“Mary was betrothed to Joseph, but before they came together, she was found to be pregnant through the Holy Spirit. Because Joseph her husband was faithful to the law, and yet did not want to expose her to public disgrace, he had in mind to divorce her quietly.” (Gospel of Matthew 1:18-19)

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It is easy to look back once you know the whole story and think of how inspiring it is. Living a story real-time, however, can feel like hell. Put yourself in Joseph’s sandals for a moment. He was just living his life, and then suddenly, without warning and without explanation, he is handed a story he didn’t choose.

Joseph’s fiancée, Mary, reveals that she is pregnant and the child is not his. To add insult to injury, she claims the impossible - that in some mysterious way God and not another man is responsible for this. I’m sure there have been many over-the-top excuses and explanations to cover up unfaithfulness throughout the ages, but to claim that what happened is somehow God’s plan cuts extra deep.



As far as Joseph can tell at this point, Mary has cheated on him. Let that sink in. That’s really heavy. Joseph didn’t choose this story but now he gets to choose how he responds. He has options, including publicly denouncing her and even seeking the death penalty for her adultery. This would have been a perfectly acceptable and lawful decision according to the spiritual leadership of his time (think of how the Pharisees dragged the woman caught in adultery before Jesus).

Maybe this seems barbaric to us, but then I also think of how our culture relishes in breakup songs and revenge movies and instant karma. We take pleasure in cheaters (fictional or not) being eviscerated and getting what they deserve. We even experience a sense of empowerment when we put down those who brought us down.

Joseph makes a very different choice, though. He chooses a path of gentleness. He chooses to divorce Mary quietly, seeking as much as possible to avoid exposing her to any shame or disgrace. Even though he has done nothing wrong, he loves Mary enough to seek her good even amidst his hurt and confusion.

I can see why God chose him to be the earthly father of the Messiah. I’m not entirely sure why God let Joseph go through this phase of turmoil before sending an angel to reveal the truth, but it gives us a powerful glimpse at the strength of Joseph’s gentleness and love.

Even after the truth is revealed to Joseph, we get to see even more of his character. I admire the incredible humility of Joseph in receiving the angel’s words and in taking Mary to be his wife - and along with her, to take Jesus, a child he did nothing to create, as his son. Even though he has no earthly reason to do so, he is fully invested. He exemplifies the adoptive and self-sacrificial love of the gospel.

Just imagine what gossip would have been circulating - people would either assume that Joseph had been dishonorable in sleeping with Mary before they were married or they would assume that Mary had been unfaithful, both of which would have brought a lot of shame upon Joseph. But in spite of what others would be saying, Joseph humbly accepts this word from the Lord and boldly loves Mary (and God), serving them both in a life he had not chosen.

Joseph truly lives out the servant leadership that Jesus will feature so prominently in his life and teachings. In the stories of Christmas, Mary and Jesus take center stage, and I think that is beautiful. Joseph is there, but always in a supporting role. He is off to the side or in the shadows, doing the little and yet important things necessary for Mary and Jesus to thrive. I love this picture of Joseph leading Mary on the donkey, his face unseen like any common character on the streets, yet he moves with determination in his steps to take care of his precious passengers.

The strength of Joseph in this story is that he doesn’t take center stage. He doesn’t demand the spotlight in order to find meaning and significance. He receives a story he didn’t choose, and instead of carrying it as a burden, accepts it as a gift from God.

By leaning into the role God offers Joseph, he chooses to partner with God and unite himself with Mary, who is also living out this experience in bold faith. It is a beautiful picture of how we can live as well. In the twists and turns that our own stories take, how will we respond to the unexpected and the unexplained? Will we trust God when the story isn’t going according to plan? Will we partner with those God brings us, even when unity defies earthly expectations? Will we find purpose in the unconventional and unmatched gifts of God?

May we all, like Joseph, respond with such gentleness and humility and trust in God.

Imagine that you could choose to be born. What if, floating in some kind of state of pre-existence, you could look out over the whole of history and pick a period to be born into? When would it be? What country would you choose? Knowing how much our family and our family history shapes us, who would you pick to best set you up for success? Would you pick a mighty royal dynasty or a family of wealthy influencers or a brilliant circle of scientists or philosophers? It is kind of fun to think about how we could, to a large extent, choose the story we would get to live.

In the history of the world, however, only one person ever chose to be born: Jesus. And he made some distinctly curious choices. He chose to be born in obscurity, from a broken lineage, into a time of great spiritual darkness.

(University of Pennsylvania Archives and Records Center)

In the first chapter of the Gospel of Matthew, we find the genealogy of Jesus as traced through Joseph, the man who would serve as his earthly father. About halfway through, I stop recognizing most names. Famous figures are rapidly replaced with men who lived lives that we know little or nothing about. Jesus waits and chooses to be born into an unremarkable, modest family. He isn’t born amidst the luxuries of Abraham or Jacob. He isn’t born in the palaces of David or Solomon. He isn’t born in the spiritual revivals of Josiah or Zerubbabel. He is born as the son of a common man, grows up in a town of questionable integrity, and lives a life of general poverty.

Even in the grander moments of his family tree, we find a scandalous series of ancestors. Generations of habitual liars, adulterers, murders, prostitutes, polygamists, rapists, slave dealers, idolaters, and child-sacrificers. Yikes. That sounds like a seriously scary family reunion. Jesus didn’t come from a perfect family by any stretch of the imagination. This is all too familiar for many of us who carry around a lot of family baggage we didn’t choose; but Jesus did choose, and he chose this messy, mangled family tree.

Finally, Jesus is born into a time and place of profound spiritual darkness. The 400 years of silence between the Old and New Testaments reflects more on the deafness of humanity, particularly the Jewish nation, than on the voice of God. As the story of Jesus unfolds, the depravity of the spiritual leadership found in the Pharisees, Sadducees, and scribes makes it clear just how deep this darkness is: dark enough to crucify God on a cross.

This is the life (and death) Jesus chose. There is stunning humility, not just in the act of God becoming human, but in this specific type of incarnation. In laying aside what he could have claimed for himself, and choosing the life of Jesus of Nazareth, he chose to align himself with our brokenness. Jesus knows our suffering and is touched by our weaknesses because they are his own. When Jesus was born, he truly came to be Emmanuel, God with us. Not just God near us or around us or next to us, but God with us, as one of us.

Jesus laid aside his clothing of light too powerful for sinful humanity to bear, in order to be with us. This incredible embodiment of love is so strong, and so gentle. To lay aside his glory is a truly humbling act of gentleness. I can only imagine how vulnerable this must have felt, like being stranded outside in the winter without clothes. Yet Jesus became Emmanuel with a grace that shook the world.

When I see the humility and gentleness of how Jesus chose to be born, I am challenged to want to live like that. Yes, even though all that is within me and around me tells me that this path leads to a story of less power and less control, I cannot help but believe it is the way to true life. I want to let brokenness and baggage (in myself and others) transform into compassion and empathy inside me. I want to be willing to lay aside my power and the things I have the right to, in order to serve others with humility and gentleness. May we all receive this gift from the healing hands of Jesus and, in turn, share this grace with all around us.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Jesus, as recorded in Matthew 11:28-30)

Have you ever felt the kind of tired that no amount of sleep can cure? It is like carrying around a heavy weight with nowhere to put it down. Sometimes these are burdens that others have placed on us. Other times it isn’t so much what we carry, but how we carry ourselves - the posture of our spirits. I have found that I’m quickly exhausted by a life that is not gentle or humble. I have also found that too often I don’t have the emotional or spiritual resources to be truly gentle and humble when I need it most.

And that is why these words of Jesus are so powerful and life-giving. It is refreshing that Jesus doesn’t say: you just need to try harder. Rather, he says: Come to me, and I will give you rest.

I need this. I need more gentleness and humility in my life. I need rest for my soul.

Jesus invites us to come to him and find this rest. In his presence, we can both learn and receive from Jesus how to be gentle and humble of heart.

Journey with me, if you will, as we explore these themes throughout the Gospel of Matthew. We will begin this month with the Christmas stories which really set the stage in beautiful and challenging ways. We’ll look at the messy family tree of Jesus, the understated strength of a man who did not choose his own story, the radical reality of Emmanuel, and finally the tension of a shepherd born into a world of kings.

The sun sets on Bethlehem’s horizon, dragging with it the heat of the day. The dark and the chill of the night creep in, spread across the land, find their way through open windows, cracks in walls, find their way into skin and bones, make themselves at home. A people living in darkness kneel in darkness, heads bowed by a weight they cannot shake, and beg God for mercy. Beg him for a miracle. Plant yet more tears in the poisoned soil of their lives.

The first Christmas day has risen and fallen. The wait is over. Jesus is here. But for every joyful shepherd or seeking wiseman, there are thousands who go to sleep that night still waiting for their miracle. Still unaware that God has not only heard and answered, but become. Immanuel. Redemption has arrived.

The wait is over, yet still they wait. Still they wake in the middle of the night, plagued by trembling heart and aching soul. They cry out in the all too familiar refrain: “How long, Lord, how long?” For all they can see, the promise of God is still unfulfilled. For all they know, there is nothing to believe in but silence and emptiness.

Across town, the promise lays asleep in a manger. The miracle sleeps. Light asleep in darkness.

 

This will not be the last time Jesus sleeps. This will not be the last time the power of Jesus underwhelms, delays, displays itself as apparent inaction. The storms will come and Jesus will sleep in the sinking boat. The dead will be buried and Jesus will sleep for three more nights. The cross will kill and Jesus will sleep.

If I am honest, sometimes I wonder if he is sleeping still. We wait and wait and cry and beg for mercy. For miracle. We hang all our hopes on him and wonder if he will ever show up. Jesus sleeps and we resign ourselves to our inevitable end.

Christmas tells a different story: Immanuel, God with us now. Jesus has shown up, though maybe not in the way we expected. The promise has been fulfilled, even if our eyes can’t see it. The miracle is a reality long before we ever see the proof. Jesus sleeps, but the storm will be calmed, the dead will rise, all things will be redeemed.

“Though the fig tree does not bud
and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
and no cattle in the stalls,
 yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
I will be joyful in God my Savior.”

(Habakkuk 3:17-18)

“He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—

how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?”
(Romans 8:32)

I begin at the end.

Not because I can see it on the horizon. Not because I can see the path to it. Not because I can see, but precisely because I can’t.

If I am brutally honest, I do not even believe in this end. I look around at the rubble and ash, and think: impossible. There is no way from here to there.

Which is why I must write about the end now. Because at the end, there is redemption.

There must be.

It is the hardest truth to believe, but the only one I cling to when I doubt everything else: the redemption of all things.

Even now, I think again: impossible! There are some things too horrible, some wounds that cut too deep. Crushed beneath the weight of injustice, suffering, death… can there really be redemption at the end?

There must be.

The redemption of all things.

Yes, even that.

And not just a bandage. It is not enough for the past to be merely wiped away. We require redemption.

Strength from weakness. Life from death. A crown of beauty from ashes.

We require a love powerful enough to redeem us beyond mere restoration.

Impossible.

And yet…

• What was meant for evil, God used for good.
• Dry, dead bones coming to life.
• Lazarus hears the Voice of the Resurrection and the Life… of all things.
• All things work together for the good of those who are His.
• Restoration of all the years the locusts stole.
• Death swallowed up in victory.
• The God become man, who came to die, not just to destroy our curse, but to redeem it with His life in us – better off broken and redeemed than never lost at all.

Jesus, the Redeemer of all things.

Impossible, and yet there is no other hope. There is no other name.

Jesus.

“If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners love those who love them. If you do what is good to those who are good to you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners do that. And if you lend to those from whom you expect to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners to be repaid in full. But love your enemies, do what is good, and lend, expecting nothing in return.”

Love your enemies. It is a sobering passage, to say the least. If I’m honest, it does more than step on my toes a little – it calls me out, revealing that much of what I call “love” is nothing more than self-interest. But that’s a topic for another time. Right now, I want to jump down a few verses to what I believe is a key to understanding what is often missed about this passage – or, at least what I missed for a long time.

After summing up what it looks like to love your enemies, Jesus tells us what it would mean if we were to live out such love:

“Then your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High. For He is gracious to the ungrateful and evil. Be merciful, just as your Father also is merciful.”

This may sound obvious, but Jesus is telling us that he wants us to love like this because this is exactly how God the Father loves. When we love like this we are living as God’s children because that is how he loves. Jesus came to show us what the Father is really like, to correct our misguided notions about him. I think this is one of those moments.

When I come to this passage, I usually read it, feel depressed about the lousy quality of my love, and determine to try harder. I focus exclusively on what it says about how I love or don’t love. What I rarely do is focus on what this says about how God loves. And I rarely think about whether or not I am interacting with God as he presents himself. Instead, I tend to treat God as if he plays by our rules.

How often do we live as if God is the embodiment of everything this passage says is not love?

• As if God only loves those who love him?
• As if God is only good to those who are good to him?
• As if God only gives to us when he expects us to do something for him in return?

Even sinners do this, and yet too often we treat God as if his love is no better. Listen to the subtle implications of conversations you hear around you (and inside your own mind) and tell me this isn’t true.

We tend to believe that if we do the things God likes, he will do nice things for us, but if we do the things God doesn’t like, then he will do bad things to us. I know it seems that way sometimes. That’s why we try to bargain with God. That’s why, too often, we try to impress God with our goodness. That’s why we hide from him when we’ve sinned.

Now don’t get me wrong – there are blessings for living in tune with God, and there are consequences for disconnecting ourselves from him, but the point is this: yes, God blesses the faithful, but, astonishingly, God also blesses the unfaithful!

In Matthew’s version of this passage, Jesus says that God causes the sun to shine and the rain to fall, not just to benefit the good, but the evil as well. It is as if God can’t contain himself! He is so full of love for us – all of us – that he just keeps pouring out good things all around us, knowing that most won’t even lift their heads to thank the source from which their blessings come. What a gift to God, then, to thank him for his gifts! But even if we don’t, that doesn’t change his love – it just keeps overflowing like the sun spilling over the horizon, like the rain bursting from the sky onto parched and thirsty ground.

He just gives, and gives, and gives…

And his giving only fills him with more to give!

What if I lived like that?

What if I lived as if God really loves me like that?

I wonder if all this trying to be better would be replaced with streams of living water flowing – overflowing – from within. I wonder if I would love because he first loved me.

Sometimes I find that I’ve become so familiar with the words of Jesus that I overlook just how turn-the-world-upside-down they are. Consider the earthshaking implications of just two of the famous Beatitudes:

“Blessed are you who are hungry now,

because you will be filled.

Blessed are you who weep now,

because you will laugh.”

The economy of the Kingdom of God is a strange one. You’re actually better off when you have less or when you have lost. You are better off because to be filled after being empty is better than always having been full.

I guess in a way this makes sense. Imagine sitting down at dinner to eat your favorite food (tacos, am I right?), but consider how different you’d feel if you hadn’t eaten since breakfast in contrast to if you’d be been snacking all day and didn’t have an appetite anymore. You actually enjoy eating more if you are hungry. Or think of how sweet a drink of water is when you are parched, or how immensely pleasurable it is to lie down and sleep after a hard day of work. Sometimes we actually enjoy things more when we’ve been lacking them. 

However, this mindset runs completely counter to the way we usually think in this world. Consider the latest ads you’ve seen on TV or billboards. How do the values they suggest compare to what Jesus talks about here?

Jesus says that those who are happy are those who are poor, hungry, weeping, and despised… yet we spend most of our effort seeking to be rich, well-fed, laughing, and admired. What is Jesus trying to say? I don’t think he is not saying “Don’t seek happiness” but rather, “Don’t seek happiness that will only last on this earth” and “Even if you are not ‘happy’ now, you can still be ‘happy’ because your emptiness will be filled, resulting in more happiness than if you had never experienced emptiness.”

This is mystery, to be sure. It is also a mystery why we rarely live in accordance with the truth that Jesus has given us. Think of a time recently when something you wished for didn’t happen and you were left with that hollow ache of disappointment. We tend to get stuck there and live as if that emptiness is the truth, when in reality it is only the prelude to God filling us with boundless joy.

I do not mean to diminish the suffering we encounter here on earth, but rather to point out that to the degree in which our suffering is great (and it is), the power of God to redeem our pain is even greater!

Which brings us to the greatest mystery in the economy of the Kingdom of God: our own redemption. I don’t know if any of us can fully wrap our mind around this, but join me in trying to let it sink in:

We are closer to God in our redeemed state than if we had never fallen.

Takes my breath away.

We think that the product of our sinful acts is only more corruption, and without Jesus this would be true, but through Him, the power of redemption is stronger, not just than sinfulness, but even than sinlessness!

If you doubt, turn your eyes to the Cross. Upon the canvas of our sinfulness is painted the most beautiful picture of love ever seen. But that sacrifice was not just a display, it is an invitation for you to accept Jesus. He loves you and He is the only one who can redeem all things – yes, even that.

“So when they had come together, they asked Him, ‘Lord, at this time are You restoring the kingdom of Israel?’” (Acts 1:6)

I am always amazed at how often the disciples didn’t get it. They were experts at missing the point. Even after three and a half years under the direct tutelage of Jesus Himself, even after His death and resurrection, they are still concerned about earthly power. They are still focused on kicking the Romans out and establishing the kingdom of Israel. Old habits die hard; old patterns of thinking die even harder.

More than my astonishment at the disciples, though, I am always amazed at the grace of Jesus. If I were Jesus, it would be at this point where I’d take all my toys back and go play somewhere else, with someone more worthy. But it is at this point that He bestows upon these blind guides His vision of the gospel going to all the earth – with them at the middle of it all!

“But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be My witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” (Acts 1:8)

While the disciples are still grasping for earthly power, Jesus promises to hand them a different, infinitely superior kind of power. While they seek to reestablish a kingdom within the borders of Israel, Jesus invites them into a kingdom that has no borders. Through the gift of the Holy Spirit, they will become partakers in something more earthshaking than all the power this world could muster.

I guess this shouldn’t surprise me, though. Jesus is always offering us better gifts than whatever “prize” we clutch so tightly in our stubborn hands. He is always inviting us into more breathtaking stories than the little ones we’ve plotted out ourselves.

Because although I am amazed by the shortsighted smallness of the disciples’ thinking, I also find that reading about them is a lot like looking into a mirror. I am right alongside them as they chase after things that don’t even matter. But, thank God, I am also right alongside them to receive the grace of Jesus. In the outpouring of that grace, I hear His voice calling me to hunger and thirst for better things – for the gift of the Spirit, for the kingdom of heaven.

http://bandico.deviantart.com/art/Letting-Go-349426169

And as I continue to read, I watch in awe as this small group of unqualified misfits gather together to seek the Lord with all their hearts. I watch as the tongues of fire come down to rest upon them; I watch as their previously cherished dreams drop from their hands and roll away into the shadows. I watch their eyes rise higher.

I, too, want to let go.

I, too, want to fix my eyes on Jesus.