Unconditional love

Matthew 1:18-25

18 Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be pregnant from the Holy Spirit. 19 Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to divorce her quietly. 20 But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. 21 She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” 22 All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet:

23 “Look, the virgin shall become pregnant and give birth to a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,” which means, “God is with us.” 24 When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife 25 but had no marital relations with her until she had given birth to a son, and he named him Jesus.

Perhaps you’ve noticed the prevalence of stories about people who decide to cut off family relationships.  Most commonly these stories involve children who sever ties with their parents - though there are those about parents severing ties with children - and I’ve read many articles where various writers explain why they decided it was best for them to cut people off.  Typically this involves the realization that the relationship is toxic, that it’s bringing them down, that the cost/benefit analysis yields too much cost and too little benefit.  Characteristic statements sound like, “I need to prioritize my own emotional well-being” or “l just don’t need this in my life”.  Whereas previous generations might’ve insisted that you can never cut off your parents, no matter how dysfunctional the relationship, there seems to be a growing acceptance (or, at least, an effort to make it more acceptable) that at some point it’s in your self-interest to spend your resources elsewhere.  

I find it quite easy to criticize this development as yet another instance of our culture becoming increasingly narcissistic, our tendency to view relationships only in terms of what we do or don’t get out of them, the abdication of anything like duty or obligation, the inability to deal with anything difficult.  But, then again, I’ve never experienced such a difficult relationship; maybe I’d be more sympathetic if I had.  And surely, wouldn’t we all agree, that there are some parents who don’t even deserve to be called by that name, who were and are abusive and cruel.  To divorce them would be good, and right, and necessary, would it not?  Might it not be necessary for parents, in extreme cases, for the children’s won sake, to cut them off?  

I suspect that none of us have seriously contemplating cutting off our parents, but - especially at this time of year - we might be aware that our relationships with them, our siblings, in-laws, etc. are complicated, that it feels like a lot of work for questionable reward.  We might find ourselves wishing that we didn’t have to bother, wishing that the relationship was some other way but without hope that it could be.  Just why do I need these people!? 

That might seem like an impious question, but it’s one that God seems to ask about us.  In the story of Noah and the flood God reaches a point where humanity is so depraved that they can’t be redeemed; relationship is irrevocably broken; they deserve to be cut off.  It’s not entirely comforting that, once the waters have receded, God promises never again to destroy humanity with a massive flood - but apparently God leaves open the possibility of destroying it some other way.  

God, of course, goes on to establish a people through Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, deliver them out of Egypt through Moses, make a covenant and deliver the law, and speak through the prophets.   But rare is the moment when the relationship between God and God’s people is as should be.  Rare is the moment that they feel secure.  Psalm 80, which we read together, begins with a statement that God is a shepherd to his people, but immediately follows with a plea for salvation.   

“O Lord God of hosts,    how long will you be angry with your people’s prayers?

5 You have fed them with the bread of tearsand given them tears to drink in full measure.

6 You make us the scorn of our neighbors;    our enemies laugh among themselves.

The psalm addresses God both as the source of the problem and the only solution.  Three times it repeats, 

“Restore us, O Lord God of hosts;   let your face shine, that we may be saved.”

The problem, of course, is that God’s face does not seem to be shining upon them.  God seems to absent.  They cry out to God to show up, to restore them, to fix what is broken, to heal what is wounded, to reconcile what is estranged.  The language of restoration evokes the Garden of Eden, a time past when God and humanity lived in harmony, the memory of place they’ve never been but long to return to.   This psalm is but one instance of a consistent theme in the OT, where God’s people wrestle with the reality that God seems far away, where they wonder if God has abandoned them.  The Father can only take his children disobeying so many times before he forsakes them.  At some point it just isn’t worth it.  There are many moments where God’s love seems conditional, where God’s face will only shine if certain obligations are met, and even though God always gives his people another chance, they always seem to find themselves back in a situation asking themselves if maybe this time God has finally had enough.  How much infidelity God can take before finally cutting off the relationship?  

Joseph found himself in an unusual position.  It turns out that Mary is pregnant, and Joseph can be confident he’s not the father.  These stories include few details.  We don’t know how Joseph found out - did Mary tell him, did he just notice? - nor do we know if Mary tried to explain what happened (within the Gospel of Matthew we don’t even know if Mary knows why she’s pregnant!).  We do know that Jospeh resolved to break off the engagement, but to do so quietly in order to avoid subjecting Mary to any more public disgrace than she was already bound to suffer. Joseph assumes what everyone else will, that someone got Mary pregnant - what was her role? - just as to do this day there are those who posit that Jesus was sired by a Roman solider or whomever, Joseph the patron saint of cuckolded men everywhere.   His intention to “put her away” is the obvious choice, but an angel intervenes to explain the situation, that there is has been no infidelity - quite the contrary, she is chosen by God because of her righteousness.  Even so, it’s remarkable that Joseph would go along with this plan; there will still be plenty to difficult questions to answer.  We might say that Jospeh demonstrates extraordinary love in sticking with Mary, but even so this love is not unconditional.  Had the angel not appeared, a divorce was coming. 

Regardless what Joseph did, Mary was, in the words of Isaiah, “the young woman is with child” who bore a son we indeed claim Immanuel - not just a name but a way of naming a new reality, that “God is with us.”  The astounding claim we make at Christmas is that this child born in Bethlehem is, in the words of the Nicene creed,

the Only Begotten Son of God,

born of the Father before all ages.

God from God, Light from Light,

true God from true God,

begotten, not made, consubstantial with the Father;

through him all things were made.

The significance of the incarnation for Christian theology cannot be overstated, but today I just want to focus on one aspect, which is that, in the incarnation, God, by becoming human himself, makes it impossible for him to ever abandon humanity.  God is with us, for eternity, because God is one of us.  Putting it this way can make it sound as if, at Christmas, God finally commits to the relationship, that previously he wavered - and that’s how it might seem to us down here on earth - but more precisely the incarnation reveals the truth about God’s relationship to us from the beginning, God’s relationship to us that never ends. 

It remains true, of course, that we might find ourselves in the same position as the psalmist, feeling like our prayers go unanswered, that we are despised by our neighbors, that God is absent - or non-existent.  I’m not going to lie, I often wish I had something more substantial to point to, but ultimately we cling to the hope that Christmas story is true and that through it the world is illuminated.   What kind of wold are we living in?  What kind of existence do we experience?  A world which God created, which God entered, becoming like us that we might become like God.    

And this might also illuminate how we think about our own relationships this season, and forever more.  Of course we can make all the caveats about how God is perfect and we are not and thus there’s an infinite chasm between God’s capacities and ours.  It’s all fine and good for God to be patient with us, for God to give more than God receives, but we can’t be held to the same standard.  And indeed we should acknowledge our own weakness and limitations - people can at times give of themselves past the breaking point - but we must always be willing to love others more than they love us, we must always be ready to give more than we receive, we must be prepared, insofar as we are able, to enter their reality and identity with their suffering.  Because we God loves us we can love like God.  God became human that humans might become like God.