14 Since, therefore, the children share flesh and blood, [Christ] himself likewise shared the same things, so that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death…
~Hebrews 2:14

Joseph the dreamer—not that one, not Jacob’s son, the one with the fabulous coat, but his namesake, the husband of Mary—is dreaming again. Things happen in the scriptures when this space between waking and sleeping is crossed! Three times on the heals of the Magi visit, in this short Matthew passage he dreams, and then acts, to save the child and his family from powerful forces protecting their narrow interests. He is attune not only to the message of the angels, but to the political realities on the ground and their intersection in time. 

The holy migrant family make a journey that mirrors that of Jacob’s son, finding hospitality and refuge in Egypt. Like so many families in our own time, they cross borders and rivers seeking safety from leaders who fume and plot and terrorize.

There is a strange comfort in knowing that these ancient scriptures looking to such different times than our own know something about the human condition that spans all time…and our time. “It was fitting,” says the writer in Hebrews, “that God…should make the pioneer of [our] salvation perfect through sufferings.”

Suffering was not the end of Joseph’s imagination but the beginning. His dreams imagined and then engendered new possibilities that come from without, from a holy otherness, like a gift. He dreamed. He opened the gift, and acted, finding a way through the wilderness for the savior of the world to find us.

What is God dreaming up for us? What sharpening images do these times offer to us of new possibility and new life and new faith?

Enter into worship.
 
Readings: Isaiah 63:7-9 † Psalm 148 † Hebrews 2:10-18 † Matthew 2:13-23
 
About the Art, Hunt, William Holman, 1827-1910. Triumph of the Innocents, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=59340 [retrieved December 15, 2025]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:William_Holman_Hunt_-_The_Triumph_of_the_Innocents_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg.

Commentary (adapted from The  Visual Commentary on Scripture): The painting depicts a joyously dreamlike quality to  Hunt’s depiction of the flight into Egypt—a markedly hopeful juxtaposition for a  story that carries such unspeakable tragedy. The dreaminess is especially  evident in the presence of the innocents who join the travelers on their  migrant flight to safety in Egypt. Neither Joseph, nor the donkey, seem to  notice this mysterious band of travelers who seem to exist at various stages of  reality. The infants themselves seem preoccupied with their own  concerns—exploring their new existence or resuming games cruelly interrupted by  Herod’s soldiers. But the Christ child sees them clearly and reaches out in  solidarity. Mary too, as she directs her smile down to her newly-expanded  family. Note the bubble in the center. It contains an image of the tree of life  and its delicate promise of paradise restored. 

​6 For a child has been born for us,
  a son given to us;
authority rests upon his shoulders;
  and he is named
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
  Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
7 His authority shall grow continually,
  and there shall be endless peace
  for the throne of David and his kingdom.
He will establish and uphold it
   with justice and with righteousness
  from this time onward and forevermore.
The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.
~Isaiah 9:6-7
 
19 But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.
~Luke 2:19
 
We find a little distance in the Christmas story between what is promised and what is experienced. Isaiah leads off with confidence and strength about the ways God delivers for the health and well-being of creation. Good (wonderful) counsel, strength and might, endless peace, predictable, good governance. The promises are robust and self-assured from this prophetic tradition that knows so much about what is wrong as well as what is right.
 
Luke’s gospel begins more humbly—with stories that speak to unusual, unexpected things—and a whole lot of unknowing. And yet these words are treasured…and treasures. Attention to them yields understanding and hope that helps us into the genuine promises of the story beyond the glitter and acquisitiveness that so quickly becomes cold comfort.
 
What is our story as Christians? God being totally vulnerable, totally poor, a little child. A seemingly dead stump with so much life and promise remaining. A humble, helpless baby who has come to love us in ways that we may not be ready to be loved. And yet, here, beloved ones, is our salvation. What treasures are waiting to be opened and pondered in this season?
 
Enter into worship.
​
Readings: Isaiah 9:2-6 † Psalm 96 † Titus 2:11-14 † Luke 2:1-14 (15-20) (Proper 1)
Isaiah 62:6-12 † Psalm 97 † Titus 3:4-7 † Luke 2:(1-7), 8-20 (Proper 2)
Isaiah 52:7-10 † Psalm 98 † Hebrews 1:1-4, (5-12) † John 1:1-14 (Proper 3)
 
About the Art: Emma Oehler © 2025 ReformedWorship.org, CC BY-NC-SA 4.0. Used by permission.
 
Comments: The olive tree was chosen for its biblical resonance. It is one of the few trees in Scripture explicitly described as both flowering and fruit-bearing. In addition, olive branches hold deep symbolic meaning in the biblical tradition, representing peace and reconciliation, which is especially fitting for the season of Advent. 

When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him;
~Matthew 1:24
 
Dreams, angels, the subconscious, principalities, powers. Call it what you will. There is likely more we don’t know than we do about what literally to make of these stories. But most of us know something about those inner voices that speak to us with prescience, of warning, of promise, of a deep sense of what is or what is coming. We know about dreams and dreaming and hope.
 
Immediately after Joseph resolves to quietly dismiss Mary to an uncertain and fraught future without him for the child that is not his, he is confronted with a counter call to courage, to faith.
 
And he listens!
 
Joseph listens—like Mary, like Elizabeth, like Zechariah before him, girded by the 42 generations of ancestors Matthew lists just before this story—including Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and Bathsheba—four remarkable grandmothers of faith who knew a little bit about scandal, and the pressures of shame, and the kind of gracious, gritty faithfulness that comes from outside the system to bless it.
 
Joseph listens and responds with courage. And the result seems to be a developed ear for faith. He gets two more visitations that steer him and his family from the danger that awaits as the story unfolds. He grows an ear for the God who comes to him with goodwill promising a future that will unfold in blessing and safety—accompanied by the soundtrack of Mary’s daring song about a world about to turn.
 
Most of us know something about that inner voice, that voice that speaks good, not harm, that sets our future path. Let us train our ears and tune our hearts to the promise of the birthing, saving, rising, loving one Advent promises.
 
 
Readings: Isaiah 7:10-16 † Psalm 80:1–7, 17–19 † Romans 1:1-7 † Matthew 1:18-25
 
About the Art, La Tour, Georges du Mesnil de, 1593-1652. The Angel Visiting Joseph in a Dream, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=46742 [retrieved December 12, 2022]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Georges_de_La_Tour_022.jpg.

When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?”
~Matthew 11:2-3
 
You also must be patient. Strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is near.
~James 5:8
 
John sits in prison, reflecting on a mission that now seems lost in the past. The staff of his prophetic message broken, the red garment a sign of his impending martyrdom, the faint light over his shoulder a glimmer of those bright baptismal wilderness days—or perhaps a hint of what is coming. You could consider it a crisis of faith.
 
“Are you the one?” he wonders.
 
So much seems to ride on this question. Perhaps everything. How can one be patient while wasting away in prison—literal or figurative?
 
Which begs the question: why is John in prison? What did he do? What does his presence there, and Jesus’ ultimate destination say about us and about what is true in the world, what will hold us firmly?
 
Advent is a season of remembering, expecting, and waiting. We await the coming of Jesus into the world. We await the coming of our salvation. But we cannot do so through the lens of historical or religious amnesia. No amount of nostalgia or magical thinking will hold us as we consider the debris of a life that seems past. You can only understand miracle through the clarity of the need for it. You can only understand salvation through the memory of what was so badly wrong, what was so badly needed in the first place. You can only understand freedom if you know the story of bondage.
 
Advent is about truth-telling—the truth of our past, of our present, so we can be prepared for the coming of the One who is, astonishingly, already here.
 
Enter into worship.
 
Readings: Isaiah 35:1-10 † Psalm 146:5-10 or Luke 1:46b-55 † James 5:7-10 † Matthew 11:2-11
 
About the Art, St. John the Baptist in the Prison, Juan Fernández de Navarrete, Painting, late 1560s, Public Domain. Retrieved on December 8, 2025 from: https://politicaltheology.com/the-politics-of-identifying-jesus-and-john-the-baptist-matthew-112-11-richard-davis/.
 
Art Notes (Adapted from The Art of Advent: St. John the Baptist in the Prison): In this image, St. John sits alone in a prison cell, illuminated only by a faint light entering through a small, barred window. Perhaps this is an appropriate depiction of our feelings at many points throughout life. Still, Advent is meant to remind us that a greater Light is coming, even in the midst of so much darkness, a faint light that will pierce the darkest darkness.
 
John gazes on two important items with a very pensive look on his face—the staff he carried and a red garment, symbolic of his impending martyrdom. The staff has been broken into a much smaller piece; John’s prophetic message has been cut off. The red garment lies in a pile, also leading John to question whether his ministry was “worth the sacrifice.” These might be questions we too ponder during Advent.