This post is an excerpt from my Advent devotional, The Dawn from On High: Advent Through the Eyes of Those Who Were There. It appears as the second chapter of the book, after Mary has told the story from her perspective.
‘This is how Jesus the Messiah was born. His mother, Mary, was engaged to be married to Joseph…’ – Matthew 1:18
Oh the joy in my heart! I was betrothed to Mary! Oh Mary, she could knock your socks off. Once matters were arranged, I looked her in the eyes – oh those beautiful eyes – and told her of the home I would prepare for us. She smiled broadly, the kind of smile that makes the sun come out on a cloudy day, and I hurried off to begin the addition to my father’s house that would one day be our bridal suite. Such a wondrous time. The days were filled with expectation and longing. Just seeing Mary walk by on her way to get water from the well was enough to send my soul into the skies.
But then one day her father came by. He could not look me in the eye. He brought dreadful news. Mary was pregnant. I tried not to believe it, but there was no reason for him to lie. After a brief conversation he left, and I fell to the floor. I cried for hours. I felt as if the sun would never come out again.
Finally, I rose, resolved to see her, to hear of her betrayal from her own lips. I felt I deserved at least that from her.
Boy did she have a story. She claimed that an angel had appeared to her and told her that she would conceive by the Holy Spirit, and that the child she gave birth to would be none other than the Messiah who would inherit the throne of our ancestor David. Man, I had heard some whoppers in my day, but that one took the cake. I was no fool. I may have been young and inexperienced, but I knew where babies came from, and it wasn’t the Holy Spirit. So I faced the fact: Mary had betrayed me. I was heartbroken. So was she. I’ll never forget the look in her eyes as she begged me to stay. But I didn’t. I turned on my heels and walked out the door. Mary had always been truthful, but I just couldn’t believe a story like that. So I walked out of her life, believing I was doing so forever.
___
My ordeal wasn’t over, however. There were legal details to arrange. My options were relatively straightforward. I could publically divorce her, thereby exposing her betrayal and bringing shame upon her and her family. I could call for her death by stoning for having broken the contract of marriage. Or I could quietly break off the engagement. The first two options were things I could never have done. Truth was that in spite of what I believed she had done I still loved her. And so I went with option three.
Even so, it broke my heart. It broke over the loss of Mary and the loss of my dreams. It broke as I thought of what Mary would endure as an unwed mother. What would become of her? At best, she would endure shame and humiliation. At worst, I feared, she might end up a beggar or prostitute. One thing was certain: our traditional community would not look kindly upon her predicament.
With such thoughts, sleep did not come easy. I tossed and turned throughout the night until finally, in the early morning hours, in that nether world between sleep and wakefulness, I had a dream. Or at least something like a dream. In it I heard a voice, ‘Joseph, son of David!’ I opened my eyes, or at least imagined I did, and saw before me a being wrapped in light. It was an angel! I was scared to death. But then the angel spoke again:
‘Joseph, son of David! Listen to me. Don’t be afraid to make Mary your wife. The child within her was conceived by the Holy Spirit. She will bring forth a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will be the One who will save people from their sins. Mary did not lie. She has told the truth.’
I woke with a start, soaked in sweat from head to toe. I pondered the angel’s words. Could they be true? Suddenly, as if by divine inspiration, the words of the prophet Isaiah came into my mind: ‘Look! The virgin will conceive and bring forth a child. She will give birth to a son, and he shall be called Emanuel, God with us.’ Tears erupted from my eyes. It was true! Mary had not betrayed me. She had been faithful. And, which was more, God was on the move. Mary’s child was the Messiah who would save us all!
I knew what I had to do. Four in the morning or not, I had to see Mary. I raced to her father’s house, pounded on the door. He greeted me with bed lines on his face, wondering if I had lost my mind. Maybe I had. But he let me in. When I saw Mary, I fell to my knees. I grabbed her around the waist, resting my head upon her belly, and thought, ‘Oh my Lord, in here rests the hope of the world.’ Mary knelt beside me and we held each other for what seemed an eternity, flooding the house with tears of joy. When we finally looked up, Mary’s father was crying too.
In due time, I took Mary to my home, that where I was, there she would also be. Oh you bet there was a scandal. People counted on their fingers. Some laughed. Some snickered behind our backs. Some gave dirty looks. Others were rude, downright hostile. But we took it all in stride, and if anyone ever got too out of line with Mary, I gave them a talking to they did not soon forget. But for the most part we accepted the strife, knowing that nothing good ever happens without some degree of suffering, and if this was ours to bear in God’s great plan of redemption, we were more than willing to endure it.
___
One day, as Mary was approaching her time, a Roman soldier, a herald, arrived in Nazareth. Caesar had decided to take a census, and everyone was required to travel to the city of their ancestors. This meant that I, a descendant of David, had to return to Bethlehem, the city of David. I nearly laughed out loud. Bethlehem was the place the prophets said the Messiah would be born. Little did Caesar know that he was setting the stage for the fulfillment of God’s promise!
So off we went. I on foot, Mary, nine months pregnant, on our donkey. The eighty mile, several day trip was a rough one for one so heavy with child, but as Mary herself pointed out, who were we to argue with the ways of God? We completed the journey in the nick of time. We had barely touched the mezuzah on the doorpost of the house when Mary had her first contraction (oh, I know many of you think it was an inn, but that’s a misunderstanding. Bethlehem was my hometown – I had family there). It was I who nearly fainted. We first thought to take Mary to the upper portion of the home, but that was a no go. The census had brought many of my relatives home and the guest room was filled to the brim. My family would have cleared some space, but we realized that with so many people in the house, it would be best to head down to the lower level, the place where the animals were kept, since there would be more privacy (we folks in the first century weren’t as squeamish as you are today about animals).
It was a long night. Mary’s labor was hard. As I said, nothing good ever happens in the world without some degree of suffering. But eventually the glorious moment arrived, and Mary’s son, God’s son, was born. It was beautiful and miraculous, but at the same time unremarkable, like any other birth. The midwife cleaned him up, and while she tended to Mary, she handed him to me.
It was love at first sight.
___
There is much more I could tell. Of shepherds and angels. Of the day we took Jesus to the Temple and met Simeon and Anna. I could tell of how Simeon, to whom God had promised he would not die until he saw the Messiah, took Jesus in his arms and declared that he had, and then handed him back to Mary. I remember his words as he did so, ‘this child is destined to cause the rise and fall of many in Israel. He will be opposed.’ Oh how his face darkened with those words, and darkened deeper still as with furrowed brow and sad eyes he told my wife that a sword would pierce her heart as well. I could tell you of how we later received a visit from Magi from the east bearing gifts, and of how an angel again warned me that King Herod was trying to kill Jesus. I could tell of our consequent flight to Egypt, of how we lived there as refugees for a time, and of how, after an angel told us it was safe to return home, we learned what had happened in our absence. In a mad attempt to kill our son, Herod had killed all the children under two years old in and around Bethlehem. Oh how Simeon’s words resounded in my mind as I wondered what such a thing might mean for the future of my son?
It has been a few years now. We live in Nazareth. Jesus is a toddler. Our lives have been, for the most part, uneventful. But still, on some nights, after we have tucked Jesus in and helped him say his prayers, I stand over him and wonder: what did Simeon mean? I reflect upon how Jesus came into the world, of Mary’s difficult labor, and of how nothing good happens in the world without some degree of suffering. And I reflect upon the fact that Jesus came to do the best thing of all: to save the world. What pain and suffering must await him? I have seen what a maniac like Herod can do. What will others do when Jesus begins to fulfill his destiny?
My friends and neighbors believe that the Messiah will be a triumphant warrior. But I have heard the town Rabbi read the sacred words, of how the Messiah will be pierced for our transgressions, crushed for our sins. The punishment that will bring us peace will fall hard upon him. It will be by his wounds that the rest of us will be healed.
Oh Father in heaven! What does that mean? What will happen to our son? How can I prepare him for his future? How can I teach him to be faithful and true, to stand when the time to fulfill his destiny arrives? Blessed Adonai, I am so inadequate to the task. Why did you ever choose me? How can I possibly be a father to the Son of God?
But I remember what the angel said. I am the son of David. The descendant of a simple shepherd used by God to do great things. And I think, maybe God can use a simple carpenter too.
Maybe, he can use anyone.
Under Christ’s Mercy,
Brent
Artwork by Michelle Jones
