Joseph: Harvey Gillman’s original father Christmas
‘I will always be the old man at the back, a small player in the grandiose drama.’
‘I sit here in amazement of what they will say of me. None of them knew me, except that I was his father. What they mean by father I do not understand. They will write that Mary was overshadowed by the Holy Spirit, that she bore a child, that an angel told me to marry her in spite of that. And I, in the goodness of my heart, being a “principled man”, will obey. Then, having taken away my paternity, they will call me saint. They will make me “rotector of the church”/ What is a church?
Paul who made him known throughout the world will not mention me at all. Mark knew most about us, but he ignores Jesus’ childhood. Matthew will make me the son of a Jacob, who like the Jacob of old was a dreamer and went down to Egypt. Luke will give me a different father, born of a different line from old king David. We knew in the family we had royal blood, but we didn’t talk much about it. The prophets had said a royal redeemer would be born in Bethlehem. I am no expert on the prophets but that is where he was born. In fact, we lived in Nazareth, an obscure town in Galilee, and were simple artisans knowing more of wood, metal and stone than of the world and rulers. We did have to escape to Egypt, obeying another dream. Herod was afraid of redeemers. This was the only time I left my country. I didn’t like it very much. Throughout my life, I always tried to protect my son whatever the cost.
They will call us “holy family” and say our son was a god (as a Jew I shudder even to think of such a thing). In their pictures, I will always be the old man at the back, a small player in the grandiose drama. I had other children. Some called them cousins, others maintained they were step-brothers and sisters. I do not recognise my family as they described it. I do not recognise my son in their writings.
We had gone to Jerusalem for Passover. On the way home we discovered we had mislaid him. We found him in the temple, discussing sacred things with the teachers of the Law. We were knocked out by this. Where did he get all that learning? There were no religious centres in Nazareth. His mother told him off. Didn’t he realise how anxious we were? He told us he was in his father’s house. We didn’t understand. The temple is, after all, the house of the father of all of us. Mary fell silent, looked at him hard. She was an uneducated young girl and rarely spoke in public. I loved her gracefulness, her perseverance, her devotion.
I will disappear from their writings that Passover, though my son will be known as the child of Joseph and Mary, a man from a remote town who will do amazing things. I worried about him throughout the rest of my life. He was still young when I died. What have his followers done to him, to his mother? What have they done to me? They were not at his birth, but they will write such wonderful things: how at his birth in a stable, wise men from the east will kneel, animals will do him honour, shepherds will hear angels, search parties will be sent to kill him. Beautiful words and terrible, but I do not remember these things. I am still trying to understand the meaning of all this, the meaning of my son, something way beyond the words they used about him.’
