An Elderly Joseph On His Death Bed Writes A Letter For Jesus To Read After He Is Gone. Series

This sermon was preached first at St Nicholas Church Perivale on 29 December 2024- using the Church Worship's 1st Sunday of Christmas Year C, but could also fit with the Catholic tradition of cleebrating that Sunday as "The Holy Family" or with Holy Innocents or St Joseph's day. It was written on the basis that the first Sunday of Christmas Year C's readings don't superficially feel that "Christmassy" - so draws out the themes of what it means to recognise Jesus as God's son, and what it means to play our part even when in this life we will not know what the whole looks like.

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My Dearest Son,

If you are reading this, then my earthly journey has come to its close, and I am now at peace. As I write, I am an old man, reflecting on the years we shared and the deep privilege I was given to walk beside you in this life. Soon soon I go to be with your other Father.

From my bed I look across at the mantlepiece. Ironically – in my house most of the stuff up there is yours. The first piece of woodwork you carved with me in my carpenter’s shop. The scroll of scripture you read out at your barmitzvah. Three dusty ornate boxes that have sat there since you were a toddler. Some embroidery Mary made when we first married. And the one thing passed down to me – the only thing I ever inherited other than the skills at the lathe and hammer that my father taught me and I have tried to teach you.

Three dusty ornate boxes that have sat there since you were a toddler. I knew you were something special when those gifts came…

Of course I knew you were something special when the dreams happened. I never dream. I sleep soundly every night. Like a baby. Cant remember a thing when I wake up. Except those two times.

Th second one – was it worse or was it less hard than the first.

Egypt. I was so glad when we got home from there. Back to the Carpentry shop. Back to cosy Nazareth…

‘Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.’

As I said, dear Jesus, that was one of the only two dreams I ever remember. The Angel saying that to me

Egypt was tough, and getting there was tough. Sneaking by night, paying bribes, foraging for food, sleeping on floors or outside if we had to. Then desperately trying to get work in Egypt – and getting ripped off time and time again by people who wouldn’t pay proper wages to an illegal immigrant, to a refugee. But somehow, even if I missed meals myself I got enough for you to eat.

But wouldn’t any dad do that for their son? Mary and for you I would do it again in a jiffy.

As I look up at that first piece of woodwork you carded in my carpenters shop – Oh it was good to get back to Nazareth after those years in Egypyt. Oh how I remember those early years with you in the carpentry shop when I was young.

But I am old now. Soon soon I go to be with your other Father.

Your other father.

Oh that sounded so painful when you first said those words

‘Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?’ [Luke 2:49]

We had been searching for you for days. We were so desperate! Even as a toddler you had never got lost. What had happened to you. Our precious little boy – not so little any more. We couldn’t lose you.

Oh it stung when you said “Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”

There you were in the Temple of all places. Not many 12 year olds would hang out there. We spent 3 days looking in all the obvious places. Until we finally find you in the one place no one expects to find a 12 year old – in the temple debating with the religious scholars.

Oh how it stung. I your dad had been in agony of terror for those three long nights and three long days – and you nonchallently talk about someone else as your father.

‘Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?’

You are a bit like him you know.

Someone once said “The way God treats his friends, it is no wonder he has so few…”

You would think your heavely father would have thought more about your mum when she was pregnant before we were married.