Dads

Dad

This is how the birth of Jesus Christ came about. His mother Mary was engaged to marry Joseph, but before they married, she learned she was pregnant by the power of the Holy Spirit. Because Mary’s husband, Joseph, was a good man, he did not want to disgrace her in public, so he planned to divorce her secretly.

While Joseph thought about these things, an angel of the Lord came to him in a dream. The angel said, “Joseph, descendant of David, don’t be afraid to take Mary as your wife, because the baby in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son, and you will name him Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.”

All this happened to bring about what the Lord had said through the prophet: “The virgin will be pregnant. She will have a son, and they will name him Immanuel,” which means “God is with us.”

When Joseph woke up, he did what the Lord’s angel had told him to do. Joseph took Mary as his wife, but he did not have sexual relations with her until she gave birth to the son. And Joseph named him Jesus. {Matt. 1:18–25}

The white space in between Bible verses is fertile soil for all sorts of questions. You can hardly read Scripture without muttering, “I wonder ….” “I wonder if Eve ever ate any more fruit.” “I wonder if Noah slept well during storms.” “I wonder if Jonah liked fish, or if Jeremiah had any friends”? “Did Moses avoid bushes? Did Jesus tell jokes? Did Peter ever try water-walking again?”

The Bible is like a fence full of knotholes through which we can peek but never really see the whole picture on the other side. Or, it’s like a scrapbook of snapshots that capture people encountering God, but not always picturing the result. So we’re left to wonder: when the woman caught in adultery went home, what did she say to her husband? After the devil-possessed man was delivered, what did he do for a living? And after Lazarus had been raised from the dead, did he have any regrets?

Knotholes. Snapshots. “I wonders.” You’ll find them in almost every chapter of the Bible. But nothing, in my opinion, stirs so many questions as the birth of Jesus. Characters in that drama appear and then simply disappear before we can ask them anything. For instance, the innkeeper 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? And the wise men who followed the star – what was it like to worship a toddler?

And then there’s Joseph. Especially Joseph. I’ve got a few questions for him, too. Like “Did you and Jesus arm wrestle?” “Did he let you win?” “Did you ever look up from your prayers and see Jesus listening?” “How do you say ‘Jesus’ in Egyptian?” “What ever happened to the wise men?” Better yet, “What ever happened to you?”

The truth is we don’t know what happened to Joseph. His role seems so crucial that we just expect to see him throughout the rest of the drama. But with the exception of a short scene with his twelve-year-old in the temple in Jerusalem, he never reappears. The rest of his life is left to speculation, and we’re left with our questions. And of all my questions, my first would be about Bethlehem. I’d like to know about that night in the stable.

I can just picture Joseph. Moonlit pastures. Stars twinkling overhead. Bethlehem sparkling in the distance. And there he is, pacing outside the stable. 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, prepared a place for Mary to lie down. He’d probably made Mary as comfortable as she could be in a barn and then he stepped out.

And in that eternity between his wife’s dismissal and Jesus’ arrival, what was he thinking? He walked out into the night and looked into the stars. Do you think he prayed? Frankly, I don’t see him being exactly silent; I see Joseph being animated, pacing. I mean this is his first experience with childbirth. So, maybe he’s shaking his head one minute, and his fist the next because this isn’t what he had in mind.

“This isn’t the way I planned it, God. Not at all. My child being born in a stable? Really? This isn’t the way I thought it would be. 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 imagined. No, I imagined family. I imagined grandmas. I imagined neighbors clustered outside the door and friends standing at my side. I imagined the house erupting with the first cry of the baby. Slaps on the back. Loud laughter. Jubilation. That’s how I thought it would be. You know, the midwife would hand me my child and all the people would applaud. Mary would rest and we would celebrate. All of Nazareth would celebrate for that matter.”

“But now? Just look. Nazareth’s five days’ journey from here. And here we are in a, in a … barn. So, who’s gonna celebrate with us? The sheep? The shepherds? The stars? Right. This doesn’t seem right. I mean, what kind of husband am I? I provide no midwife to help Mary. No bed to rest her aching back. And her pillow’s a blanket from my donkey. My house for her is a shed of hay and straw. The smell is bad, the animals are loud and I smell like a sheep herder.”

“Did I miss something? Did I, God? When you sent the angel and spoke of a son being born, this isn’t exactly what I had pictured. Frankly, I’d envisioned Jerusalem, the temple, the priests, and the people gathered to watch. Maybe even a pageant, perhaps. Who knows? A parade, maybe?”

“I mean, this is the promised Messiah! Or, if not born in Jerusalem, how ‘bout Nazareth? Wouldn’t Nazareth have been better? At least there I have my house and my business. But out here, what do I have? A tired mule, a stack of firewood, and a pot of warm water. Terrific. This is not the way I wanted it to be. This is not the way I wanted my son.”

“Oh yeah. Sorry, God. I did it again, huh? I didn’t mean to do that; 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. So, please forgive me, but is this how God enters the world? The coming of the angel? I get that. The questions people asked about the pregnancy? I put up with those. The trip to Bethlehem? Fine. But God, a birth in a stable? Seriously?”

“Any minute now Mary will 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. It just so, so, so … bizarre. Now, don’t get me wrong, here. I’m just unaccustomed to strangeness, God, that’s all. I’m a carpenter for cryin’ out loud. 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 simply a tool. A hammer in your grip, or a nail between your fingers. A chisel in your hands. This project is yours, not mine.”

“God, I guess it’s pretty foolish of me to question you. And please forgive my struggling. But trust doesn’t come easy to me, God. But then again, you never said it would be easy, did you? Oh, and one final thing, Father. The angel you sent? Any chance you could send another? If not an angel, maybe just another person? I don’t know anyone here and some company would be really nice right about now. Maybe the innkeeper or a traveler? At this point, even a shepherd would do.”

I wonder. Did Joseph ever pray such a prayer? Perhaps he did. Maybe he didn’t. But you probably have. You’ve stood where Joseph stood. Caught between what God says and what makes sense. You’ve done what he told you to do only to wonder if it was him 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 turned out like you thought they would.

Each of us knows what it’s like to search the night for light. Not outside a stable, perhaps, but maybe outside an emergency room, or on the gravel of a roadside, or on the manicured grass of a cemetery. We’ve asked our questions. We’ve even questioned God’s plan. And we’ve wondered why God does what he does. The truth is that the Bethlehem sky is not the first to hear the pleadings of a confused pilgrim. And if you’re asking what Joseph asked, then do what Joseph did. Obey. That’s what he did. Joseph 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. Joseph 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.

So, what about you? Just like Joseph, you can’t see the whole picture. But just like Joseph your task is to see that Jesus is brought into your part of your world. And just like Joseph you have a choice: you can obey or you can disobey. And because Joseph obeyed, God used him to change the world. So, the question is, “Can he do the same with you?”

God still looks for Josephs today. Men who believe that God is not through with this world. Common people who serve an uncommon God. Will you be that kind of man? Will you serve Him even when you don’t understand? The Bethlehem sky is 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, Joseph. I’m with you.”

There are many questions about the Bible and its characters that we won’t be able to answer until we get home. Hundreds of knotholes; thousands of snapshots. And many times we’ll muse, “I wonder ….” But in our wonderings, there are some questions we never need to ask. For instance, “Does God care?” “Do we matter to God?” “Does he still love his children?” 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 with us.

Will you be a Joseph? A carpenter who loved and obeyed God, even without a set of blueprints? Can you be a Joseph to your children who come without any instructions? Can you trust and then obey? There’s really no other way. Solomon summed it all up 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 father could ever give his children.

Just ask Jesus.

Happy Father’s Day,

 Randy