I've always been a fan of Joseph.  Maybe it is because he reminds me of my own father. 

Later in the Gospel of Matthew we learn that Joseph was a tradesman, a carpenter. Jesus had returned home and had gone to the synagogue and he began to teach. He astonished them with his wisdom. He astonished them because none of us ever quite expect the people we know best to move beyond our expectations. They say of him, "Is not this the carpenter's son?" They are incredulous, but at least some new information surfaces about Joseph.

Come and sit under the stars,

Come away from the bright lights of the stores, the displays,

the parties, even of the Christmas trees.

Come and sit.

Look for the star of Bethlehem.

Come and listen to the silence of the night.

Come away from the sounds of the stores, the blare of the muzak,

the non-stop music of the radio.

Come and listen.

Hear the brush of angels' wings.

Consider that you're not that far from Bethlehem ...

It was a rather messy story in many ways:

She wasn't married, but she was pregnant.

And she tried to convince her beloved and betrothed

that, although he wasn't the father,

neither was any other man.

Yeah, right ...

She faced the possibility of being stoned

for being in such a position.

He certainly anticipated public scorn and ridicule ...

"Tell us more, Joseph, because of course we believe

that the Holy Spirit is the father!"

The travel to Bethlehem was uncomfortable to say the least,

and once they arrived, they had to settle

for substandard accommodations.

She gave birth without the comfort and support

of family and friends.

Text: Matthew 11:2-11

Whenever expectations meet reality, questions are sure to follow.

Years ago my wife told my son that they were going to do something very special to get ready for Christmas. She pumped up his excitement. She told him they were going to have fun. As a consequence, he couldn't wait until the day came  -- to make a gingerbread house. I walked in just as the project was being completed. He was sitting there with his head in his heads, bored to tears and asking his mother if they were having fun yet. 

Our expectations build a road leading us somewhere until we come to that stop along the way called reality. It happens even to the best of us!

He came a most unlikely guest

on night when air was cool and still

and people sought to hide from dark

amidst the shelter of an inn.

To Bethlehem, most came in herds

and they were but just some of those

who sojourned there by foot and ass

to pay their dues and then return.

In those days John the Baptist appeared. ...  They had been waiting for him, in fact, for 400 years they had been waiting for him and suddenly there he stood in the wilderness of Judea and his message was like taking fingernails and running them across a chalkboard. Every Advent, we still find him standing there and we are told to listen to what he is saying, for after all this is the one preparing the way!

Text: Matthew 24:36-44

A church musician first threw down the gauntlet for me concerning Advent.  She had grown up as a Lutheran and came to the Presbyterian Church in her late twenties, able to direct a choir with expertise but also filled with boundaries about what should and shouldn't be sung during the days preceding Christmas.  It made great sense to me theologically. 

Ever since, I have had to deal with the inquiry of complaint, meant more as an allegation against my Christmas spirit,  "Why aren't we singing carols, everyone else is?" There is no question that once you have been to Bethlehem it is hard to get back on the road again and do it all over. But here it is Advent and the texts we are asked to read and to proclaim put us on the winding road upon which we have walked before. How do we get there, again?