The story of the birth of Jesus is shocking, because the main character, the man to act as Jesus’ earthly father, abandoned his principles thus “compromising” himself. His fellow Jews might well have asked “what kind of a man would do such an unheard of thing?” Unmanly. Inexplicably foolish. Clearly, a man who no longer needs to cling desperately to his principles to define himself because another way – indeed, another MAN – has been shown him. Joseph trades the wordly security of his abstract principles for relationship with the concrete, living Father God – whose uncontrollable mercy and grace alone can empower a man to carry out his purposes in the world.
Men today who dare listen to this story faithfully must begin to say “YES, JOSEPH” but “YES, FATHER (GOD).” This cry is most often heard from a man on-his-knees. “ABBA, FATHER, I don’t want to be a so-called man of principle anymore. I’ve tried but I can’t be. It only cuts me off from myself and from people I love. Forgive me for thinking I could make myself righteous. I offer myself to you as a living sacrifice” (Rom. 12:1-2).
Every year, we look forward to Christmas because it means “peace and good will.” But even as health may require a surgeon’s cut, so God’s inner peace and good relations with others require a painful surrender. To remember the story is to know that the Father came into this world and first shattered not the great sinner safely across the freeway from us – just across the street – but the man who always did “what was right,” the man who prides himself on his being “righteous”: the fine, dependable man of principle just like you and me. You and me whom the Lord’s birth just upended and upset. Sometimes I wish it were not so. I will all my principles and morals and high standards would exempt me from God’s upsetting painful birth. I wish I could say, “Lord, I’m OK, you’re OK, so just go over THERE to THEM. They’re the ones who need You.”
The pride inherent in such thinking backfires and buries us in guilt. “If I do everytime right, I’ll come out right,” we say to ourselves. “If it doesn’t come out right, that means I did something wrong and I’m therefore guilty.” But we simply do not have such control over circumstances and other people in this broken world.
If only the story read that Joseph when he discovered his fiancée was pregnant and not by him, religiously pasted a smile on his face, lifted his arms, and shouted HALLELUYAH. Then I could toss out the whole business as a farce – totally out of reach for me, if not patently unrealistic. I could keep grasping my “principles,” I could avoid facing up to my brokenness and sustain the fantasy of being in control of my salvation. Or if only the story of Christmas read that Jesus was born of Joseph’s seed THE RIGHT(ous) WAY. Then the man of principle – like you and me – could presume to follow this uncontrollable GOD while sticking comfortably, securely behind his principles.
I don’t like this story of the birth of the Messiah. But I’m thankful for it. Because without it, the story of the death of the Messiah would mean (nothing) not a thing to me. I’m not moved by a god who dies for a “principle.” But I’m humbled utterly, humbled unto death (and a new life as a son) by God who dies for me.
Jesus, that is, came to restore the relationship with the Father. And Jesus hates anything that destroy that relationship. If that sounds like strong language for those who prefer to think of Jesus as nice guy Milquetoast, inoffensive to one and all, consider the volley of anger that he unleashed on the religious leaders of his day: “You snakes and sons of snakes!” “blind fools and blind guides!” “Hypocrites!” “Murderers!” (Matthew 23:33,17,25,34).
