Have you ever had a conflict with someone where they’ve done you wrong? We all have, right? How did you handle it? Did you confront them? Did you yell and scream and demand they apologize and make it right? Did you appeal to some outside authority to force the wrongdoer to pay a penalty? Did you let it go? Move on? Did you try to be the bigger person?
Joseph is in that kind of situation. He is engaged to be married to this young woman, Mary, who has never been married. Presumably, he has negotiated a marriage contract with her father and paid a bride price for her, all under the assumption that she is a virgin— that all children born of her will be, undeniably, his children. Remember: for most of human history, marriage as an institution has been an economic and legal structure. Joseph may or may not have had feelings of affection or attraction for Mary, but through the lens of the law this was as much a business matter as anything else. A marriage contract presuming a never married, virgin bride is more costly because it’s the only way to ensure that the only children you are responsible for are your own.
Again, remember, this is the first century. There are no paternity tests. Folks don’t really understand the mechanics of how pregnancies work… Folks thought the womb was a vessel that retained the presence of past contents— like tupperware that once stored leftover spaghetti and from then on was not just stained, but retained a slight fragrance of tomato and garlic that would work into whatever else was stored in it, no matter how well washed. That’s… not how uteruses work, though there are plenty of folks walking around in America today who still believe, even on merely a spiritual level, that this is how things work.
If this is how you think things work, it changes the conclusion you reach. It’s important to remember this when we read about Joseph’s decision-making about how to handle this situation. The young woman to whom he’s engaged, who he has contracted with her father to marry under the assumption she has been with any other man, is pregnant. This is a breach of contract at best; at worst, it’s fraud. From a legal perspective, this is adultery, plain and simple… and the correct consequence under the law is that she should be stoned to death. After all, no man who marries her will ever have the assurance that a child born of Mary is his.
But Joseph is a kind man— a decent man— a righteous man. He doesn’t want to see this young woman executed. But he also wants to save his own face and, presumably, have children that are his. So, he decides to be the bigger person here— to be merciful— and quietly send her away. Let her and her family figure things out privately… And if anybody finds out the truth, well, he looks good here— he retains his good standing in the community. He’s not a fool raising someone else’s kid… but he’s also not vindictive or hard hearted. He’s kind. He’s decent. He’s righteous.
We’re living in times where it seems that kindness and decency are in short supply, particularly in our public discourse. Disagreements and conflict are a normal part of life— indeed, a lack of conflict can be a problem…It portends groupthink and apathy. But how we engage conflict matters… and purposeful cruelty, pettiness, and dehumanizing language and actions have become the norm, from bumper stickers to the halls of power.
Now to be clear: the tenor of our discourse is disturbing, but for marginalized people, the actual policy outcomes aren’t really very innovative. We have been dismantling our social safety net as long as I’ve been alive—longer, in fact. Queer folks, trans folks, people of color, immigrants, women, religious minorities, workers, and indigenous folks have always faced discrimination and legal structures that make their flourishing more difficult. All kinds of cruelty can hide behind a facade of kindness and decency. Just because someone is being polite and discreet doesn’t mean they’re not being cruel.
Going back to Mary and Joseph… what outcome does Joseph’s sending Mary away quietly really ensure? Her father is under no true obligation under the law to bring her back into his home—she’s an adulteress after all. The proof is in her flesh. Without a husband or father to legally support her and provide for her, Mary’s options for housing and provision become incredibly precarious. If her family accepts her back, maybe there are ways to quietly deliver the baby, pass it off as someone else’s, and then marry her off— probably to a less well-suited man, since even without the scandal of adultery hanging over her, the reality that Mary was once engaged but then was dismissed could give other suiters pause. And in any case, when there are skeletons in your closet, there is always the threat of the wrong person opening the door.
Joseph may be doing the kind, decent thing, the thing that makes him look good and sleep better at night, but it’s like papering over water damaged walls, especially for Mary and her child. He may not be condemning her to death by stoning, but that doesn’t mean he’s saving her life.
But God is doing something else entirely here.
Something that transcends any calculations Joseph may have been making.
An angel of God appears in a dream to Joseph and tells him, “Do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit.” By staying with Mary, indeed, by marrying her, Joseph is risking his own reputation— folks may not know exactly in a medical sense how things work, but they can count… meaning either Joseph was pressing his luck with Mary before he had any right to or that he was a fool raising someone else’s kid.
But now that Joseph had the reassurance that this foolish thing was worthwhile, that by giving up some of his standing, by providing for Mary and her child which was not his child in the strictly biological sense, Joseph could be part of something more transformative, more just, more good than mere kindness or decency. Something beyond what he could have imagined. By sticking with Mary, by doing right by her at his own expense, Joseph will suffer— we know he will have to flee his homeland on account of her and her baby. He will have all the parental and paternal duties expected for this child at a time of social, economic, and political instability. And this is what he does, because God has revealed to him a glimpse— just a glimpse— of the bigger picture.
What makes Joseph truly righteous is that he is willing to set aside his worldly concerns to respond affirmatively to God’s call on his life… to be part of God’s plan:
Emmanuel— God with us.
We take the Incarnation for granted, but if we really think about the implications that God, Creator of the whole universe, would become truly, fully human—and not just human, but a helpless baby born to a peasant living in occupied territory under imperial rule—it changes all our calculations… Especially if we then affirm, as we do, that we, through our baptism, are part of that very human manifestation of God.
It changes the way we think about everything… Just like Joseph, who is no longer concerned about being done right or wrong in a contract. Doing the kind, decent thing isn’t as far as God asks us to go. God asks us to look beyond our limited perspectives and open ourselves to possibilities beyond our imaginations. That doesn’t mean it’s all sunshine or rainbows or that we will ever see the fruits of our labor or suffering. After all, we know precious little about how Joseph’s life goes, at least according to scriptural tradition. But we know that when presented with the choice to buy into what God was doing, Joseph put his chips in the pot and went along for the ride.
What might God be asking you to buy into, even if it might not be ideal for you?
What would the world look like if we didn’t settle for just kind and decent, but transformative and good for everyone instead of just a few of us?
What could it mean for us to be “God with us” in the world, in times such as these?
May it be so. Amen.