“Giving Joseph His Due”
Matthew 1:18-25
Allen Huff
Jonesborough Presbyterian Church
12/24/17
Matthew’s
gospel begins with Jesus’ genealogy, 16 straight verses of laborious,
tongue-twisting begats detailing 42 generations between Jesus and Abraham. Luke’s
genealogy (Lk.
3:23-38) lists 56 generations between Jesus and Abraham, then 20
more to Adam, and one more to God, for a total of 77 generations.
There are some
similarities in the names in the two genealogies, but far more differences. One
interesting difference is that Matthew progresses forward from Abraham, while
Luke works backward from Jesus. That explains why Matthew uses the transitional
phrase, “the father of,” while Luke uses “son of.” In Matthew, if your mind
hasn’t been numbed by that list of names, you may notice, at the very end of
the genealogy, that the transitional phrase changes to “Joseph the husband of Mary,” rather than “the father of” Jesus.
Only Matthew seems to take Joseph
seriously. In Luke, Joseph shows up primarily at the manger. Mark and John
mention him only as a kind of immaterial memory. But Matthew takes us inside Joseph’s
agonizing struggle. Should he marry this already-pregnant woman, when he’s
pretty sure that he isn’t the father?
In first century Jewish culture,
betrothal is, for all intents and purposes, the same as marriage. As a Jew, Joseph
knows his responsibilities, his options, and his liabilities under the Law. He
also recognizes Mary’s vulnerabilities under that same Law. Joseph’s struggle
is theological, social, and moral. He holds Mary’s fate, and her baby’s fate in
his hands. The Law allows him to seek vengeance and call it justice. At
Joseph’s word, Mary, and thus her baby, could be stoned to death.
The law also allows Joseph to divorce
Mary. That would mean abandoning her to the almost certain fate of being
disowned by her family. Alone in the world, Mary would, in all likelihood, have
to resort to begging or prostitution. And I can only imagine that in the first
century, such fates would have proven worse than death. But if Joseph divorces
Mary, then slips away into oblivion, maybe at least he could find a new start
somewhere else.
Shouldering his burden in lonely
silence, Joseph, a “righteous man,” chooses divorce. His plan is expedient, bloodless,
and simple. But he soon discovers that God is mixed up in all of this.
“An angel of the Lord” appears. (It
seems to me that angel of the Lord is
a biblical euphemism for ‘one whale of a monkey wrench.’) The angel appears in
a dream and says, in effect, ‘Joseph, you may not be the father of Mary’s baby,
but you are a son of David. Get
married to Mary. Adopt her baby. Be his daddy. Father him as you would your own son. Name him Jesus. He has divine genes and very important work to do.’
I can’t imagine that this
announcement comes as anything but an added burden to Joseph. He’s being asked
to take an audacious leap of faith. He’s being asked to trust that the
authority of his own, personal dream supersedes the authority of the Torah. This
is extraordinary! Joseph’s role in the birth of Jesus has all the subversive, revolutionary
power of Jesus’ own ministry. By marrying Mary and raising Jesus, Joseph
deserves a place in the pantheon of theological pioneers like Abraham, Moses, Galileo,
Martin Luther, Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., and, more recently, leaders in
the new reformation like Richard Rohr and Brian McLaren. Through daring leaps
of faith, people like Joseph call us to see that God is at work in the world in
ways that are as groundbreaking as creation itself. That makes Joseph a perfect
choice for Jesus’ dad. He’s willing to take the risk of trusting and following
a God who is radically free, a God whose only predictable character lies in the
way that God consistently challenges us to travel further and further down the
road of redeeming and ever-expanding Agape Love.
With more than enough reasons not
to do so, Joseph says Yes to a
possibility that wells up from the stream flowing at the depths of human
consciousness and of all creation. This simple man, says Yes to a dream that invites him to commit to a complicated life. He
welcomes the bad news of Mary’s pregnancy as good news. Joseph just may
represent the New Testament’s best example of Christmas faith. In his story, we
watch someone receive the gift of God’s call to a demanding new life, a life
that reveals our unanticipated capacity to give and receive, to endure and to
love.
I saw a short video last night.
It’s one of those happy-sappy videos, but danged if it didn’t bring a lump to
my throat and tears to my eyes. The story has to do with a boy named Kalani
Watson at his own tenth birthday party. Sitting in front of Kalani is a thick,
muscular man in a white t-shirt and a black ball cap. He is Kalani’s
stepfather. He and the boy’s mother have been married since 2010. Kalani’s
biological father died recently, and Kalani and his stepfather have bonded
tightly over the years. The chubby-cheeked youngster has a sheet of paper in
his hand, and he reads this short speech: “I know today is supposed to be all
about me, but today is really about us. So let’s stop playing and make it
official. Brandon Craig Williamson, will you do me the biggest favor in the
world? Will you adopt me?”
The man folds forward and weeps into
his hand.
At his own birthday party, Kalani
hands Brandon a gift. Inside are adoption papers. This gift says, You love me, and I know it. I love you, too.
I trust you. You married my mamma. Will you make me your son?1
Neither Brandon nor Joseph get the
gift of parenthood the way the Old Testament Joseph gets his colorful coat – in
an act of preferential treatment. They don’t get this gift the way you or I
might get a new shirt or a new toy – as something for us to consume, or to
return if it doesn’t fit or please us. They receive
the gift the way Abraham and Moses receive the gift of grace, as a holy gift
which, by expecting something of us, makes us a blessing to others. That grace
reveals the deeper gift, the gift of our own servant-hearted Joseph. Joseph is our own, unique capacity for receiving grace, for adopting, as
part of ourselves, the living Christ within.
To fully receive and embrace the
Christ-gift, for it to become the gift it was created to be, we must, at some
point, let go of it. And that means that, in some way, we let go of ourselves.
We let go of our selfish fears, desires, and resentments.
Letting go is a kind of death. But
it’s a gracious death. It is the death through which our new life is born.
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