God With Us in the Uncertain

A homily for the fourth Sunday in Advent on Matthew 1:18-24 and Isaiah 7:10-14. With apologies for the late posting.

The Lord spoke to Ahaz, saying, “Ask a sign of the Lord your God; let it be deep as Sheol or high as heaven.” But Ahaz said, “I will not ask, and I will not put the Lord to the test.”

Then Isaiah said: “Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary the people, that you weary my God also? Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Emmanuel.” ― Isaiah 7:10-14

The birth of Jesus the Christ 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. ― Matthew 1:18-24

I have to admit something about myself as we approach Christmas. I like plans. I like clarity. I like knowing how things are supposed to unfold. Advent, however, keeps interrupting that preference. Every year, just when I think I know the story, the lectionary hands me Joseph — quiet, faithful Joseph — standing in the middle of a life he did not plan and a future he did not choose.

I imagine Joseph lying awake at night, staring into the dark, rehearsing conversations that will never happen, futures that are slipping away. He had done everything right. He was righteous. He was careful. He was honourable. And still, his life was unraveling. The child Mary carries is not his. The assumptions of the village are not kind. The law gives him options, but none of them feel like hope.

What strikes me is that Joseph never speaks a word in the Gospels. Not one. His obedience is silent, costly, and deeply faithful. And if I’m honest, that kind of obedience makes me uncomfortable — because it asks me to trust God when the story doesn’t make sense yet.

Maybe that discomfort isn’t just mine. Maybe it belongs to all of us.

We are standing on the edge of Christmas, surrounded by songs about joy and light, but many of us are living with unanswered questions. We carry worries into this season: about our families, our health, our future, our faith. Some of us are trying to do the right thing and still feel like life has taken a sharp turn we didn’t see coming.

We know what it’s like to be caught between what we expected and what is. We know what it’s like to feel afraid, to want a sign, to wonder if God is really with us or just watching from a distance. Like King Ahaz in our first reading from the prophets Isaiah, we are often invited to trust — and we hesitate. Like Joseph, we want reassurance before we step forward.

Advent tells the truth about us: we long for God’s presence, but we struggle to recognize it when it arrives in unexpected ways.

Into that longing, God speaks — not with explanation, but with promise.

Isaiah stands before a fearful king and offers a sign. Ahaz refuses, masking his fear with false piety. Still, God gives the sign anyway: a child will be born, and his name will mean God with us. Before strategies, before solutions, before certainty — there will be presence.

Matthew tells us that promise does not remain an idea. It becomes flesh. The child conceived in Mary is from the Holy Spirit. This is not God fixing a problem from afar; this is God entering the human story from within. God chooses vulnerability. God chooses dependence. God chooses to be born into confusion and risk.

The angel speaks to Joseph in a dream, not with detailed answers, but with a command and a promise: Do not be afraid. Take Mary as your wife. Name the child Jesus. This child will save. This child will be Emmanuel.

Notice what God does not do. God does not remove the scandal. God does not clear up the gossip. God does not make Joseph’s obedience easy or obvious. What God gives is presence and purpose. The assurance that God is at work, even when the path forward is unclear.

This is the heart of the incarnation: God does not wait for the world to be ready. God comes into the world as it is.

When we hear this story, we often rush too quickly to Christmas morning. But Advent asks us to linger with Joseph in the night. To sit with the tension. To recognize that faith is often practiced before it is understood.

Joseph’s righteousness is not about rule-following; it is about responsiveness. He listens. He trusts. He acts. He wakes up and does what the angel tells him to do. He takes Mary into his home. He names the child. He aligns his life with God’s promise, even when it costs him his reputation and his certainty.

And in doing so, Joseph becomes part of the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy. Emmanuel does not arrive without human cooperation. God chooses to be “with us” through ordinary people who say yes in extraordinary circumstances. That means this story is not just about something that happened long ago. It is about how God continues to come into the world—through faithful, imperfect people who are willing to trust God with their lives.

So here is the question Advent places before you, gently but persistently:

Where is God asking you to trust without having all the answers?

What fear is God naming in you today? What invitation are you being given that feels risky or unclear? Perhaps it’s a conversation you’ve been avoiding, a forgiveness you’ve been resisting, a calling you’ve been doubting, or a hope you’ve been afraid to claim.

You may not get a sign like Ahaz was offered. You may not get a dream like Joseph did. But you are given the same promise: God is with you. Not after everything is resolved. Not once the fear is gone. But now.

Advent does not ask you to have everything figured out by Christmas. It asks you to make room. To trust that God is already at work in the midst of your uncertainty. To believe that Emmanuel is not just a name we sing about, but a reality we live into.

As we move closer to the manger, may we learn from Joseph’s quiet courage. May we listen more than we speak. May we act with faith even when the future is unclear. And may we discover, again and again, that God is with us — right here, right now, in ways we never expected.