In Defense of Joseph

Advent 4A: Matthew 1:18-25

The Bible is a treasure trove of great moments in preaching and speaking. There’s Moses’ proclamations to the Israelites before entering the Promised Land, and Solomon's speech at the dedication of the great temple, Paul's speeches before King Agrippa and at the Areopagus, and Jesus' Sermon on the Mount and his Farewell Discourse in John. John Wesley called the Bible a "talking book," and the Bible puts some beautiful words into the mouths of some very eloquent people. But sometimes the Bible is also a great resource for those who go about the Lord’s business in a quiet, inconspicuous way. 

A few years ago, a colleague of mine narrowly averted a crisis at his congregation’s Christmas pageant. On the night of the big event, the director came running up to him from the fellowship hall, and breathlessly announced to the pastor that the kid who was to play Joseph was taken by a terrible bout of nausea (stage fright, perhaps) just before he was to leave home and come to church. His mother called to say that he wouldn't be in the pageant. So, they had no Joseph. Not to be put off, my colleague said, "Well, let some shepherd stand sort of near the manger with Mary. Nobody will notice there’s no Joseph. He doesn't even have a speaking part in the story." And so they did just that, and it worked out fine. But after reading again today's Gospel, the pastor realized that he was wrong. We really do need a Joseph. 

It's easy to overlook Joseph. The Bible doesn’t say much about him. In fact in all four gospels, he never speaks, not one syllable. He just stands there silently in the background of Christmas cards and pageants, nearly always overshadowed by Mary, Jesus’ mother. Even the shepherds and the wise-men get more press. Joseph just takes his place in the story without any songs or speeches, trudging slowly but stably along that road from Galilee to Bethlehem. Perhaps that’s to be expected, for Joseph was just a village carpenter, a builder. He was likely more at home in his workshop or on a jobsite, working silently with his hands, than he was up on stage addressing large numbers of people. 

Imagine what it would have been like for Joseph. Any good carpenter I know is good at organization, each tool in the right place, just where you need it. Most good carpenters are good at math, too, exact. "Measure twice, cut once," is the rule. All lines straight and precise, everything in order. And yet, when God shows up into Joseph's world…well, things begin to get disordered real fast. He finds out his fiancée Mary was pregnant…and not by him! And so Joseph's well-ordered world quickly comes apart. What was Joseph to do? Joseph, being a decent guy, a “righteous man,” we are told, decides to divorce her quietly.

To appreciate what this meant, we need to understand a little bit about marriage customs in the ancient Middle East. The first thing we need to know is that, in contrast to our culture, engagements in the first century were formal legal matters, contractually binding, usually decided on by the fathers of the bride and groom. The engagement would be, in fact, the first stage of the marriage itself, to be completed some months later with the wedding ceremony. It’s for this reason that Matthew says that Joseph resolved to "divorce" the woman he was only engaged to. Breaking off an engagement was tantamount to ending a marriage.

The second thing we need to appreciate is what it would have been like for someone like Mary to be found pregnant by someone other than her fiancé or husband. In the United States today, where thousands of teenage girls get pregnant out of wedlock each year, Mary's predicament has undoubtedly lost some of its force. But in a closely knit Jewish community in the first century, the news that she had conceived a child before her wedding night would not have been welcome at all. Because betrothal, engagement, was a binding agreement, a betrothed woman who became pregnant by someone other than her fiancé was considered an adulteress, subject to death by stoning. So, by divorcing her quietly, Joseph would not only have saved her from public disgrace, but saved her from almost certain death. Joseph’s plan would have certainly been considered merciful, magnanimous even.

And, had the child Mary carried been anyone other than the Son of God, more than likely that would have been the end of the matter. As it turns out, though, Joseph would not be allowed to return to his orderly world so easily. There were bigger plans afoot. 

Matthew tells us that just after Joseph resolved to end the engagement, an angel visits him in a dream telling him not to be afraid to take Mary as his wife, for the child in her belly was of the Holy Spirit. "Fear not," that's what the angel says to Joseph. These words are poignant because Joseph, as well as Mary, had much to fear by going through with the wedding. Jewish, Greek, and Roman societies all viewed with contempt the weakness of a man who cared more for his wife than his honor. If Joseph didn’t put Mary away, he was inviting embarrassment and shame, disgrace, harm to his reputation, people talking behind his back, whispering about Joseph being a simp, a cuckold.

Yet, out of this fear and potential disgrace comes an opportunity, an opportunity that neither Joseph nor his ancestors could have imagined. And, what is this opportunity? It is this: Joseph will become the guardian of God’s Son. He will be the protector of the Savior of the world. He, Joseph, will become foster parent to hope. 

With such a high calling, it seems odd that the church has historically focused so much on Mary but so little on Joseph. Joseph never asked to be enlisted into the role of the husband-to-be of the woman who would bear the Son of God into the world. Yet, like Mary, he said yes to God’s plan. Well, actually, typical of Joseph, he said nothing, at least nothing that we know of. But his actions spoke as loud as any words could. As instructed by the angel, he did not end his engagement to Mary, but took her as his wife. 

And that was not the end of the matter, the total of what God would ask of him. By saying “yes” to God’s plan, Joseph put himself on a path where he would be asked to say “yes” to God over and over again. For, in saying “yes” and taking Mary as his wife, he agreed to take her child as his own, naming him Jesus, Yeshua, “God saves,” as instructed, and raised him to be the man who would one day “save his people.” In the meantime, Joseph accepted the public humiliation and embarrassment that came with that decision.

And because Joseph was Jesus’ father, by law if not by blood, it was his responsibility, from the day of Jesus’ birth, to provide for him, to guard him, to risk his life, to protect his child. That’s a father’s role. That’s the burden assumed by fathers in general, but it was especially heavy for Joseph. For no sooner had Jesus been born, than he, Mary, and their child had to flee for their lives from a jealous King Herod and go into exile in the strange and frightening land of Egypt. They would return several years later when Joseph was visited again by an angel who told him the despot king was dead and so it was safe to return. What on earth did quiet, simple Joseph make of all that?  

Furthermore, as Jesus grew up, Joseph had to put up with all of the strangeness of God-made-flesh in Jesus. Matthew does not mention the incident, but Luke recalls the time Joseph and his family had gone to Jerusalem, and on the way back, he and Mary got separated from young Jesus. They found him several frantic hours later in the Temple. The precocious child had been there the whole time, debating the biblical scholars (when he was not even old enough to shave!). As exasperating as that incident had been, Joseph was at least partly to blame. For, where do you suppose Jesus learned the Scriptures so well? In addition to teaching him how to cut and shape wood, to follow in the family business, it would have been the responsibility of Joseph, his father, to teach young Jesus the scriptures, reading him the stories of his ancestors, teaching him the Torah, praying through the Psalms, conveying to him what it means to be a faithful Jew. 

Indeed, when Jesus needed to know what righteousness looked like, he had only to look to his father, a “righteous man,” who taught him that righteousness was not about words, but about actions. And acting righteously, as Joseph could attest, is no easy matter, nor does it always square up with the lines drawn by the Jewish Law. When he found out Mary was pregnant, Joseph determined to do what he thought was "right," what the community said was proper. But that was not what God determined was the "right" thing to do. Instead, the truly right or “righteous” thing to do was precisely opposite to what Joseph believed propriety and the Law demanded. 

And so for the sake of being obedient to God's call, Joseph risked becoming disobedient in the eyes of the world—becoming a scandal to family and community. As Joseph’s story shows, there is a deeper righteousness than common morality. It was from Joseph, we suspect, that Jesus first learned that righteousness, true righteousness, must go beyond the Law, must “exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees,” as Jesus would later say.

Now do you see why it’s important to have Joseph on stage when we tell the story of Jesus, why we must not forget Jesus’ “other” parent, the father who was there at the Nativity, who welcomed the Christ-child, protected him, taught him and loved him, even for all the chaos he brought to Joseph’s orderly world. Indeed, the church may think of Mary as “the first disciple,” the first to hear the “good news” from the angel. But we mustn’t forget that Joseph was a disciple too. The Good News came to Joseph, as it comes to most of us, second hand. But that doesn’t make Joseph any less of a believer.

Indeed, I see Joseph as standing in for all those disciples of the past and today who, sometimes embarrassingly, get caught up in the drama of God’s salvation in Jesus Christ, and who respond by doing what is needed, whatever is asked, quietly, obediently, righteously.

I expect many of you here today can identify with that description. Like Joseph, you have faith, but you don't make a big show of it. You are a Christian, but a quiet one. You’re not an eloquent speaker or brilliant theologian. You probably are not known for your great poetic ability or musical gifts. You don’t burst into song like Mary did when she shared her news with her cousin Elizabeth. And yet, like Joseph, you have a part to play in the great story of God’s salvation of the world.

And so as we prepare to put on our own yearly pageant of the Nativity, to receive the baby Jesus, the question is, Will you find your place on the stage? Will you play your part of the drama of “God with us” in Christ? Even if you don’t know exactly what such a role might demand of you, even if you don’t know when the story will finally end, even if you’re not that good with words, will you trudge along wherever you are led, as Joseph did? Joseph’s role may be small but it is important. The same is true for many of us. So, let us take our place on stage. The curtain is raised. The drama is underway. The pageant has begun. Thanks be to God!