Our Imperfect Story

Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Advent IV, Year A
December 22, 2019
The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas
 
This is the only time of year that I really look forward to going to the mailbox.  During the rest of the year, the box is filled with waxy advertisements, bills, and things pretending to be personal letters that are trying to sell me insurance or a reverse mortgage.  But this time of year, we receive missives from the far reaches of the many places we have lived, from dear friends, and family we do not see as much as we would like.  It is good time to catch up and correct our address list.  It is a good time to remember good times and important connections through the years.  And of course, we love to see the family photos.  Aside from big funerals and weddings, this is our most connective time of year.
 
Inevitably, we receive a number of Christmas letters: you know, those narrative annual family biographies that catalog fabulous trips, successful children, and over achieving grandchildren.  My dear friend, first boss, and mentor, The Rev. Dr. Matt Currin used to write his unabashedly proud letter about his life, ministry, and family, until the year he died.  He devoted a paragraph to his dear wife, and one for each of his three sons and their families.  All of them received completely glowing accolades.  The final paragraph, he wrote about himself, but he maintained the third person voice as if some outside reporter had crafted the letter.  It would go something like this:  “This year, Matt has finished a new book on the history of the parish, exceeded all stewardship goals, quit smoking (again), and lost over three inches on his waist.  He continues to be a leader as the senior clergy person and longest serving rector in the diocese.”  Of course, I teased him unmercifully, about his style and revisionist perspective.  I called it ‘the epistle from the holy family of Pensacola.’
 
I should not cast too many stones here.  I have written such letters and attempted to hit the high points of our family life.  At Thanksgiving for many years, we have shined up the kids, brushed up the dogs, and made ourselves look merry and bright for the annual Christmas card shoot.  Many of you have done the same, as you should, for we have much to celebrate in gratitude.
 
But let’s not fool ourselves.  We all know that just before that tie got tied or that hair was perfectly arranged, there were threats, arguments about wardrobe, and endless retakes while the turkey and stuffing got cold.  He pinched her, she punched him, the dog had just thrown up a piece of a deer carcass, and we could not figure out how to work that ten second camera delay so that last person to make it into the picture.  And if we wrote the letter, in first second, or third person, we left out personal and professional disappointments, lackluster grades, theater parts not received, and the inevitable college rejection letters that go along with the acceptances.
 
Added to the normal pressures of life, we find ourselves in a driving narrative of curated perfection and achievement.  Tools that used to be reserved for glossy airbrushing magazine photographers are now simple apps, wherein glow can be enhanced and wrinkles can be faded through a simple filtered setting.
 
As we approach the beauty and grandeur of Christmas, we do find a whole tradition of art and imagery that is also glorified and scrubbed clean.  The Christmas card that we sent all of you depicts a perfectly pudgy Christ child, swaddled in bright white, and clean, full, and lively adoring faces.  We send and receive serene images of winter scenes and good wishes for peace on earth and good will to all absent any sense of rancor, division, or stress.  Such images transmit the beauty and calm we seek and that for which we hope and long.
 
And yet, our gospel story for today, reminds us that all was not calm, all was not bright, all was not neat, tidy, and perfect, at least not in the process of bringing God to earth in person.  As the story goes, Mary and Joseph were engaged, but not cohabiting.  Mary was found to be with child.  Scandal, impropriety, and shame generally followed such a discovery.  Ordinarily, Mary brought to account and, potentially, stoned publicly.  But Joseph was a good guy.  He conceived of a subtle and gentle separation.  But then, he had a dream, not a burning bush, a whirlwind, or a thunder from heaven, but a dream, telling them this child was of the Holy Spirit, fulfilling an ancient prophecy predicting the birth of God among all humanity.
 
We are so used to that part of the pageant that we underestimate how much of a load both Mary and Joseph had to bear publicly and privately.  They had plenty of friends and lots of extended family, as all people did, and they were not learning of this from annual letters or curated photos, they were all around them.  Can you imagine Joseph telling his buddies at the carpenter shop that Mary’s baby was of the Holy Spirit?  Yeah, right, tell us another one Joseph.
 
Matthew starts this telling with the heads up “Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way.”  And Matthew is particular about the no marital relations business right there in the Bible. And this getting married anyway, is what we would call a shotgun wedding.  This is not all beatific looking, is all really messy.  That’s right, the way Jesus the Messiah, that glowing little Christ cherub came to be in the world was and is a matter of biological impossibility, even for the first century folk who definitely knew where babies came from.  It took a leap of faith, hard questioning, and deeply embarrassing appearances that had to be maintained and sustained against all standard and acceptable practices and norms.  Our Holy Family was stuck together with bailing twine and duct tape on the hope of a dream and a revelation to Mary that no one else saw or understood.  And that is where God is, right there in the messiness of unknowing and questionable provenance.
 
We are right there with them too.  We are not Hallmark people and our homes are not those of Martha Stewart or Real Simple design.  The God of all creation -- the God who sees us, seeks us, and saves us -- comes to us and lives among us in the context of all kinds of crazy circumstances.  We are not perfect, and we are not called to be perfect, rather we are being brought to perfection because God loves us enough to meet us where we are.
 
On Advent IV, the Sunday before Christmas, we might as well go ahead and curate imperfection as much as we seek to look good on the outside.  It is not only ok to embrace the messiness of life, it is right in line with the story we so revere.  As we gaze on those beautiful families who send us greetings, as we hear of fabulous vacations, and milestones attained, we do well to remember that we are all a mixed bag of holiness and humanity.  There is always a backstory that is more complicated than we see.  It was true for Mary and Joseph.  It is embedded in the one called Emmanuel – God with us.  It is our story too.