Christmas: God with us in the confusion, complexity, and mess of life

There's a story about a supposedly miraculous staircase in the Loretto Chapel in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Back in the 1880s, a group of sisters had this chapel designed and built, but the architect died before it was completed. Normally that wouldn't be a problem, except he hadn't included the design for how he envisaged the staircase to get the sisters from the ground to the choir loft, twenty feet in the air.

The space was confined. It was very tricky. The sisters called in various experts and carpenters to find a solution, but no one could come up with an answer. The only options were the best of a bad bunch. Maybe a ladder, which was considered inappropriate and unsuitable.

So the sisters resorted to a novena — nine days of prayer and fasting, public and private — and they prayed to the patron saint of carpenters, St. Joseph. They prayed between the feast of the Ascension and Pentecost. They prayed and they prayed and they prayed.

On the ninth day, a stranger turned up and asked for work. He had a donkey with a toolbox and some simple tools on its back. "Is there any work you can give me?" he said.

The sisters took him into the chapel, believing this might be part of the answer to their prayer. They explained the problem. He said, "Okay, I think I can build what you need. The conditions are that you leave me alone and no one comes into the chapel until I'm finished."

No one knows whether it was days, weeks, or months. But the sisters gave him his privacy. When they finally got back into the chapel, what they discovered was this amazing double helical staircase that spiraled up thirty-three steps, twenty feet into the air. There was no supporting centre pole. Just thirty-three steps in a spiral. The handiwork was beautiful. There were no nails, only wooden pegs and some glue.

And then the other mysterious parts: the wood, when it was analysed, was no local timber. No one knew where it came from. How did he get it there? He only had a donkey to carry it on. And the mysterious stranger disappeared when the work was complete. He was never paid. Who was he? No one knows.

Modern experts still marvel at the craftsmanship. Even with modern tools and support structures, the work would be incredibly difficult and require a master craftsman.

Eyes of faith or frustration at not knowing

I guess for many people, the questions are looked at from a scientific, logical, rational angle. How? Where? When? Who? Looking for the answers.

But for the sisters, this was the work of God. This was an answer to their prayers in the midst of the chaos and the confusion and the complexity of their problem. When the only solutions were the best of a bad bunch, they prayed and God provided an answer. Some believe Joseph himself came back and built it.

We can ask all the questions we like. But for the sisters, it was an act of faith, and God was revealed in the midst of their crisis. And they got a way forward.

I guess that's what Christmas is about.

God breaking in

Christmas is about God breaking into human life in the midst of the chaos and the mess and the complexity — all the questions and puzzles and struggles — saying that the universe is not neutral and the universe is not negative towards us. The universe is held in love, created out of love and grace and wonder. This God who is Trinity, who creates in love and holds everything together.

There is this mysterious force of love and grace at work in our lives and in the world, when we're open to it. When we have eyes to see and ears to hear.

So will we listen to this story of the miraculous staircase with eyes of faith and wonder and rejoice in the possibilities? Or will we live with doubt and confusion and frustration at not knowing the answers?

Joseph's impossible question

And so we come to Matthew's story this week. His story of Christmas. We're used to the one in Luke, with its census and the journey of a very pregnant Mary and Joseph travelling from Nazareth to Bethlehem. No room in the inn. Staying in a cattle store. The baby wrapped in swaddling clothes and put into a manger. Presumably cattle and sheep around. Angels in the sky coming to shepherds. We're used to that story and the nativity scenes.

But Matthew's is different. Quite simple, but it's deep too.

It's the story of a man, Joseph, who discovers that his fiancée is pregnant. And he knows that he's not the father.

In the simplicity of the story, we're met with a moral question. What does he do?

There are all sorts of questions about trust. Who is the bloke? He thought Mary loved him, that there was trust, but she's off with another bloke. There's the element of risk. If he takes Mary and this child as his own, will the father have a claim on his property, on his wealth — not that there is much. How will it look?

Joe knows that Fred down the road would just humiliate Mary publicly. But that's not him. Joseph is described as righteous, humble, courageous. He wonders whether he should just divorce her quietly and allow her to pursue her own life. Maybe go to this bloke who is the father of the child. And he can go off and find his new way in life.

And he sleeps on it.

The dream

In the sleep there is this dream. Maybe in that twilight zone — REM sleep or whatever it is — where reality and sleep and wakefulness are all kind of mixed. But in this, there's a dream, and an angel speaks to him.

Joseph. Trust Mary. Her unbelievable story is true. This is about God. Go with it.

This child needs a father. A father like you. Mary needs a husband. One like you. Go with it.

"This child is to be called Emmanuel" — God with us (Matthew 1:23, NIV). God with us in the midst of complexity and confusion and chaos. When all seems wrong and out of kilter and we don't know where to go or what to do. When there are moral questions and risk questions and difficult questions and the way ahead seems to be blocked by every barrier that can be erected.

Trust. Trust in this God and see where it leads.

A new possibility

Sometimes, in the midst of these impossible questions, a new possibility emerges. One that we could never imagine or believe. But it comes. And it comes to us in faith, with eyes to see and ears to hear.

Sometimes this possibility is just to trust that God is with us. And will hold us. Much like Joseph: if I go this way, I'm trusting God that you will be there. And that when people attack me or reject me or question me, you won't. And you'll find a way.

I don't know what it was like in this story, what Matthew was imagining when he created this account, or what questions it held for his community. This man who has choices to make and ultimately has to let go and trust God. This young woman who has questions and confusion and wonder but has to trust God. These ordinary people in the midst of a complex life who give themselves into the grace of God.

And that really is what Christmas is about.

Not tinsel. Faith, hope, and love.

It's not about tinsel and festivities and gifts — all good things. It's not about a day of the year. It's about faith, hope, and love. It's about trusting in this God that we can't control or see or even fully know. We can only trust. And love. And God will be revealed to us as we follow, as we journey, as we let go, as we find a new way in life.

It really is what the world needs. Faith, hope, and love that will transform people and lives and communities and nations and break down the barriers that divide and separate. That will put an end to the violence, because we don't need violence to answer our problems. We need love. We need empathy. We need courage, compassion, kindness. We need to work together.

This is the way of love. The way of the universe. The way of God.

A question to sit with

Will we give ourselves up to this way and trust God like Joseph? Will we trust God like the sisters?

Will we see the miracles and wonders happen in our lives? Miracles are really just these open moments of wonder and awe, when God is real and love is true and faith carries us and there is hope and joy and peace.

Will you follow in this way?