Charlie Brown Christmas

I wish I was looking forward to Christmas, but I guess I have to admit, I'm not.

It would be acceptable, somehow, to be able to say that I'm not because there is so much suffering in the world, or that I feel bad for the families that have servicemen and women in Iraq, or that I'm upset about how commercial its become. Or even because I'm divorced and one of my boys probably won't be home for Christmas this year. All that is true, and it's unsettling, but ...

Truth is, I'm not looking forward to Christmas because its not about me anymore.

When I was a kid, of course, it was all about me. I was the oldest and so for five years (count 'em, five) my Dad went out on Christmas Eve and got that tree and Mom and Dad stayed up half the night to put it up and decorate it, just to watch my face in the morning when I came out to see it. My Dad told the story of my first Christmas, with tears in his eyes, every Christmas.

When my brother and sister came along, I was still the oldest -- and when I was a little older my mom and dad would let me stay up later, with them (!) and help wrap. I was in on it!

When I became a father, I was promoted to Santa! I was looked to for the magic. I was the Source of all good things.

Now I've got one grown son, Tony, and a 14 year old son Mark. Mark still helps me put up my very Charlie Brown tree (yes, it's fake. I don't have room in my apartment, nor the cash, to put up a real one). He does the lights now, because he's the aspiring engineer, but ... well, he's more interested in his friends at school right now. He's growing up. Dad's still Dad, but he knows I can't do magic.

I'm not out to pasture yet, but I'm seeing the pasture gate up ahead. And I can see the time coming where, assuming I have grandchildren, I'll be relegated to the position of spectator at what was once my own show.

It's been very instructive to admit this to myself, and I think it'll be useful to me to confess it as well. I need to realize that, whether I like it or not, this life its still way too much about me. Christmas was my favorite holiday primarily because it was my big chance to be in the spotlight, or at least somewhere very near.

Last couple of years, the spotlight has dimmed. And that's a good thing. One result of being out of its glare is that I see more clearly things I've never noticed.

One is the Incarnation. Phyllis over at phyllisophie was talking about the Incarnation at our most recent unHome Group unchurch church thingey, and I had this picture of the Lord of the Universe standing up from His Rightful Throne, stepping down and basically diving into ... a manger. Into the middle of our mess. I find that extraordinary.

And it got me thinking about the First Christmas. (And that took my mind off of me, briefly, so that was good.)

In the scriptures, the stars of the show are Mary and the Holy Child, of course. The story as told in Luke's gospel, zooms in on Mary, a young woman from the town of Nazareth. Of all people, we see that God choses a young woman to be His Bearer, and not a woman of one of the Levitical families or a daughter of the reigning royal family, but a woman from Nazareth, a sleepy little village far away from the real action in the Holy City. She gets a spectacular visit from an angel and speaks one of the most quoted lines in history: "I am the Lord's servant. Be it unto me as you have said." Mary gets good tidings about Elizabeth, her cousin and hurries off to visit her for a few months, and they have a great time. A lot to celebrate. God has favored them. Babies leap in wombs. Elizabeth shout of praise is recorded. So is Mary's Song.

A good supporting role goes to Zechariah. Luke's account actually begins with him as he serves in the Temple. Luke records a number of biographical details about him and his wife. Zechariah's visitation is from no less than the angel Gabriel. What follows is the rather extensive record of their conversation. This guy has the temerity to talk back, and gets struck dumb, but nevertheless rallies in the climactic scene as Elizabeth gives birth to the Forerunner. Everyone's clamoring to find out what they'll name him. Which eminent older man of the clan will pass on his name to the future Prophet? Since Zech can't talk, the honor of naming the boy falls to Liz, who names him John. The relatives have a bit of a cow, it seems, since that name isn't in the family tree, but Zech seals the deal by writing his name on a tablet. And then dramatically receives his voice back and waxes eloquent in his own song of praise.

Luke then tells us of the Shepherd's visitation: They get a visit not only from an angel, but an angel of the Lord, with the glory of the Lord shining around them, no less. This is significant. It's what the theologians call an epiphany. Some kind of appearance, in some form, of the Lord himself. Indeed, when they receive their instructions about where to find the birthplace, they talk among themselves, saying "Let's go ... to see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about." Not only that, but they get front-row seats for the Heavenly Host, a "great company" who proceed to praise God. These ragtag sheep herders are, as far as we know, the only folks ever to hear a live performance of the choirs of Heaven. (John's account of heavenly praise recorded in his Revelation doesn't count, 'cause it's a vision. He got the heavenly CD.) You can make a case for them as the first group to visit the Son after His birth, too. (The angels says "Today, in the town of Bethlehem is born to you a savior ...." The Magi visit later, sometime after the birth.) We also hear that they afterward spread the word (the first evangelists!)

But what of Joseph? Husband? Father? Working stiff?

In Luke, we're told he's Mary's fiance. A little later, we're told he has to go to Bethlehem to register for the census, so he takes Mary with him. We find out he's in David's line. And he's there when they take Jesus to the Temple on the eighth day to be circumcised, where both Simeon and Anna play their supporting roles. But unlike Zech, Joseph takes a back seat here.

Joseph fares better in Matthew's account, which is told from his point of view. The Matthean Gospel begins with a recitation of Joseph's lineage. He is, indeed, in the Davidic line, along with a "who's who" of biblical heavyweights. Good beginning. But even here, he's upstaged. The Magi have key roles in Matthew's account, complete with a very cool name. The wise ones from the East, follow the star on the quest of the Ages, to see the King they have awaited. They bear costly gifts, gold, frankincense and myrrh. They go to King Herod to ask directions (See that? Guys do ask for directions. It's right there in Scripture.) They find the stable and bowing down with grat ceremony, bestow their gifts. And even King Herod gets his 15 minutes of infamy -- he gets to play the villain of the piece. He makes a deal with the Magi to come back and reveal the location of the Savior, feigning a desire to worship Him as well. When his plan is foiled, he gives his chilling order.

We do, however, get some insight into Joseph's character. He's worried. The young woman he loves has revealed that she is pregnant. Worse, the story she tells leaves him feeling that there has been a crack in the planet, and he's fallen in. Why? In Palestine, 2,000 years ago, an engagement was a contract -- as good as married, legally, and for the devout Jew, an unconsummated contract until the agreed wedding day. He's stuck. No way to say, "Well, maybe this just isn't working out." The Law was clear ... and in the case of fornication, harsh. A man could simply give his wife a writ or decree of divorce, apparently for any reason wahtsoever, and simply send her packing. To save face, he could denounce her, and no one would blame him. But Joseph, we hear, is a righteous man. He is not inclined to publicly disgrace Mary. We understand that he was of a mind to "put her away quietly." Joseph was looking for a way to save face. Not his face, but hers. He would give her the writ, but do so discreetly, then send her away. Probably pay for her keep, and explain her absence ... somehow.

But Joseph, like the dreamer in the Old Testament for whom he is named, does get something: four critically important dreams.

In the first, an angel comes to stay his hand frm divorce. Everyone else got advance notice, but Joseph? He gets the shocker first, then the visitation. In the dream he's told to go through with the marriage, that things are under control, and he's told what to do about a name. While it's reassuring after a fashion, and it is an angel of the Lord there's certainly no choir, no lights, no fanfare. Joseph sings no songs. When he wakes up, we are told simply that Joseph "did what the angel commanded him." He takes Mary as his wife -- oh what a tense, awkward wedding that may have been. (And, we hear, no wedding night, either. Not the way Joseph saw it playing out, I suspect.) What did the men of the town -- especially the top men in the synagogue -- think? Was there only whispering, or did he have to suffer public finger-pointing? Did it hurt his carpentry business?

When Mary goes to visit her cousin, I wonder if Joseph quietly encouraged it? It would get her out of the village, so she wouldn't have to suffer, as he would, the brunt of the local gossip. She would be well cared for and at such a distance, safe form prying eyes and ears, at least for while.

When she returns, things take another unwelcome turn. Caesar, with nothing better to do, has to count everyone. Undoubtedly the prelude to new taxes. Joseph must take his wife, now heavy with child and return to his family home to register (are we there yet?). So they fire up the family donkey (can't afford to rent a litter and four bearers) and head south. There is, of course, no room in the Bethlehem inn (what Dad hasn't been there?) The best he can do is a stable. While they are there, she comes full term. Jesus' first crib is a feed trough. Was Joseph passing around cigars? I suspect he was mortified. Having to hear his wife's birthing cries, knowing she was laying on a pile of straw, with a stranger for a midwife (if there was one) far from home and her mother's care. If he was human, and all the hubbies and dads I know are, he felt helpless, impotent and alone.

He has three other dreams, all of them brief warnings, with further instructions: The first is after the Magi visit. An angel warns that Herod is in a mood and he is enigneer an escape to Egypt.

Egypt! The land out of which his ancestors had once escaped. Talk about a reversal of fortune. But we hear only that he gets up, "takes up the child and his wife" and, in the middle of the night, obeys. Imagine: He leaves his home, business and extended family (his and hers) without even time to say goodbye, spending the Magi's treasured gifts (which could have made them comfortable back in Galilee) to buy a new identity and a new life in a very foreign land. With no grandmothers or grandfathers to watch the kids, Joseph quietly does what's necessary to keep his family fed, housed and safe. It's never the way you see it playing out in your head. How many dreams died a quick death that night? Anyone who's a husband and a father knows.

The second is an "all clear": Herod is dead and its safe to return home. When he arrives, however, it turns out that Archaleus, Herod's son, is on the throne in Judah, so Joseph fears returing to bBethlehem -- too close to the seat of power. Warned in a fourth and final dream, he turns aside to Nazareth, which is Mary's home town, to pick up the pieces of his old life.

In the entire First Christmas story, in both Gospel accounts, Joseph speaks not a single word. The next we hear of him, he's helping Mary search for Jesus after the Passover, when he's gone AWOL. When they find him in the Temple, it is Mary who reroves Him. Joseph is characteristically mum. And then he just disappears.

While it's tempting to think the whole thing unfair, I take great encouragement from this seemingly bleak account. The man chosen to be the earthly father of the Holy One was ... like me. Things didn't go like he thought they would. Not even close. For a while, in fact, his life was just one damn thing after another. Joseph found out pretty quick that it wasn't about him. And Luke records something very important: After all that happened, "the child grew and waxed strong and was filled with wisdom, and the Grace of God was upon him." He waxed strong. I love that KJV word! Filled with wisdom. Grace of God upon Him.

When you're a Dad, that's all the fanfare you really need. And all I want, this Christmas, is that someday, if someone cares to inquire into my obscure life, they'll be able to say the same about each of my sons.