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.
I’d never have believed her. Of course I wanted to believe her. But a story about an angel appearing to her? And suddenly she is pregnant?
I look across at the mantlepiece. 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. She was working on that very embroidery when the angel appeared to her. And I would have never believed her. I would have quietly have put her away and she would never even have finished that, and her life would have been ruined.
Why would your “heavenly father” put your mum through that? Why does he ask so many of his followers to go through such tough stuff? No wonder God has so few friends if this is how he treats them.
I would never have believed her.
What sort of God would do that to a man’s pride. Everyone whispering behind my back about how I had been cuckolded. For years afterwards. They didn’t call you “son of Joseph” – when they talk about you they call you “son of Mary. That wounded my pride.
It was hard to believe her. I would never have believed her.
If it wasn’t for the dream, the other one. The first of the two.
As I said, it was one of only two dreams I have ever woken up from and remembered in my entire life.
The angel saying
‘Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.’ All this took place to fulfil what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet:
‘Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son,
and they shall name him Emmanuel’,
which means, ‘God is with us.’ [Matthew 1:2-23]
A part of me still didn’t believe. But as the years went on…
{pointing to invisible mantlepiece}
Three dusty ornate boxes that have sat there since you were a toddler.
That was weird.
Those wealthy strangers – I can’t remember where they were from- Persia? Babylon? Egypt? To be honest you were the one who was always “all nations are God’s children” – to me they were just gentiles. All look the same.
But they were rich. And they were at my house .
They had set out at EXACTLY the moment you were born. And they reached us when you were almost two. Saying they had been led by a star. Bringing gifts.
Myrrh – that one was scary. The idea that my precious boy would die – I still don’t know how it will happen, but I know it will be important.
Gold – that one was good! Who doesn’t want to be the dad of a king?
Incense- that one was weird. Incense owns a deity nigh. What could that mean?
Soon soon I go to be with your other Father. From my bed I look across at the mantlepiece. The first piece of woodwork you carved with me in my carpenter’s shop. The scroll of scripture you read out at your bar mitzvah. Three dusty ornate boxes that have sat there since you were a toddler.
The gifts helped me believe – but if I am honest – ten years later I had almost forgotten about it.
Those lovely years with you in the carpenters shop. Those proud moments like your bar mitzvah. The events from the first two years of your life felt so long ago.
Until you were twelve.
Yes Jesus, I have told you how much it hurt when you called Him your Father.
But there was something else I took from that day.
You were sitting there among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. And all who heard him were amazed at your understanding and your answers [Luke 2:46-47]
That wasn’t the first time I’d seen that. As we worked together in the carpentry shop you would be listening and then you would say something so profound. And I – the adult – would learn something from you the child.
And there was around the village, and in Nazareth’s synagogue. you would be listening and then you would say something so profound. And they – the adults – would learn something from you the child.
But I dismissed that. I knew you were special, but not how special. Until there in the Temple you aged 12 and the great teachers of the Law listening awe struck to you.
And over the days and weeks that followed it all began to come flooding back.
That previous time in the temple. Simeon and Anna and their prophecies. [Luke 2:25-38]
And before that - The dreams, the only two dreams I remember.
The shepherds desperate to pay homage.
The gifts of those strange star gazers.
It wasn’t just me, your dad, who thought you were special.
As the years have passed, I often found myself wondering what God’s plan for you will entail. I knew it would be extraordinary, but I also knew it would not be easy.
“destined for the falling and rising of many in Israel” [Luke 2:24]
But I know it will be great.
I prayed constantly for strength and wisdom to guide you, though in truth you often guided me.
Soon soon I go to be with your other Father. From my bed I look across at the mantlepiece. The first piece of woodwork you carved with me in my carpenter’s shop. The scroll of scripture you read out at your bar mitzvah. 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 –
A family tree –
you remember Grandad Jacob – my father, And I have told you of Mathan my own Grandad, and when I was little and sitting on his lap he told me of his father Eleazer. But the paper takes it back – all the way back through Kings – Jeconiah, Josiah, Hezekiah – you are from a line of Kings my boy.
All the way back to great king David.
Our ancestor who in his 110th psalm wrote “The Lord says to my lord, ‘Sit at my right hand until I make your enemies your footstool.’ [Psalm 110:1] - as if he our Great Ancestor was looking forward to something greater than himself. To my son.
And in his 89th psalm He wrote “You said, ‘I have made a covenant with my chosen one, I have sworn to my servant David:“I will establish your descendants for ever, and build your throne for all generations.”” [psalm 89:3]
He – the ancestor you and I are so proud to be descended from, the one every one around us looks back to as the greatest King we ever had – looked forward to things that would happen long after he was gone. And he was proud to be the first link in a chain where he would never see the results.
I wonder if that will be true of the people you influence in your time one earth.
No, I know it will be true.
How people will be inspired by little old you to build vast places of worship that will take hundreds of years to complete- and that they will never see the finish of in their lifetime. But they are proud to be a link in a chain.
Or people who because of you will fight to abolish injustices- or who because of you will fight to win the whole world over to God – knowing that in their own lifetime they will never see the end of – but proud to be a link in the chain.
I have been proud too, my boy, to be a link in your chain.
That night when you were born – you were so fragile, so precious, so magical, so beautiful. I guess any father would feel like that when they first saw their little one.
They could get children to make little plays about your birth and they wouldn’t even have to mention that you were the messiah, that you were God’s son, that you were a little God wrapped in swaddling clothes.
They wouldn’t have to mention the weird stuff- because to parents their baby being born is so fragile, so precious, so magical, so beautiful.
Yet as I gaze up at the mantlepiece. The first piece of woodwork you carved with me in my carpenter’s shop. The scroll of scripture you read out at your bar mitzvah. Three dusty ornate boxes that have sat there since you were a toddler.
Well if the plays mentioned those ornate boxes with their frankincense myrrh and gold – those gifts would not make sense – if you were not more than just a beautiful little baby. If you didn’t have a destiny.
I have been proud my boy to be a link in your chain – even if this life I will never know what you go on to achieve.
You see, Jesus, I didn’t understand fully at first. I thought my role was simply to teach you the trade of carpentry, to protect and provide for you and your mother. But you taught me far more. You taught me patience when I doubted, trust when I was afraid, and faith when I could not see the path ahead.
But most of all there was your intimacy with the one you called Father. God it stung the first time you said that when you were 12 years old “Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” [Luke 1:49]
But over the years – I came to see that it was true. That he was your Father. And though that relationship with you was special and unique, you were inviting all of us to call him “Our Father”
And yet you always treated me too as your dad.
Soon soon I go to be with … your other Father. And through you… I somehow feel I too can call him …my father
Soon soon I go to be with my heavenly Father, knowing how much you will achieve once I am gone.
Your proud Dad
Joseph
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Nb - I know that most scholarship today would be unlilely to assign psalm 90 or 110 to King David's authorship. But that would have been the view in Jospeh's day and fits with Mark 12:35-37. Certainly the idea God made a covenant to David that would not be fulfilled in his lifetime is a key Old Testament theme and (I believe) uncontroversial
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