The Carpenter's Son

A Meditation

Nativity Scene. The picture is from the author’s collection

“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government and of peace there will be no end, on the throne of David and over his kingdom, to establish it and to uphold it with justice and with righteousnessfrom this time forth and forevermore. The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this”.

Familiar words from Isaiah the prophet which are customarily read and heard in churches and other settings throughout the Western world at this time of year. They are words I heard read at a carol service I attended last week. They are words which describe and foretell the birth of Christ. Yet they are words that describe so much more than just the birth of a child, the birth of THE child, so familiar to us in the Nativity narrative.

It was a privilege, in the corresponding Christmas carol service a few years ago, to be asked to read a poem. The poem was entitled “Joseph’s Lullaby” and describes the thoughts and reflections that Joseph may have encountered as he gazed at his newborn son sleeping in a manger. As a carpenter, (although the Greek word “tekton”, perhaps suggests a broader trade than just carpentry. We shall overlook that here), perhaps Joseph would have considered the manger to be an inadequate place of sleep for his son and therefore planned to build a sturdier bed for Jesus on their return to Nazareth. As a carpenter, perhaps Joseph would have considered raising his son in the carpentry trade, as would be the custom. Jesus’ early life would be spent learning to handle various types of woodworking tools. He would himself likely become a master builder too, eventually promising, enigmatically, that “I will build my church, and the gates of Hades shall not prevail against it.” Jesus was, in the final words of the poem, “a man whose life centres on hammer and nails and wood”. The allusion to the eventual crucifixion and the message of the Christian gospel is patently clear.

I recall that I read the poem nicely, introduced the next item, and then sat down. The service continued seamlessly, yet I just wished for time to stop, to provide space, to explore the profundity and implications of what I had just read. You see, it is so simplistic to have a baby Jesus in a manger just where our adult world can control him. It is comfortable to dwell on the magical story of the incarnation, to perhaps marvel at the humble and lowly circumstances of the birth of Jesus. There he lay, vulnerable, in need of adult protection, cute, cuddly, harmless, requiring nothing of us as individuals, no response, and no demands. Yet as I prepare to put my own small children to bed this Christmas Eve, I can not fail to notice how very quickly they grow up, how they change, and how they mature. Would this not also be the case with Jesus?

It is tempting also, to view the Nativity narrative as all happening in one eventful night: the lack of room at the inn, the birth, the shepherds, the Magi and so on. We add sentimental myths too. Silent night? All is calm? Really? There was a Roman census in operation and Bethlehem was overrun with migrating folk. Hardly conducive to silent calm. Beyond that, if we read the words of Matthew’s gospel account carefully we discover that it was likely quite sometime later that the Magi visited (there is no suggestion that there were three magi either, just three gifts). The point is, that the sweet innocent child in a manger, quickly became a toddler, then a child and eventually a man. A man with much to say, a man with whom we must ultimately reckon. Who is this man?

Who Is This Man?

Jesus was born into virtual anonymity, in an obscure village in a small, outback region of the Roman Empire. He grew up as a tradesman, working with wood until he reached somewhere around the age of thirty. Then suddenly, for three brief years, he proclaimed a quite extraordinary message. By contrast, Plato’s philosophical career spanned approximately forty years, Aristotle’s philosophical career spanned a similar length as did the philosophical career of Socrates, yet in the entirety of a cumulative one hundred and twenty years, the combined philosophical output of these men does not even come close to the profundity of the message of the carpenter’s son from Nazareth. Yet he wrote no book, held no political office, had no coins minted bearing his likeness, and contrary to the claims of revolutionary Marxist liberation theologians, he instigated no socio-political revolution either. He did not marry, had no children or family of his own and he owned no property. He had no elite education and had few devoted followers.

He gathered a small group of friends and taught them from their own scriptures. He was initially popular and then not so much, many abandoned him as did, ultimately, his very close friends. One denied him, another betrayed him, even to death. He was arrested and handed to those amongst his own people who hated him, to those who cruelly subjected him to a trial of manifest injustice. He was handed to conquering outsiders, to be mocked, whipped, beaten and ultimately nailed to a cross between two thieves, where both he and they were left to suffer a cruel painful death. In death, he was exposed to the indignity of being buried in the tomb of a friend. Yet according to the Christian scriptures, he rose again and ascended to His Father from whom he will once again return. The gentle baby in a manger in time grew to become the man who described John the Apostle as the ‘beloved disciple’. This very John was later to be shaken to his very core when, in Revelation chapter one, he encountered the risen Christ who appeared as He truly is – the alpha and omega, the beginning and end of all things, a consuming fire who is no longer just an innocent baby in a manger.

All the kings that have ever reigned, all the empires that have ever strutted, all the politicians that have ever plotted, fade into insignificance in the light of the carpenter’s son. In these troubled times, of worrying world events and preening strutting self-appointed elites, we do well to recognise the futility and limits of man’s varied machinations. Perhaps we do well also to celebrate the Nativity and the remarkable birth of an innocent baby, and to reflect that the baby remains a baby for but a brief and transitory period. The boy became a man. A man with a message of peace to all men (and women) of goodwill. As the poem I read declared, here is “a man whose life centres on hammer and nails and wood”. Celebrate Christmas folks, and enjoy time with friends and family, but ultimately it is incumbent upon each of us to reflect upon not just the birth of the infant but also the totality of who he became and who, ultimately, he is today.

Season’s greetings and peace to one and all.