets to urge the people to return to God. Sometimes it helped for a little while; other times the people rebelled even more. And yet, God never stopped calling out and longing for us to hear his voice again. 

When the time was finally right, God did the most vulnerable thing I can think of: came into the world as a helpless child. Imagine it with me: a chilly, stone stable. The scratchy hay in the feeding trough. The brand new mother away from home. The faithful man by her side to make sure she was safe. The shepherds staggering through the doorway in their grungy work clothes because they’ve just heard the most unbelievable news possible. The star shining brightly in the sky as even the heavens proclaim the glory of what God is doing in the world. God could have chosen punishment. God could have chosen anger. Instead, God chose the vulnerability of love. 

When I was a kid, I loved listening to Paul Harvey’s “The Rest of the Story” on the radio. In the radio program, Paul Harvey would tell part of a story that would capture the listener’s interest, and then he’d tell you the rest of the story. It almost always blew my mind. One day, pretty close to Christmas, rather than his “The Rest of the Story” segment, I heard Paul Harvey read a story about a man and some birds outside his window. The moment I heard this story, I just knew in my bones that it was true. I can’t think of the story of Christmas without it. I may have even shared it with you before, and if I have, I apologize. But I hope that even if you’ve heard it before, this story will move your heart like it does mine every time I hear it.

Unlike Scrooge in A Christmas Carol, the man in Paul Harvey’s story was described as “a kind decent, mostly good man. Generous to his family and upright in his dealings with other men. But he just didn’t believe in all of that incarnation stuff that the churches proclaim at Christmas time. It just didn’t make sense and he was too honest to pretend otherwise. He just couldn’t swallow the Jesus story, about God coming to Earth as a man.” And so, because he couldn’t accept the idea that God came to the Earth as a man, the man decided to stay home from midnight Christmas Eve service, while his family went to church without him.

The rest of the family hadn’t been gone long when the man started hearing a thudding sound at his window. To his surprise, he saw some birds who had been caught in the snow storm. They were running into the window of his house as they flapped and flew, struggling to find a place to take shelter. The man remembered the horse barn, and he went out into the snow, opened the door to the barn, and turned on a light for the birds. But, the birds did not come.

He scattered food for them, but they did not follow the trail he made. They continued thudding their little bodies against the window in the wind and the snow. The man tried to shoo the birds, but they were afraid of him and did not find their way to the barn. He needed to come up with a way to get the birds to safety, but what more could he do?

In that moment, the man had a realization. Paul Harvey told it this way: “He thought to himself, if only I could be a bird and mingle with them and speak their language. Then I could tell them not to be afraid. Then I could show them the way to the safe warm…to the safe warm barn. But I would have to be one of them so they could see…and hear…and understand.” Right at that moment, the bells of the church rang in the distance. He could hear the carol: “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” and he sunk to his knees in the snow, filled with awe and wonder. 

Today, as we are only four days away from Christmas, I can’t help but feel overwhelmed with the good news. Joseph, rather than choose harshness, entered into the vulnerability of love. God, rather than turn away from us after we had walked away from him time and time again, chose the vulnerability of love. Listen to the way our opening hymn from this morning puts it:

Love is born! Come, share in the wonder.
Love is God now asleep in the hay.
See the glow in the eyes of his mother,
What is the name her heart is saying? 
Love! Love! Love is the name she whispers.
Love! Love! Jesus, Emmanuel.

In these last few days before we gather around the manger, I hope you will find time away from the busyness, away from the expectations and the hustle, to allow your hearts to be opened. May you find yourself overwhelmed with awe and wonder as you consider the profound depths of the love of God who was willing to become a helpless child out of love for you. The story doesn’t end there, of course. But today, let’s allow the beauty, the tenderness, and the vulnerability of God’s miraculous love to inspire us to live in the same way–willing to put aside our anger, our vengeance, even our rightness out of love. May the Christ child be born in our hearts anew today. Amen.