Sun, Dec 15, 2019
Choice and risk
Matthew 1:18-25 by Craig de Vos
A story sermon on the 'annunciation' to Joseph
Series: Sermons

In many ways, life is really just a series of choices.

Some choices are easy.

But most are not.

The hardest choices that we face are not those between good and evil…

but between the lesser of two evils;

where… 

whatever choice you make… 

someone will get hurt;

where the choices that we make say a lot about who we are…

and about what we value. 

When someone hurts us, it’s natural to want revenge––

to get back at them;

to hurt them in return.

It can be hard to put that aside––

especially when your pride’s been hurt;

when you’ve been made to look like a fool;

when your feelings get stomped on;

when your trust is betrayed;

and when those you care about are affected.

When that happens, there are hard choices to be made.

Do you lash out in anger––

Say or do something that you’ll regret later;

or that ends up making the situation worse?

Do you store up your anger––

bide your time;

and Wait for the right opportunity to strike?

Do you just let it all slide––

pretend as though nothing happened…

or that it wasn’t significant…

even though it was, and it’s eating you up inside…

but you’re afraid of what you might do or say…

or how they might react?

Do you confront the person––

explain what they’ve done and what it means…

hold them accountable…

expect them to take responsibility for their actions…

and to take the consequences?

But what if those consequences are serious?

What if it’s a matter of life or death?

Can you still act with integrity and self-respect…

in acknowledging the hurt…

but shielding them from the full impact of those consequences?

As I said: hard choices.

 

I had only met Mary a couple of times.

She seemed nice enough:

quite young, of course;

a bit headstrong;

and a bit too willing to speak her mind.

But our parents had known each other for years.

Her family still farm their small plot of land…

while we had long since moved into town…

where dad had set up shop as a carpenter.

And, when I was old enough, I started helping out. 

I do most of the work now–– 

age and arthritis taking their toll on dad.

Well, our parents decided that we should get married…

and started arranging the whole thing.

We had a betrothal ceremony…

when my dad gave Mary’s dad a table and a lamp-stand that I had made…

and presented the marriage contract.

There hadn’t been too much quibbling about that.

But that was a couple of years ago now…

before Mary was old enough to be married.

But she’s just turned thirteen.

Negotiations over the dowry have been going well…

so our mothers had started talking about a wedding date.

 

And then it happened!

 

The last time that our families met––

while our fathers were haggling over the dowry…

and our mothers over the guest list––

Mary pulled me aside… 

somewhat sheepishly…

visibly swallowed…

opened her mouth… 

and then paused… 

as if… 

not quite sure how to say what she had to say.

Then she just whispered quietly… 

“I’m going to have a baby”.

I just stood there. 

Stunned.

I could feel the anger beginning to well up inside…

along with feelings of disappointment and betrayal…

of wounded pride… 

and shattered dreams.

I had always behaved properly.

And our family had done the right thing by her and her family.

But she’s been unfaithful––

gone and disgraced herself and her family.

Her father’s going to be publicly shamed––

his reputation ruined…

along with the rest of his extended family.

They’ll be shunned…

treated like outcasts or lepers.

And our family–– 

we’ll be the laughing stock of town.

 

Then it suddenly occurred to me… 

I don’t think that her father knows.

At least… 

he’s not behaving like he does.

She probably hasn’t told him yet.

 

So what do I do?

 

Do I say nothing––

just go along with it… 

and make out that the baby’s mine?

But how could I ever trust her again?

How could I live every day with that reminder?

 

And what if the truth came out?

 

But if I tell dad… 

and he makes it public––

which he would do… 

of course…  

because he’d be furious that he’s been deceived––

then she could be stoned to death.

It’s the only thing that her family could do to regain their honour.

 

But if people find out that we knew… 

and… 

that we didn’t make it public, well… !

 

Maybe, if I don’t tell dad…

then maybe her father can make some excuse to call off the wedding…

and send her away… 

till she’s had it.

Except she’ll never find another decent husband––

not now.

 

Or, maybe if we call off the wedding quietly…

then maybe the child’s father might do the right thing and marry her.

 

All the way home I kept thinking about it.

Stewing over it.

And I lay awake in bed for hours… 

turning it all over in my head;

alternating between my feelings of anger and pity;

pondering the consequences that each course of action would have.

Whatever I did, someone would get hurt.

Hard choices, indeed!

 

But I wasn’t going to act in anger.

Hurting Mary and her family wouldn’t make me feel any better.

Revenge always leaves a hollow feeling in the end.

And, although I hardly knew Mary, deep down I felt sorry for her.

And I did care what happened.

 

If I couldn’t marry her now, I could at least keep quiet…

and let her father work out what’s best.

Feeling a certain sense of peace with that… 

I finally drifted off to sleep.

 

But, in the early hours of the morning, I had a dream.

Not like any dream that I’d had before.

Simple… 

but quite unforgettable.

I saw an angel… 

standing at the foot of my bed… 

speaking to me:

Joseph, don’t be afraid to take Mary as your wife. 

For her child is from the Holy Spirit. 

She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people”

I woke up almost instantly…

pulse racing…

feeling quite perturbed and unsettled.

Marrying Mary went against all of my instincts:

my sense of pride;

my upbringing;

and my obligations to my family.

Why? 

Why should I do it?

Just because I’ve had a dream?

But how do I know that any of it’s true?

How do I know that I’m not going to get hurt again?

How do I know that it’s going to work out okay?

 

And then it occurred to me––

like most things in life, there are no guarantees.

Not when dealing with other people;

nor with God––

perhaps especially with God.

If life is a series of choices, then it’s also a series of risks.

If we don’t take the risks, then we actually stop living.

We become closed… 

hard… 

uncaring.

After all, choosing to love another person is a risk.

And it’s only when we take that sort of risk…

that God’s love is known…

that “God is with us”

and that Jesus can be born and find a home.