“God’s Call to the Righteous”
Rev. Dr. Joan Brown Campbell
Washington National Catherdral
December 23, 2001
Text: Matthew 1:18-24, Psalm 24:1-6

Beloved! It is a rare privilege to preach the Christmas sermon from this national ecumenical pulpit. I am humbled by the witness of the saints who have spoken here and grateful for this Cathedral’s witness to our nation and to my home in New York, St. John Divine. Your focus on peace with justice in these difficult days is prophetic and, God willing, the soul of this great nation will be stirred. Perhaps the September 11th tragedy that brought loss to many and inspired the risk and courage of many more—perhaps the pain born of newfound vulnerability will give birth to a nation known round the world for its compassion—we glimpse a nation determined not only to rout out evil but a nation newly and profoundly committed to ending suffering; a nation ready to receive the gifts of Christmas: joy, hope, peace, and God’s love for all creation.

The question on the lips of many this year is this, “How is this Christmas different from all other Christmases?” The difference is in our hearts—in our readiness to receive anew the child born of Mary. Our teacher this year is taken from the Matthew text: none other than the young man Joseph. Little is written about Joseph. He has rarely captured the imagination of artists or poets or the articulation of theologians, and yet this poignant circumstance speaks volumes if only we will allow ourselves to engage. For just a moment, put yourself in Joseph’s shoes. Mary, his beloved, with whom he dreams of marriage and children, comes to him to tell him that she is with child. It is not too hard to imagine Joseph’s reaction. He knew for certain that this could not be his child. After all, he was a disciplined man in such matters. We have every reason to believe that Joseph loved Mary and was broken-hearted by what perceived to be her indiscretion. But Joseph, being a righteous man, knew he couldn’t expose her to public disgrace, so he determined that he would dismiss her quietly. “Yes,” he says to himself, “No one need know of this unfortunate matter. I shall simply send her quietly away, heal my wounded heart, and get on with life.” What would have happened to Mary in this righteous scenario, we do not know. Joseph, being a good man, would have probably made sure she was cared for, but their life together would have been over. Yes, Joseph was satisfied that this was what God would require of him.

But as the text says, just when he had resolved to do this—just when you think you have it all figured out, just as he became confident of his righteousness and his decision, making us all comfortable, the Lord appeared to him and said, “No, Joseph, my boy. You do not yet understand the meaning of faithfulness. You think of yourself as a righteous man, but your definition of righteousness is wholly inadequate. Righteousness has nothing to do with being perfect. It has no relationship to protecting yourself from misunderstanding or risk. You have loved Mary; love her still! Love does not believe the worst, nor put the tainted loved one out of sight.” “No,” the Lord says. “Joseph, take Mary to be your wife. Trust the God of history. Risk, Joseph, risk! The child to be born shall save his people. Joseph, Joseph...Be a righteous man. Walk with Mary through the pain of birth and your love and trust and her innocence will bring to the world the promise of peace and hope for all our tomorrows.” So Joseph, being a righteous man, took Mary as his wife and the rest is history. Joseph and Mary both said yes to God. Both dared to love when it was costly, and the result of their daring was a huge historic event: we receive a Savior.

Perhaps Christmas is a time when God speaks especially to the righteous—to those who gather in the church to hear again the message of Christmas. Possibly, we should search our souls to see of our understanding of right behavior is in any way confused. Could it be that we, like Joseph, have inadequately understood God’s call to the righteous. Does God speak to us this Christmas? Is there any word from the Lord? God knows the pain this nation and her people have endured. God knows our determination to right the wrongs that have cost people the world over life and limb. Out of the wisdom of the ages, God calls to us, good people seeking justice, and as always, God urges us to see beyond our most immediate situation; to take into our hearts the suffering of the whole world; to move beyond retribution to reconciliation. Perhaps, God’s word to us, as it was to Joseph, is, “Risk my children. Take a risk for peace. Love so generously that the world thinks you are foolish.” These words taken into our hearts could set us on a path that just might lead to peace. As we watch the nightly news, we see a world awash in violence. Martin Luther King, faced with violence against his own people in a different time and place, responded to violence with words that still move us. “Somebody,” he said, “must have religion enough and morality enough to cut hate off and inject within the very structure of the universe that strong and painful element of love.” This message changed the face of this nation and cost him his life. Most would now agree that he heard God’s call; that he risked a positive response; that he was a righteous man. It would appear that God’s call to the good people is always to push us beyond piety and perfection toward risk and righteousness, beyond getting even toward getting it right. One can be good without paying high costs. One can be righteous if one does not count the cost. We are God’s people. God’s future is always pulling us toward unity and peace. The rewards are not immediate and often misunderstood. He gives us the gift of hope and we respond, knowing that God bears us up on eagle’s wings and holds us in the palm of his hand.

In closing, let me tell you a story—a true story about an Episcopal church that took a risk for love. The story comes out of the events of September 11. The chapel of which I speak was essentially a place for quiet prayer—a museum preserved carefully and lovingly by the good people of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church—Manhattan. This was afterall, the church where George Washington worshiped, one of the nation’s oldest. His pew is carefully marked and lovingly polished. The building, if it could talk, would add richly to American history. The back door of the church faces the gaping wound that is now a burial site for thousands. As fireman and policeman, doctors, pastors, and politicians (rescue workers of all kinds) wearied themselves in a thousand acts of kindness, the pastors and staff of St. Paul’s Trinity Church just down the street determined they would open the doors of St. Paul’s to the rescue workers and offer them a place for renewal of body and soul. Today, that church is no longer a museum but a living, breathing witness to the love of Jesus Christ. The decision seemed to right consequences were not examined no second-guessing. Every pew is a bed, complete with a quilt and pillow. George Washington’s pew is now a podiatry station staffed with volunteer doctors who minister to the aching feet of the rescue workers. Live music is played all day and night. Food cooked by some of New York’s finest restaurants (the day I was there it was the Waldorf Astoria chef) is joyously consumed. Beds are available for those volunteers and doctors who are on duty. The vestry, tribute to all vestries (of course) worries about liability, but the good people of St. Paul’s just smile. They acknowledge the liabilities—$3,500 a day. They know in their hearts that what they have done is right—maybe even righteous. The clergy glow in their tiredness and rumpled clerical garb. They heard God’s voice speak to them, to the good people of St. Paul’s, and today new history is being written. Perhaps St. Paul’s, so faithfully preserved, was polished for just this purpose. Perhaps normal has been redefined. So in the midst of death and destruction, life emerges and the joyous songs of good people can be heard. One can hear the Lord of history saying, “If you love me, feed my sheep.”

Take a risk, Joseph. Take a risk, Joe and Betty and Fred and Nathan. Take a risk, Israel and Palestine, Jerusalem and America. The result of your daring to love just might be a huge historic event of peace. God loves you. The star shines bright with hope, and the song of the shepherd is now for us:

Be not afraid, for behold I bring you tidings of great joy.
For unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior.

Receive him and you will be God’s righteous people.