Sermon from December 21, 2025 | Fourth Sunday of Advent, Year A | Matthew 1:18–25

2025 has been a difficult and relentless year. In keeping with that, I'm currently recovering from pneumonia. I was unable to be at church on Sunday to preach, but I'd already written a sermon I was pretty fond of. Fortunately, I serve a gracious, bright, and flexible congregation. One of my elders was willing to read the sermon for me. I don't have the audio recording this week from my sermon, but I do have the text for those who would like to read it. You'll find it below.

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Isaiah 41:5–10 NRSV
5 The coastlands have seen and are afraid, the ends of the earth tremble; they have drawn near and come.

6 Each one helps the other, saying to one another, “Take courage!”

7 The artisan encourages the goldsmith, and the one who smooths with the hammer encourages the one who strikes the anvil, saying of the soldering, “It is good”; and they fasten it with nails so that it cannot be moved.

8 But you, Israel, my servant, Jacob, whom I have chosen, the offspring of Abraham, my friend;

9 you whom I took from the ends of the earth, and called from its farthest corners, saying to you, “You are my servant, I have chosen you and not cast you off”;

10 do not fear, for I am with you, do not be afraid, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my victorious right hand.

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Matthew 1:18–25 NRSV
18 Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. 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.

19 Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly.

20 But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “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.

21 She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.”

22 All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet:

23 “Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,” which means, “God is with us.”

24 When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife,

25 but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus.

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A week ago, the world was rocked by an act of antisemitism that, for many of us, immediately brought back terrible memories of what happened in our own neighborhood on October 27th, 2018. 
This month, our college and university students begin to return home for the holidays to rest and spend time with their families. But two Brown University families will not welcome home their students this winter break.
We have been reminded yet again of how we are, as a nation, held hostage to gun violence. And we have been reminded, yet again, of how much bigotry and hate there is in the world and how very dangerous such mindsets as antisemitism are. 
As Christian churches light our Advent candles representing love, joy, peace, and hope, these horrific events remind us that the world is a dangerous place. As we talk about the world’s need for a savior, someone to end the violence, oppression, and hate in the world, we are given these painful and tragic reminders of how cavernous that need is.
Especially when violence is so targeted as a Hanukkah celebration on the opposite side of the world, it’s both natural and easy to distance ourselves from the pain as a way to protect ourselves. And yet in our daily lives here we live, work, shop, and worship next door to Jewish friends and neighbors who have been targets of that very same hate and violence.
If we aren’t careful, the Brown University shooting gets lost in the news as just another school shooting in good ol’ ‘Merca -- yet many of us are welcoming home for the holidays our children or grandchildren or friends who were born the same year as the victims of the terrible and traumatic Sandy Hook shooting. Once again, we’re wondering if it’s safe to send them back off to school in a few weeks. 
We are caught between the natural instinct to retreat in, lock the doors, distance ourselves and the call to stand in solidarity, to intervene when confronted with violence, to get too close to someone or something that might involve us as collateral damage. At what point do we back up and say, “Sorry. The stakes are too high. This is too dangerous.”
The stakes for Joseph were high -- possibly too high. He was a good guy -- he followed all the rules. Our passage calls him “righteous.” He was a man who did the right thing. He doesn’t appear at this point to have done anything too notably amazing, but he also hadn’t been too bad either. He had a good reputation. 
Suddenly, he finds out that his betrothed is pregnant. This would not be a good look for him. His reputation was on the line. And he wasn’t a bad guy, he wasn’t vindictive or mean. He was going to “dismiss her quietly” so as to keep things under the radar as much as possible. He could just publicly humiliate her and call for her to be immediately stoned to death. And sure, if he ended things quietly, it would save his reputation and at least some of her dignity. 
But the stakes for Mary were so much higher. If Joseph divorced her, no matter how quietly, she was still at risk of being stoned for adultery. And if she was not killed, she would still be a single mother in a world that would not tolerate a young, single mother with a child born outside of marriage. Her life was literally on the line. 
Joseph’s decision to make things go away with as little drama as possible was lawful. It was even pretty nice. But it was still a choice to put his own safety and reputation over and above Mary’s. It was a choice to distance himself from the mess of standing in solidarity with her. 
Of course Joseph is afraid. Taking Mary as his wife would mean absorbing her shame. It would mean putting a target on his own back. It would mean his life would get complicated and dangerous. His instinct, like ours, is to disengage -- to quietly avoid the complicated and potentially dangerous mess.
But just when it's almost too late. . . and angel bursts in. And it doesn’t just say “Don’t be afraid” because Joseph is afraid of the angel like Zechariah was. The angel in this case addresses Joseph’s fear of the situation with Mary, not any fear he might have of the angel. 
Joseph’s fear of damaged reputation, of raising a child that wasn’t biologically his, of entering into the mess with Mary, it’s all acknowledged by the angel who says, “I get why you’re scared. This is a weird situation. But God is up to something important here. You have a job to do. Don’t distance yourself form Mary. Bind your lives together and support her.”
Righteousness for Joseph is no longer purity of life by divorcing Mary and avoiding the scandal. In this passage, we see God allow righteousness to grow in a way that allows mercy. Righteousness is not, the angel says, following the letter of the law here. When God is doing something new, mercy and compassion and solidarity with the vulnerable take precedent over the letter of the law as the path to righteousness. Joseph is called to use his privilege (as a male -- as a descendant of David) to cover her vulnerability. He is called to stop this talk of distancing himself from her and to move in closer. He is told it’s time to emulate our God who moves in closer to us. 
In Advent, we await “Emmanuel” -- God with us! We celebrate the arrival of the one who saves us from in our very midst - not from afar. Joseph is the first person in Matthew who is asked to reflect God in this way - by choosing to be with Mary in solidarity rather than just doing a thing that is nice and maybe even more than would be reasonably expected. 
In the aftermath of the massacre at Bondi Beach, we have heard some stories of the people who rushed in to help and to protect others. One especially notable one was the local fruit-shop owner who tackled the gunman to save his Jewish neighbors. A Muslim refugee, this man surely knows what it feels like to be targeted for some core aspect of identity. And he had plenty of reasons to stay back -- some legit or “righteous” and some maybe not so palatable --  fear, different faith, safety. Had he not rushed in, nobody would be talking about him one way or the other right now. Nobody would blame him for hunkering down and hiding from the mess. But he saw neighbors in danger and modeled the kind of righteousness that puts mercy and compassion and solidarity above other fears and social conventions.
We are called to stand against antisemitism and hate, not just in sentiment, but in presence. Now is the time to reach out to your Jewish neighbors, friends, and coworkers to see what they need. We must be the "artisans encouraging the goldsmiths" (Isaiah 41)—helping one another be brave -- helping each other navigate a frightening and dangerous world. 
Who in your life is "carrying something sacred and heavy"? 
Who is pregnant with a possibility or a burden that terrifies them? 
How can you stand in solidarity with them? 
How can you go above what is expected or considered righteous and act in mercy, compassion, solidarity?
In this Advent -- and soon Christmas -- season, we aren’t called to be nice. We are called to be righteous -- but the sort of righteous that allows for the growth of character that leads to choose mercy over the law, compassion over the socially expected, solidarity over self-preservation.
This Advent, stop trying to "dismiss quietly" the things that make you uncomfortable. Use your privilege, your voice, and your presence to stand with the vulnerable.
It’s a very tall order, but we can do this because God has already done it for us. We know what it looks like because it’s been modeled for us.  In the manger, God came to stand in solidarity with us. We are not alone in the fear. Emmanuel is with us, so we can be with one another.