Sermonstudio

The opening verses of the gospel of Matthew, through the 17th verse, provide the passage of Scripture which is often known as the "begats," tracing the genealogy of Jesus Christ from Abraham to Joseph. The chapter begins: "The book of the generation of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham." Forty-two generations later, the 16th verse reads, "And Jacob begat Joseph the husband of Mary, of whom was born Jesus, who is called Christ." Beginning at verse 18, the chapter reads: "Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, 'Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.' All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: 'Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,' which means, 'God is with us.' When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus."

Tonight we are going to imagine that Joseph is telling his story. Whoever tells this story tells the greatest story ever told. Whoever hears this story hears the greatest story ever heard!

I am getting old. I know it's time, and inescapable this time. I felt I was getting old once before, but Mary changed all that. She came into my life and it was just as if she gave me a new life, a second life. I had been lonely for so long! When my wife Suzannah died, and our baby died with her, I felt my life too had ended. All the joy seemed gone and all the brightness was made dark. There was nothing but my work, my craft of wood. Working the wood seemed for so long to be the only meaning. And I must say, beautiful things came out of that wood when I worked it with my hands. They were things I made to be useful, but they had a beauty in them, too, which was the only beauty my heart knew, for the long years after Suzannah died before I found my Mary.

I'm not good with words, not fluent or artistic with words. But there are things that should be made known about the life of Mary and myself. I have to tell the story as best I can, not just because it is our story, but because it's an important story. I could say that it began when I went to work on the addition to the house of Caleb of Capernaum. Caleb was growing wealthy. He wanted his home to reflect more of his wealth, and he wanted me to add some great rooms to it. I was glad for the work, not only because that kind of work was my life, but because it was also my living. There was another reason for me to be glad for the work at Caleb's. That was Mary. But I didn't know about Mary when Caleb first came to me. I only knew that there was work - my kind of work, and work which would last quite a while.

I said that the story began when I went to work for Caleb, but in a way it began long before - it began perhaps when the business of my grandfather who lived in Bethlehem began to spread to other cities, and he sent my father here to Galilee, to Nazareth. Or perhaps the story began earlier than that. Who knows? In any case, it was well that I didn't become a trader like my father and my grandfather, for when my grandfather died, the heart of the network was gone, and my father and brothers had a hard time making their living here. I had my hands, my skill in carpentry, and there seemed always something waiting for me to do. But Bethlehem is a part of the story, and I will explain to you soon where it fits in.

I met Mary soon after I went to work for Caleb. She served me my noon meals. Her mother was the cook at Caleb's, and her father kept the stables. Mary was young, but self-possessed - quiet and kind and gentle, yet aware of everything. At first I thought the feelings I began to have toward her were nothing but the foolish imaginations of an old man. Then I thought, "If she were only closer to my age, I do believe a new life could begin for me with her." And then I started to perceive that there was something more than duty in her watchfulness of me, her attention to me and my needs as I worked. I spoke quietly with her father about her, and he knew already - she herself had told her father that if I should ever tell him that I cared for her, she would be willing to become my wife.

My heart was full of feelings that I thought had long since gone. Mary and I had happy visits about what our life together would be when my work for Caleb was done and we would return, husband and wife, to my home in Nazareth. Then that troubling shadow fell upon us. I overheard the whisperings of other servants one day, and that very afternoon, before I could bring up the matter with him, Mary's father came to me in deep distress and said, "We do not understand it. Mary's going to have a baby. We know you and she have never been together as husband and wife. She will not tell us any more. She says that she must talk with you. Undoubtedly you will want us to put her away now. Undoubtedly this will bring to an end any plans that you and she had made together." I was hurt and even more than that, I was confused. Things like this happened with other young women, but I could not believe it about Mary. She had said she wanted to talk with me. I wanted to talk with her, but not then. Something in me could not deal with the matter right then. I told her father that I could make no decision about Mary and myself until I had talked with her, but that I was not ready then to talk with her. He seemed to understand. I went back to my work, but my mind and my heart were all in turmoil.

That night as I tossed on my bed, I felt also that I must be dreaming, for before me suddenly an angel stood, more glorious a sight than my eyes had ever seen. The angel knew what was consuming me, for without any introductory words he said to me, "Joseph, don't be afraid to take Mary as your wife. It's true that she is going to have a child, but the child has been conceived in her by the Holy Spirit. The child will be a son, and you will name him Jesus because he will save the people from their sins. And he will also be known as Emmanuel, for men will say, 'In Jesus God is with us.' "

Suddenly the brighthess was no longer of an angel, but it was the brightness of the dawn. I got up and ran to the kitchen where Mary might be. I found her, took her by the hand, and took her with me into Caleb's little back garden. There I held her in my arms, and there she told me what was in her heart. "Joseph," she said, "this will seem very strange, and I do not myself know what to make of it. An angel came to me, and declared that God had found me good. He told me I was going to have a baby, a son whom I should call Jesus, who would be a king. I was afraid, and I said to the angel, 'This cannot be, for I have never known a man.' The angel simply said, 'The power of God will do this to you, and the baby who will be born will be called the Son of God!' "

I knew then that Mary would be my wife, and that we both would be the parents of this special child. My heart was filled again with joy - so much so that I wanted Mary to be mine right then. But my work for Caleb was not quite finished, and Mary felt she needed to go to visit her cousin Elizabeth before she was married. We agreed to be married when she returned, and I gave myself joyfully to the completion of the work for Caleb.

But a new development occurred which seemed to make life difficult again for us. A decree came from Rome about an unusual census which was to be made in our land, and in which each man was required to enroll himself in his ancestral city. For most people, that was no great thing, because most people lived where their fathers before them had lived. But as I told you, my father had come from Bethlehem, and this decree meant that I had to go back to enroll myself there in Bethlehem soon. Mary returned from Elizabeth's just as I finished the work at Caleb's home. We were married immediately, but instead of going to Nazareth together, we set out on the journey to Bethlehem. It was unthinkable for me to leave Mary at a time like this in her life. My plan was to get down to Bethlehem and back before the baby was born. But it was a slow and a difficult journey. An unusually large number of people seemed to be traveling, probably due in part to the census. Accommodations at night were crowded and poor, and the weather was cold. I was so fearful for my Mary. I remembered again how everything had gone at a similar time with my Suzannah. But Mary kept assuring me that all was well, and that all would be well.

We finally reached Bethlehem, but it had been clear to me for some time that we would not get back to Nazareth before the baby was born, and I had begun to be afraid that we might not even reach Bethlehem before that time. In Bethlehem, I went immediately to the old inn. The innkeeper's father had known my grandfather and my uncles well. I told him our situation and he was completely sympathetic. But he said, "There's not even a corner available here in the inn, and in any case, this crowded inn is no place for a woman in the condition of your wife. You would be better off in the stable." At first, I thought he was using some expression of speech, but then I realized he was serious. He meant to put us up in the stable. Mary was so uncomplaining, and as it turned out, the innkeeper had done us a great favor. The stable was warm and private. The animals were far better company than most of the guests in the inn would have been. There was clean soft straw, and the innkeeper provided for as many of our needs as possible. We were almost more comfortable there than we had been since leaving Nazareth.

That very night the baby was born. Mary and I handled things alone. Considering the trip and all, the birth went remarkably well, and I had mercifully little time to think about Suzannah and my earlier experience with birth. Neither did we have much time to think of all we had been told about the baby. In any case, I was so grateful that we were in Bethlehem, where we could stay a little while. Mary and I were both in awe of the baby. He was a lovely baby. Even the animals seemed hushed around us, and seemed to be looking in wonder at all that was happening there in their barn. When it was over, and Mary had wrapped the baby, she laid him in the manger straw, and they both went to sleep. I went outdoors to breathe the night air deeply, and it was a night I shall never forget. The radiance of the sky glorious, and one star especially seemed almost to be overhead and shining down on the very place where we were. I thought of the things we had been told about our baby then, and where he had come from, and what he was going to be and to do. It almost seemed to me that that star was God's sign, pointing down, saying, "Here he is - this baby who will be known as my son!"

But the baby is my son, as well. No one else knows about the angel visitors whom Mary and I had. She didn't even tell her parents. When they saw that in spite of her pregnancy I was planning to marry her, they asked no questions and never remarked again about these circumstances. They gave her to me with their blessing. And since we had to set out for Bethlehem so soon after we were married, and did not return until the baby was no longer an infant, no one else had any reason to raise questions. Jesus is taken simply as our son.

More happened at Bethlehem. Of course I enrolled for the census as I had to. But more happened, I mean, with the baby. A group of nearby shepherds came just after dawn the morning after he was born, to tell us that an angel chorus had appeared to them when they were out during the night in the fields with their sheep. They were told not to be afraid, but to rejoice because a Savior had been born to them that very night in Bethlehem. And they were told that if they went looking for the baby, they would find him in a manger. The shepherds were nearly as moved as we when they told us their story while they gazed down on our baby. And a few days afterward, an almost more impressive delegation came - three Oriental noblemen who looked quite out of place there at the inn barn, but they, too, had come to worship the new king.

Shortly afterward we were warned that we must go on to Egypt, that the baby was in danger, that all babies were in danger from King Herod. We were used to traveling by then, and in some ways it was easier for Mary than before the baby was born. We did not return to Nazareth for some while, but when we did get back, our lives developed a happy and comfortable order. Jesus has not been difficult to bring up, certainly no more so than any other child. He has learned my trade and does it well, and the people of our city seem to trust him and respect him to the measure that they would trust and respect any young man. We had a troublesome and even frightening time a year ago when we took Jesus to Jerusalem at Passover. We lost him, and it was several days before someone reported to us that he was in the temple, talking with the scribes. Mary spoke sharply to him when at last we found him, but with a strange gentleness - almost an aloofness - he said to us, "I must be about my father's business," and we knew then that it was not myself to whom he was referring.

Now, as I said, I'm truly an old man. Mary, still young, still lovely, will not have me with her a great deal longer. But Mary has Jesus, and now he is grown enough to care for her and to provide for her. I have no knowledge yet of what those prophecies meant which were given to us before he was born. I may not ever know - I may not ever see them fulfilled. But I still believe them, I still trust them. So many little things have told us that this is a special child. Ever since that night of Jesus' birth, I have remembered what my own heart said and what the shepherds said, as well as what the angels had said earlier to Mary and myself. I have remembered what an incredibly beautiful sight that night sky was. I have remembered how the very animals stood there in awe. Truly, the night of Jesus' birth confirmed for us beyond all doubt the truth of what we had been told. Whoever this boy is, he is a blessing.

And my part in his life has not been small, and I am grateful, grateful that I could be part of it and so grateful for him. I always took pride in my craftsmanship, the works of my hands, but this boy will be the most beautiful thing upon which I have set my hand. Sometimes I see a shadow on his face, sometimes I know deep things are going on within his heart. All that, I'll never understand. But I do know enough so that when death comes for me I will die content. Through this child God has blessed us. In this child, God will bless all hearts! Amen.


Christmas

Children's Lesson

So many people could tell us wonderful stories about the night when Jesus was born. Surely the innkeeper who provided the little family a space in his barn must have had a wonderful story to tell. I imagined once the story of the innkeeper's daughter told years later to her own small children about the night when a very special baby was born in her father's barn. And think of the stories the animals who shared that barn could tell! We know something about the story the shepherds would have told - of being visited in the middle of the night by angels, and of how they found the baby and his parents in the stable. We know something about the story the wise men would have told about the long journey they made because they saw a star that gave a message to them and then about how they found the baby at last and gave him their gift.

The story the baby's mother would have told would have been a wonderful story. We know something about it, at least about how the angel came to her and told her she was going to be the mother of God's Son. But no less wonderful would have been the story which Joseph, Jesus' father, would have told. In a few minutes I'm going to tell that story as I have imagined Joseph might have told it. Joseph was not a young man, you know, when Jesus was born. He was quite a bit older than most of your fathers. He had seen a lot of life, and he had had a lot of sorrow. But what a wonderful thing it was for him that he could have the happiness and joy of being Jesus' father. Be ready to listen when I tell you some of what that experience might have meant to Joseph.