Here’s the scene. It’s the Sunday before Thanksgiving,
circa 1992. The children of Vandalia Presbyterian
Church in Greensboro, North Carolina, have gathered
in the sanctuary pews at 4 o’clock in the afternoon,
anxiously awaiting their assignments for the annual
Christmas pageant. And the good news is that each
possibility has a certain promise. The wise men get
the best props—treasure chests, bottles of potion.
Shepherds draw the staffs, which are perfect for
backstage swordfights. If you know, you know. Angels,
obvious—halos, wings. Even the animals get floppy
ears and tails to wag. Then there’s Joseph. When
his name is called, every boy’s eyes hit the floor. No
one wants Joseph. For starters, and perhaps most
importantly, you had to endure the ridicule of being
“married” to one of the girls your own age. That alone
was enough to put us on edge. But the truth is, Joseph
gets a raw deal all the way around. No props, no staff,
no wings, no tail. Ratty old bathrobe. Single spot to
stand stuck in place for the whole show. That’s it. Not
one line to dramatically deliver. Joseph is dull. Boring.
At best, a detached observer in this story, standing
still while the shepherds and magi moved across
the stage, arrive, present their gifts. Joseph, cast in
shadows while the spotlight illuminates the manger
and mother only a few feet away. I understand that a
solution was brought forth a few weeks ago among
our four- and five-year-olds in Sunday school when
the part for Joseph was accepted by no one. Two
Marys! That works.
You might say it’s been this way from the very
beginning. Afterall, without these eight verses
from Matthew’s Gospel, we would know almost
nothing about the man, and what we do have here is
lamentably lean. We are missing so much. Matthew’s
text moves quickly from one action to the next. There
is no pause to consider the emotional impact or the
inner thoughts. The spotlight never pauses on Joseph.
Not one line for him to deliver.
Here’s what we do know. Joseph is engaged to be
married. According to First Century Jewish custom,
engagement is a binding contract, not between two
individuals, but between two families. So, though
the couple does not yet live together, they are legally
bound to each other by contracts signed by their
parents. During this time, their contact would have
been limited, public, and carefully arranged. So when
Matthew, the Gospel writer, flatly reports that Joseph’s
fiancée “was found to be with child,” the passive voice
leaves me with some unanswered questions. Found by
whom? Who delivered the heartbreaking message to
Joseph? How was it received?
Imagine the look on Joseph’s face. Remember: he
knows nothing of Gabriel’s visit to Mary. That’s over
in Luke’s Gospel. All Joseph knows here is that his
fiancée is expecting, and he is definitely, 100% not
the father. The news must have been shocking.
Perhaps devastating is the word we need. What will
he do? Matthew drops a clue. He tells us that Joseph
is a good man. To be more specific, Joseph is a law-
abiding man. A just man. A righteous man.
Well, what is the right thing to do for this righteous
man? I imagine that Joseph turned to the pages of
scripture, that he looked up the just, legal path ahead.
After all, you can’t go wrong if you do what the Bible
says to do, right? Well. Deuteronomy 22. “She is to be
taken to the gate of the town and stoned to death.”
That’s what the Bible says. Exodus 21. “An eye for an
eye and a tooth for a tooth.” That’s what the Bible says.
Deuteronomy 24. “If a man finds something displeasing
in his wife, let him dismiss her and send her out of the
house.” It’s in the Book. That’s what the Bible says.
For several years, I’ve been in the habit of rereading
classic novels each summer, and it’s been a wonderful
way to rediscover these literary masterpieces at a
new chapter in my life. Two summers ago, I returned
to Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. I was struck
by Miss Maudie Atkinson, one of Maycomb County’s
unheralded saints. In the story, Miss Maudie is much
maligned by the “foot-washing literalists” who believe
that her beautiful flower garden distracts her from
the study of scripture. Afterall, how could one have
such a beautiful flower bed and spend the appropriate
amount of time studying the Bible? The town’s
children learn by experience that Maudie lives her
faith with acts of love…and lots of patience for kids
who play in those flowerbeds. When the children ask
her about the dissonance between what they hear
about her in town and what they see for themselves,
Miss Maudie says, “Sometimes the Bible in the hand
of one man is worse than a whisky bottle in the hand
of another... There are just some kind of men who are
so busy worrying about the next world they’ve never
learned to live in this one, and you can look down the
street and see the results.”i
Joseph knows his Bible. He loves his Bible. He is
a good man. A righteous man. He knows what
the scripture says. And then he is faced with this
excruciatingly difficult decision—his commitment to
righteousness challenged by the tug toward mercy.
What will he do? Joseph makes a choice. He reads
his Bible through the lens of love. He believes in a
God who is merciful. And so, Joseph says, “I will not
harm her. I will not expose her. I will not abuse her,
shame her, ridicule her. I will not demean her value,
her dignity, her worth. I will protect her.” And friends,
this too is in the Bible. It is in the very nature and the
character of God. The goodness and the grace of God.
The steadfast and unconditional love of God. And
that’s how Joseph reads his Bible.
And, it seems to me, that’s why Joseph is chosen for
the part. It seems that way because as soon as he
makes up his mind, as soon as Joseph chooses to risk
disobedience to the law for the sake of mercy, that’s
when his angel appears. It happens in the quiet of
night, backstage, in a dream. Do not be afraid. This
child belongs to God. Name him Jesus. Be his father.
And Joseph, this good man, this righteous man, this
just man, does exactly what the angel commands.
And that’s why, months later, Joseph is standing by
when Mary delivers her baby. Joseph may not be in
the spotlight, but he knows where he stands and why
he’s there. He names the child. Jesus. And from that
day forward, he responds to the angel’s call. Joseph
will be this baby’s father. He will teach Jesus. He will
care for his son, show him how to be a carpenter, a
builder of homes, a crafter of tables. He will no doubt
walk with Jesus to the synagogue and sit beside him.
He will teach his son to be a good man. He will beam
with pride when Jesus stands to read scripture in the
synagogue. He will comfort Jesus when he is afraid of
the dark or sounds in the night. He will celebrate his
triumphs and successes. He will watch his son grow
in stature, and wisdom, and grace. And Joseph will be
right there in a supporting role. He never forgets the
angel’s words.
Joseph’s story offers us a powerful picture of love. It
looks like living with compassion. It looks like acting
out of mercy. And it looks like taking responsibility.
Back in October, Sara was leading a retreat up in New
York, and it was just the two boys and me from Sunday
to Wednesday. That’s four days. And we did great…for
the first day and a half. On Monday, I got home from
the office, and I realized that I had not made any plans
for dinner that night. Or breakfast the next morning. Or
any other meal for the rest of the week. It was painfully
obvious that we needed to make a grocery store trip
and equally obvious that none of us wanted to go. It
was pouring rain when we got into the car, hungry
and tired, a dangerous combination. And we made our
way to the store. I was determined to get in and out as
quickly as possible, but the layout of Market District
and our two boys had other ideas. What would happen
is they would go to some distant corner of the store
I didn’t even know existed, and they would reappear
periodically with some item we didn’t need and
shouldn’t buy. My patience was wearing thin when I
looked over and saw a man in the cereal aisle pushing
a cart with two toddlers in it. Incredibly, miraculously,
he had a smile on his face. In fact, it was worse than
that. He was singing these silly songs to the kids as
he walked, practically danced, down the aisle. I had to
know more. I walked over, and the first thing I noticed
was his t-shirt. In huge print, the shirt read, “I’m not
the stepdad. I’m the dad that stepped up.” In our brief
conversation there in the breakfast cereal aisle, I
learned enough. He shared the unexpected nature of
this new responsibility. “Not part of the plan,” he said.
And then the man said, “I just feel so blessed. Only
God could have done this. These kids needed me, but
the truth is I needed them more.”
I’m glad Matthew didn’t let us forget old Joseph. Joseph
standing outside the spotlight. Joseph in a supporting
role. He has something important to ask us in these
final days before the celebration. Joseph knows that
a moment will come when you must choose between
human righteousness and God’s astounding grace. Yes,
Joseph knew the rules. And he knew what mattered
more. Compassion. Mercy. Responsibility. Joseph sees
with the eyes of love. He steps up, and he asks this
Christmas: will you do the same?