Enter Zechariah. Priest in the order of Abijah, serving two terms of service each year in The Temple. Faithful and dutiful husband to a barren wife, Elizabeth; his own longing and desire for a child immense and immeasurable. Advanced in years. Along with his wife, righteous, walking blamelessly and keeping the commandments and statutes of the LORD. The life of a priest was one he knew and trusted. Trekking from the home he shared with his wife in the hill country of Judea to Jerusalem; each step of the half-day journey bringing him closer to not only The Temple, but also to the massive palace of King Herod just beyond it, a gleaming and gluttonous focal point and reminder of the evil reign of Herod and the Romans.

Standing along with the other priests, as the lots were cast to the ground before them, the small stones rolling and then coming to a stop, his breath catching in his throat as he read the symbols and felt the eyes of the other priests settle on him. A mixture of elation and fear gripping his heart as a dull understanding dawned. This was the day he’d been waiting for since he began serving in The Temple. This day, he would enter the Holy Place, lit only by the candles on the Golden Lampstand and the red embers softly crackling on the Altar of Incense, and separated from the Holy of Holies by the veil that hung formidably. He’d sprinkle incense on the burning coals on the Golden Altar and while the smoke ascended, he would bow and worship, making intercession for the people. Entering slowly and reverently spreading the incense on the coals of the altar, a gray cloud of smoke began to form and rise upward; the smoke increased as the incense began to be consumed, but before he could prostrate himself before the altar, a Heavenly Visitor with news of the child whom his aged wife would conceive by him: his son, a fulfillment of the prophesies of old, forerunner of the Messiah. Confusion and uncertainty surpassing his usual reserved nature, he blurted out in doubt, his tongue was then tied in rebuke. His service in The Temple later completed, he returned home to share the exciting news, via parchment and ink, with his wife who soon conceived by him.

Zechariah: father of John, his excitement conveyed in dancing eyes and shaky hand which penned “His name is John”; tongue loosed to bless the Lord God of Israel.

Enter Joseph. Betrothed to the young Virgin Mary; patiently awaiting his bride and marriage night. A just man, faithful to the LORD. Skilled carpenter, likely often making the hour long trek from his home in Nazareth to the nearby city of Sepphoris, to work or sell his work. The life of a carpenter was one he knew and trusted. Working hard to support himself and prepare a home for his future wife who had gone away rather suddenly, three months prior, to visit her cousin Elizabeth in the Hill Country of Judea. In her absence he has realized just how much he loves and misses her. Word has reached him of her imminent return. He anxiously anticipates a visit with her.

Bewildered and broken, he watches as a slender Mary, with an unmistakable swelling below her tattered caftan, leaves his small workshop. His heart races and his thoughts swirl as he wonders how his usually discerning spirit could have been so wrong when he’d chosen Mary to be his future wife. Despite his own pain, his heart aches for Mary, knowing what he ramifications of her situation could mean for her and the child she carries. Desiring no revenge, retaliation, or redress, he only resolved to quietly end the time honored betrothal, but as he tossed in his sleep, a Heavenly Visitor with news of the son the Virgin Mary carried: child of the Holy Spirit, fulfillment of the prophesies of old, the long awaited Messiah. Awaking, he submitted, taking his wife.

Joseph: obedient to the LORD’s command, bearing the burden, keeping the charge; standing in physical stead as adopted earthly father of Jesus, Emmanuel, God with us.

I wonder if Joseph, as he rapidly prepared for his wife to give birth under the most undesirable of circumstances, could truly begin to understand the magnitude of his responsibility in being head of the household of the Most High Himself. I wonder, as he patted sweat from the forehead of and helped to deliver the Christ-child from the body of his betrothed wife, whom he’d never known sexually, if the enormity of the moment sent tears splashing from his eyes and onto the dirt floor of an animal filled cave somewhere in Bethlehem. I wonder if the weight of the glory of the newborn, yet Ancient of Days, wrapped in swaddling clothes, was heavy in his strong arms. I wonder if, when his broad shoulders sagged under the load of his earthly obligations to provide for and protect his family, if he thought of Zechariah, the only other man in Israel who could possibly relate, albeit on a much lesser scale, to the responsibility of rearing a special son; and if he realized that his life and Zechariah’s had each become living examples of that which the Angel Gabriel had spoken to his espoused wife, “Nothing shall be impossible with God.”

Zechariah and Joseph: Men of Christmas

Written by Ashley Fountain on 12/16/20