Joseph’s Story

A Christmas Narrative Inspired by the Gospel of Matthew

When I had just turned 15, my father came to me and said it was time for me to marry and start a family of my own. He said he had arranged a marriage to a young woman named Mary whose parents were good friends of him and my mother. Of course I knew Mary. Our families had done many things together ever since she and I were young. Knowing I would eventually marry, she was one of the girls in our section of Bethlehem who I thought would make a suitable wife, so I was not displeased when my father told me what he had arranged.

Our families met together a short while later to formalize the arrangement, and our year of engagement officially began.

About two months after that, my father came to me as I sat on a bench in our yard eating soup and bread my mother had prepared for my lunch. He looked troubled, so I asked, “Is anything wrong?”

He said yes. “I have something difficult to tell you.” He remained silent for a moment, as did I, waiting to hear what he had to say. “Mary’s father came to meet with me this morning.” He hesitated again. “He said Mary had told her mother that she was with child.”

I was so shocked that I could not say anything. I just stared at him with a confused frown on my face. “That’s not possible,” I finally said.

“I’m only telling you what he told me. He said it was not by another man. Mary said she was visited by an angel of the Lord who said she would have a child by the Holy Spirit.”

“The Holy Spirit? You’re joking,” I replied. But he shook his head no.

I sat there in disbelief. I was confused and didn’t know what to say. The Holy Spirit? I could not believe what he was telling me. I was angry and hurt as well. After a few moments, I got up; I wanted to leave and go back to the fields where I could be alone. But before I left, I said, “Tell him the marriage is off. I do not want her in that condition.”

I spent the afternoon in the fields by myself trying to work without much success. I wanted to cry but could not. I felt my life had been turned upside down. “How could she do this?” I asked aloud to no one. To God I asked, “How could she do this to me?” But there were no answers. Only sadness and confusion.

When I returned home late in the day, I did not want to talk about it with my parents. I took some food to my room and eventually went to bed and fell asleep. In the middle of the night, I was awakened. It felt as if someone was shaking my shoulder and saying, “Wake up, Joseph.” The room was filled with light so bright that it seemed the sun had descended from the heavens and was hovering over my bed, casting its light into every corner of my room. Then there was a voice—not a human voice, not even a voice at all: more like a thought in my mind but not my thought.

“Be not afraid,” it said. “I am an angel of the Lord, sent to tell you that you should wed Mary and take her as your wife. She will have a son; you should name him Jesus and raise him as your own.” With that, the light vanished, and I went back to sleep.

Normally I do not remember my dreams. They disappear as soon as I wake up. But this was not a dream; I remembered everything about it. So, when I saw my father in the morning, I said to him, “I’ve changed my mind. I will keep her. But she must come to live with me immediately, so that if she does have a child, it might seem that it was mine.”

My father objected. “That is against our tradition,” he said. “People will talk.”

“Better they talk about breaking tradition,” I replied, “than about who the father of this child is.”

And so, the following week Mary’s family brought her to our house, and she and I went to the addition I had been building for us, even though it was not finished. When we were alone, she said, “I swear to you I have not been with another man. Let us know one another, and you will see for yourself.”

I was still angry, hurt, and confused. I did not want our marriage to start like that. In addition, I realized that if an angel had come to me, one could have come to her also, although becoming with child that way seemed impossible. So I said, “I believe you. Let us wait a bit.” She seemed relieved and said thank you.

A few nights later, when we went to the bed I had made for us and knew one another for the first time, I could tell that she was speaking the truth. That only left me more confused. Perhaps she was not with child at all; perhaps she had only imagined it. But her belly grew, and several months later, she told me to put my hand there. I could feel the child moving within her, so there was no doubt.

When the time came, Mary’s mother came to help my mother with the birth. My mother brought the baby to me: a boy, as the angel had predicted. His eyes were closed, and he had what seemed to be a smile on his face. He was so beautiful that I had to smile back. I felt a wave of emotion flow through me, bringing tears of joy to my eyes, as I felt an outpouring of love for this child who was now my son. She asked what name he was to be given. “His name is Jesus,” I said.

“That’s not a family name,” she replied.

“No, but it is his name.”

“So be it,” she said and went back to help care for Mary.

Jesus seemed like a normal child, as far as I could tell. He did all the same things other boys did as he grew. When he learned to walk, he followed me around everywhere. I set aside a corner in my shop where he could stay safe while I worked. I made small objects for him to play with out of leftover pieces of wood. They amused him endlessly, and he began sharing them with other children who wanted some of their own. Soon I was making as many of these toys for parents to give to their children as I was making chairs for their houses.

About this time, while we were at home one afternoon, there was a knock at our door. When I opened it, I saw a group of men standing in the street. The three in front were dressed in colorful clothes, quite different from anything anyone I knew would wear. Behind them were two others, holding the reins of four camels. One man stepped forward. “Do you speak Greek?” he asked.

I knew enough to be able to nod yes.

“We are looking for a child; we have followed his star to this house to find him.” The man pointed up, and I looked up, foolishly expecting to see a star even though it was midafternoon. At that point, Jesus—ever curious—came and stood beside me, half hidden by my leg. “Ahh,” the man said with a smile. He turned to his two companions and spoke in a language I could not understand while he pointed at Jesus. The others nodded and smiled, too. “May we come in?” he asked, and so I stepped back, and the three of them came in.

I was worried that we did not have enough chairs for everyone to sit. But they ignored the chairs and sat cross-legged on the floor. Jesus must have thought this was a game because he sat on the floor too, facing them. When the men bowed to him from the waist, he bowed to them in return. He was imitating whatever they did. But he soon grew bored and got up. Each of the men was wearing an unusual hat. He went to one of them, took off the hat he was wearing and put it on his own head, and laughed. All three men laughed too, and spoke again to one another in their language. He put the hat back on the man’s head, went to the next, and then the next: each time doing the same thing and laughing. It was wonderful to see him so playful and happy in the presence of these strangers who laughed at everything he did. Mary and I just stood by watching, not knowing what else to do.

After a while the three men stood up. The one who could speak Greek said, “We have some gifts.” As each man handed me a package, he explained what it was. “This is frankincense,” he said, “and this is myrrh.” These were expensive spices and oils we could never afford. Then he handed me a heavy leather pouch, which he said was gold. “Take care of your son,” he said. “He will be a great leader of his people.” And with that, they left.

“That was strange,” Mary said after they had gone. Yes, I thought, but everything about this child is strange.

A few days later, I was awakened at night again. The room was filled with the same bright light as before. It seemed that only I could see it, since Mary remained sleeping peacefully by my side. And again, the voice: “Be not afraid,” it began as it had done before. “It is not safe for your son to remain here. Take him and his mother to Egypt, and remain there until it is safe to return.” I wanted to ask why: why was it not safe? Why Egypt? But I could not speak. As I turned to lie down and go back to sleep, the voice said, “No. You must leave now.” Then the light vanished, and it was dark again.

I woke Mary and told her that we had to leave and to get Jesus and herself ready while I went to tell my father. “Why?” she asked. “What is the matter?” I had not told her of my first visit from the angel and so was hesitant to tell her of this one. “I had a dream” was all I said.

I told my father that I was taking our donkey and gave him one of the gold coins so he could buy another. He too was confused. “Why are you leaving; where are you going; when will you be back? Where did you get this gold?” There were too many questions, and I could only give vague answers.

As dawn was just breaking over the edge of earth, we left. We were able to connect with a caravan heading to Alexandria. We sold the frankincense and myrrh to pay for our food and still had money left over to help us when we reached Alexandria.

It was a long and difficult journey, but once in Alexandria, we were warmly greeted. One section of the city was entirely occupied by our people. It felt like we were still in Judea. Mary made friends with other women quickly, and Jesus found many playmates his own age. My woodworking skills made it easy for me to find work. We settled down, and as time went by, it seemed we might be there forever. But that was not to be.

One night, I was awakened again. It was the same light, the same voice, which said that it was safe to return. But not to Bethlehem, it said. “Go north into Galilee; find a village there, and you will be safe.” And so I told Mary that it was time to leave. There was no rush. We said goodbye to friends, found a caravan headed to Jerusalem, and began the long journey to a new home. We went to Galilee and found the village of Nazareth, which seemed like a pleasant place with welcoming people, and so we stopped and settled here. That was now five years ago.

Our family has grown. We now have a daughter and a second son. Mary is quite happy, and I have my own woodworking shop once more. Jesus is my apprentice, although I can tell his mind is on other things. He prefers to study at the synagogue rather than to hammer and plane wood. So he spends half a day with me and half with his teacher. He is quiet, even with his friends. It is only with his distant cousin John that he seems to come alive. They are such opposites that it amazes me they are such good friends, even though they see one another only once or twice a year when we go to special festivals in Jerusalem.

Our life seems normal, perfectly ordinary. But every now and then, I stop and stare at Jesus and wonder. What does the future hold for him that God’s angels should be concerned about his well-being? Why has he been given into my care? I have nothing to offer him to help him on his way other than my love. Will that be enough? Each night, I go to bed in nervous anticipation: will the angel come again with a new message, a new direction for me to follow, and what will that mean for me and for him? For my son. My son!