Joseph Did You Know?

Bethlehem, a long time ago …

He’s tired. The 90-mile journey was hard. The adrenaline of the birth is starting to wear off. He looks up and offers a prayer of thanks for the innkeeper’s wife. He laughs, I bet she didn’t know she’d be delivering a baby today. He shakes his head, wondering what he would have done without her. This isn’t really what he’d planned for the baby’s birth.

 

But then again, was any of this what he expected back when Mary said, “Yes”.

 

He sits, leaning against the barn’s wall. He peeks up, the night is clear, and the vast expanse of stars look down upon him. Those stars just might outnumber the flashes of doubt and fear he’s felt over the last nine months. The moments of having to battle the disbelief of his parents, his friends, his neighbors.

 

“Yes, Eema, there really was an angel. One met with Mary too, you know!”

 

“No, Abba. We’re not sending her away. Oh, and by the way, she’s moving in.”

 

“I don’t care what everyone’s been saying around the well. This. Is. From. The Lord.”

 

He closes his eyes. Puts his face in his hands. He thinks of the times when he was alone in his workshop, sheltered from the endless gossip, whispers, and jeers. Nine months of being shunned and pushed to the margins. In those instances of solitude, he could pray for strength and plead for the anxiety to leave. Another deep breath. Finally, he begins to let the joy sink in. I’m a father! But the joy is suddenly met with doubt. Fear rattles his bones. Uncertainty gurgles in his stomach. How on earth do I do this?

 

How do I raise the Son of God, he thinks? Shaking his head, I have to teach the Torah to its author!

 

He looks up. There’s a rustling coming up the path. He stands quickly, blood pumping, on guard once again. Tense. The hair on his neck perks up. A band of scruffy men, nearly a dozen he thinks, are approaching. Some are old, others much younger. Their status is declared by their stench. Shepherds for sure, he thinks. But something is off, they don’t appear as suspicious or threatening as he would expect. Their faces are glowing, with wide-eyed smiles. They stop mere feet away. The men stare at him for what seems like minutes. He can feel the tension melting because they are all radiating immense joy. 

 

“We heard there was a baby,” one of them says gruffly.

 

“You heard,” Joseph asks? “How?” 

 

Suddenly the stars above begin to shine even brighter. 

 

+++

 

I think God sent those shepherds for Joseph’s sake. 

 

It’s Mary AND Joseph, right? However, Mary gets all the attention. The Blessed Mother. The subject of numerous paintings and sculptures. Undoubtedly the most famous and beloved woman in church history. She’s with Jesus until the end of his life on earth. But Joseph? After losing and finding their twelve-year-old son in the temple, he becomes a footnote. He’s not mentioned again until Matthew 13 when Jesus is called the carpenter’s son. 

 

We don’t know Joseph’s age. The best guess is that he’s in his early 20s. Regardless, he was the man. He steps up big time. He obeys God, he stays the course and takes the hard road. Just think about how fast he had to grow up all while showing the faith of Abraham and the self-control of Jackie Robinson. And as a normal human, I’m sure he was filled with doubt, questions, worries, and fears.

 

We’re told that after the shepherds left that Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. What was Joseph doing? I hope he was treasuring and pondering too. I bet he was also guarding, protecting, and sleeping with one eye open.

 

After Jesus is born, the adventure really begins, and the stress multiplies. He smuggles Mary and the baby to Egypt. It’s full fugitive mode with Herod’s henchmen on his heels. Hopefully the gifts of the Magi paid for a nice VRBO with a view of the Nile. How many times did he look up at the stars, take a deep breath, and remember those shepherds? three years later they go back to Israel, and he’s relegated to postscript status, raising kids, and building Nazareth’s best dinette sets. Then he fades into the background, and as tradition holds, dies before Jesus begins his ministry. 

 

Joseph had a huge role to play, and I think those shepherds were sent not just to find the baby but to also give Joseph a divine blast of encouragement. An angel at the beginning and a band of shepherds at the end. Booster shots of courage. A message to say, “You’ve got this. I’m with you. I love you, but there’s so much more to do.”

 

Are you feeling like Joseph today? Is your faith and trust mixed with fear and worry? Stressed by finances or job loss? Is there a loved one battling sickness? Or is life just really hard right now?

 

Then today, think of Joseph, look up at the stars, listen for the chorus of angels. And remember those shepherds. They didn’t bring money, oils, or spices, but those unlikely good news-proclaimers brought bundles of courage, heaps of reassurance, and loads of strength to a guy when he required it most. Ask God to give you all you need. The same God who sent his son to be with us provided what Joseph needed, and he’ll provide what you need today. Take a deep breath, you’ve got this. Most importantly, your heavenly Father’s got this too.

 

Merry Christmas!

The Woman Who Got Thanksgiving Going

Nor need we power or splendor, wide hall or lordly dome; 

the good, the true, the tender -- these form the wealth of home.

--Sarah Josepha Hale 

When you sit down at the table tomorrow, surrounded by loved ones and plates of your bountiful harvest, with words of gratitude dripping from your gravy-soaked tongue, remember to tip your glass in honor of Sarah Josepha Hale.

 

Who, you might ask? Well, none other than the Godmother of Thanksgiving.

 

Hale died in 1879 at the age of 90, but if she were alive today, she’d be considered an influencer. She’d go by SJH or SaHa. She’d have a website, a podcast, a magazine, a book deal, and a million followers on Instagram. She was Ina Garten meets Oprah meets Brene Brown. 

 

SJH

 

The bulk of her career was spent in Philadelphia as the editor for Godey’s Lady’s Book. The publication was a bit of a big deal back then. It was Good Housekeeping, Bon Appetit, and Vogue rolled into one. Without a rival, it had a massive readership for its day. When Americans, especially women, wanted to learn about taste, morality, cooking, fashion, literature, and architecture, they turned to Godeys. It was family focused and deeply religious. Hale, as editor for 40 years, had a huge impact on the American way of life. 

 

Her role as editor allowed her to champion numerous causes such as the importance of play and physical education for children as well as higher education for women (she helped found Vassar College). She opposed slavery but did not support women’s suffrage. She rallied the nation to build a monument at Bunker Hill and she helped save Mount Vernon from desertion and demolition. Impressed yet? Her list of causes and accomplishments is too long for me to keep going. But here’s one more: this energizer bunny of a lady also found time to push for a national Thanksgiving holiday. 

 

Hale's letter to Lincoln

Thanksgiving wasn’t a unified celebration in Hale’s day. It was big in New England, but not so much in the south. Each state had its own holiday, ranging from October to January. Through her work in Godeys, she campaigned for a national holiday for Thanksgiving and Praise to commemorate the Pilgrims’ feast of 1621. But her campaign took nearly two decades. She hit roadblocks and dead ends. She wrote to presidents Taylor, Fillmore, Pierce, Buchanan, and eventually Lincoln. In Lincoln, she found support. And in 1863 he dedicated the last Thursday in November to be a day of National Thanksgiving and Praise.

 

Hale wrote to Lincoln in September of 1863, just a few months after Gettysburg. I wonder what in Hale’s letter struck such a chord in Lincoln’s heart. Why did he respond favorably when his four predecessors gave her the cold mutton chops? Did she speak into his grief over the thousands of dead soldiers and the massive rift in the country? Or was it his longing for repentance over his perceived national perverseness and disobedience? How about his compassion for the newly widowed and orphaned? Or maybe his desire for the “beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens” to “heal the wounds of the nation”? Perhaps choice E: all of the above, for they all can be found in his Proclamation of Thanksgiving written less than a week after receiving Hale’s letter. 

 

Lincoln's Thanksgiving Proclamation 

Her letter doesn’t mention reasons to be thankful or the results of gratitude, but I think Hale and President Lincoln both understood the power behind day of unity for the nation and the internal peace that flows from a posture of gratitude. I bet it was a thankful heart that carried her through grief and the struggles of raising five children while also bringing home the bacon and the salted meats. I believe it was gratitude that propelled her to be a source of education and inspiration for women up and down the eastern seaboard. 

 

I wonder what Hale and Lincoln would think about today’s headlines. A pair of wars dominate the news. Estimates of 40-50 million people are trapped in slavery worldwide. And the American states seem about as un-united as they were during the years preceding the Civil War. Hale and Lincoln would have every right to think that nothing’s really changed.

 

But then we could point out how far their concept of a national holiday has come. A total of 87 percent of Americans say they celebrate Thanksgiving. An average of nine people will gather around dinner tables from Turkey Creek, AZ to Cranberry Township, PA. Americans will spend $1.2 billion on 46 million turkeys. Approximately 80 million people will travel 50 or more miles this weekend. I’d say their idea has taken off.

 

Our Thanksgiving traditions have massively morphed over the last 161 years. Parades, football, and shopping seem to overshadow its original purpose. But when you peel away all extra trappings that make up Thanksgiving in 2024, it’s still the same as it was in 1863 and 1621. Family and friends coming together, sharing a meal, and giving thanks for their blessings. 

 

It doesn’t get any simpler, or better, than that. 

 

I think SJH would be thrilled. 

 

Happy Thanksgiving!

 

Olympic Thoughts, Spoilers, and Judo!

Au Revoir Paris and hello Los Angeles. 

I’ve always loved the Olympics, and this year was another treat. Back in the day, mom and dad watched and thus a sports-obsessed kid was easily hooked. Mary Lou’s perfect 10. Zola Budd tripping Mary Decker. Carl Lewis and FloJo. Classic memories. And now, some XLIV years later, I’m still captivated. (top secret: I love the winter games just as much as the summer ones).

 

From the pool to the track to the beam and bars, I’ve been completely stuck-the-landing-glued. This year’s crop of American athletes has been captivating. I wish I could list and recognize them all. But I figure since they dedicated zillions of hours perfecting their crafts to get to Paris, I can devote three hours each night to cheering them on. 

 

I preferred watching the Paris in Primetime episodes. Watching during the day would distract me from my own summer Olympic pentathlon: kickboxing, 1600-meter dog-walking, one-man pool lounging, post-cruise Covid couch surfing, and diving into great books.

 

Each night, Beautiful Karla and I waited until about 9:00 p.m. to watch what Mike Tirico and Snoop Dogg had on the menu. We avoided all the commercials and wrapped things up in time for bed. Of course, sometimes being eight hours behind is problematic. So, it takes some gold-medal discipline to avoid getting results in real time. Sometimes I forgot and accidentally got an update when checking the baseball scores. And other times, things were out of my control. True story: the men’s 100m was about to start. It’s the cornerstone track and field event. The crowning of the fastest man alive. Noah Lyles, who hadn’t won any of his heats is leaning into his blocks. I’m on the edge of my seat, I turn and nervously say to BK, “I feel like he’s going to lose.”

 

Without hesitating, she says, “No, he wins.” I nearly triple piked over the back of the sofa. The photo-finish excitement of the race was at least a saving grace. It was the biggest spoiler since going to see The Empire Strikes Back with my dad in 1980. We’re in line for the tickets and the guy in front of us turns to his wife and says, “By the way, Darth is Luke’s father.”

 

George Lucas couldn’t have dreamed up a more exciting Olympic fortnight. A few random thoughts:

 

Dan Hicks and Rowdy Gaines are the best announcers in sports. If they called soccer matches, I might actually watch one. And if the execs at NBC were smart, they’d get Dan and Rowdy doing football on Sundays. 

 

France has a great national anthem. Who knew?

 

Lyles contracted Covid and still earned a bronze in the 200m. I couldn’t walk around the block with Covid.

 

Favorite moments: Gold -- Simone Biles and Jordan Chiles bowing to Brazilian gold medalist Rebecca Andrade on the podium for the women’s floor medals presentation. Silver -- Steven Nedoroscik’s reactions after his pommel horse performances. Bronze -- every time an American won a medal!

 

Jamaican hurdler Hansle Parchment owns my favorite name of the games. Followed closely by Femke Bol, who produced one of the most exciting moments on the track when she came from a million meters behind to grab the gold for the Netherland in the mixed relay. She looked like she was wearing a jetpack. 

 

Two things blow my mind while watching the Olympics. 

 

1.        The times. I can’t wrap my mind around missing a place on the podium by hundredths of a second. I don’t know what’s worse, coming in fourth by a hundredth or missing a gold medal by a hundredth? All that work. All that time. Dedicating yourself for four years, all day, every day and then come up a milli-fraction of a second short. Try this out: open the stopwatch on your phone. Hit start and stop in rapid succession as quickly as possible. What time did you get? My fastest is .13 seconds. That’s an eternity in the Olympics. 

 

2.        The fearlessness from the gymnasts. Many sports are dangerous and ghastly injuries are common. A crushing tackle from a 250-pound linebacker. A 100-mph fastball to the head. Football players have been paralyzed. A baseball player died from getting beaned … 100 years ago. But gymnasts risk breaking their necks during every routine. In practice. In warm-ups. Being able to block that out and do what they do is mind-boggling. The same goes for downhill skiers. I liken it to someone who has a sky-diving bucket list item. For most, it’s a one-and-done occurrence. But gymnasts and downhill skiers are jumping out of that airplane, all day, every day. Without a parachute.

 

There’s a cool website that reveals your optimal Olympic event based on your height and weight. It said I’m a good height for diving, but just a smidge (ok, like 40 pounds) overweight to challenge the Chinese divers. Stretch me out six inches and I’m perfectly built for rowing (Big Tones in the Boat). I was hoping for handball, because that sport looks like it’s a blast. My result: judo. I don’t know a thing about judo, but it’s close to ju-jitsu, which I can do at my kickboxing gym. Let the training begin! The USA has won 14 medals in judo, but none since 2016. I’m ready to bring back the judo glory to the land of the free in 2028. South Korea’s Dae-Nam Song is the oldest athlete to win a judo medal. He was 33 years old. I’ll be 60 in four years, but I’ve always been a bit of a late bloomer.

The 2028 games are going to be in my backyard. If my judo career doesn’t pan out, I’m going to see if I can volunteer. How fun would it be to work the swimming events at Stade de Sofi? I can see myself inching my way to the booth to photobomb Dan Hicks and Rowdy Gaines. When the swimming has concluded, I’ll invite them both over for dinner and to watch Track and Field on the flatscreen. The primetime telecasts will be live. Which is good thing, because then there won’t be any spoilers.