What I Learned About Fatherhood from the Church of St. Joseph

O God, who from the family of your servant David raised up Joseph to be the guardian of your incarnate Son and the spouse of his virgin mother: Give us grace to imitate his uprightness of life and his obedience to your commands; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. (Collect for the Feast of St. Joseph)

This past January I was fortunate to spend two weeks in Jerusalem, a city considered holy by most people on this planet. A place that has been fought over and sought after for 3,000 years. A place where the God of the universe decided to become like us.

The incarnation, God becoming human, became much more real to me after this trip. Perhaps nowhere was that more evident to me than in Nazareth. Here, at the Church of the Annunciation, above the doorway of the church recognizing the space where Mary told God to let it be done to her, are words (in Latin) that I will never be able to read in the same way: “The Word became flesh and lived among us” (John 1:14).

It was easy for me to read those words before and think of God becoming “a person.” Sure, Jesus lived and died and all of that. But I was beginning to understand more deeply what it meant for God to become a human being. The next spot we visited greatly helped.

Following some interpretation at the Church of the Annunciation we were told, if you have time, to run up the hill a ways to the Church of St. Joseph. I immediately headed that way. I walked in, and thought the understated nature of this church was a pleasant departure from the larger Marian church a few yards away. Plus, I liked the idea that it was dedicated to Jesus’ earthly father, someone we don’t hear much about.

As I sat there staring at the painting in the apse of the church (included above), I noticed a small detail. Behind Mary, Joseph, and Jesus sits an altar, or so it seems. This would be very appropriate, given that Jesus later would become our sacrifice. But it wasn’t actually an altar. There, just to the side of Joseph’s left arm, is an out-of-place piece of wood sticking down. I realized it was a vice. Instead of an altar, this was a workbench.

The next portion of John 1:14, the part not inscribed above the Church of the Annunciation, reads “…and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son…” This reference to “father’s only son” is properly understood as Jesus being God’s only-begotten, but amidst the discussion of Christ’s heavenly father we too easily forget that Jesus had an earthly dad.

My father is a woodworker, and has a bench in his workshop that looks pretty similar to that table standing behind the Holy Family in this painting. And although tradition likely is wrong and Joseph was a stonemason and not a carpenter, this image of the workbench gave me a greater understanding of the humanity of Jesus than any Bible reading or reflection I have ever done.

Jesus became a person, and had to learn how to be a person. Who would have taught him how to do that? His dad.

When Jesus was born and his life threatened by Herod, Joseph led his family to Egypt. In that instance, Joseph was willing to die to protect God the Son. As Jesus became a boy, Joseph taught God the Son how to run, and play, and work with his hands. And he taught God the Son the Scriptures and how to pray. Jesus needed Joseph. God needed Joseph. Because at one point he was a little baby that couldn’t do anything for himself. And then he became a young man that probably wanted to do too much and needed someone to keep him out of trouble.

Seeing this painting of Jesus there with his father, standing in front of a workbench, was perhaps the first time that I fully realized that at one point Jesus was just like me. I can picture him sitting at home with Mary waiting for Joseph to get home so they can play a game, or work on a project together on that workbench. Or perhaps play catch in the front yard, just like me and my Dad.

That painting also helped me realize the eternal importance of raising my boys. Joseph’s role as a father is memorialized in this church, because the job had significant and lasting consequences. Teaching my boys about God’s love and Jesus’ sacrifice are important and necessary, but teaching them to be kids, and then young adults, and finally grown men, is similarly important.

The fact that God took on flesh and grew and lived as one of us gives our everyday actions and interactions a spiritual significance. I need to think about that when my boys are driving me crazy. I need to think about Jesus as an earthly son, taught and disciplined and loved by an earthly father, when I am stressed out with my son whose mind works in a different way than most. I need to remember that if God the Son needed an earthly father, how much more do my boys need me? These are the thoughts that were running through my mind as I prayed for my children later in the week during the Way of the Cross, and I was surprised when I lost my composure and broke down in tears.

As soon as our Way of the Cross was done, I headed straight to the empty tomb of Jesus for one last visit. Kneeling before that cold slab, I was alone. I was sharing the same space where millions of pilgrims had knelt and prayed over the centuries. I was sharing the same space where Jesus defeated death and judgment and failure once and for all.

And in this place I could only pray that God would give me the strength to be the father that my boys need.