There's something almost unnervingly calm about the way Matthew tells this story. No angels singing yet. No shepherds. No star. Just a single, devastating sentence. It's a doozy: "She was found to be with child."

Oops.

That's the language of exposure. That's what it sounds like when a community stumbles on something it can use. Somehow, Mary's pregnancy has become public knowledge, which means Mary's pregnancy doesn't belong just to her anymore.

It belongs to the rumor mill now, to a system that knows exactly what to do with a young woman who doesn't play her role in the expected script.

We need to sit with that for a minute before we rush to the angel and the dream and the happy resolution.

Why?

Because Matthew doesn't rush. Matthew wants us to feel the weight of what's happening here. A vulnerable person has been exposed, and the community is watching to see what comes next.

And let's be honest about what "exposed" meant in that world. This wasn't just social embarrassment. It was a young woman's entire future hanging by a thread. Her family's honor. Her prospects. Her safety.

In a society where women's lives depended almost entirely on their connection to men who’d vouch for them, Mary's just become somebody no one will vouch for. It's easy to lose sight of the fact that this pregnancy isn't just a private scandal. It's public. And the public, as it almost always does in these delicate situations, is ready with a verdict to be handed down.

Enter Joseph.

Matthew calls him righteous. Just. A man who keeps Torah, who does what the law requires. I mean, this is a guy who's built his life on the solid ground of faithfulness.

But here's the thing about righteousness in that world: it came with expectations. A righteous man, discovering his betrothed is pregnant with a child that isn't his, has options. He can make this public. He can let the system do what systems do. He can be right, and everybody'll know he's right. In which case, Mary will bear the full weight of the consequences.

I want to suggest to you that this is the moment Matthew wants us to see clearly. Joseph has power here. Real power. The kind of power that comes from being on the right side of the rules, from having status and standing and a community that will back him up. He can deploy that power, and nobody will blame him. In fact, they'll probably praise him for it. "It's tough, but Joseph did the right thing," they'll say ... while Mary's life unravels.

But notice what the text says: Joseph, being righteous, was unwilling to expose her to public shame.

Do you see what Matthew just did?

He's redefined righteousness on the fly, right before our very eyes. He's taken a word that could easily justify punishment and filled it with mercy instead. Joseph's righteousness isn't the kind that protects his reputation while destroying somebody else. It's the kind that refuses to let the system take its pound of flesh from the person with the least flesh to give.

I don't think this is an accident, and I don't think it's just ancient history.

We know how unequal costs work. We've watched it happen. When pressure comes, when systems tighten, when the civic weather turns harsh, the consequences are never equally distributed. They never do.

People with resources can buy time. People with status can buy privacy. People with connections can buy options. (Think about the Epstein files and the roadblocks that have been set up to protect the lives of people who live decidedly differently from the rest of us, you know … the hoy polloi, the herd, the unwashed masses.)

But people who don’t enjoy the same privileges those resources confer?