It is difficult to comprehend the changes that a year can bring. My life is surprising, and amazing, and overwhelming, and terrifying, and wonderful, all at the same time. You just never know where life will take you.
But I get ahead of myself. Let me back up and start again. My name is Joseph, and I am a carpenter from the village of Nazareth. Nine month ago I was just a simple man, working everyday and looking forward to marrying my beloved Mary. And then things got crazy. When Mary told me she was pregnant it was unexpected and confusing. I felt lost, and hurt, and betrayed. She told me a story about an angel and being chosen to carry God’s child. It seemed such an outlandish tale, and I was still reeling from the news. At first I didn’t believe her. And then I made what could have been the biggest mistake of my life. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I stormed off. My beloved was in the most vulnerable situation of her life, and I just walked away. It was not my finest hour. But fortunately, for me, and for Mary, and for the baby, God did not give up on me or abandon me to my own momentary weakness. Thank God that we do not have to be defined by such moments.
After I stormed off I found myself sitting alone in my room, empty and numb and completely bewildered. And that’s when it happened. The best way I’ve been able to describe the experience is that I was enveloped by a presence. If you had there I don’t know if you would have seen or heard or felt anything, except, perhaps, what you saw reflected in my face, which must have been glowing with surprise and wonder and awe. There were no words, at least not in the usual way we talk about words, but the experience was powerful and life-changing. And the message was profoundly clear. I was loved. Mary was loved. Something extraordinary was happening. And I was invited to be a part of it. Please hear me, because this is important. It was an invitation. Not a command. Not a demand. I was invited to step out in faith and trust in something larger than myself. It seemed to me then, and seems to me still, that my life hung in the balance. I could accept this strange and bewildering gift, and my life would open up in one direction. Or I could reject the gift, and my life would close down in another direction. I know it sounds melodramatic, but that’s how it felt as I sat there surrounded by the light of sacred presence. Somehow I found the strength to accept the gift which was being offered, and I am convinced that even the strength was a part of the gift. And then the experience was over. What remained, however, was the absolute certainty that my life had changed forever.
The next few months are a blur. So many people in our town turned their back on us. They did not understand anything beyond what they could see – that she was a young, unmarried girl and she was pregnant. That was all they needed to know. There was no love. There was no understanding. There was no compassion. And so we clung to each other and drew on the strength of our faith that we were part of something larger than ourselves – something holy.
Then, just as her time was drawing near, things got even more complicated. A decree came from Rome that everyone needed to be counted and registered, and to do so we were required to return to our ancestral homes. It seemed outrageous and unfair, but finally, when it became clear that there was nothing else to do, we set off for Bethlehem, because somewhere in my family history I had the blood of David flowing through my veins.
It was a challenging journey. Mary was far along in her pregnancy, and strong and courageous though she was, the travel was exhausting. When we finally arrived in Bethlehem we could barely put one foot in front of the other. But the challenge wasn’t over yet. All the available rooms were taken. There was nowhere to stay. I pleaded with one person after another. And then, finally, our prayers and my pleading were answered. We could stay in the stable behind the inn. It was out of the wind, and the straw was soft. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
And it was just in time. We had no sooner settled in for the night when Mary’s time came upon her. She was already so exhausted, and I felt so helpless. There was nothing I could do but hold her hand and whisper my love. My awe and respect for her increased beyond measure as I sat there beside her through those long hours. Then, finally, it was over. Our son lay in his mother’s arms, sucking on her breast. He was the most amazing and beautiful thing I have ever seen. I know I am biased, but it felt to me that in that tiny face I was seeing the face of God.
The rest of the night has been filled with more wonders. At one point some local shepherds showed up, with stories that sounded remarkably similar to my own experience with the glowing, sacred presence. They just wanted a glimpse of the baby. I didn’t really understand, but somehow it seemed to make sense. We were a part of something larger than ourselves – larger than we could fully comprehend.
And now, I find myself sitting quietly in the corner, with Mary and the baby asleep beside me. There is a peaceful stillness surrounding us. I don’t know what this new day or this new life will bring, but in this moment it is enough to simply be here, knowing that the invitation I accepted all those months ago is still being extended. And now more than ever I am choosing to say “YES!” with my whole being. It is all I can do. And it is enough.
No comments:
Post a Comment