Love Transcending Law and Custom
Sermon
FROM ANTICIPATION TO TRANSFIGURATION
Sermons For Advent, Christmas, & Epiphany
Joseph was in a bind! Mary, his betrothed, had become pregnant. Both law and custom were on his side. Joseph could have broken his vow to become her husband, thereby putting Mary to shame. Or, he could have divorced her quietly, thereby putting her in an untenable position. He could have charged her with infidelity, thus repudiating her and reducing her to a life of shame.
While Joseph was trying to decide what to do, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said: "Joseph, Son of David, do not fear to take Mary your wife, for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit; she will bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins."
According to the customs and standards of his day, Joseph had every right to divorce Mary quietly. Law and tradition were his allies. All of Joseph's customers would have understood. Not one person in the village of Nazareth would have argued with him. He could have slipped out of a most difficult situation.
But instead of taking the easy way out of his bind, Joseph heeded what the angel of the Lord commanded and took Mary as his wife. Instead of trying to find some way to separate himself from Mary, Joseph loved her and cared for her. For Joseph, care was more important than conventional expectations. Compassion was more important than honored rights. Love, justice, and a sense of responsibility were more important than tradition and law.
Every now and then we see a modern-day Joseph - a person for whom love takes precedent over rules and conventional morality. Every now and then we see a person whose vision of life has been lifted above "what everybody else does." Every now and then we see a person for whom compassion is more important than legality.
The December 7, 1987, issue of The New York Times carried a story about a contemporary Joseph. The story took place in Enniskillen, North Ireland, where the killing of one Irish person by another is a routine part of life. So commonplace is killing there that it is unusual when the loss of innocent life causes people to stop and actually wonder whether the long, coarse weave of vendettas and grievances might be altered.
People in Belfast, Dublin, and London started trying to answer that all-important question after eleven Irish civilians were killed in Enniskillen on November 8, 1987. Among those killed was twenty-year-old Marie Wilson, a student nurse mortally wounded when she was crushed by a wall in which the Irish Republican Army had hidden a powerful bomb. The I.R.A. later insisted that they intended for the bomb to kill security forces at a memorial service, not civilians.
Given the normal pace of Irish atrocities, the story of Ms. Wilson's demise might have slipped from general sight within a few brief days. But the citizens of Ireland talked about her tragic death for days, even weeks.
As Ms. Wilson lay dying under the rubble, she held the hand of her father, Gordon, who had also been buried beneath the pile of debris. "She had been screaming at times, then reassuring me," Gordon Wilson recalled, his right arm in a sling, his hand groping uselessly as he talked. "She said, 'Daddy, I love you very much,' " he continued in a tone remarkable in its gentleness. "Those were the last words she spoke."
Gordon Wilson stunned the British Isles when he said, "I bear no ill will at all." In the first angry hours after the bombing, Mr. Wilson's reaction was to pray for his daughter's killers.
His statement is even more extraordinary when put in context of other black-night tragedies which now have a roll-call familiarity: the "Bloody Sunday" shooting of thirteen Catholic nationalist civil rights marchers by British security forces in Londonderry in 1972; the bombing by a Protestant loyalist who killed fifteen Catholic nationalists in McGurk's Barroom in Belfast sixteen years ago; and for the pro-British loyalists, the Birmingham pub bombings by the I.R.A. that killed twenty-one people fourteen years ago. The bombing at Enniskillen will soon fade into just another line in this list of troubles.
However, Mr. Wilson was not interested in trying to fit his daughter into the long list of political atrocities. "Marie's last words were about life," he said, slowly lilting her name, "MAH-re," in Irish "It would be no way for me to remember her by having words of hatred in my mouth.
"But, I tell you this," he said, "A woman, someone I would call a sharp-edged Protestant, came to my door sobbing after Marie died. The woman said the tragedy had 'softened her heart'. Now that has to be good," said the father, pondering the value of Marie's life and death. "That has to be good."
In Gordon Wilson, we have a contemporary Joseph. His attitude goes far beyond the attitudes expressed by custom and tradition. Mirroring compassion was far more important to him than speaking for the collective voice of a society gone mad.
The biblical story of Joseph makes the heart grow soft. This is so because Joseph was true to his understanding of what God expected of him. He did as God commanded when law, tradition, and custom gave him permission to take a road much wider and much less difficult. Instead of taking the wide path, Joseph cooperated with the action of God in human history. He did as the Angel requested He named his son Jesus, which is a Greek form of the Hebrew "Joshua" meaning "he shall save". As the ancient saviors of Israel saved their people from foreign oppressors, so Jesus was to save his people. Joseph, as the result of the divine oracle vouchsafed to him in his dream, terminated his betrothal by taking Mary home to live in his house.
There is a lot ot talk today about what makes Christmas. Newspaper and television advertisements coax people into believing that they can have a real Christmas by going to a festive shopping center, eating at trendy restaurants, or watching glittering "Christmas programs" on television. Others believe that Christmas is made by the fastidious keeping of time-honored family rituals, such as, sentimental ornaments on just the right tree, eating food from a menu which has been handed down from generation to generation, or by visiting the same relatives at precisely the same time on Christmas Day. Some believe that Christmas is made by purchasing a uniquely special gift for every relative, friend, and acquaintance. To be sure, all of these contribute to our cultural understanding of Christmas.
But the answer to "What makes a real Christmas?" must be found in human history. That is what Joseph did. And, in a very real sense, it was the theology of Joseph which made possible the first Christmas. If Joseph had not cooperated with God's action in human history, the birth of Jesus would have been quite different.
The witness of Joseph calls us to cooperate with God's work in today's world. It calls us to respond to God's action among us.
Joseph, not having all of the evidence and knowledge of the future, decided to do more than law and custom required. He elected to do more than was expected of him. He let justice and compassion guide his decision about his pregnant betrothed. He was pulled, not by the strength of custom, but by the law of love.
But, isn't it strange that during this season we are more prone to be like Joseph than during the rest of the year? During these last days of Advent, we are more apt to practice mercy than at any other time of the year. The questions that we raised from the first of last January until just before Thanksgiving do not seem to be very appropriate when Christmas is just around the corner.
All of the rest of the year we ask questions: "Do they really deserve it?", "Are they really hungry?", or "How do people get their lives so messed up?" Or we make comments like: "All we owe people is an opportunity", "Let's give to those who deserve it", "Let's help those who help themselves", or "How much longer are we going to try to turn our plowshares and pruning hooks into swords?"
But, it is true - people start acting strange around the Fourth Sunday of Advent. The most hard-nosed and opinionated start scurrying around to find people who need to be helped. The most tight-fisted search for places to give away some hard cash. The busiest people in town take time to ring bells on street corners. Agencies and churches get calls from people who actually want to lend a hand. Volunteers seem to pour out of the woodwork. In large measure, those who fill the pews of the church today are those who do not darken the church door during the rest of the year. The Incarnation seems to call us to rise above the way we live the rest of the year. The strangest people seem to live an understanding of love which transcends law and custom.
The way we cooperate with God's intentions during this season tells us that we are capable of responding. It tells us that by God's grace we can live by a standard of love which transcends tradition and custom. This is the season that we can join God in what God is trying to do. It is because of Emmanuel - "God is with us."
While Joseph was trying to decide what to do, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said: "Joseph, Son of David, do not fear to take Mary your wife, for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit; she will bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins."
According to the customs and standards of his day, Joseph had every right to divorce Mary quietly. Law and tradition were his allies. All of Joseph's customers would have understood. Not one person in the village of Nazareth would have argued with him. He could have slipped out of a most difficult situation.
But instead of taking the easy way out of his bind, Joseph heeded what the angel of the Lord commanded and took Mary as his wife. Instead of trying to find some way to separate himself from Mary, Joseph loved her and cared for her. For Joseph, care was more important than conventional expectations. Compassion was more important than honored rights. Love, justice, and a sense of responsibility were more important than tradition and law.
Every now and then we see a modern-day Joseph - a person for whom love takes precedent over rules and conventional morality. Every now and then we see a person whose vision of life has been lifted above "what everybody else does." Every now and then we see a person for whom compassion is more important than legality.
The December 7, 1987, issue of The New York Times carried a story about a contemporary Joseph. The story took place in Enniskillen, North Ireland, where the killing of one Irish person by another is a routine part of life. So commonplace is killing there that it is unusual when the loss of innocent life causes people to stop and actually wonder whether the long, coarse weave of vendettas and grievances might be altered.
People in Belfast, Dublin, and London started trying to answer that all-important question after eleven Irish civilians were killed in Enniskillen on November 8, 1987. Among those killed was twenty-year-old Marie Wilson, a student nurse mortally wounded when she was crushed by a wall in which the Irish Republican Army had hidden a powerful bomb. The I.R.A. later insisted that they intended for the bomb to kill security forces at a memorial service, not civilians.
Given the normal pace of Irish atrocities, the story of Ms. Wilson's demise might have slipped from general sight within a few brief days. But the citizens of Ireland talked about her tragic death for days, even weeks.
As Ms. Wilson lay dying under the rubble, she held the hand of her father, Gordon, who had also been buried beneath the pile of debris. "She had been screaming at times, then reassuring me," Gordon Wilson recalled, his right arm in a sling, his hand groping uselessly as he talked. "She said, 'Daddy, I love you very much,' " he continued in a tone remarkable in its gentleness. "Those were the last words she spoke."
Gordon Wilson stunned the British Isles when he said, "I bear no ill will at all." In the first angry hours after the bombing, Mr. Wilson's reaction was to pray for his daughter's killers.
His statement is even more extraordinary when put in context of other black-night tragedies which now have a roll-call familiarity: the "Bloody Sunday" shooting of thirteen Catholic nationalist civil rights marchers by British security forces in Londonderry in 1972; the bombing by a Protestant loyalist who killed fifteen Catholic nationalists in McGurk's Barroom in Belfast sixteen years ago; and for the pro-British loyalists, the Birmingham pub bombings by the I.R.A. that killed twenty-one people fourteen years ago. The bombing at Enniskillen will soon fade into just another line in this list of troubles.
However, Mr. Wilson was not interested in trying to fit his daughter into the long list of political atrocities. "Marie's last words were about life," he said, slowly lilting her name, "MAH-re," in Irish "It would be no way for me to remember her by having words of hatred in my mouth.
"But, I tell you this," he said, "A woman, someone I would call a sharp-edged Protestant, came to my door sobbing after Marie died. The woman said the tragedy had 'softened her heart'. Now that has to be good," said the father, pondering the value of Marie's life and death. "That has to be good."
In Gordon Wilson, we have a contemporary Joseph. His attitude goes far beyond the attitudes expressed by custom and tradition. Mirroring compassion was far more important to him than speaking for the collective voice of a society gone mad.
The biblical story of Joseph makes the heart grow soft. This is so because Joseph was true to his understanding of what God expected of him. He did as God commanded when law, tradition, and custom gave him permission to take a road much wider and much less difficult. Instead of taking the wide path, Joseph cooperated with the action of God in human history. He did as the Angel requested He named his son Jesus, which is a Greek form of the Hebrew "Joshua" meaning "he shall save". As the ancient saviors of Israel saved their people from foreign oppressors, so Jesus was to save his people. Joseph, as the result of the divine oracle vouchsafed to him in his dream, terminated his betrothal by taking Mary home to live in his house.
There is a lot ot talk today about what makes Christmas. Newspaper and television advertisements coax people into believing that they can have a real Christmas by going to a festive shopping center, eating at trendy restaurants, or watching glittering "Christmas programs" on television. Others believe that Christmas is made by the fastidious keeping of time-honored family rituals, such as, sentimental ornaments on just the right tree, eating food from a menu which has been handed down from generation to generation, or by visiting the same relatives at precisely the same time on Christmas Day. Some believe that Christmas is made by purchasing a uniquely special gift for every relative, friend, and acquaintance. To be sure, all of these contribute to our cultural understanding of Christmas.
But the answer to "What makes a real Christmas?" must be found in human history. That is what Joseph did. And, in a very real sense, it was the theology of Joseph which made possible the first Christmas. If Joseph had not cooperated with God's action in human history, the birth of Jesus would have been quite different.
The witness of Joseph calls us to cooperate with God's work in today's world. It calls us to respond to God's action among us.
Joseph, not having all of the evidence and knowledge of the future, decided to do more than law and custom required. He elected to do more than was expected of him. He let justice and compassion guide his decision about his pregnant betrothed. He was pulled, not by the strength of custom, but by the law of love.
But, isn't it strange that during this season we are more prone to be like Joseph than during the rest of the year? During these last days of Advent, we are more apt to practice mercy than at any other time of the year. The questions that we raised from the first of last January until just before Thanksgiving do not seem to be very appropriate when Christmas is just around the corner.
All of the rest of the year we ask questions: "Do they really deserve it?", "Are they really hungry?", or "How do people get their lives so messed up?" Or we make comments like: "All we owe people is an opportunity", "Let's give to those who deserve it", "Let's help those who help themselves", or "How much longer are we going to try to turn our plowshares and pruning hooks into swords?"
But, it is true - people start acting strange around the Fourth Sunday of Advent. The most hard-nosed and opinionated start scurrying around to find people who need to be helped. The most tight-fisted search for places to give away some hard cash. The busiest people in town take time to ring bells on street corners. Agencies and churches get calls from people who actually want to lend a hand. Volunteers seem to pour out of the woodwork. In large measure, those who fill the pews of the church today are those who do not darken the church door during the rest of the year. The Incarnation seems to call us to rise above the way we live the rest of the year. The strangest people seem to live an understanding of love which transcends law and custom.
The way we cooperate with God's intentions during this season tells us that we are capable of responding. It tells us that by God's grace we can live by a standard of love which transcends tradition and custom. This is the season that we can join God in what God is trying to do. It is because of Emmanuel - "God is with us."
