Introduction
Matthew’s birth narrative is far less familiar than Luke’s. And so, when we read this short section, it’s often read as gentle and calm. But Matthew is leaning quite heavily in a different direction. In my first commentary on this text three years ago, I explored how Matthew intentionally uses scandal, not as moral failure, but as a theological disruption of assumed power, authority, and righteousness that introduces the gospel. That earlier commentary focuses especially on Matthew’s genealogy and on Mary’s pregnancy as a continuation of God’s work amid scandal, where misplaced power is exposed and God’s purposes move forward anyway. I encourage you to begin here, because that framework remains essential for understanding this text.
This year, however, I want to linger with a different question raised by the same story: what does righteousness look like when God’s work disrupts certainty rather than resolves it? Matthew’s answer is not abstract or triumphant. It is embodied in Joseph who quietly, obediently, and at real personal cost, alters his plans to trust in the movement of God.
Narrative Context: Righteousness Without Certainty
Matthew introduces Joseph as a “righteous man,” but the narrative immediately complicates what that righteousness looks like. Faced with Mary’s pregnancy, Joseph resolves to dismiss her quietly. But this is not cruelty, it is restraint. He doesn’t want harm to come to Mary even though his early thoughts may be that she betrayed him. He wants to send her away so that she might still have a future rather than be publicly vilified and left destitute. It is the best moral decision available to him given what he knows. Matthew does not portray Joseph as villainous or lacking faith. He is righteous with limited information.
That detail matters. In Matthew’s Gospel, righteousness does not mean possessing divine insight or moral certainty. It means responding faithfully within human limits. Joseph’s initial plan reflects compassion within the framework he understands. What changes is not Joseph’s character, but the scope of his obedience once God speaks.
The angel’s message does not erase ambiguity or eliminate risk. Mary will still appear pregnant out of wedlock. Joseph will still bear the social consequences of staying. The dream does not make things safe; it makes them meaningful. God does not resolve the scandal; God names where God is present within it.
Joseph’s Obedience as Advent Waiting
Unlike Luke, Matthew gives us no words from Joseph. There is no recorded protest, no prayer, no explanation offered to the community. When Joseph awakens, he simply acts: “he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him.” Matthew presents obedience not as dramatic or heroic, but as quiet faithfulness carried out without public vindication.
This is an Advent text in the truest sense. Joseph does not wait passively; he waits by acting. He does not receive clarity about how everything will unfold; he receives a call to trust that God is already at work. His obedience is costly and unspectacular. It changes nothing about how the situation will look to others. What it changes is whether Joseph will align himself with what God is doing, even when that alignment brings misunderstanding.
Matthew’s Emmanuel theology (“God with us”) is not a promise of resolution before Christmas. It is a declaration of presence before things make sense.
Contextualizing Obedience and Understanding Joseph’s Story
Obedience is often a fraught and even derogatory term in progressive church spaces, and for good reason. Historically, obedience has too often followed a single, harmful trajectory: men are obedient to God, and women are obedient to men. That framework has borne patriarchy, excused abuse, and demanded silence in the face of injustice. But Matthew is already resisting that understanding of obedience in his own time. Obedience that exists for the sake of visibility, status, and praise is precisely what Matthew’s Gospel will critique again and again.
When Matthew is read through the lens of scandal, however, Joseph’s obedience functions very differently. The dream Joseph receives does not elevate him; it decenters him. He is not being entrusted with power or authority over Mary and Jesus. He is being told (implicitly but unmistakably) that his life is about to take a permanent back seat to theirs. His reputation, his social standing, and his sense of control will all be lost. He will likely be mocked. He may be perceived as weak, soft, or naïve. And none of that will be explained away.
Joseph’s obedience is not about dominance or moral superiority. It is about relinquishment. It is about accepting that God’s work in the world will not revolve around him, will not protect his image, and will not make him legible as “righteous” by cultural standards. In Matthew’s telling, obedience is not rewarded with honor; it leads to the background.
And yet, Joseph’s obedience is critical. His obedience protects Mary during a dangerous and vulnerable time. His obedience allows their family to escape Herod’s violence and flee to Egypt. His obedience returns Jesus to the place where he must grow, so that the ministry of Emmanuel can begin. Again and again, Joseph’s faithfulness creates the conditions for God’s work to continue, even though that work is never about Joseph himself.
This is why Matthew can present obedience not as dramatic or heroic, but as quiet faithfulness carried out without public vindication. Joseph does not speak. He does not defend himself. He simply acts. This is the same ethic Jesus will later teach in the Sermon on the Mount: faithfulness that does not seek recognition, righteousness that does not perform itself for approval, obedience that is lived rather than announced.
In Joseph, Matthew offers a reframing of obedience that resists both patriarchy and triumphalism. Obedience here is not submission to power; it is the willing surrender of power. It is not about being in control of God’s work; it is about making space for it to unfold, even when doing so costs everything.
Preaching Possibilities
Making Room Without Forcing Meaning
By the Fourth Sunday of Advent, many people are already somewhere else. Christmas Eve is close. The story feels familiar. The pressure to feel ready (to feel joyful, grateful, and spiritually settled) can be heavy. Matthew, however, interrupts that momentum. He catches us off guard. He tells the story early and tells it differently, lingering not on celebration but on disruption, uncertainty, and quiet decision-making in the midst of it all.
That is what can make this text uncomfortable. It does not invite us to feel prepared. It does not ask us to be confident. And it certainly does not ask us to be compliant. Instead, it places us with Joseph, standing in a moment where nothing is resolved and very little is clear.
This is why language of obedience needs care here. Obedience has often been used to demand silence, protect harmful systems, and require people to endure what should never have been endured. Matthew is not endorsing that kind of obedience. In fact, he is undermining it. Joseph is not asked to enforce tradition, preserve reputation, or maintain order. He is asked to do something far riskier: to make room for a life that will not center him and will not reward him.
Joseph does not obey a rule; he responds to a reality. He recognizes that God is at work in a way that disrupts his expectations, his plans, and his social standing. His faithfulness does not resolve the tension or explain it to others. It simply protects life in the middle of it.
Preached this way, Advent is not about trusting institutions or suppressing doubt. It is about discerning where the kingdom is trying to emerge and choosing not to crush it. Joseph’s actions create space: for Mary’s safety, for Jesus’ survival, for Emmanuel to dwell among us before anyone is ready to celebrate.
This kind of faithfulness does not demand emotional conformity. It does not require joy on command or peace without grief. It does not force meaning where there isn’t any yet. It simply refuses to close the door on what God may be bringing into the world, even when that arrival feels inconvenient, costly, or unfinished.
On the edge of Christmas, Matthew does not tell us to feel a certain way. He invites us to ask a quieter question: Where might God be asking us not to explain, control, or sanctify the moment, but simply to make room?
Micah Krey 
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