95 Prostheses - Frank G. Honeycutt

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eyes tell you there is even more to the story than she’s revealing. She is silent. So you ask. Indeed you fly into a rage. You’ll get to the bottom of this deception. And so she lies to you now. Tries to cover up her infidelity with a wild story that The National Enquirer wouldn’t even believe. She’s either lying or crazy, maybe both. You thought you knew her better than that. You thought she was one who could take responsibility for her mistakes. She is sobbing uncontrollably. But you cannot hold her. Not now. There is nothing else to do. It’s over now. Thank God you learned this about her before it was too late.

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      The Bible today tells us that Joseph was “a righteous man.” The word righteousness has fallen on hard times. We normally use it in a contemptuous way, as in the phrase “self-righteous.” Lutherans are extremely wary about the word and very fond of accusing folk of “works righteousness” when any discussion about grace and good works occurs. As if righteousness is a bad thing.

      “Joseph was a righteous man,” says the Bible. And that meant he followed the law revealed in Holy Scripture. He knew all of the rules and obeyed them. He was a good man, a righteous man. He wanted to do the “right thing.” And doing the right thing in the first century meant calling off the wedding. An engagement, a betrothal, under Jewish law was a serious, legally binding period that was much like a marriage without the consummation of sex.

      So under Jewish law these two lovebirds were essentially considered “hitched.” It took a lot to break a betrothal. Adultery, for one, would do it. So when Joseph hears the news, he wants to do the right thing. Joseph loved God’s law. He loved the Torah and he loved Mary. But he didn’t go in for “fooling around.” So Joseph plans to “dismiss” Mary “quietly.” Before you jump on Joseph, know that it was common back then to dismiss such a woman rather loudly. According to the book of Deuteronomy, Mary could have been stoned to death (22:23–44) for what people would surely recognize as a fling with another man. Even before the dream, though, Joseph wants to protect her. He plans to send her away quietly. He was a righteous man. He was probably named for that other famous Joseph in Genesis; that other dreamer (Gen 37:5–11).

      And so Joseph wakes up and chooses the hard way. He was a righteous man and no one would’ve blamed him for calling the whole thing off. But he quietly chooses the hard way. And you know it was hard. How does one explain such a thing to your family and friends? You don’t. Joseph swallowed his pride and reputation and put up with the rumors and whispers without a word in order to protect Mary. In fact, Joseph never once speaks in this story or anywhere in the Bible. He does more than he says. Which is not a bad way to look at righteousness.

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      Jesus says a little later in this same Gospel, in the Sermon on the Mount: “Do not think that I have come to abolish the law . . . [but] unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matt 5:17, 20). Joseph’s behavior in this old Christmas story exceeded the law. Exceeded what was expected and required of him. He chose the hard thing—a difficult, crucifying choice.

      Joseph’s quiet choice seems to foreshadow another quiet choice of another man who stood by the whole human race and wouldn’t turn his back. Jesus apparently learned a lot from his earthly father. For Jesus also chose the quiet, hard path. You normally hear him attached to his mom: Jesus, son of Mary. But I like the sound of this phrase also: Jesus, son of Joseph. He grew up to be his daddy’s boy.

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      Christian growth (let’s call it righteousness) is imparted to us by a loving God as a divine gift. But righteousness has a better chance to work its way in us precisely when we choose this hard path when two choices are available. The one “less traveled by,” as Frost put it. Again from the Sermon on the Mount in this same Gospel: “Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the road is easy that leads to destruction, and there are many who take it. [But] the gate is narrow and the road is hard that leads to life, and there are few who find it” (Matt 7:13–14).

      Joseph the carpenter chose the hard path when an easier one was surely available. So did his son. Joseph exhibits the behavior his baby will grow up to preach about. Joseph’s quiet, difficult choice is central in Matthew’s version of the Christmas story. Not the Virgin Mary, curiously. Luke places her on center stage. But not here. It’s the dad.

      “For the gate is narrow and the road is hard that leads to life, and there are few who find it.” Without words, Joseph shows us the sacrifice of the hard path at Christmas. His Son will soon follow. Ditto for the Son’s children who call themselves disciples, marked in baptism with the cross of Christ forever.

      For further reflection:

      1. Discuss this line from the essay: “Joseph never once speaks in this story or anywhere in the Bible. He does more than he says.”

      2. Read slowly Matthew 7:13–14. In your own words, try to restate the gist of Jesus’ wisdom in this passage.

      9. God Con Carne

      “. . . you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger” (Luke 2:12).

      A wonderful sixteenth-century painting by Pieter Bruegel (The Adoration of the Kings, 1564) depicts the magi who finally arrive at the manger. The wise men are a little late and actually don’t appear on Jesus’ birthday with the shepherds and the rest of the Christmas cast (see Matt 2:1–12). In this old painting, the magus who seems the oldest kneels before the babe. Jesus displays his full humanity for the old man who leans in closely to get a better look, his gaze precisely at the level of the baby’s groin. “Get a load of this, Mister Man of Science,” the baby Jesus seems to say.

      At Christmas, the church gathers to celebrate the utter humanity of God who broke into our world with skin and full plumbing. Theologians call this the incarnation and the literal renderings of this word are a little startling. For example, chili con carne, “spicy stew with meat,” comes from the same root as incarnation, as do carnivore, carnal, and carnage.

      I remember Ferdinand the Duck in the movie Babe, which is generally about a precocious pig who thinks he’s a sheepdog. Ferdinand learns the ugly truth about Christmas dinner—who exactly serves as the main dish—and shouts his dark discovery from the rooftop to the rest of the barnyard. “Christmas means carnage! Christmas means carnage!” For those who recall the eventual dark fate of the baby Jesus, Ferdinand ironically isn’t far from the truth.

      Carnivore, carnal, carnage. All these words have something to do with “flesh.” We claim at Christmas that God once came into the world in a small, out-of-the-way town, enfleshed in the baby Jesus. Someone has pointed out rather graphically (if not crassly) that it might be better to explain the incarnation by using the phrase God con carne. That is, “God with flesh on.” And so baby Jesus offers an eyeful in Bruegel’s painting to make sure these learned men of stars and sky know precisely what’s at stake.

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      Whether you celebrate Christmas as a time to gather with family or because you love to sing the old carols; whether you’re a true believer or you’re really not sure what you believe; whether Jesus completely defines your life or simply gives us all an excuse to throw a little light on winter’s darkness—regardless of your faith or perhaps lack of it, the incarnation is the very centerpiece on the Christian family table of fantastic theological claims. The marvelous array of Christian writing, art, and hymnody all rely on the verified plumbing of this little baby.

      From Rembrandt to Raphael, from Handel to Haydn, from Dietrich Bonhoeffer to Dorothy Day, God con carne was not just an idea. “This will be a sign for you: you will find a scroll of philosophical precepts written in golden calligraphy, wrapped smartly in bands of cloth and lying in a library.” No. For so many saints known and unknown to us, Jesus reveals God in a pinch-able way and gives the immortal and invisible creator both a body and a name.

      Unlike any other religion in this regard, Christians do not strive to know God as much as God strives to know and communicate with us. And this is difficult for God. Writer Philip Yancey:

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