December 21, 2025
4th Week of Advent – Year A – Mark Winward
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 with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. 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. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: “Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,” which means, “God is with us.” When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus. – Matthew 1:18-25, NRS
We all know quite well the story of the Annunciation. An angel appears to the Mary, who is engaged to Joseph, and said,
“Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.”
Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” The angel said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God.”
Luke goes on to tell of Mary visiting Elizabeth, where we’re introduced to the magnificent Song of Mary: “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior…” Then he tells the familiar story of the manger, the angelic host, and the shepherds that we will hear more about this Wednesday, Christmas Eve.
But going back to the Annunciation, what about Joseph? Put yourself in his shoes. How do you think he felt? How would it have been for him to believe Mary’s explanation for her pregnancy? Today’s selection from Matthew attempts to answer that.
Matthew doesn’t begin his gospel with a miracle of spectacle; he begins with a crisis. Mary is engaged—betrothed—to Joseph, yet she’s now pregnant with someone else’s child. In their time and culture, betrothal was legally binding: breaking it required divorce, and unfaithfulness during betrothal counted as adultery—which would most likely end in the stoning. Personal honor and public shame loomed as probable realities, and Joseph now faces a decision that at the least could ruin both Mary’s life and his own reputation. And Jospeh doesn’t have very much to go on. But one thing is certain: he’s not the father.
But Matthew calls Joseph “righteous,” meaning he takes God seriously and intends to live in obedience to God’s law. He can’t simply ignore what he believes to be sin. And yet, Matthew also tells us that Joseph doesn’t want to expose Mary to public disgrace. So he looks for the most merciful path available to him: a quiet divorce.
While tormented by these thoughts, Joseph falls asleep. And in the tradition of the Hebrew patriarchs and prophets, a stunning appearance of the angel of the Lord breaks into his dream. Invoking Joseph’s royal lineage, this messenger from God announces: “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.”
This redefines Joseph’s whole reality. If this is indeed true, God is acting in a profound way here – and in Joseph’s very own life – unexpectedly and extraordinarily breaking into human history!
Upon awaking, Joseph’s response—like Mary’s in Luke—is obedience. He chooses to take Mary as his wife, abstain from relations with her, and name the child “Jesus”—literally “God saves”—in fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy that the Messiah will be named Emmanuel, “God with us.”
Although from different perspectives, the gospels of Matthew and Luke agree Jesus was conceived by the Holy Spirit and his mother was a virgin. Matthew’s account doesn’t attempt to embellish the story or convince us; he assumes it’s true. The implication is that the miracle of Jesus’ birth was so well known in the Christian community that he has only to state it.
Now, I appreciate that for many people, the idea of the virgin birth is a bit of a stretch. When we hear this Gospel, we often get stuck on questions of biology rather than theology—on whether such a thing could actually happen, rather than on what the story means in telling us how God chose to act in human history.
Let me clearly say up front that I personally affirm the biblical witness to the virgin birth. And I feel I can do so without embarrassment – because the heart of faith has always been the conviction that reality is far bigger than our daily experience. We worship a God who creates out of nothing and who raises the dead. In that light, the miracle of Jesus’ conception isn’t a sentimental tale, but part of a larger pattern: God acting decisively and graciously, breaking into a world that is incapable of saving itself.
The virgin birth isn’t just about a miracle of birth: it’s about a miracle of grace. My old theology professor, Reginald Fuller, put it well:
“Jesus is not the product of human evolution or the highest achievement of the human race. He is the result of the intervention of a transcendent God into human history. Simply put, Jesus comes from God. He is God’s Son. The emphasis isn’t on human merit, but on divine initiative – on the creative, life-giving power of God acting where human possibility runs out.”
Matthew makes it very clear why this matters. The angel tells Jospeh the child is to be named Jesus, “for he will save his people from their sins.” Scripture is uncompromising about the human condition. As Paul writes, “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,” and “the wages of sin is death.” But he doesn’t stop there: “The gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” The miracle of Christmas isn’t condemnation, but restoration. When humanity was lost, God didn’t abandon us. God came to us.
Now I appreciate words like “sin” and “death” can sound harsh or outdated to modern ears. We may hear them but miss the good news entirely. At its heart, sin isn’t merely moral failure; it’s estrangement – from God, from one another, and from our own deepest calling. But the good news is that God refuses to abandon us despite our abandonment of him. Like the prodigal son, we were lost—and now are found. Still, to be found, we have to first be honest with ourselves about being lost.
Throughout Scripture, God’s saving work begins not with the self-sufficient, but with those who recognize their need. Moses pleaded with God about being unworthy before the burning bush. The Psalmist proclaims, the sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit. The prophet Isaiah cries, “Woe is me! I am a man of unclean lips.” And the Apostle Paul ashamedly confesses that he persecuted the very church he would later serve.
My point is: grace – that is, God’s unmerited favor – begins where the illusion of self-sufficiency ends and dependency on God begins.
So what does Matthew have to say to us at the opening chapter of his Gospel?
First, our faith begins with God’s action, not ours. God has broken into human history in the person of Jesus Christ. Before anyone understands, before anyone obeys, before anyone gets it right, God is already at work to save. The Gospel isn’t calling us to “try harder.” Its Good News is that “God saves” and “God with us.”
Second, “God with us,” is not some abstract doctrine. Matthew begins his gospel naming Jesus, Emmanuel, “God with us,” and ends with Jesus’ final words, “And remember, I am with you always to the end of the age.” Matthew reminds us in Jospeh’s example that God’s presence is a lived reality, meeting us precisely where obedience feels costly and faith feels risky. Emmanuel doesn’t remove the cost of discipleship; Emmanuel means we don’t bear that cost alone.
So what does this mean to you? As we step closer to the threshold of the manger this week, let me suggest one concrete step for you personally to take that’s simple, demanding, and inspired by Joseph’s obedience: Identify one relationship or one act of obedience you have been postponing because it feels risky: an apology you owe, a truth you need to speak, a forgiveness you have been resisting, a boundary you need to set, or a commitment you have been avoiding. Then do the next faithful thing—quietly, without defending yourself, without worry about managing your reputation—and entrust the outcome to God. Because the Gospel does not promise that obedience will be easy. It promises that God will be with you to the end.
December 14, 2025
The Third Week of Advent – Year A -Mark Winward
Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us; and, because we are sorely hindered by our sins, let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with you and the Holy Spirit, be honor and glory, now and for ever. Amen. – BCP 212
Advent as a Season of Holy Disruption
One of the most striking prayers in the Anglican tradition begins with a simple but dangerous request: “Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us…” It sounds harmless enough. But when you stop to think about it, that’s a bold thing to say to God. When we ask God to stir us up, we’re asking God to disturb what’s grown comfortable, to disrupt what’s settled into routine, and to wake us up to what God’s doing—whether we’re ready for it or not.
Advent is precisely the season when the Church dares to pray like that. Advent isn’t meant to lull us into sentimentality. It’s meant to prepare us—to unsettle us just enough to make room for God. The trouble is: human beings are creatures of habit. We fall into patterns of living and thinking that feel natural simply because they’re familiar. Over time, those patterns can become ruts—paths we walk without thinking because they’re already worn deep.
The Persistence of Long-Established Patterns
There’s a well-known story—whether historical or not—about how modern transportation systems still bear the imprint of very old choices.
December 7, 2025
2nd Weerk of Advent Year A – Mark Winward
Advent’s Central Question: Have We Prepared Him Room?
More than just a countdown to Christmas, Advent is a season for holy housecleaning that invites us to take stock of our lives and ask how ready we are to welcome the Lord. As the beloved Christmas carol Joy to the World proclaims, “let every heart prepare Him room,” Advent prompts us to anticipate Christ’s coming while examining the condition of our hearts. It asks the most profound question of our faith, “Have we prepared room for Christ?”
John the Baptist: A Life Shaped for Readiness
In today’s Gospel we meet John the Baptist, a character people found impossible to ignore. Some believe John may have been influenced by the Essenes, a community known for repentance, cleansing, and expectation of the Messiah. Whether or not that’s true, everything about John pointed to readiness. To us, John would have looked a bit unhinged—camel hair clothes, a leather belt, living on locusts and honey, his skin weathered by the desert sun—but none of this was accidental. John intentionally modeled himself after Elijah, because Scripture had taught the people to look for Elijah’s return before the Lord’s coming. His very appearance pointed to his message: “Prepare the way. Something is about to happen.”
And that message carried both warning and promise. John confronted the Pharisees and Sadducees for confusing ritualwith righteousness.
November 30, 2025
1st week of Advent, Year A – Mark Winward
When I was a teenager, my very first job was painting picket fences in an ancient cemetery with the remains of those who had gone on to glory almost 400 years ago. During my breaks, I became fascinated by epitaphs—those final words etched into stone to summarize a life. A common 17th century epitaph ominously warned:
“Stranger, pause as you pass by; as you are now, so once was I. As I am now, soon you will be; prepare to die and follow me.”
Not all epitaphs are that dour. In Ribbesford, England, one reads:
“The children of Israel wanted bread, and the Lord sent them manna; old clerk Wallace wanted a wife, and the Devil sent him Anna.”
On a more serious note, one doctor buried in our cemetery left behind these inspiring words:
“If you could see where I have stepped, you would wonder why you wept.”
But one of the most striking of all is found in rural Louisiana. A woman lies buried beneath a 150-year-old live oak tree, and in keeping with her instructions, only a single word is carved into her headstone:
“Waiting.”
That one word summarizes the theme that binds today’s readings—waiting to meet the Lord.
As we enter the season of Advent in preparation for Christmas, our lectionary readings continue this theme.