Last week, we began the season of Advent in Mark’s

wilderness. It was a stark scene. No large crowds

gathered. No lights hung in trees. Indeed, no trees.

Only a few simple words that capture the good news

of Christmas: You are my child. I love you.

This Sunday, we come to Matthew’s Christmas

celebration. And this week, the whole family is there,

and I mean the whole family. It’s a reunion of Joseph’s

folks, beginning with Father Abraham and Mother

Sarah. Abraham is Joseph’s great great great (x40)

grandfather, after all. King David is there over in the

corner by himself, and that’s an important part for

Matthew. Joseph was part of a royal line—descendent

of the house of Israel’s greatest king, David. In fact,

the whole family tree features a who’s who of Old

Testament figures, all leading up to Joseph and then

to that baby—that baby in the center of the party.

Except. Here’s the awkward moment at the family

reunion. Joseph’s kid…well, he’s not Joseph’s kid. At

least not in the usual sense.

Perhaps you remember the opening line of Leo

Tolstoy’s classic novel Anna Karenina. The book

begins with this sentence: “Happy families are all

alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own

way.” Though Tolstoy lived and wrote in the late

nineteenth century, his description is appropriate

for any era of human history. Families—your family,

my family, Joseph’s family—families are complicated,

conflicted, often downright uncomfortable.

Scott Black Johnston is the pastor of Fifth Avenue

Presbyterian Church in New York City. His

congregation sits five blocks north of Rockefeller

Center, where each year, as you know, they light a

massive Christmas Tree. Crowds of people from all

around the world come to see it. Scott reports that

according to the chief gardener at Rockefeller Center,

the search for that particular tree takes all year and

covers the entire United States, scouts sent out to

all fifty states in search of the perfect tree. The final

ninety-foot-tall candidate is chosen for its ideal shape,

its perfect color, its breathtaking majesty. In the chief

gardener’s words: “This tree can have no bad sides.”

Well, if like us you’ve scoured the available choices in

a parking lot or a tree farm, you know just how difficult

that task must be. The Saturday after Thanksgiving,

our family drove out to Piney Acres Farm in Fortville,

Indiana. We were in search of the perfect Christmas

tree. Ideal shape. Perfect color. Breathtaking majesty.

We began our search with great hope, high spirits,

lots of energy. An hour later, we had narrowed our

search, but consensus was elusive. Each of our boys

had a favorite, and they stood next to their favorite

tree arguing the merits of their selection. Neither was

willing to budge. Ultimately, it was only the prospect

of hot chocolate that led to compromise.

Here’s the truth: every tree has a bad side. Or several.

At our house, we have a strategy for that. I bet you

do as well. We put the tree in the corner. We turn it

just right to conceal all those blemishes. We hide the

imperfections under carefully hung ornaments and

Christmas lights.

This is not Matthew’s approach. The family tree

at the center of his Christmas story is not without

fault or imperfection, and Matthew puts the whole

thing on full display. I spared you the begats that

begin this chapter, but there are seventeen verses

of them. Yes, great figures of the Old Testament, but

also spies, traitors, homeless foreigners. There are

several outsiders and newcomers. There are stories

of struggle and survival and sin. David was the father

of Solomon by the wife of Uriah. Now look, Matthew,

did we really need to include that particular scandal?

The one nobody would ever mention at the Christmas

party—nobody except Matthew. The great King David

was not a portrait of piety, certainly not perfection.

Why does Matthew insist on putting the bad side of

the tree right out front?

Several years ago, in another city, I was preparing to

conduct a memorial service for the grandmother of a

church member. In our meeting to plan the service, I

had been warned by members of the family that the

woman had a daughter, and that her daughter had

been estranged from the family, from her siblings, for

many, many years. Poor decisions and harsh words

had characterized her relationship, and her siblings

weren’t even sure she would come to the service. If

she did, they were sure she would sit in the back of

the sanctuary. I think it fair to say they were afraid of

what might happen if she did come. Just before the

service, as the family gathered in my office, one of the

ushers quietly knocked on my office door and then

pried it open. A woman walked into the office, and I

immediately knew that she was the estranged sister.

I knew it because of the rising tension I could feel in

the room. She just stood there in the doorway. She

looked at her family, and then she looked at the floor.

The silence was overwhelming. And I was just about

to make a bumbling remark about the weather, but

something held my tongue. We stood in silence until

finally the eldest brother walked over. Still no words,

but he wrapped his arms around his sister’s shoulders.

He was a tall man, and he leaned down and kissed her

on the top of her head. And as he did, he motioned for

the rest of the family to join the circle. And they did,

tearfully. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a clearer picture of

the power of forgiveness than the one I witnessed as

four siblings walked, arms locked with each other, out

of my office to honor their mother’s life.

Here is what Matthew wants you to know about

Christmas. God is in the middle of the mess we make

and the chaos that characterizes our lives.

God is in the middle of the mess. Which brings us

back to Joseph there at the family reunion. We meet

him at a moment of crisis. The weight of the world

is on his shoulders. His fiancée is pregnant. The

baby is not his. He wants to do the right thing. He is

contemplating, as the gospel puts it, “dismissing Mary

quietly.” He is hoping that the scandal won’t pursue

him for the rest of his life. That’s his best plan, the only

one that comes to mind. A quiet goodbye. Perhaps

another shot at a happy family. That is, until Joseph

receives an unlikely visitor. Like his Old Testament

ancestor of the same name, he receives shocking

news from a sacred source. In the dream, the angel

encourages Joseph to proceed with the wedding, to

accept the baby on the way, to give that child a name.

The angel asks Joseph to adopt Jesus.

Matthew records what comes next as if it was the

most natural response in the world, the most likely

series of events. Joseph wakes up from his dream.

He does what the angel says. He takes Mary as his

wife. She gives birth to a son, and Joseph names him

Jesus. Now, there are a few gaps in this story that I

would love to have filled. For starters, what did they

tell grandma?

These details fade against the significance of what

has just happened. Joseph courageously accepts

his God-given call. He musters the faith to believe

the promise that has presided over his family since

Father Abraham and Mother Sarah first heard the

voice of God say, “You have been adopted. You have

been adopted, included, welcomed.” Matthew wants

us to know that Christmas was possible because an

ordinary man believed that God was with him in the

middle of the mess, and that God would expand his

family in astounding ways.

In fact, from this moment on, the movement of

the Spirit keeps growing the family of God. In the

very next chapter, we have this group of Gentiles,

foreigners, star-seekers, who follow their maps and

their hearts to this holy child. And the family tree adds

another branch. The circle grows a little wider.

Matthew’s Christmas story teaches us that there is

something far more beautiful than the perfect tree. It

is a family defined by love.

If you’ve been around here a while, chances are

you’ve heard me say that baptism is my favorite part

of congregational ministry. That’s true no matter

the circumstances, but back in October we got to

experience an extra special occasion when Crosby, a

ten-year-old whose family has multiple generations in

our congregation, was baptized here on our chancel.

Crosby had made the decision himself. He wanted

to be baptized, and that day he was dressed up and

beaming with pride. After the service, I asked Crosby

to stand at the door with me and greet you as you left

the sanctuary. One of our senior members walked out

and shook Crosby’s hand, and I was standing close

enough that I could overhear the young man say these

words: “Thank you for letting me be a part of this

church.” And so, the family tree grew another branch.

Obedient Joseph gives his adopted son the name

the angel commanded—Jesus. In this family, names

matter, and this one means, “God saves.” It’s the

promise Joseph receives and accepts. This child

embodies the salvation God intends for all people. But

Matthew gives us a second name for the child, and it’s

a good one, too. Drawn from the prophet Isaiah.

Emmanuel. God is with us. With all of us. With us

in the mess. With us in the chaos. With us in the

complexity and the confusion that characterize our

families. With us in the crisis. With us when life is not

easy and the answers are not obvious.

Listen. When your family gathers this Christmas,

there will be unresolved conflict. There will be

unacknowledged pain. When your family gathers

this Christmas, there will be empty seats at the

table. There will be stories left untold because of the

discomfort they may bring. When your family gathers

for Christmas this year, someone will hold memories

of harsh words spoken in the past, of love withheld.

And the Christmas message in the Gospel of Matthew

is this: stop trying to hide that tree in the corner or

paint over its imperfections, and prepare yourself to

be amazed by the expansive love of God. Prepare to

be blessed by the new members of God’s family who

will join you on the journey. Prepare yourself to be a

part of the Spirit’s surprising embrace.

Afterall, Joseph had a plan. It was practical and

sensible. Try to make the best of a difficult situation.

Try to be kind and gracious. Joseph had a plan, and

then the message came. “No, you are a part of my

plan.” Emmanuel. God is with you in the middle of

the mess. So make room in your heart. God is on the

move. Amen.