Shame

Because Joseph her husband was faithful to the law, and yet did not want to expose her to public disgrace, he had in mind to divorce her quietly.~ Matthew 1:19

                                                       


Advent Blog; Day 11

Its about time I got round to Joseph. Joseph gets even less screen time than Mary. I don't want so much to examine his character today but more a theme that his involvement sees the arrival of. That theme is shame.

Luke's account is free of the shame angle but Matthew introduces it here in Josephs first appearance. We rarely take on the theme of the shame of Christmas. Joseph plans to cover Marys shame and avoid her as much disgrace as possible. This is a deeply caring thing, especially as at this stage he is unsure (and possibly unaware) of the truth of Marys version of events. I am quite moved by Josephs character. If she has betrayed him he owes her nothing and yet he still treats her with dignity.

In a sense, Jesus becoming human was an exercise in disgrace. He is almighty God, without equal and he lays his pride aside and lies naked in the hands of those he has created. We find that pride is the antithesis of the gospel from day one. It is our sense pride that causes us to feel shame and shame can stop us from ever kneeling. Jesus was born into these circumstances, where his parentage was questionable. I have heard many people joke (like they were the first to ever think of it) that Mary had made the whole thing up to cover up her indiscretion.

It occurred to me, as a white person in a predominantly white country, that I had felt my fair share of a sense of marginalisation. That, because of my religion,  growing up, I could actually claim to have had similar discrimination to that experienced by people of ethnicity and, like second generation children of immigrants, felt similarly conflicted . It makes me smile when I hear older Christians bemoaning the de-christianisation of our country. For me it was never that way, this country never felt Christian to us. I have no idea if my father felt the same sense of shame at his junior school as I felt when we had to speak about church or belief.

I was bullied a fair deal at school. I cant claim it was because I was a christian, it was probably because I was weak, skinny, sensitive and prone to tears. My class used to make up chants and rhymes about me and sing them together. Probably fairly harmless stuff that could have been laughed off if I'd had better self esteem. The last thing, trust me, the LAST thing I wanted was something else to draw attention to me, especially something I could be ridiculed for. Even teachers were openly hostile, at times, to our faith so what could I expect from the kids.

The problem was that it was, deep down, something that I was incredibly proud of. The problem was that I knew my own faith told me I HAD to tell other people about Jesus. The problem was that I had picked up, through bits and pieces, that to deny Jesus was just about the most unforgivable thing. So I began life in society as a duplicitous individual. One thing at home and another at school. Ashamed at school because I didn't fit in, ashamed at home, in part, because I knew I wasn't a "good christian".                                                                                                                                              
                         
                                                              

As an adult I see now that our faith has turned shame on its head. The central emblem of our entire belief system is a "failed messiah", handed over to the enemy by his own people, stripped entirely naked and splayed on a roman cross for all to see that "this Messiah" had come to nothing. But true to the laws of the upside down Kingdom, because of the failure of the powers of the age to understand the "deeper magic" Jesus turned the shame on his captors. The only shame that will be left on the day of judgement is the shame of those who did not come to this cross.

 

 For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame~ Heb 12:2

 



Jesus scorned shame. He put shame to shame. It is the christian way to glory in our weakness, for when we're weak (and reliant on Gods power rather than our own) then we are strong. I love the way the letter to the Colossians puts it.

He forgave us all our sins, having cancelled the charge of our legal indebtedness, which stood against us and condemned us; he has taken it away, nailing it to the cross. And having disarmed the powers and authorities, he made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross.

Jesus made a spectacle of THEM by the cross, not the other way around. In The cross was the place where he turned the tables on shame.

Joseph is about to receive some news form God that will reassure him that any sense of shame he may feel will be replaced by honour forever.
                                                           
When I was 6 yrs old. I was told, at Dales bible week, by the teachers of the children's work that if I wanted to I could "invite Jesus into my heart". You can be as cynical as you want about brainwashing and indoctrination but all I can tell you is that I felt something happen to me when I prayed that prayer and I have never been the same since. That is why I wanted to acknowledge him at school and it is why I felt so bad that I couldn't stand up for him more. I am not ashamed of the one who hung there for me. I am at times ashamed of who I am, of letting him down but never of him. He has been the purest and sweetest thing in my life. I crucify my shame on a regular basis. He is not ashamed to call me his son and I am not ashamed to call him my Father. Christmas happened so our shame would be covered. so we could walk free and forgiven with our creator once more, no longer ashamed of our nakedness before him, utterly known and utterly loved.



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We will remember them

A couple of years ago my grandfather passed away. He was the most peaceable, sweetest man I have ever known. I remember, at some young age, finally making a connection between the old WW2 films I grew up watching and the old man sitting in his armchair, pipe in hand.
"Grandad were you in the war?", I asked with enthusiasm. "Oh yes," he said, tugged gently on his pipe and smiled sadly. There were few seconds of silence as he seemed to go to another place, a place filled with loss and adventure. I went to another place too, a place of square jawed movie heroes and comic idols dispatching evil Nazis with lines like "take that, fritz!". The sense of righteous justice and and judgement. And vengeance.

Our conversation resumed around what he did in the war. Grandad was happy to chat about flying (he was a navigator) and we talked for a moment or two and then I realised that this was real. That he was really there, in the land of comics and films. Rather too excitedly I blurted out,

"Oh grandad did you ever kill anybody?!"

My grandfathers sweet face clouded over instantly. The sunshine gone, the look was thunder. He said nothing. If my young eyes had been attuned I am sure now that I would have noticed the eyes that I never saw crying, not even when his wife passed away, fill a little. The conversation was over.

I didnt ask him about the war again until he was lying in the bed that he would die in, a few weeks after our last conversation on this subject. That was the impact of his reaction to my childish bloodlust. 30 yrs of silence. I daren't ever produce that reaction in him again.

My grandfather did not directly kill anyone, to my knowledge. The "walrus" sea plane he flew in was primarily there in an anti submarine capacity. I suspect that his sightings of periscopes led directly to the deaths of every man in some of those U boats. There were German children and grandchildren who would never be having conversations with their fathers and Grandfathers directly because of what he did. My grandad, a life long Methodist, and a deeply caring man, a man who in his 70's was out delivering meals on wheels to the "elderly", could never, ever make light of that. His own brother was killed in an incident which would these days be termed "blue on blue" as the American forces bombed, what turned out to be, a Japanese POW ship.

War it seems is sometimes necessary but it is an odious task that peaceable men like my grandad would never take relish in.

I am reminded today that my freedom comes with a price. That men, ordinary men like my grandad fought, bled and died for us. That every day we enjoy in freedom is a tribute to them, whether we acknowledge it or not. This is their reward, like a parent who has done their job by doing themselves out of a job. My grandad was ever grateful to stay in the background, with out any credit. A humble, decent man who did his duty without flinching, without asking for accolade. I often forget his sizable contribution to my life, both in a national and personal sense. I am happy and carefree and he would see that as a reward in itself.

I am loathe to turn this into anything spiritual, I have no agenda other than honouring the fallen today but I cant help but draw the Christ comparisons of a man of peace, who laid down his life for me so I may live in the benefit of his sacrifice with comparatively little acknowledgement. I honor him too . And my grandad, a brother in my faith, I feel would believe it is fitting to do so. To all those who sacrificed innocence and freedom and, for some their very lives, today "we will remember them".