Ecce Homo by CEW Green

Christmas Begins in the Quiet
Lk. 2:1-14

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Thursday, Christmas Eve eve, as Julie and the kids and I drove down to my parents’ house, I found myself thinking about the Holy Family. (I have been doing a lot of that over the last few months and weeks.) Sometime that morning, a question flashed in my mind, and that night, after everyone had gone to bed, I wrote a little note to St Joseph, a funny-odd cry for help, which ended with a not-at-all-small request:

When you labored your way back to your clan, Mary,
your Mary, was already thick with child. But today, alone
in my father’s house, I feel not her burden but yours.
St Luke, nothing if not sure of his work, says that all
the world had moved to be taxed, everybody
by Caesar’s rule returning to their ancestral home—
a plan so patently insane only a man confused with a god
could’ve ever become pig-headed enough to conceive it.
But as you neared the city’s limits
(it was, I know, no little town for you),
I doubt you gave that madness any thought.
What weight, then, pressed you down? 
Nothing is as taxing as family. Still,
anxiety can’t be what silenced you.

There’s more to the prayer, but I want to stay for a moment with that last line and its question. In St. Luke’s Gospel, Joseph does not speak. The same is true in St Matthew’s. Joseph never says a mumblin’ word. Why? What silenced him? And what does the Spirit mean for his silence to mean for us?

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We acknowledge Joseph as a saint, but I’m not sure we fully appreciate what truly sets him apart. Listen to how he’s praised in the tradition (the Litany of St Joseph):   

Saint Joseph,
Renowned offspring of David,
Light of Patriarchs,
Spouse of the Mother of God,
Chaste guardian of the Virgin,
Foster-father of the Son of God,
Diligent protector of Christ,
Head of the Holy Family,
Joseph most just,
Joseph most chaste,
Joseph most prudent,
Joseph most strong,
Joseph most obedient,
Joseph most faithful,
Mirror of patience,
Lover of poverty,
Model of artisans,
Glory of home life,
Guardian of virgins,
Pillar of families,
Solace of the wretched,
Hope of the sick,
Patron of the dying,
Terror of demons,
Protector of Holy Church, pray for us

Of all the figures in the opening chapters of Luke’s Gospel—Zechariah, Elizabeth, John, Gabriel, Mary, Simeon, Anna—Joseph is far-and-away the least defined. He does not appear even once in Mark, and in John is mentioned just twice, only in passing—and mistakenly identified as Jesus’ father! In the Scriptures, Joseph is not so much a flat character as an empty silhouette, constantly overshadowed by other players in the drama. Why, then, do we praise him as “Light of the Fathers”? How can he be “Patron of the dying” when his death isn’t even mentioned in the Scriptures? He lived without speaking and died without being spoken of. How in God’s name did he come to be celebrated as “Solace of the wretched” and “Terror of demons”?

*  *  *

Roughly 700 years ago, somewhere in southwest Germany, a wildly popular and controversial Dominican preacher, Meister Eckhart, began his Christmas sermon with these words: 

Here in time we make holiday because the eternal birth which God the Father bore and bears unceasingly in eternity is now born in time, in human nature. St Augustine says this birth is always happening. But if it does not happen in me, what does it profit me? What matters is that it shall happen in me.

Eckhart makes no mention of Joseph, but that’s no surprise. Unlike his wife and her son, Joseph rarely appears in Christmas sermons. But Joseph is never absent, even when he’s not seen. And his silence is never simply a void. His presence makes it possible for others to be present, to be presented. His silence makes it possible for others to speak and to be heard.

Think seriously for a moment about this marvel. If Joseph had not done what he did, and left undone what he left undone, there would have been no Christmas. Without Joseph’s obedience, Mary would not have been where she needed to be when she needed to be there—and you and I would not be here, now. Without Joseph’s dreams, Jesus would not have lived to live his life. Without Joseph’s (very pregnant) silence, Mary could not have borne the Word, and Jesus would never have spoken—God’s silence would be nothing to us.

That first Christmas, Mary was wholly consumed in awe, rapt in the contemplation of her newborn baby and the eternal Father whose praise he perfected. Joseph was left to do the “dirty work.” He had to “Martha” so she could “Mary.” As Leiva-Merikakis, says, Joseph danced around Mary as David had danced around the Ark. He was perfectly at ease in his role as a minor, backgrounding figure, happy to be a supporting character—because he knew it really is more blessed to give than to receive. No room was found for them in the inn. But none was needed, because Joseph, like his God, was roomy. That is why he shines with such a pure light, a barely visible star still guiding us.

We’re all meant to be Josephs—the terror of demons and the solace of the wretched. And there is not one but many Marys around us, all already great with child. Our job is simply to be their unassuming shelter, their quiet, stable support, to give so they can give—to the world’s delight.

Christmas always begins in the quiet.