The day I was born, my dad went fishing. Of course, when he left that morning, he didn’t know it was the day I was going to be born. But he and his friend, Ed McGee, had only been there about 45 minutes when someone came to tell them that my mom was on her way to the hospital. So they packed up their gear and went to Presbyterian Hospital in Charlotte, North Carolina to wait for my arrival. My dad said he didn’t even get to see my mom; he was ushered into the waiting room, where he says that dads belong, to wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. I wasn’t born till nearly midnight. He’s always said he could have enjoyed his day of fishing and still been there in plenty of time for the big event!
Dads today have a much more hands-on involvement in the arrival of their babies. Most of them are in the delivery room, hand-holding, coaching, encouraging, and watching their children come into the world. I think for most of them, they are glad to be a part of the birth of their children, and not just stuck out in some waiting room far from the action.
When Jesus was born, that was the kind of experience Joseph had. This Advent season, we have looked at the Christmas story through the eyes of Joseph, and I want to continue in that theme this morning as we consider together when Jesus was born.
Mary and Joseph had to travel from Nazareth to Bethlehem, so that Joseph could register in the new census ordered by the Roman government. The reason for the census was to determine the next taxation, so it was not a journey that anyone was happy about, least of all this couple expecting a baby any day. And when they arrived in Bethlehem, they couldn’t find anyplace to stay. They went from one inn to another, only to be told that there was no room. Finally, one kindly innkeeper offered them space in his stable out back, and so that is where they finally sat down to rest.
But the night was not going to remain restful for long. Because that was the night that Jesus was born. Joseph would have had lots to do when he realized that Mary was in labor. He must have done his best to create a soft bed for her in the hay, and he would have gathered water and soft cloths to wrap the baby in. Doing his best to fill the role of the midwife, Joseph brought his son into the world, and the only place he could find to lay him was in a manger, a feeding trough for the animals. It was a humble beginning, and probably not the one Joseph had hoped to provide for this child. But he did the best he could with the resources he had.
I can only imagine the feelings that Joseph must have had. He would have been afraid for Mary; many women in those days died in childbirth, and Joseph was having to deliver the baby himself, with no assistance from a professional midwife. And he would have been afraid for the baby, because many infants also died in childbirth. But when it was all over, he must have held that little baby in his arms and given thanks to God that everyone was safe and healthy. He must have counted the baby’s fingers and toes, and checked him over, every inch, to make sure that all was well. He would have wrapped Jesus snugly in the swaddling clothes, and held him tight while Mary rested after her ordeal. And I can just imagine Joseph singing Jesus a lullaby.
I remember being held in my dad’s arms. I sat in my Daddy’s lap until I was a teenager. It was the safest place I knew when I was little. I knew that my dad would protect me and keep me from harm and take care of me whenever something bad did happen. I don’t remember any lullabies, but he did sing, “When the Moon Comes Over the Mountain,” or something like that. Just the sound of his voice speaking to me made me feel loved and cared for. And I imagine that baby Jesus must have felt the same way in his earthly father’s arms.
I’d like to close with this song recorded by the group Mercy Me. It is a song of Joseph on that first Christmas night. (Play Video: Go to Sleep, My Child)
