Joseph

Joseph

This is how Jesus the Messiah was born. His mother, Mary, was engaged to be married to Joseph. But before the marriage took place, while she was still a virgin, she became pregnant through the power of the Holy Spirit. Joseph, her fiancé, was a good man and did not want to disgrace her publicly, so he decided to break the engagement quietly.

As he considered this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream. “Joseph, son of David,” the angel said, “do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife. For the child within her was conceived by the Holy Spirit. And she will have a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.”

When Joseph woke up, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded ….
(Matthew 1:18-21; 24)

If you’re like me, you probably find the white space between Bible verses pretty fertile soil for lots of questions. I think that’s because you can hardly read Scripture without whispering, “I wonder ….” For instance, “I wonder if Eve ever ate any more fruit?” Or, “I wonder if Noah slept well during storms?” Maybe, “I wonder if Jonah liked fish, or if Jeremiah had friends?” Perhaps, “Did Moses avoid bushes? Did Jesus tell jokes? Did Peter ever try water-walking again?” And this one, “Would any woman have married Paul had he asked?”

The Bible, in some ways, is kind of like a fence full of knotholes through which we can peek but not quite see the whole picture. Or maybe it’s kind of like a scrapbook of snapshots capturing people in various encounters with God, but not always recording the results of those encounters. So we wonder: “When the woman caught in adultery went home, what did she say to her husband?” “After the demoniac was delivered, what did he do for a living?” “After Jairus’s daughter was raised from the dead, did she ever regret it?”

Knotholes. Snapshots. I wonders. You’ll find them in just about every chapter of the Bible, and about almost every person encountered. But nothing creates so many questions as does the birth of Jesus. Characters appear and disappear in the story before we can ask them anything. For instance, take the innkeeper who was too busy to welcome God — did he ever learn who he turned away? Or the shepherds in the field — did they ever hum the song the angels sang? How about the wise men who followed the star — what was it like to worship a toddler? And Joseph, especially Joseph. We’ve got plenty of questions for Joseph.

For instance, if we could have a conversation with Joseph, maybe we’d ask questions like, “Did you and Jesus arm wrestle? Did he ever let you win?” Or, “Did you ever look up from your prayers and see Jesus listening?” Maybe, “How do you say ‘Jesus’ in Egyptian?” And, “What ever happened to the wise men?” Better yet, “What ever happened to you?”

The truth is, we really don’t know what happened to Joseph. His role in Act I is so crucial that we simply expect to see him throughout the rest of the drama. But with the exception of a short scene with a twelve-year old Jesus at the temple in Jerusalem, Joseph never reappears. The rest of his life is left to speculation. And so there we are – we’re left with our questions.

But of all those questions, especially during the Christmas season, I know my first would be about Bethlehem, because I’d like to know about that night in the stable. I can just picture Joseph there. Moonlit pastures. Stars twinkling above. Bethlehem sparkling in the distance. And there he is, pacing outside the stable.

I mean, what was he thinking while Jesus was being born? What was on his mind while Mary was giving birth? He’d done all he could do — heated the water and prepared a place for Mary to lie down. He’d made Mary as comfortable as she could be in a barn (of all places), and then he stepped out. Maybe she’d asked to be left alone. And, if that’s true, Joseph probably never felt more alone. Because in that eternity between his wife’s dismissal and Jesus’ arrival, what was he thinking? Maybe he walked into the night and looked into the stars. Did he pray? For some reason, I don’t see him being exactly silent. I see Joseph as being pretty animated, pacing – head shaking one minute, fist shaking the next. This isn’t what he had in mind. So, I wonder what he said ….

This isn’t the way I planned it, God. Not even close. My child being born in a stable? Hardly. A cave with sheep and donkeys, hay and straw? My wife giving birth with only the stars to hear her pain? This isn’t at all what I’d imagined. No. Frankly, God, I’d imagined family. I imagined grandmothers. I imagined neighbors clustered outside the door and friends standing at my side. I imagined the house erupting with the first cry of the infant. Slaps on the back. Loud laughter. Jubilation. You know. That’s how I thought it’d be. The midwife would hand me my child and all the people would applaud. Mary would rest and we would celebrate. All of Nazareth would have celebrated for that matter.

But now? Just look at me. Nazareth is five days’ journey away and here we are in a … in a … in a stupid sheep stall. So, who’s going to celebrate with us here? The sheep? The shepherds? The stars? Great. God, this just doesn’t seem right. I mean, what kind of husband am I? I provide no midwife to aid Mary; no bed to rest her back. For crying out loud, her pillow is a smelly blanket from my donkey, and my house for her is a shed of hay and straw. The smell is horrible, the animals are noisy, and I smell like a shepherd.

Did I miss something here? Did I not get the memo, God? When you sent the angel and spoke of the son being born — this isn’t exactly what I’d pictured. I envisioned Jerusalem. You know, the temple, the priests, and the people gathered to watch? A pageant perhaps? Yeah, a parade, or at least a banquet. I mean, this is the Messiah!

Or, if not born in Jerusalem, how about Nazareth at least? Wouldn’t Nazareth have been better? At least there I have my house and my business. Out here, what do I have? A worn out mule, a stack of firewood, and a pot of warm water. This isn’t the way I wanted it to be! This isn’t the way I wanted my son to be born into the world.

I did it again, didn’t I? I don’t really mean to do that, but it’s just that I forget. I know, I know. He’s not my son … he’s yours. The child is yours. The plan is yours. The idea is yours. And forgive me for asking but … is this how God enters the world? Okay. Okay. The coming of the angel, I get. The questions people asked about the pregnancy, I tolerated. Even the trip to Bethlehem – fine. But why a birth in a stable, God? Because any minute now Mary’s gonna give birth. Not to a child, but to the Messiah. Not to an infant, but to God. That’s what the angel said. That’s what Mary believes. And, God, that’s what I want to believe. But surely you can understand; it’s not easy because it seems so … so … weird.

You know me, God, right? The contractor? I’m unaccustomed to strangeness. I’m a carpenter for pity’s sake. I make things fit. I square off the edges. I follow the plumb line. I measure twice before I cut once. Surprises are not the friend of a builder. I like to know the plan. I like to see the plan before I begin. But this time I’m not the builder, am I? This time I’m just a tool. A hammer in your grip. A nail between your fingers. A chisel in your hands. This project is yours, not mine. And I guess it’s foolish of me to question you. So please, God, forgive my struggling. But trust doesn’t come very easy to me. But then again, you never said it would be easy, did you?

One final thing, Father. You know that angel you sent? Is there any chance you could send another? And if not an angel, then maybe just another person? Frankly, I’m an out-of-towner, and I don’t know anyone around here. And right about now, God, some company would be nice. Maybe the innkeeper or a traveler? I guess even a shepherd would do.

I wonder. Did Joseph ever pray such a prayer? Maybe he did. Then again, maybe he didn’t. But you probably have. Oh, not that prayer. But you’ve probably stood where Joseph stood. Caught in that place between what God says and what makes sense. You’ve done what he told you to do only to wonder now if it was him that was even speaking in the first place. You’ve stared into a sky blackened with doubt. And you’ve asked what Joseph asked.

You’ve asked if you’re still on the right road. You’ve asked if you were supposed to turn left when you turned right. And you’ve asked if there is a plan behind this scheme because things haven’t really turned out the way you thought they would.

I’ll hazard a guess that each of us knows what it’s like to search the night for light. Not outside a stable, but maybe outside of an emergency room. Or on the gravel of a roadside. Or on the manicured grass of a cemetery. We’ve asked our questions – plenty of them. Maybe we’ve even questioned God’s plan. May we’ve even wondered why God does what he does. But take heart – the Bethlehem sky is not the first to hear the pleadings of a confused pilgrim.

If you’re asking what Joseph may have asked, then let me encourage you to do what Joseph did. Obey. That’s what Joseph did. He obeyed. He obeyed when the angel called. He obeyed when Mary explained. He obeyed when God sent. He was obedient to God. He was obedient when the sky was bright. He was obedient when the sky was dark.

Of the little we know about Joseph, we know this: he didn’t let his confusion disrupt his obedience. He didn’t know everything. But he did what he knew. He shut down his business, packed up his family, and went to another country. Why? Because that’s what God said to do.

Does this sound familiar? Because just like Joseph, we can’t see the whole picture. Just like Joseph our task is to see that Jesus is brought into our part of our world. And just like Joseph we have a choice: to obey or disobey. And because Joseph obeyed, God used him to change the world. The question is, can he do the same with me and you?

You know, God still looks for Josephs today. Men and women who believe that God is not through with this world. Common people who serve an uncommon God. So, will you be that kind of person? Will you serve? Will you really serve … even when you don’t understand?

No, the Bethlehem sky was not the first to hear the pleadings of an honest heart, nor will it be the last. And perhaps God didn’t answer every question for Joseph. But he answered the most important one: “Are you still with me, God?” And through the first cries of the God-child the answer came. “Yes. Yes, Joseph. I’m with you.”

Frankly, there are lots of questions that we won’t be able to answer until we get home. Countless knotholes; thousands of snapshots. Many times we’ll muse, “I wonder .…” But in our wonderings, there’s a few questions we never need to ask. Does God care? Do we matter to God? Does he still love his children?

Because through the small face of the stable-born baby, God says “Yes.” Yes, your sins are forgiven. Yes, your name is written in heaven. Yes, death has been defeated. And yes, God has entered your world.

Immanuel. God is with us.

Can you be a Joseph? A carpenter who loved and obeyed God, even without an entire set of blueprints. Can you be a Joseph to your children who don’t come with any instructions? Can you trust and then obey? Solomon summed it up pretty well when he said, “Fear God and obey his commandments for this is the whole duty of man.” (Eccl. 12:13) Modeling that truth is the greatest gift a parent could ever give their children this Christmas.

Just ask Jesus.

Grace,

Randy