Jesus and Joseph (Advent Post Four)
My brother Travis played Joseph in the Christmas pageant this year. He was not excited about it.
One of my favorite traditions of the Christmas season is that on Christmas Eve Eve, December 23rd -- ironically enough, Travis's birthday -- our church family gets together to begin the Christmas season with worship. Traditionally, this means we act out the Christmas story, with the roles getting assigned on the spot. People walk through the doors, having no idea that in a matter of moments they might just be led off to costuming to become an angel or shepherd or sheep. Even if they choose not to play a role, there still is opportunity galore for audience participation. There's no rehearsal, no guarantees that technology will work or the actors will get all their lines out, but there's a whole lot of laughter and an atmosphere that I think would have a strong correlation with the first Christmas -- a little chaotic and the sense that you really don't know what will happen next.
I love it.
Travis, however, is not so sold. This year, though, it was 6:25pm with a 6:30pm service and we still didn't have a Joseph. My dear, loving, go-with-the-flow brother looked at my puppy dog eyes, sighed, and agreed to play the part due to one helpful characteristic: All he had to do was put on a costume and pull Mary in a wagon.
He didn't have any lines.
It didn't effect the story at all. Travis pulled Mary in a wagon (while getting it stuck on the ramp up to the stage. Whoops), grabbed the manger for her to put the baby in, and stood up there for the rest of the play, looking oh so very enthusiastic. He was silent. Stoic.
But there.
Mary had lines. Elizabeth had lines. The angels had lines, as did the heavenly host. The shepherds had lines. Herod had lines. The scribes even had lines (though, granted, they accidentally got skipped. Improv theater, you know. I promise they were actually in the script).
Not Joseph, though.
I'm not begrudging anyone this fact. Reading through the Bible, it's not as if there's dialogue in the passage for him to say. If you're keeping the play true to the text, it's fairly accurate to simply have him pull Mary in the wagon. Still, I've been thinking a lot about Joseph today. Many Christmases my heart just aches for him, for this man that played such a huge role in Jesus' life and who plays such a small role in the story. How did he feel on this Christmas?
The Bible tells us that Joseph was a man faithful to the law, and who wanted to follow it when he found out Mary was pregnant. Even in that, he wanted to treat her well and divorce her quietly. He had a dream, however, that was strong enough to convince him to stay with Mary and help parent this God-child. So he took her to Bethlehem. He was with her in that small little town when the biggest event in the history of the world happened mere inches from him in some straw. Later, he had more dreams telling him that King Herod desired to kill this baby, the true King. And once again, Joseph listens to these angels of the Lord in his dreams, and he takes Jesus away to safety.
I so wonder what this period was like for Joseph. We know that on the night of Christ's birth, "Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart." We write songs about Mary's journey and ask if she knew who Christ was, but no one cares if Joseph did. Mary gets cast far in advance of the pageant, and five minutes before it starts, we still can't find someone who will just pull her in a wagon. Sometimes I wonder if the only reason if we care about him is so our image of a perfect nuclear-family can be fulfilled in our nativity set. Do we think it matters that he was there, besides needing his porcelain figurine to complete the scene?
All we tend to say about Joseph is that he was there.
When I picture it in my head, I wonder if he stood in that straw manger and grabbed Jesus's little fingers, just in awe of new life, let alone the life that would be the light of the world. I can see a proud papa marveling over first steps. I can see a scared, nervous leader in his home wake up from a dream, terrified for his family, and act to keep them safe. I imagine a father teaching his son his trade, instructing and correcting and excited to share this key part of his life, all rolled into one. It's mostly speculation, I know, but a girl's allowed to dream.
And I wonder if he even cared about all this. Sure, no one is noticing him, but man, do they notice Jesus. Joseph gets to notice Jesus. Isn't that the most important part?
Speculation aside, there is one thing of which I am convinced: Jesus saw Joseph. Jesus cared that Joseph was there. Jesus appreciated the efforts Joseph went through to serve him. Jesus loved his earthly father. We may brush over his role, but I know Christ didn't. I hope Joseph paid attention back.
There have been many moments in the past year where I have felt very much like Joseph -- I'm right in the middle of the action, but no one thinks to give me a line. Days where I'm surrounded by people and still feel so very, very lonely. Days in Wenatchee where I sit and wonder if, apart from Sunday morning, anyone even notices that I'm in the valley? And days in Bozeman where I ask myself the same thing. Granted, there are many, many days in between there that are full of joy and laughter and really great people, and I am overwhelmingly thankful for that.
I'm reminded today, though, that Christmas isn't always the best for people. Sometimes it's a season where they get overlooked. And for that, I'm immensely sorry.
So this post is for the Josephs in the world this Christmas. For the family celebrating in the hospital room, clinging to last moments and last tendrils of hope. For the man in the kitchen, spending all his time preparing the meal for everyone else. For all those parents that have spent the last six hours ripping open packaging and cutting all those zip ties and finding more batteries to put together one. last. toy. For those that just wish with everything in them that they had a child for whom to put together toys. For the people far apart from their loved ones, opening presents over Skype and desperately wishing it could transport bodies, not just voices. For the person who works through the holidays, not having the opportunity to take time off, rest, and celebrate. For the mom who spent hours upon hours shopping for her children, only getting to Christmas morning and finding out one kid wanted brown boots, not black (uh, sorry, Mom). For those that are grieving. For those that are struggling. For those that feel forgotten or unloved.
Know that you don't go unnoticed this Christmas. Know that Christ, who truly is Immanuel, is there in all of those moments. Know that he cares. Know that he understands. Know that he loves you so much that he came to Earth so he can save you. You played a role in the Christmas story -- it's for you that Christ came in the first place.
So cling tightly to those small little baby hands, my Josephs. Marvel at this perfect little creation whose birth and subsequent death saved the whole entire world. Fall in love with him deeply.
And know that the precious little birthday boy knows, notices, and loves you too.
One of my favorite traditions of the Christmas season is that on Christmas Eve Eve, December 23rd -- ironically enough, Travis's birthday -- our church family gets together to begin the Christmas season with worship. Traditionally, this means we act out the Christmas story, with the roles getting assigned on the spot. People walk through the doors, having no idea that in a matter of moments they might just be led off to costuming to become an angel or shepherd or sheep. Even if they choose not to play a role, there still is opportunity galore for audience participation. There's no rehearsal, no guarantees that technology will work or the actors will get all their lines out, but there's a whole lot of laughter and an atmosphere that I think would have a strong correlation with the first Christmas -- a little chaotic and the sense that you really don't know what will happen next.
I love it.
Travis, however, is not so sold. This year, though, it was 6:25pm with a 6:30pm service and we still didn't have a Joseph. My dear, loving, go-with-the-flow brother looked at my puppy dog eyes, sighed, and agreed to play the part due to one helpful characteristic: All he had to do was put on a costume and pull Mary in a wagon.
He didn't have any lines.
It didn't effect the story at all. Travis pulled Mary in a wagon (while getting it stuck on the ramp up to the stage. Whoops), grabbed the manger for her to put the baby in, and stood up there for the rest of the play, looking oh so very enthusiastic. He was silent. Stoic.
But there.
Mary had lines. Elizabeth had lines. The angels had lines, as did the heavenly host. The shepherds had lines. Herod had lines. The scribes even had lines (though, granted, they accidentally got skipped. Improv theater, you know. I promise they were actually in the script).
Not Joseph, though.
I'm not begrudging anyone this fact. Reading through the Bible, it's not as if there's dialogue in the passage for him to say. If you're keeping the play true to the text, it's fairly accurate to simply have him pull Mary in the wagon. Still, I've been thinking a lot about Joseph today. Many Christmases my heart just aches for him, for this man that played such a huge role in Jesus' life and who plays such a small role in the story. How did he feel on this Christmas?
The Bible tells us that Joseph was a man faithful to the law, and who wanted to follow it when he found out Mary was pregnant. Even in that, he wanted to treat her well and divorce her quietly. He had a dream, however, that was strong enough to convince him to stay with Mary and help parent this God-child. So he took her to Bethlehem. He was with her in that small little town when the biggest event in the history of the world happened mere inches from him in some straw. Later, he had more dreams telling him that King Herod desired to kill this baby, the true King. And once again, Joseph listens to these angels of the Lord in his dreams, and he takes Jesus away to safety.
I so wonder what this period was like for Joseph. We know that on the night of Christ's birth, "Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart." We write songs about Mary's journey and ask if she knew who Christ was, but no one cares if Joseph did. Mary gets cast far in advance of the pageant, and five minutes before it starts, we still can't find someone who will just pull her in a wagon. Sometimes I wonder if the only reason if we care about him is so our image of a perfect nuclear-family can be fulfilled in our nativity set. Do we think it matters that he was there, besides needing his porcelain figurine to complete the scene?
All we tend to say about Joseph is that he was there.
When I picture it in my head, I wonder if he stood in that straw manger and grabbed Jesus's little fingers, just in awe of new life, let alone the life that would be the light of the world. I can see a proud papa marveling over first steps. I can see a scared, nervous leader in his home wake up from a dream, terrified for his family, and act to keep them safe. I imagine a father teaching his son his trade, instructing and correcting and excited to share this key part of his life, all rolled into one. It's mostly speculation, I know, but a girl's allowed to dream.
And I wonder if he even cared about all this. Sure, no one is noticing him, but man, do they notice Jesus. Joseph gets to notice Jesus. Isn't that the most important part?
Speculation aside, there is one thing of which I am convinced: Jesus saw Joseph. Jesus cared that Joseph was there. Jesus appreciated the efforts Joseph went through to serve him. Jesus loved his earthly father. We may brush over his role, but I know Christ didn't. I hope Joseph paid attention back.
There have been many moments in the past year where I have felt very much like Joseph -- I'm right in the middle of the action, but no one thinks to give me a line. Days where I'm surrounded by people and still feel so very, very lonely. Days in Wenatchee where I sit and wonder if, apart from Sunday morning, anyone even notices that I'm in the valley? And days in Bozeman where I ask myself the same thing. Granted, there are many, many days in between there that are full of joy and laughter and really great people, and I am overwhelmingly thankful for that.
I'm reminded today, though, that Christmas isn't always the best for people. Sometimes it's a season where they get overlooked. And for that, I'm immensely sorry.
So this post is for the Josephs in the world this Christmas. For the family celebrating in the hospital room, clinging to last moments and last tendrils of hope. For the man in the kitchen, spending all his time preparing the meal for everyone else. For all those parents that have spent the last six hours ripping open packaging and cutting all those zip ties and finding more batteries to put together one. last. toy. For those that just wish with everything in them that they had a child for whom to put together toys. For the people far apart from their loved ones, opening presents over Skype and desperately wishing it could transport bodies, not just voices. For the person who works through the holidays, not having the opportunity to take time off, rest, and celebrate. For the mom who spent hours upon hours shopping for her children, only getting to Christmas morning and finding out one kid wanted brown boots, not black (uh, sorry, Mom). For those that are grieving. For those that are struggling. For those that feel forgotten or unloved.
Know that you don't go unnoticed this Christmas. Know that Christ, who truly is Immanuel, is there in all of those moments. Know that he cares. Know that he understands. Know that he loves you so much that he came to Earth so he can save you. You played a role in the Christmas story -- it's for you that Christ came in the first place.
So cling tightly to those small little baby hands, my Josephs. Marvel at this perfect little creation whose birth and subsequent death saved the whole entire world. Fall in love with him deeply.
And know that the precious little birthday boy knows, notices, and loves you too.
Comments
Post a Comment