2025-12-16
Brooke Strong
Sermon Text...
We just love to romanticize the story of Jesus’ birth, don’t we? We’ve invested an entire season – and a whole catalog of carols – in doing just that:
Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright.
O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie.
The stars in the sky look down where he lay…
It came upon the midnight clear…
Angels we have heard on high…
We want this season to be filled with beauty and wonder, glowing candles and peaceful scenes. And there’s nothing wrong with that. But if we listen closely to the story Matthew actually tells us today, it’s hard to imagine that things were calm at all.
In his birth narrative, Matthew gives us no shepherds, no angels singing in the sky. In just a few short verses, he tells us everything he’s going to say about Jesus’ birth – and the scene is anything but serene. Joseph learns that Mary is pregnant. For just a moment, try to imagine how Joseph must have felt. Betrayed. Humiliated. Heartbroken. The woman he loves, the future he imagined are all suddenly in question. Matthew tells us that Joseph plans to dismiss her quietly.
And Mary? Imagine her fear and pain when Joseph responds to her news not with trust, but with doubt. With distance. With plans to end the relationship. This is not the bucolic scene we so lovingly recreate each Christmas Eve.
But Matthew tells the story this way for a reason. He wants us to step into Joseph’s shoes, to recognize ourselves in the confusion and heartbreak and fear. Reaching back to the words of the prophet Isaiah, Matthew shares, “Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,” which means, God is with us. God is with us – not in perfection, but in messiness. God is with us – born into a family already struggling.
If we close our eyes for a moment, we can almost hear the conversation as if it were happening right here, right now: “You’re what?? Pregnant? That’s not possible – we haven’t – how could you? An angel? The Holy Spirit? God’s child? That’s blasphemy!”
We can see the devastation on Mary’s face, feel Joseph’s shoulders tighten, his anger and hurt rising. “That’s it, he tells her through tight lips. “We’re done. I’ll arrange a quiet divorce – but I will never trust you again.”
And then, a night or two later, Joseph dreams. A messenger comes to him, just as one came to Mary. And Joseph hears words that echo all through scripture: Do not be afraid. Go ahead and marry her. The child is from the Holy Spirit just like she said.
Suddenly Joseph stands at a crossroads, worried about the future. Every option is costly. One choice could mean Mary’s death, another means public shame and rejection for all of them.
This is no blissful season of glowing anticipation. It is fraught with anxiety, uncertainty, and emotional upheaval. And honestly – how many of us can relate to that right now?
How many of us came to church today seemingly holding it together on the outside, but barely managing the mess we are on the inside? How many of us almost stayed in bed, pulled the covers over our heads, and hoped the world would wait?
For some, the holidays stir up family conflict. For others, there is grief over a loved one who is missing this year. For still others, fear about a medical diagnosis, or deep uncertainty about the future of our country and our world fill us with anxiety. So what happens next in this story matters – for all of us. Joseph listens to the messenger. He chooses trust over fear. He risks his reputation. He stays with Mary, even when it’s hard and complicated and unclear. And in doing so, Joseph becomes a messenger himself, offering encouragement and support to what the Spirit is bringing to life in the world.
This seems to be the heart of the story: God comes to us through ordinary, mixed-up people in order to save ordinary, mixed-up people. God meets us exactly where we are – mistakes, failures, pettiness and all – and still chooses to work through us. And God asks us to help carry hope. To be messengers of encouragement and support to others who are afraid. That is the point of our faith: not that we have it all together, but that we trust God when we clearly do not, which truthfully, is most of the time.
So if – or maybe when – things stop being calm and bright in your house this week … If the postcard-perfect holiday cracks under stress or grief or exhaustion … remember this story. Remember that God is still at work in tense, messy, explosive moments. Remember that, like Joseph, when we stand at a crossroads wondering what to do next, we can trust that God will guide us toward the faithful choice. Even if it is inconvenient. Even if it invites misunderstanding or ridicule. Even if it complicates our lives. It will be okay – not because everything is calm and bright, but because God is with us.
Friends, we are more like Joseph than we realize. And when we stop worrying about the future, when we trust God to lead us one step at a time, eventually – maybe not right away, but soon – we will find our silent night, our holy night.
Even if very little feels calm or bright right now. May it be so.
Amen.