Hi everyone--I've been on vacation, but I did want to put up this post during the season. I hope you all have a great Christmas and a wonderful holiday!
Joseph’s
Troubled Night
Luke 2:7
I love her so much.
What is that to them, now?
Look at her, so absorbed in
that baby.
How is it that this has
happened to me?
I always thought that I would
live life alone, and I was content with that.
I liked being alone.
My thoughts were my own;
My life was mine to rule.
I answered to no one.
Yes, it did get a little lonely
from time to time,
But even that was nice, in a
way.
I could revel in the solitude,
the silence,
And the sense of pervasive
stillness that filled my life.
And if I did ever feel the need
for companionship,
There were always my brothers,
sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins...
Every one of them with a family
of their own—
Loud, raucous, stridently
breaking up the early morning stillness
With their bickering, their
banter, their hilarity.
I would find myself heading for
home after a very short time,
Content once more with my
solitary state.
And then I saw her.
She had always been in the
periphery of my vision,
So to speak,
A quiet little thing—
Quiet, but not shy.
She seemed to be all eyes,
So much so that the other men
left her to her own devices.
There was something almost
unnatural about her,
About the way that she just—
Looked,
As if she were keeping the
events around her
In some sort of ledger inside
herself.
To the average man, this was
not a woman to be favored.
Too much looking and too little
talking
Was disconcerting to them.
But me...
I loved her the more for her
silence.
She did not prattle on about
inconsequential affairs,
But when she did speak, her
words spoke volumes. I
Worked up my courage and asked
for her hand.
Our courtship was not your
normal one.
Yes, we did talk of our life
together,
As much as was necessary.
But that was not our main
focus.
No, we loved to speak of He who
is to come, Messiah—
Of the prophecies in all their
confusion.
It was our favorite game.
How would he appear?
Would he be triumphant king or
suffering servant?
Or could these conflicting
descriptions
Somehow all apply to the same
person?
How could that be?
Today, we have our answer,
For this servant king is
suckling on Mary’s breast.
Fully human, he cries when he
is hungry, wet or cold.
His cries reach into my
innermost being.
I never realized how much I
could love someone who is not my own.
But he is not just fully human.
The angels, the shepherds,
The sky with its enormous star
All have revealed him to be
Messiah.
Messiah—my son.
It is true,
And yet it doesn’t fit well on
a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths.
How strange—living, he lies
wrapped as one who is dead.
Yes, I know it’s necessary to
keep him straight and strong,
But it still troubles my heart.
I don’t want to think of my
son,
My beloved,
And death.
My son…
My child, what will our future
be?
Should I announce you as my
son?
But you are not my son.
Should I put myself in danger
of being called a naïve fool or worse by proclaiming the truth—
You are Messiah, sent by God?
What will Mary do?
I only have to look at your
mother to know that she is not concerned about any of this.
Not in the slightest.
What secrets is she keeping?
I feel that they are the first
of many,
And I know that she will keep
them until the end of time.
