Tag: Fourth Sunday of Advent

Do Not Be Afraid: Love Is About to Be Born!

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Advent and Christmas, Sermons Year A1 Comment

Matthew 1:18-25

On the fourth Sunday of Advent, we stand with a man named Joseph, on the threshold of a future he never expected.

Week after week, Advent has been inviting us to look for God to show up where no one is looking: in the wilderness, in the shadows, in the cries of prophets and the songs of unlikely women. And now, as Christmas draws near, our gospel lesson leads us into the quiet and conflicted heart of a man who wanted to do the right thing but wasn’t sure what the right thing was.

We’ve been there before, haven’t we, asking: “Now, what?” “What in the world do we do now?” “How should we respond to the news we’ve just received, this loss, this change, this crisis?” And how do we respond faithfully?

How do we believe with the prophet Zechariah in a future that seems impossible? How do we believe that what is broken doesn’t have to stay that way? How do we move past our grief and our cynicism?

Here’s some good news that we shouldn’t miss: Matthew writes, “This is how the birth of Jesus the Messiah came about.”

How about that? Christmas didn’t come wrapped in certainty, clarity, or confidence, but in confusion, shock, and scandal, in questions that kept Joseph up at night.

Joseph receives the news that Mary is pregnant with a child that is not his. But Joseph is righteous, which means he loves God and neighbor. He believes in the golden rule and wants to do the merciful thing, the kind thing, the just thing. But sometimes, even righteousness can get tangled in fear. Even righteousness can struggle to imagine a horizon beyond the one we can see.

And so, Joseph, like so many of us, makes a plan to manage a difficult situation quietly, discreetly, safely.

This may be where that old saying “If you want to make God laugh, make a plan.”

Joseph had a plan. A good plan. A righteous plan. And then God showed up, and God being God says: “We’re going to need to revise that!”

An angel of the Lord interrupts his plans: “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid.”

It’s something perhaps we all need to hear:

Do not be afraid of uncertainty.

Do not be afraid of mystery.

Do not be afraid of this news you did not expect.

Do not be afraid to love beyond what the world tells you is reasonable

or socially acceptable.

Do not be afraid to let go of your plans and let God write the rest of your story!

And then comes the promise: “The child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit… and you shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.”

It’s important to understand that this is not just about personal sin, as we have been led to believe. It’s about God stepping into a world shaped by injustice and rescuing God’s people from everything that keeps them bound. Jesus is born to save people from the moral sickness of systems that deny dignity, distort truth, and crush the vulnerable.

Joseph stands right where many of us stand in this season: between the world as we know it today and the world God is unfolding; between our lived reality and the day when love will finally win; between answering a call and fear of where saying “yes” to that call may take us.

And it is precisely here, in this fragile in-between space, that Advent makes its final turn, not toward certainty or explanation, but toward love. And not toward just any love.

The love that breaks into Joseph’s life is not a sentimental love that asks nothing from him. It’s not a love that Joseph is only meant to feel deep inside.

 It is a fierce, courageous, and public love that asks something of Joseph: for him to be selfless; for him to sacrifice; for him to give of himself, for him to walk humbly and do justice. It’s the kind of love that refuses to leave any of God’s children cast aside or put away. And it is a love that refuses to allow fear to keep Joseph on the sidelines, insisting instead that he become a participant in God’s unfolding promise.

We know something about that kind of love; because this year, we have lived it. We have seen this love hold us together when the world felt like it was falling apart.

It’s the love that kept us going when mercy was mocked, when compassion was ridiculed, and empathy was dismissed. It’s the love that kept us committed when the holy values of equity, diversity and inclusion were attacked.

It’s the love that kept us showing up when the headlines were heavy, when the rhetoric of the powerful dehumanized the vulnerable, when policies wounded the poor, and when silence would have been much easier than faithfulness.

It’s the love that steadied us as we protested, prayed, voted, organized, fed, welcomed, and spoke out, sometimes with trembling voices, always with stubborn hope, because being silent was not an option, and we knew disengaging was not faithfulness.

It’s the love that has held us.

It’s the love that has carried us.

It’s the love that keeps us from surrendering our conscience,
even when cruelty is normalized, lies are rationalized, faith is compromised, and the truth is redacted.

It’s the love that will not let us look away, back down, or give up.

It’s the love that compelled us to feed the hungry, welcome the stranger, stand with the marginalized, and speak truth even when it came at a cost.

It’s the love that refused to let exhaustion become indifference, or disappointment become despair. It’s the love that sustained Marian Stump in the last year of her life, and so many who faced unexpected hardships, giving this year meaning and purpose with hope.

Time and again, when it would have been easier to retreat, this love called us forward.

And, like Joseph, it asks us not merely to survive the moment, but to participate in what God is still bringing to birth in the world. The same love that has carried us through fear and fatigue continues to call us today: to choose courage even when the path is uncertain. It asks us, like Joseph, to march into God’s unfolding promise, not safely, not quietly, but faithfully, boldly, and without delay.

The story of Joseph, of fear giving way to faithfulness, of uncertainty giving way to courageous action, is the Advent story.

It’s Joseph’s story. And it is our story. It’s a story that teaches us that God’s love does not always look like what we wanted or expected. But it’s always more than we knew to hope for.

Matthew says that all of this happened “to fulfill what the Lord had spoken through the prophet.” A virgin. A child. A name: “Emmanuel, God with us.”

And it’s important to pay attention to where the prophet imagines Emmanuel showing up: not in palaces; not in legislative chambers; not in the places where people wield power as if it belongs to them. Emmanuel is born among the poor, the marginalized, the least of these, in places the world least expects.

And today, if we want to see where God is Emmanuel, where God is still showing up, we must look where the world still refuses to look:

among immigrant families demonized for daring to hope;
among those struggling in poverty in the richest nation in the world;
among workers whose wages don’t cover their rent;
among seniors choosing between food and medicine;
among children whose schools are underfunded;

among those who are dismissed, dehumanized, or told their lives do not matter.

If Christmas teaches us anything, it is that God does not wait for systems to change before God moves. God enters the world right in the middle of the darkness amid the injustice, and says: “Look what I’m about to do!”

“When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him.”

Joseph steps into God’s calling even though everything around him still looks uncertain. This is the moral courage William Barber calls “standing on higher ground,” on the ground where justice outweighs fear, where mercy outruns judgment, and where love overrides everything!

Joseph chooses love over reputation. Love over comfort. Love over convenience. Love over any path that would have been easier. Love over everything!

And friends, Christmas 2025 asks nothing less of us.

When laws are passed that deepen poverty, we must be Joseph.

When families are separated, migrants are demonized, and immigrants are treated as threats rather than neighbors, we must be Joseph.

When leaders weaponize fear, pitting race against race, faith against faith, neighbor against neighbor, we must be Joseph.

When cruelty masquerades as strength, when lies are repeated until they are accepted as “truth,” when power is prized over people, we must be Joseph.

When the right to vote is narrowed, restricted, or quietly taken away, especially from the poor, the young, the elderly, and communities of color, we must be Joseph.

When creation itself groans under neglect and exploitation, when people cannot afford health insurance, when children are denied safety, dignity, or opportunity, we must be Joseph.

And when our own lives are disrupted, by grief, illness, injustice, or futures we never planned, we must be Joseph.

And the good news—the hopeful, peaceful, joyful, love-filled, good news of Christmas—is that God is still whispering to a fearful people: “Do not be afraid. I am Emmanuel. I am with you.” “Do not be afraid, because Love is about to be born!”

And when Joseph holds that newborn child, he will hold a future no empire can contain, no lie can stop, and no hatred can overcome. And on this Fourth Sunday of Advent, we are reminded: God is still writing the story!

And so, as Christmas approaches:

Let the weary find rest.
Let the silenced find voice.
Let the broken find healing.
Let the fearful find courage.
Let the struggling find companions on the road.
And let love—real, disruptive, justice-making, life-restoring love—be born again in us.

Because Emmanuel is still with us. God is still moving toward us. And Christ is still being born wherever love takes the risk that Joseph took.

May this Advent love, bold, disruptive, and steadfast, fill us with hope.

May it remind us that no matter what the new year brings—uncertainty, struggle, sickness, or sorrow—we are not alone.

May it strengthen us to speak truth, to stand for justice, to welcome the stranger, and to act with courage.

And may it remind us, again and again, that God is still at work. God is still bringing light out of darkness. God is still calling forth life and making all things new.

Amen.

Christmas for the Average Joe

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Advent and Christmas, Sermons Year ALeave a comment

st-joseph-infant-jesus-344x400Matthew 1:18-25 NRSV

This past week, I went to the post office to purchase some Christmas stamps for our Christmas cards.  And this year, like every year, I am asked the same question from the postal clerk that goes something like this:  “Do you want the gingerbread house, or do you want the religious stamps?”  Last year, it was either “the snowman or the religious stamps?”

Of course I want the religious stamps! It’s Christmas, and I’m a preacher, and I’m supposed to be religious!

“What kind of religious stamps to you have?” I asked.

And every year it’s always the same. In the Christmas religious category, you always have the same number of choices—one.  Said the clerk: “It’s the Madonna and child, you know, the portrait of the Virgin Mary holding the baby Jesus.”

Have you ever wondered why there are no stamps of Joseph holding the baby Jesus?  In all of your born days, have you ever seen such a stamp?  Have you ever even heard of such a stamp?

Now, I understand that way back then, in a male dominated society, men probably didn’t do a lot of baby holding.  That was the woman’s job.  But why hasn’t there ever been a postage stamp of Jesus and Joseph hard at work in Joseph’s workshop building something together?  Why can’t we find a postage stamp of Jesus and his carpenter father building a new pew or a pulpit for the local synagogue?

And along the same lines, how many Christmas carols or a Christmas hymns have you ever heard that are about Joseph?  If you look through any traditional hymn book, you’ll find, “Gentle Mary Laid Her Child Lowly in a Manger;” “That Boy-Child of Mary.” “What Child is this, Who, Laid to Rest on Mary’s Lap;” “Child in the Manger, Infant of Mary.”  Then of course there’s “Silent night, Holy Night, All Is Calm All is Bright Round Yon Virgin Mother and Child!”  Why isn’t it “round yon father, mother and child?” Why is it never “Child in the Manger, Infant of Mary and Joseph?”  The truth is: you’ve got to look high and low, do a lot of googling, to even find one mention of Joseph’s name in any Christmas carol or Christian hymn!

Now, I realize that Joseph is not the biological father of Jesus.  Yet, without him there would be no nativity.  Have you ever seen a nativity scene without Joseph?  Even the very small ones, the ones without all of the animals and the shepherds and wise men, have Mary, the baby Jesus and Joseph!

His role in the Christmas story is so important that he, like Mary is also visited by an angel. He is told that his wife, Mary, is going to have a baby, but he is not the father. However, he must accept the baby as his own.  And then, although he is asked to claim the child, raise the child, and provide for the child, Joseph will not even have the privilege of naming him, as he is told by the angel call him “Jesus.”

He must shoulder the demands of fatherhood. He must support Mary in her awkward situation before the child is delivered. And then, when the child is delivered, he must be born in a barn! Then, soon after, he must be protected from the horrors of King Herod. He must save the child’s life by fleeing to Egypt until it is safe to come back home. But still, Joseph has no postage stamp, no hymn, no carol.

They belong to Mary. Maybe it is because the church has traditionally called Mary “the first disciple.”  And well we should, for she was the first one to be visited by an angel, the first one to hear the call of God on her life, and she is the first one to faithfully say: “yes!”  When the angel told her that she was going to have a baby, she replied with obedient, grateful confidence with the beautiful words: “Let it be to me according to your will.”

Amen, Sister Mary! That will preach!

But what is there about our brother Joseph that will preach? Yes, he does go through extraordinary lengths to care for and protect the baby Jesus. But, really, who wouldn’t? When it comes to innocent babies, no matter who they are, most of us have a soft spot.

So what is it about Joseph that preaches, that speaks to us, that reveals something about who God is, how God acts, and who God is calling us to be?

Mary was the first to receive the good news, the first to be called by God to participate in the movement of God, and Mary was the first to say “yes,” but Joseph is the second to the get the news:  The good news, the gospel, the word that God was pouring God’s self out, emptying God’s self and becoming flesh to save all people through a child to be named Jesus. Joseph is the second to be called by God, which kind of makes Joseph the second disciple. And, Joseph was the second to say “yes!” Maybe that is what preaches about Joseph!

Well, actually, typical of Joseph, he did not say anything, at least nothing that we know of.  In all of our encounters with Joseph in the gospel of Matthew, we do not hear him utter one word.  Did you know that?  Maybe that is the reason the postmaster told me that yet again this year, that if I did not want the Gingerbread House, and wanted something in the religious department, I only had one choice.

But you know something?  Most of us are a lot like Joseph, aren’t we?  No one is going to find a postage stamp with any of our faces on it either. Most of us are a lot like Joseph in that all the news we have about Jesus is really second-hand news. We were not the first to get it.  Mary’s first-hand news was dramatic, causing her to become involved in the movements of God in the world in the most profound of ways, literally with her body and soul.

It’s just not quite the same with Joseph, and it is not quite the same with us.

And, like Joseph, most of us are not big talkers. We are ordinary, quiet folks. When Mary was visited by the angel, she burst into song, singing one of the most beloved songs in all of scripture and the church: her lovely and powerful Magnificat. But Joseph, he never sang. And as far as we know, he never even said anything.  He was a simple man, a quiet man, a rather ordinary man, an average Joe.

Now, I’m a big talker, but you have to pay me to do it! Most of you would be very uncomfortable up here doing what I do in this pulpit this morning. You have faith, but you don’t like to make a big show of it. You believe in Christ wholeheartedly, and you have committed yourselves to follow Christ faithfully, but you don’t have a lot to say about it. You are a faithful disciple, but you are a quiet disciple.

You go about serving your Lord every day, faithfully answering his call, courageously following Christ wherever he leads, albeit quietly.

And like Joseph, sometimes the call of God leads you to do things that you do not want to do. Sometimes it calls you to go to places that you do not want to go. Sometimes it calls you to accept and love people that you would rather not accept and love.

And every ordinary Joe who strives to live as a disciple for the sake of others sacrifices and suffers.  And you do it because something or someone who is greater than yourself is constantly persuading you, encouraging you, leading you. And you follow. You persevere faithfully and courageously, albeit quietly and ordinarily.

You are just an average Joe, minding your own mundane, everyday business, when suddenly your life is caught up in the extraordinary purposes of God. You wake up one day realizing that you need to serve God more by serving others more selflessly—forgive those who have wronged you, care more earnestly, love more deeply, follow Christ more closely.

You wake up with a desire to bake cookies and deliver them to the oncology floor at the hospital on Christmas Day. You awake and feel led to make a donation to the food pantry, serve a meal in the soup kitchen, drive someone to a doctor’s appointment, and purchase a coat or a toy for a child.

And you don’t talk about it. You just very faithfully and quietly act.

The Bible is full of stories of average Joes minding his or her own business, and then, out of nowhere, comes a call. And usually the person being called is speechless.

Do you remember the call of Abraham?  When God called Abraham in the middle of the night, he was too dumbfounded to speak!  Do you remember the call of his wife Sarah?  When she was called, she could not talk either. All she could do was laugh!

When Moses was called, he spoke, but all he said was that he was not a very good speaker. We learn throughout the Bible, that this is simply the way God works. God specializes in calling ordinary people, average Joes, to become caught up in the unexpected and extraordinary movements of God in our world.

Therefore, we remember Joseph on this Sunday before Christmas.  And although we will not sing one carol this day about him, we thank God for him nonetheless. Because in Joseph we can see ourselves:  ordinary, average Joes.

Like him, we mind our own business. But then, into our ordinary lives, God intrudes. God comes to us, and God comes upon us. God calls us.  And even if we are not good with words, even we couldn’t burst into a hymn if we had to, even though we will never be on a postage stamp, if we will at least whisper, “yes,” then like Joseph, we will be faithful disciples, a people willing to follow the movements of God in Jesus Christ wherever it takes us.

And the good news is: that will preach!

PS: I found this poem after I wrote and delivered the sermon:

The hardest task
The most difficult role of all
That of just being there
And Joseph, dearest Joseph, stands for that.
Don’t you see? 

It is important,
crucially important,
that he stand there by that manger,
as he does,
In all his silent misery
Of doubt concern and fear.
If Joseph were not there
There might be no place for us,

…
Let us be there,
Simply be there just as Joseph was,
With nothing we can do now,
Nothing we can bring-
It’s far too late for that-
Nothing even to be said
Except, ‘Behold- be blessed,
Be silent, be at peace.

…
The hardest task
The most difficult role of all
That of just being there
And Joseph, dearest Joseph, stands for that.
Don’t you see?[1]

[1] Shepherd, J. Barrie. Faces at the Manger. Nashville: Upper Room Books, 1992.