Joseph...
did what the Lord’s angel had told him to do. — Matthew 1:24
The white
space between Bible verses is fertile soil for questions. One can hardly read
Scripture without whispering, “I wonder...”
“I wonder
if Eve ever ate any more fruit.”
“I wonder
if Noah slept well during storms.”
“I wonder
if Jonah liked fish or if Jeremiah had friends.”
“Did Moses
avoid bushes? Did Jesus tell jokes? Did Peter ever try water-walking again?”
“Would any
woman have married Paul had he asked?”
The Bible is a fence full of knotholes
through which we can peek but not see the whole picture. It’s a scrapbook of
snapshots capturing people in encounters with God, but not always recording the
result.
So we wonder:
When the woman caught in
adultery went home, what did she say to her husband?
After the
demoniac was delivered, what did he do for a living?
After
Jairus’s daughter was raised from the dead, did she ever regret it?
Knotholes
and snapshots and “I wonders.” You’ll find them in every chapter
about every person. But nothing stirs so many questions as does the birth of
Christ. Characters appear and disappear before we can ask them anything. The
innkeeper too busy to welcome God — did he ever learn who he turned away? The
shepherds — did they ever hum the song the angels sang? The wise men who
followed the star — what was it like to worship a toddler? And Joseph,
especially Joseph.
I’ve got questions for Joseph.
Did you and Jesus arm
wrestle? Did He ever let you win?
Did you ever look up
from your prayers and see Jesus listening?
How do you say “Jesus”
in Egyptian?
What ever happened to
the wise men?
What ever happened to
you?
We don’t know what
happened to Joseph. His role in Act I is so crucial that we expect to see him
in the rest of the drama — but with the exception of a short scene with
twelve-year-old Jesus in Jerusalem, he never reappears. The rest of his life is
left to speculation, and we are left with our questions.
But of all my questions,
my first would be about Bethlehem. I’d like to know about the night in the
stable. I can picture Joseph there. Moonlit pastures. Stars twinkle above.
Bethlehem sparkles in the distance. There he is, pacing outside the stable.
What was
he thinking while Jesus was being born? What was on his mind while Mary was
giving birth? He’d done all he could do — heated the water, prepared a place
for Mary to lie. He’d made Mary as comfortable as she could be in a barn and
then he stepped out. She’d asked to be alone, and Joseph had never felt more so.
In that eternity between his wife’s
dismissal and Jesus’ arrival, what was he thinking? He walked into the night
and looked into the stars. Did he pray?
For some reason, I don’t
see him silent; I see Joseph animated, pacing. Head shaking one minute, fist
shaking the next. This isn’t what he had in mind. I wonder what he said...
This isn’t the way I
planned it, God. Not at all. My child being born in a stable? This isn’t the
way I thought it would be. A cave with sheep and donkeys, hay and straw? My
wife giving birth with only the stars to hear her pain?This isn’t at all what I
imagined. No, I imagined family. I imagined grandmothers. I imagined neighbors
clustered outside the door and friends standing at my side. I imagined the house
erupting with the first cry of the infant. Slaps on the back. Loud laughter.
Jubilation.That’s how I thought it would be.The midwife would hand me my
child and all the people would applaud. Mary would rest, and we would
celebrate. All of Nazareth would celebrate.But now. Now look. Nazareth is five
days’ journey away. And here we are in a... in a sheep pasture. Who will celebrate
with us? The sheep? The shepherds? The stars?This doesn’t seem right. What kind
of husband am I? I provide no midwife to aid my wife. No bed to rest her back.
Her pillow is a blanket from my donkey. My house for her is a shed of hay and
straw.The smell is bad; the animals are loud. Why, I even smell like a shepherd
myself.Did I miss something? Did I, God?When You sent the angel and spoke of
the Son being born — this isn’t what I pictured. I envisioned Jerusalem, the
temple, the priests, and the people gathered to watch. A pageant perhaps. A
parade. A banquet at least. I mean, this is the Messiah!
Or, if not born in
Jerusalem, how about Nazareth? Wouldn’t Nazareth have been better? At least
there I have my house and my business. Out here, what do I have? A weary mule,
a stack of firewood, and a pot of warm water. This is not the way I wanted it
to be! This is not the way I wanted my son.
Oh my, I
did it again. I did it again, didn’t I, Father? I don’t mean to do that; it’s
just that I forget. He’s not my son... He’s Yours.The child is Yours.
The plan is Yours. The idea is Yours. And forgive me for asking but... is this
how God enters the world? The coming of the angel, I’ve accepted. The questions
people asked about the pregnancy, I can tolerate. The trip to Bethlehem, fine.
But why a birth in a stable, God?
Any minute now Mary will
give birth. Not to a child, but to the Messiah. Not to an infant, but to God.
That’s what the angel said. That’s what Mary believes. And, God, my God, that’s
what I want to believe. But surely You can understand; it’s not easy. It seems
so... so... so... bizarre.
I’m unaccustomed to such strangeness, God.
I’m a carpenter. I make things fit. I square off the edges. I follow the plumb
line. I measure twice before I cut once. Surprises are not the friend of a
builder. I like to know the plan. I like to see the plan before I begin.
But this
time I’m not the builder, am I? This time I’m a tool. A hammer in Your grip. A
nail between Your fingers. A chisel in Your hands. This project is Yours, not
mine.
I guess it’s foolish of
me to question You. Forgive my struggling. Trust doesn’t come easy to me, God.
But You never said it would be easy, did You?
One final thing, Father.
The angel You sent? Any chance You could send another? If not an angel, maybe a
person? I don’t know anyone around here, and some company would be nice. Maybe
the innkeeper or a traveler? Even a shepherd would do.
I wonder. Did Joseph
ever pray such a prayer? Perhaps he did. Perhaps he didn’t.
But you probably have.You’ve stood where
Joseph stood. Caught between what God says and what makes sense. You’ve done
what He told you to do only to wonder if it was Him speaking in the first
place. You’ve stared into a sky blackened with doubt. And you’ve asked what
Joseph asked.
You’ve asked if you’re
still on the right road. You’ve asked if you were supposed to turn left when
you turned right. And you’ve asked if there is a plan behind this scheme.
Things haven’t turned out like you thought they would.
Each of us knows what
it’s like to search the night for light. Not outside a stable, but perhaps
outside an emergency room. On the gravel of a roadside. On the manicured grass
of a cemetery. We’ve asked our questions. We questioned God’s plan. And we’ve
wondered why God does what He does.
The Bethlehem sky is not
the first to hear the pleading of a confused pilgrim.
If you are asking what
Joseph asked, let me urge you to do what Joseph did.Obey. That’s what he did. He obeyed. He
obeyed when the angel called. He obeyed when Mary explained. He obeyed when God
sent.
He was obedient to God.
He was obedient when the
sky was bright.
He was obedient when the
sky was dark.
He didn’t let his confusion
disrupt his obedience. He didn’t know everything. But he did what he knew. He
shut down his business, packed up his family, and went to another country. Why?
Because that’s what God said to do.
What about you? Just
like Joseph, you can’t see the whole picture. Just like Joseph, your task is to
see that Jesus is brought into your part of your world. And just like Joseph,
you have a choice: to obey or disobey. Because Joseph obeyed, God used him to
change the world.
Can He do the same with
you?
God still looks for Josephs today. Men and women who
believe that God is not through with this world. Common people who serve an
uncommon God.
Will you be that kind of
person? Will you serve... even when you don’t understand?
No, the Bethlehem sky is
not the first to hear the pleadings of an honest heart, nor the last. And
perhaps God didn’t answer every question for Joseph. But He answered the most
important one. “Are you still with me, God?” And through the first cries of the
Godchild the answer came.
“Yes. Yes, Joseph. I’m
with you.”
There are many questions
about the Bible that we won’t be able to answer until we get home. Many
knotholes and snapshots. Many times we will muse, “I wonder...”
But in our wonderings,
there is one question we never need to ask. Does God care? Do we matter to God?
Does He still love His children?
Through the small face
of the stable-born baby, He says yes.
Yes, your sins are
forgiven.
Yes, your
name is written in heaven.
Yes, death
has been defeated.
And yes,
God has entered your world.
Immanuel.
God is with us.
* * *
Your Turn
Lord, help
us to obey You! During confusion. When our story is full of questions. When the
world seems to have gone haywire. When God's plan looks so different from
anything we ever imagined it would. Help us to authentically bring our
questions to You, to be real with You, and then, even if we don't hear a clear
answer to the "I wonders", to choose to obey You. We trust in the
promise that You are with us!
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