A toast to Joseph

*Daniel Medeiros 

The figure that most delights me at Christmas is Joseph. I find it incredible that Joseph accepted the story of Mary. An angel came and said she would have a son of God. She then tells Joseph and Joseph believes, accepts and welcomes. Raises the boy as his own, takes risks for him, loves and educates. The carpenter Joseph, discreet and humble. What man. I admire and feel very small at his memory.

Imagine today, a Joseph, how many are there? The baby Jesus, still little, one day disappears and when they find him is there talking with the rabbis. Scold? Punishment? Nothing. Good old Joseph accepts and welcomes. It is a constitution, with clear foundations and principles of how to create a savior. And so Jesus came to adulthood. And it went to the sacrifice. And it is mainly at this moment that my fantasy diverges from ordinary fantasy.

This Jesus who fought with the temple sellers, confronted the religious authorities, accepted the unjust accusations, the physical suffering and the death on the cross, was so because it was the son that Joseph raised, with firmness of character, determination of ideas, courage of take and sustain them. For who else gave such an example to Jesus? God, distant and ambiguous, unable to go straight to Mary, to send a messenger for such a fundamental decision?

No. José, this was the fucking male who should be remembered and celebrated as the model of the man who composes, aggregates, accepts, and assumes his mother's love - the Mary who begat the boy who was saved by Joseph, quick on the trigger. , who knew he should flee when the crazy king wanted to kill all the firstborn. You could have there, Joseph, tested the fruitful God.

But if it is God, why am I the carpenter who must flee, take risks, sleep in the open, watch my wife give birth in the midst of animals, to save her son who is not mine? But Joseph did not enter into this testosterone-filled discussion with his heavenly Father. You did his part. And without charging credit or claiming privileges. Done and done.

The baby Jesus was born, cute, dark, with black hair and eyes like those of the place, the cry of a healthy child, soon looking for the mother's breast, the mother's love. Dad, God knows where he was. But Joseph was there, within reach. This Jose I toast at Christmas. Without him, there would be no Jesus. Or there would be. But it would not be loving and compassionate. Jesus had someone to learn from. And learned it. Mazal Tov.

* Daniel Medeiros holds a PhD in Historical Education from UFPR and a professor of History.