December 11, 2005

A Carpenter's Story

Isaiah 7:10-16
1 Thessalonians 5:16-24
Matthew 1:18-25

There is one person at Christmas who doesn't get a whole lot of attention. Joseph, because of his unique role, is important, but he's usually hidden in the background, the mystery man of the nativity story. Mary has an extended conversation with the angel Gabriel that we'll look at in more detail next week, she sings a glorious hymn of praise to God, the "Magnificat," she occasionally appears in some of the gospel stories, and she's there at the end, at the foot of the cross, watching her first-born die. Joseph only appears a few times - in today's Gospel lesson and in Luke's version of the Bethlehem story, and when he, Mary, and baby Jesus flee to Egypt and then return, and in a later scene in Jerusalem when Jesus is about 12 years old - and that's it. Joseph, the adoptive father of Jesus, is a bit of a mystery. Taking huge poetic license, I have adapted a first person narrative I came across, and I hope it will make Joseph become more real to you.

My name is Joseph. I'm a carpenter from the north country, up here in Galilee, Nazareth is my home town, a dingy little place, nothing very fancy, but it's home. I've lived here almost all my life, except for a short time down in Bethlehem and immediately after, when my wife and child and I lived in Egypt. Actually, I like it here in Nazareth, and the Galilee region is the most beautiful part of this whole nation in my humble opinion. My father Jacob lived here, and his father Matthan, and his father Eleazar. All of us have been carpenters. That's my little shop over there, the one with the sign, "Joseph's House of Wood and Nails." Catchy title, huh?

Being a carpenter in Nazareth isn't anything special, not any more than being a baker in Shechem or a shepherd in Judea. But there is something about my family you should know. I come from the house or the lineage of our great King David. That's right! I am very proud of that heritage, though our branch of the family is small and rather poor. But I can still honestly say: I'm of the family of Israel's most illustrious king! In fact, I can trace my ancestry clear back to the patriarchs. I'm of the line of Judah, son of Jacob, son of Isaac, son of Abraham. It was to Judah, you know, that Jacob made the promise: "... your brothers shall praise you; your hand shall be on the neck of your enemies; your father's sons shall bow down before you." (i) Quite impressive, hey? My ancestor Jacob was a very clever man, even at his advanced age when he made Judah that promise. And his prophecy was reliable. Every king who sat on the throne in Jerusalem came from the house of Judah.

But we're still waiting for the One who will be given the eternal right to rule, the One we will call the Messiah. ... At least Israel is still waiting for him. Not I, nor my wife Mary. We know he's already here. Oh yes, he's been here for some time. See that young helper over there, that handsome lad with the saw? Well, my good friends, that young boy is the One who will become the greatest King of them all. His name? His name is Jesus.

You look at me with unbelieving eyes. I can't say I really blame you for that. But then you don't know the whole story, and you should hear me out. It's the greatest story ever told. This whole drama began about 25 years ago, when I was just a 15-year-old kid. A baby girl was born across town, and my father informed me a few days later that the baby would become my wife one day. He had arranged all the proceedings with the infant's father. And when she came of age, about 15 or 16, she would become my wife. That's the way marriages are set up in our day and time. The little girl's name was Mary, and needless to say, I watched her grow up with more than just a passing interest! I used to tell my father, "You really know how to pick 'em," because Mary was stunning. We never dated, never really even talked much. And I never, ever touched her.

I need to explain that detail to you. In our society the formal betrothal is called the kihdooshihn. And it has all the finality of marriage. That's right, though the actual marriage ceremony may not have occurred, betrothal could not be broken except by divorce. Now down in Judea, the kihdooshihn gave a betrothed couple the right to sexual relations, though the young people still lived with their respective parents. But up here in the hill country, our people renounced that kind of thing hundreds of years ago, way back when the Assyrians were plaguing our nation. We remain pure until the marriage vows are said. So, though I loved young Mary, my betrothed, I seldom spoke to her and I never touched her.

One day in her mid-teen years Mary got word to me that she had to speak to me. I hadn't seen her in the village for nearly 3 months. (She'd been south in Judea visiting her cousin Elizabeth, wife of the priest Zechariah.) I went to her house, her father let me inside, and I sat waiting. You could have cut the air with a knife. There was tension everywhere. Finally, my fiancée came into the room where I was waiting. She looked marvelous! Radiant! I never saw her so beautiful. But her mother and father were noticeably on edge. Well, Mary looked at me for a long time, a strange smile on her lips, and finally she spoke: "Joseph, my beloved, my betrothed, I am going to have a baby!"

In one shattering statement, my world collapsed. I stared at her, needing some word of assurance, some explanation. I got none. Mary looked away from me, but not in guilt or shame. It was as if she knew something of momentous importance, but could not share it with me. Her father spoke: "Joseph, we know you are deeply hurt. Think how we felt when we first heard. But please don't make a rash judgment. The whole story will be revealed to you soon."

I stumbled away from their home, wallowing in misery and worry. You must understand that during this betrothal period, the time between the kihdooshihn and the actual marriage, if any other man had knowledge of Mary, she would be the one punished as an adulteress. And the penalty was terrible. Being stoned to death is not a pleasant way to die. That's what would happen to her. Despite my hurt, I did not want Mary to die. I considered my options. If I publicly accused her, the death penalty would be mandatory. So I thought about putting her away, that is, sending her to some remote place where she could give birth to the child and remain there in exile. Or I could go ahead and marry her, hoping not too many people would notice that she only carried our firstborn for 6 months. Not much chance of that happening; the town gossips would have a field day with that one. Or I could quietly divorce her and maybe she and her family could move out of town, sparing her any further shame and embarrassment. Since I've always prided myself on being a just and honorable man, I decided on the last option. It seemed to be the only way.

Then one night soon after all this as I lay sleeping, I had a visitor, a holy, awesome visitor. An angel! I had never seen such a being before in my whole life! The angel spoke to me gently but firmly: "Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins." I'll tell you, I awoke, and didn't know what to think. I did not sleep the rest of the night.

The next day was Shabat (the Sabbath), and I made my way to the synagogue. I desperately needed some sanctuary for my tortured heart, somewhere that I could take my confusion before God. I took my place quietly and intently listened as the old rabbi began to read from the great prophet: "Ask a sign of the Lord your God; let it be deep as Sheol or high as heaven ... Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Look, a young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel" (ii) - (which means, "God is with us.")

That was it! Confirmation! Two signs had come to me in less than a day! An angel had told me that Mary's child was divine, and the angel's words were validated by the written Word of God. Praise be to God! The weight of a thousand worlds sprang from my aching heart! Getting through the rest of Shabat was difficult for me, because I wanted to run to Mary's house, shouting, "I know! I know!" My gentle, pure, untouched Mary had been chosen by God to become the human receptacle through whom the Word would become flesh and dwell among us!

And so it was that 6 months later, my very pregnant Mary and I made the long and difficult journey to Bethlehem, the city of my great ancestor David. Why such a trip? Because in Rome, Caesar Augustus, responding to a tax mess, ordered that everyone go to the city of their fathers and register for a census. So, during the winter solstice of the Jewish year 3790, Mary, now my wife, and I migrated to Bethlehem. But, unlike most of the migrants, we did not complain about it, because we knew that the ancient prophets had foretold that the Messiah must be born in Bethlehem.

I carefully prepared our old donkey, making the blanket/saddle as comfortable as I knew how. I told the old animal that no creature had ever borne such an exalted burden as he was about to bear. And so we began the 5-day journey through the Jordan Valley, down through Jericho, up the back slopes of Olivet to the holy city, and 6 miles south to Bethlehem. When we got there we could find no room in the inn. Every available room in the region had long since been booked. But we were given permission to spend the night in a little cave behind the inn - a cave where the animals were kept at night.

By now my Mary was very weary; fatigue had cut into her face with severe lines. Every bone ached. She smiled faintly as I collected some clean straw from the feed boxes, swept out a stall, and arranged it as a bed. I laid my shawl over it and glanced at my wife. She indicated that I had done well. She asked me to build a small fire on the pathway just outside and to get some water from our goatskin. I followed her directions, lit a lamp hanging on a stable peg, and prepared to spend the night of all nights in holy vigil. I knelt nearby and prayed to God as my Mary sank into the straw bed. No one came by to see if they could help. The only ones watching over us were the sleepy-eyed animals. Never had I felt so alone and I could not imagine the feelings of my dear wife.

I walked to the door of the stable and looked into the sky. There, hanging like an intense globe, just over the mountains of Moab, was a strange star, a heavenly light. I had never seen that particular star before, and I wondered about it. But I had no time to think about it again, for at that moment, behind me, in the stable, I heard a tiny, thin cry, and Mary's voice calling gently, "Joseph." I hurried inside.

My wife had put the child in a manger, wrapped in some white material she had prepared for just this moment. Mary smiled at me as I bent over the manger and peeked inside. The tiny red face of the baby looked back at me. Jesus! Jesus! I dropped to my knees beside the manger. This was God's child, the chosen one, the Messiah! (iii)

Well, that's my story. Of course it hasn't ended yet. Our Jesus is still a youth, but he is growing up fast, and will soon become a man. And what will become of him? Only God knows, but I believe that God has a very special role for him. I believe that he is God's chosen One. Why, I'll bet people will still remember him 20 centuries from now! And they will remember that it all began in Bethlehem, in a humble little stable, with a star shining brightly. And maybe they will remember me, Joseph of Nazareth, a humble carpenter. I didn't have a very big role at the beginning, but I did what I could, and I did what needed to be done, and I've loved Jesus as if he were my flesh and blood. And I've helped raise him, and maybe he's picked up from me some of my better qualities - my skilled workmanship, my patience, my ability to see beyond the "real" world and dream of a world to come, maybe even my ability to tell a good story.

Shalom, my friends. Peace be with you. Amen.

The Pilgrim Church of Duxbury
Rev. Kenneth C. Landall

i Genesis 49:8.
ii Isaiah 7:11, 14.
iii Rev. Dan Betzer, radio broadcast on "Revival Time," 12/86.