Here’s the scene. It’s the Sunday before Thanksgiving,

circa 1992. The children of Vandalia Presbyterian

Church in Greensboro, North Carolina, have gathered

in the sanctuary pews at 4 o’clock in the afternoon,

anxiously awaiting their assignments for the annual

Christmas pageant. And the good news is that each

possibility has a certain promise. The wise men get

the best props—treasure chests, bottles of potion.

Shepherds draw the staffs, which are perfect for

backstage swordfights. If you know, you know. Angels,

obvious—halos, wings. Even the animals get floppy

ears and tails to wag. Then there’s Joseph. When

his name is called, every boy’s eyes hit the floor. No

one wants Joseph. For starters, and perhaps most

importantly, you had to endure the ridicule of being

“married” to one of the girls your own age. That alone

was enough to put us on edge. But the truth is, Joseph

gets a raw deal all the way around. No props, no staff,

no wings, no tail. Ratty old bathrobe. Single spot to

stand stuck in place for the whole show. That’s it. Not

one line to dramatically deliver. Joseph is dull. Boring.

At best, a detached observer in this story, standing

still while the shepherds and magi moved across

the stage, arrive, present their gifts. Joseph, cast in

shadows while the spotlight illuminates the manger

and mother only a few feet away. I understand that a

solution was brought forth a few weeks ago among

our four- and five-year-olds in Sunday school when

the part for Joseph was accepted by no one. Two

Marys! That works.

You might say it’s been this way from the very

beginning. Afterall, without these eight verses

from Matthew’s Gospel, we would know almost

nothing about the man, and what we do have here is

lamentably lean. We are missing so much. Matthew’s

text moves quickly from one action to the next. There

is no pause to consider the emotional impact or the

inner thoughts. The spotlight never pauses on Joseph.

Not one line for him to deliver.

Here’s what we do know. Joseph is engaged to be

married. According to First Century Jewish custom,

engagement is a binding contract, not between two

individuals, but between two families. So, though

the couple does not yet live together, they are legally

bound to each other by contracts signed by their

parents. During this time, their contact would have

been limited, public, and carefully arranged. So when

Matthew, the Gospel writer, flatly reports that Joseph’s

fiancée “was found to be with child,” the passive voice

leaves me with some unanswered questions. Found by

whom? Who delivered the heartbreaking message to

Joseph? How was it received?

Imagine the look on Joseph’s face. Remember: he

knows nothing of Gabriel’s visit to Mary. That’s over

in Luke’s Gospel. All Joseph knows here is that his

fiancée is expecting, and he is definitely, 100% not

the father. The news must have been shocking.

Perhaps devastating is the word we need. What will

he do? Matthew drops a clue. He tells us that Joseph

is a good man. To be more specific, Joseph is a law-

abiding man. A just man. A righteous man.

Well, what is the right thing to do for this righteous

man? I imagine that Joseph turned to the pages of

scripture, that he looked up the just, legal path ahead.

After all, you can’t go wrong if you do what the Bible

says to do, right? Well. Deuteronomy 22. “She is to be

taken to the gate of the town and stoned to death.”

That’s what the Bible says. Exodus 21. “An eye for an

eye and a tooth for a tooth.” That’s what the Bible says.

Deuteronomy 24. “If a man finds something displeasing

in his wife, let him dismiss her and send her out of the

house.” It’s in the Book. That’s what the Bible says.

For several years, I’ve been in the habit of rereading

classic novels each summer, and it’s been a wonderful

way to rediscover these literary masterpieces at a

new chapter in my life. Two summers ago, I returned

to Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. I was struck

by Miss Maudie Atkinson, one of Maycomb County’s

unheralded saints. In the story, Miss Maudie is much

maligned by the “foot-washing literalists” who believe

that her beautiful flower garden distracts her from

the study of scripture. Afterall, how could one have

such a beautiful flower bed and spend the appropriate

amount of time studying the Bible? The town’s

children learn by experience that Maudie lives her

faith with acts of love…and lots of patience for kids

who play in those flowerbeds. When the children ask

her about the dissonance between what they hear

about her in town and what they see for themselves,

Miss Maudie says, “Sometimes the Bible in the hand

of one man is worse than a whisky bottle in the hand

of another... There are just some kind of men who are

so busy worrying about the next world they’ve never

learned to live in this one, and you can look down the

street and see the results.”i

Joseph knows his Bible. He loves his Bible. He is

a good man. A righteous man. He knows what

the scripture says. And then he is faced with this

excruciatingly difficult decision—his commitment to

righteousness challenged by the tug toward mercy.

What will he do? Joseph makes a choice. He reads

his Bible through the lens of love. He believes in a

God who is merciful. And so, Joseph says, “I will not

harm her. I will not expose her. I will not abuse her,

shame her, ridicule her. I will not demean her value,

her dignity, her worth. I will protect her.” And friends,

this too is in the Bible. It is in the very nature and the

character of God. The goodness and the grace of God.

The steadfast and unconditional love of God. And

that’s how Joseph reads his Bible.

And, it seems to me, that’s why Joseph is chosen for

the part. It seems that way because as soon as he

makes up his mind, as soon as Joseph chooses to risk

disobedience to the law for the sake of mercy, that’s

when his angel appears. It happens in the quiet of

night, backstage, in a dream. Do not be afraid. This

child belongs to God. Name him Jesus. Be his father.

And Joseph, this good man, this righteous man, this

just man, does exactly what the angel commands.

And that’s why, months later, Joseph is standing by

when Mary delivers her baby. Joseph may not be in

the spotlight, but he knows where he stands and why

he’s there. He names the child. Jesus. And from that

day forward, he responds to the angel’s call. Joseph

will be this baby’s father. He will teach Jesus. He will

care for his son, show him how to be a carpenter, a

builder of homes, a crafter of tables. He will no doubt

walk with Jesus to the synagogue and sit beside him.

He will teach his son to be a good man. He will beam

with pride when Jesus stands to read scripture in the

synagogue. He will comfort Jesus when he is afraid of

the dark or sounds in the night. He will celebrate his

triumphs and successes. He will watch his son grow

in stature, and wisdom, and grace. And Joseph will be

right there in a supporting role. He never forgets the

angel’s words.

Joseph’s story offers us a powerful picture of love. It

looks like living with compassion. It looks like acting

out of mercy. And it looks like taking responsibility.

Back in October, Sara was leading a retreat up in New

York, and it was just the two boys and me from Sunday

to Wednesday. That’s four days. And we did great…for

the first day and a half. On Monday, I got home from

the office, and I realized that I had not made any plans

for dinner that night. Or breakfast the next morning. Or

any other meal for the rest of the week. It was painfully

obvious that we needed to make a grocery store trip

and equally obvious that none of us wanted to go. It

was pouring rain when we got into the car, hungry

and tired, a dangerous combination. And we made our

way to the store. I was determined to get in and out as

quickly as possible, but the layout of Market District

and our two boys had other ideas. What would happen

is they would go to some distant corner of the store

I didn’t even know existed, and they would reappear

periodically with some item we didn’t need and

shouldn’t buy. My patience was wearing thin when I

looked over and saw a man in the cereal aisle pushing

a cart with two toddlers in it. Incredibly, miraculously,

he had a smile on his face. In fact, it was worse than

that. He was singing these silly songs to the kids as

he walked, practically danced, down the aisle. I had to

know more. I walked over, and the first thing I noticed

was his t-shirt. In huge print, the shirt read, “I’m not

the stepdad. I’m the dad that stepped up.” In our brief

conversation there in the breakfast cereal aisle, I

learned enough. He shared the unexpected nature of

this new responsibility. “Not part of the plan,” he said.

And then the man said, “I just feel so blessed. Only

God could have done this. These kids needed me, but

the truth is I needed them more.”

I’m glad Matthew didn’t let us forget old Joseph. Joseph

standing outside the spotlight. Joseph in a supporting

role. He has something important to ask us in these

final days before the celebration. Joseph knows that

a moment will come when you must choose between

human righteousness and God’s astounding grace. Yes,

Joseph knew the rules. And he knew what mattered

more. Compassion. Mercy. Responsibility. Joseph sees

with the eyes of love. He steps up, and he asks this

Christmas: will you do the same?