A Dream Of Joseph

A Dream of Joseph

The last time I saw Joseph was when Jesus stayed in Jerusalem without telling his parents. Mary was relieved when we found him in the temple, but she let him know of their concern. Joseph, as usual, was silent.

Most dads would have been quick with the lash. Jesus had disrupted their plans, causing them to double back to Jerusalem. In addition, he had been disrespectful, telling them he was about "his father's business."

I knew his father's business. Joseph ran a successful carpentry shop. He did what he promised; his estimates were accurate; and his work, which was of excellent quality, was completed on time. In addition, he was known to work at no charge for widows and the poor. I wish I had known him better. But I had not seen him again after that incident in the temple. Until tonight…

… It was past midnight when blessed sleep came my way. My mind finally completed its subconscious replaying of the day's events; my eyes blinked and blurred and finally closed; my breathing became slower and slower. I felt my muscles relax and then…

… I found myself in a carpentry shop. My eyes were tightly closed but I saw Joseph at work, plying his tools, softly whistling a lilting tune. He was at total peace with himself, confident of his abilities and secure in the righteousness of his mind and his craft. He worked quickly, with keen attention to detail, carefully checking the precision of each operation before proceeding.

I was invisible. Joseph didn't see me, but I could observe his every move. I saw a neat little shop, impeccable in its order and efficiency, complete with well-worn but high-quality tools: Hammers, saws, levels and a variety of drills and adzes in neat rows on the walls. A shelf held boxes of nails arranged according to size. I could detect the sweet smell of pine, the pungency of oak, the crispness of cedar. The floor was littered with shavings and sawdust, filling the shop with a warm woodsy aroma.

While basking in this pleasurable scene, I saw a lad of about fifteen jauntily step into the shop. It was Jesus. "Hi dad," he said, giving Joseph a warm, manly hug. His voice cracked as he said, "I just delivered that step stool to the butcher's widow and she said to say thanks and that she would pay for it as soon as she could."

"There's no need for her to pay," Joseph said. "I'm glad she liked it." His voice was surprisingly soft, yet deep and clearly masculine.

"Yes, it's just the right height so her son can take over the family business. His dad was teaching him since he was just a kid."

"And now he can do it," Joseph added, "and I'm sure he will do well, because his father was a good man. Hard working and honest."

"Like you, dad."

"Like all men should be, Jesus, my son."

With a shy look Jesus said, "I have to tell you that on the way to the widow's house I dropped the stool and a leg snapped off."

"I'm sure we can repair it," Joseph said.

"Nah, it's OK," Jesus said with a smile. "I fixed it. And I made another one just in case." Joseph's gentle laugh betrayed his awareness of his son's special abilities. There was an obvious rapport between the two. I laughed too, so moved by this warm father-son exchange that I barely noticed that…

… Suddenly Jesus was gone. Joseph's laughter faded, replaced by a weak, pathetic wheezing, his face contorted in pain. The aura of the little shop vanished as it grew dark and took on the musty smell of a little-used cellar. It was so dark I could no longer see Joseph.

The quaint carpentry shop became a cold, dismal chamber. My ghostly shadow crept across the walls, the sound of my footsteps echoing in the gloomy vault. I saw a faint glimmer of light and crept toward it. There was a single candle. When I saw what it illuminated I screamed, "No!"

It was the body of Joseph, lying on a raised stone slab. My scream reverberated in the hollow shell of the cavern.

I was in a tomb, and not alone. A young man appeared, walking slowly, the hand of a woman who had to be his mother resting on his arm. Though he was now fully grown and wore a neatly trimmed beard, I instantly recognized Jesus. He had to be about twenty or twenty-five. Mary wept softly.

They were followed by neighbors and friends, customers and fellow tradesmen. I recognized many of them, including a young man carrying a small step stool: The butcher's son, accompanied by his mother in widow's garb. Several hundred people were now assembled, although there was no sound, except the shuffling of feet and the occasional muffled sob. The silent respect was overwhelming and I felt honored to be included.

I soon discovered this was no ordinary funeral, as four pillars of blinding light appeared at the corners of the bier. Angels, clad in the brightest, most shimmering garments I had ever seen, solemnly approached the body of Joseph, easily lifting it. Joseph now shone with the same brightness. A halo of light appeared over his head.

The four angels rose silently as they bore the body of Joseph upward. Beautiful music filled the room. The ceiling opened and we were bathed in brilliant light. We stared awestruck as the father of Jesus disappeared into the sky. A deep, welcoming voice declared: "Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into the home I have prepared for you."

I was overjoyed that Joseph had received his just reward for a lifetime of faithfulness. I continued to stare at the sky, deeply moved at the thought of such an honorable man.

I turned to face Jesus and Mary. They were gone. I was alone…

… I stirred in my bed, awakened by a slash of light that blazed directly into my eyes. I blinked myself awake and glanced about my room. Everything seemed in order, but I was entranced by the full moon that seemed poised right above my house. It was as round and shiny as a new shekel and as plump as a taxman's purse.

As I stood there staring at the moon it seemed to be growing slightly smaller. Soft music echoed in the night. I thought again of Joseph and went back to sleep.

As I explained this weird phenomenon to my friends the following morning, I was surprised to hear one of them say, "There wasn't a full moon last night." Another added, "In fact, there was no moon at all!"

(This article is adapted from The Big Tent: The Saga of Christianity After Christ, by Dave Mishur, which will be published next month and available at Amazon, Wal-Mart.com, and by order at any bookstore.)