So, in high school, I had this friend named Kevin. Kevin was what we would call that big, silent type. Linebacker, a fairly good student, worked part-time at the local garage. He lived down the street from me in a nice split-level house with nice parents, a nice dog, and a nice cat. When he got his driver's license his dad bought him a used Alfa Romeo Spider that didn't run, but Dad was a mechanic and showed Kevin all he needed to know to get that car up and running.
Working on cars became Kevin's thing. He was social and did all the expected high school things, but all of his spare time was spent working on cars. You see, like I said, Kevin was the big, silent type. I mean, he was not a big talker. I once read that the English language has about a million total words, with 170,000-200,000 words in current use. And that a normal person uses 20,000-30,000 different words. That may be true for most people, and I'm sure that Kevin knew more words than he used, but I'd feel comfortable saying that of all the words ever uttered by him, “yup” and “nope” were easily a third.
He just didn't say much. He never saw the need. But he was a good listener. And that made him a good mechanic. He listened to his dad; he listened to other mechanics, listened to his teachers at Chattanooga State, and, eventually, he listened to his customers. Kevin would listen to what people said was wrong with their cars, ask a few straight-forward questions, and when asked if he could do anything, respond with his Yup or Nope.
And Kevin's Yup or Nope were his bond. If the rest of us were headed out to the mall to get into some trouble and Kevin said “Nope,” there was not a thing in heaven or on Earth that would move him. But if you asked Kevin to do something and he said “Yup,” well, you knew it would be done.
He married his high-school sweetheart and raised twin boys, one of whom now runs his dad's garage. The other is a surgeon. And Kevin loved and encouraged them both to do what they loved most. He became an elder in his local Presbyterian church and was devoted to that church until he died last year.
And friends, you now know two words more that Kevin said than we know that Joseph said in all the gospels. You actually know more detail about Kevin than you do about Joseph. In fact there are probably now, as of the writing of this sermon, more words written ABOUT Kevin that there are about Joseph in the Gospels.
In the Gospels, the main thing we know about Joseph is that he seemed fairly sanguine when visited by angels. They never seem to have the need to shout, “Fear not!” They show up, he listens to them, then does what they say. We know he was a carpenter, was married once before he met Mary, was law-abiding (he did his duty regarding filling out census forms and paying taxes and presenting Jesus to the temple), and he got his family out of town when the getting was good and Herod was closing in on them. And that's about it.
Unlike other biblical saints, Joseph doesn't even get any good legends built up around him. Most of the extra-biblical writings of antiquity deal with his age (he was either 40 or 90 when he took Mary into his home), his death (soon after Jesus' bar mitzvah or he was around the whole time but busy working), or how many children he had (some say four sons and two daughters, others say only two sons, and then there's the whole Catholic debate of having any children with Mary).
He is the patron saint of workers, which makes sense. And if you take a little statue of St. Joseph and bury him upside down in your front yard, you will quickly sell your house, which makes no sense whatsoever.
Poor Joseph. Poor silent Joseph. The man divinely appointed by God to look after God's son, and he barely ranks a walk-on role in the story.
Mary ponders things in her heart. Mary gets hailed as the mother of God and full of grace. Mary prompts Jesus to do his first miracle in the Gospel of John and is the last person on Jesus' mind at this death. Mary is with the apostles when the church is born and has held a special place in that church's heart ever since.
Joseph leaves two of the Gospels near the beginning, even before John the Baptist; has his name mentioned in another one; and never even makes an appearance in the fourth one.
But you know what? That's ok.
Once, in seminary, Brooks and our friend Quinn and I were walking back to the school from the dining hall. It was a beautiful fall day. Students at Sewanee wear academic gowns like Hogwarts, and there were robed kids everywhere, riding bikes with the robes flapping in the wind. The leaves were turning, wood stoves were burning, All Saints Chapel was catching the rays of the sun. And I made the comment, “Y'all, why doesn't everyone want to come to seminary?” And Quinn stopped and looked at me and said, “And that's why you should be a priest, because you think everyone should want to be.”
Now granted, I was caught up in the beauty of the moment when I spoke, but it took me a few years to get the point of what Quinn said. Not everyone wants to be a priest. Not everyone wants to be Pope or president or the protagonist in a novel or the focus of a Gospel. Most people, men and women alike, want to live good lives: fall in love, get married if that's in the cards, raise kids if that's in the cards, and provide for those they love, whoever they love. Find something they like to do and do it. And just be remembered well enough that by the end of their lives, people who knew them will say something nice at their funeral.
Like Joseph.
Joseph is every person. He did his job and he loved and protected his family. And he responded to God's call in life to be good, love God and love his neighbor. Joseph was not called on to be Moses or Elijah and lead his people. He wasn't called on to be Joshua or David or Judas Maccabeus and lead a wars against the powers that be.
He was called on to love. And you don't need to do heroic deeds worth recording to love. You don't need to say things worth putting in Bartlett's Quotations to love. You just need to do it. I think I was wrong in Sewanee. Priests are a dime a dozen and popes and potentates come and go. But Josephs? We need so many more of those in our lives, in our world, and in our churches. People like Joseph, or like Kevin, who do what they do out of love of God and love of their neighbor. And do it with no expectations other than the satisfaction of a job well done and a life well lived.
And, y'all, that's not bad. Not bad at all.
Amen.