The Sign of the Child

the rite of Holy Baptism

During Advent, we are preparing for the coming of the Christ, culminating in the celebration of the birth of Jesus on Christmas Day.  Note how odd this is.  We are getting ready for something that already has happened!  Well, this would be odd, except that in ritual time we remember what is past in such a way as to make it present.  The coming of the Christ is not just something that happened more than two thousand years ago.  The Christ who came in Jesus is still coming.  Are we ready for the Christ to be born in us?   What would that even look like? 

It looks like embracing vulnerability with reverence and care, both our own vulnerability and that of others, recognizing that life is fragile and precious; not unlike our embrace of a newborn child.  The most important question facing any community is always, “How do we care for the most vulnerable among us,” and the most important mark of spiritual maturity is our capacity to engage that question creatively and compassionately.  It is as we live into this question that we discover God-with-us.  The Christ is born in our response to poverty, disease, injustice and sorrow; in our embrace of the dignity of life under the conditions of finitude and estrangement; and in our celebration of community that makes life not only possible, but joyful.

These are the things that matter; not our ideological or moral purity; not being right or good in a narrow, legalistic sense, much less successful socially or financially.  What matters is how we choose to respond to our mutual vulnerability.   It is just that simple and that difficult.  Spirituality is about what we do with our vulnerability, individually and collectively.

Scripture invites us to see vulnerability as the source of our power.  It is precisely in having the courage to acknowledge our vulnerability that we become open to the help of a power greater than ourselves:  God-with-us.  The sign we are given to imagine this truth is the birth of a powerless child. 

In our reading from the prophet Isaiah, King Ahaz is caught between rival political centers of power.  The kingdom of Judah is being coerced into an alliance with Israel and Aram against Assyria, the dominant imperial power in the region.  Ahaz refuses to accept Judah’s vulnerability.   He believes that security depends upon the projection of military might.  The prophet advises Ahaz to place his trust in God rather than military alliances, and even offers him a sign from God to reassure him.  In a show of false piety, Ahaz declines the offer. 

God gives Ahaz a sign anyway.  Isaiah tells him that the young woman will bear a child, and name him Immanuel, which means “God-with-us.”  Before the child is old enough to eat solid food and tell good from evil, Israel and Aram will be no more.   It is not the fleeting might of kings, but the powerless child, who exemplifies God-with-us.  It is solidarity with one another in our vulnerability that is the source of lasting power.   In his fear of insecurity, Ahaz neglected the care of the poor and needy in his community and become enamored with wealth and might.  He put his trust in rulers and armies rather than in God-with-us.  He lost himself and his country in the process.  When we treat vulnerability with contempt, we neglect the bonds of solidarity that nurture life and sustain community.   It is these bonds the endure even as nations and empires are passing away. 

What a different response to vulnerability we see in Joseph’s treatment of his fiancé.  He and Mary were engaged but not yet living together when he discovered that she was pregnant.   Imagine his sense of betrayal, the scorn he would have suffered in a culture in which male honor meant everything.  Imagine Mary’s fear of rejection in a culture where women where economically dependent on male relatives for their well-being and even their lives.   If Joseph divorced her, who else would have her? 

By law, Joseph could have prosecuted Mary and invoked the death penalty for her and the father of her child.  What will he choose to do?  Seek the ultimate revenge at the risk of his own very public humiliation?  Quietly divorce her without a fuss and leave her to fend for herself and her child?  Joseph resolved to quietly divorce her and minimize public shaming.   This gets him off the hook, but Mary and her child are no much better off in the long run. 

Then Joseph has a dream.  This dream is a sign that Joseph is open to other possibilities, willing to accept his vulnerability and not move too quickly to deny or resolve it.   Just because Joseph was hurt doesn’t mean he is a victim.  He can choose to respond otherwise.   He can trust Mary even if he doesn’t fully understand what has happened; refusing to project on to her the guilt he might feel for failing to protect her honor.    He can choose to see the child as “from the Holy Spirit” rather than a bastard.   In embracing the vulnerability of this child, and the aching vulnerability this child opens up in Mary and in Joseph, Joseph discovers God-with-us and the freedom to respond to God’s invitation to love.   

In his embrace of Mary and their child, Joseph demonstrates the freedom to love that embracing our vulnerability makes possible.  He risks downward social mobility, the contempt of his neighbors, and hurt pride for the sake of a love that gives life.  This freedom was powerful, allowing him to respond creatively and compassionately to a situation that others would have found maddening or overwhelming.   Joseph turns what others might see as weakness into a source of power, with consequences that would change the world. 

Advent is a time to consider how accepting we are of our own vulnerability and how we respond to the vulnerability of others.  It is the most important question, and the source of our power to make a difference in the world.  This Advent, I’ve been most inspired in this regard by the example of the Swedish student activist, Greta Thunberg:  Time Magazine’s Person of the Year for 2019.  With great dignity and determination, Greta challenges us to face the question of our vulnerability in how we respond to the ongoing climate crisis.   At 16, Greta embraces her dependence upon adults to respond to this crisis while holding us accountable to do so.  What others would see as a disability, Asperger’s syndrome, Greta has turned into a source of power:  her difficulty reading social cues fuels her commitment to address global suffering directly, indifferent to either praise or condemnation. 

Even when the most powerful man in the world treats her, as he treats any sign of human vulnerability, with cruelty and contempt, she chooses to respond creatively.  The Trump era will pass away.  The bonds of solidarity that Greta nurtures will endure.   Just as Ahaz was given the sign of the vulnerable child, perhaps Greta is our sign of God-with-us.  In the history of salvation, much stranger things have happened.  Just ask Joseph and Mary.

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