Joseph (The Lord increases)

Third Day of Advent

Matthew 1:24-25 When Joseph woke up, he did what the angel of the Lord had commanded him and took Mary home as his wife. But he had no union with her until she gave birth to a son. And he gave him the name Jesus.

Well, Matthew didn’t spill much ink for me. Just a little confusion, a dream, and everything’s just fine. He says I’m a good fella, a righteous man. And maybe I am. Whole thing still gets me going though, even after all these years. He writes words on a scroll, but words don’t tell you much. The people and the places, the pain and shame and sorrow, and the laughing and the dancing too, everything that really matters lies between the lines.

When Mary’s father came to see me I just knew that there was something wrong. Perhaps it was the way the earth shook when he walked. Or maybe that he said he’d brought his brother along for my protection. He demanded to know just when “it” had happened. He stabbed his finger in my chest and said if I denied “it” he’d ask his brother to step outside. Very upsetting, very strange. He ordered me to take her “home” by Sabbath. I said I didn’t know what he was talking about. Definitely a low point in our relationship.

Perhaps I should explain. In our world young people don’t “date” the way they do in yours. As we come to the end of childhood, about 12 years old, a boy gets a bar mitzvah, and a girl gets a husband. At least she sometimes does. – The women have a saying, “Parties, like matzos, are made in a moment; husbands, like pearls, must be found”. And they always roll their eyes, like they’re thinking of some other husband. It’s just our way. – And when we marry young we don’t live together, and we’re never alone together, until the husband can support his wife. Sometimes this takes years. And sometimes, of course, a young husband and wife will “get together” before they really should. If a baby happens like this it’s awkward and embarrassing, but no real harm done. They just move in with one family or the other, and the town snickers and points.

But this was not my baby, and Mary obviously wasn’t telling much. No other man had access to her except her brothers, and her father, and the soldiers who were always everywhere. These were the obvious implications when I insisted that the baby wasn’t mine. So you can see why Mary’s father was enraged that I would “lie”, and why it was so hard for me to face the truth.

Now, Mary’s cousin, Elizabeth, - an old lady at the time - was having a surprise baby of her own. So Mary’s parents sent her off to visit her in the hill country. She really needed help, but the timing was convenient. They needed time to sort things out; I needed time to think things through. They wouldn’t let me see her, so I didn’t know if she was blaming me, or what she could be saying. I couldn’t work or eat or sleep. And then I had this crazy dream. I say it was a dream because when it was over I woke up, but it was not like any dream I’d had before.

There was this angel – I suppose that’s what it was – like a flame of fire. I don’t know where I was, if I was standing, sitting, or lying on my face. In fact, I don’t remember me at all, just fire. I thought of Moses and the burning bush, and wondered if I should take off my shoes, but I don’t think I did. Like I say, I don’t remember me at all.

Then, suddenly, I knew some things. It isn’t that the angel spoke exactly, its like he simply knew these things and then I knew them too. Like knowing something’s beautiful, you really know, but can’t say how you know. Like knowing something’s funny, and how explaining doesn’t work. I knew what Matthew says I knew; the baby was from God, I should take Mary home to live with me, and we should call the baby Jesus. No, I didn’t understand. Just knew.

When I took her for my wife, it seemed obvious to everyone I was confessing. But I don’t care. It is the obvious explanation, and when what’s obviously true is not the truth, you have to live with what is obvious. And even after all these years I still can’t explain it, not even to myself. And I still don’t quite know how I really know.