Reverend Andrew's Sermons

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A sermon from December 2025

Joseph’s Dream

         “An angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, “Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit.”

         Joseph sat at the edge of a large pile of stones that he had, the week before, carried up from the lakeshore. Nearby, stood the solid, level platform that he had begun to build with those stones. He had set the largest stones deep into the earth and then patiently, carefully, fit successive layers of stones on top of them until the top of the platform was solid, square and level, six inches above the ground. This, he had hoped, would be the foundation of the house he would share with Mary, the house in which they would raise their children. But he did not believe now that the house would ever be finished.

         Joseph himself sat like a stone, his head in his hands, his mind spinning with the same inexplicable set of facts: that Mary was with child, that the child was not his. and that she had, apparently, lied to him. She had told him an unbelievable story: that an angel had visited her and promised that she would bear a child, a son of God who would be fathered by the Holy Spirit. She told Joseph that she had said “Yes” to the angel. She had said “Yes” to God. She said all this with tears in her eyes, but also with that quiet conviction he had always admired in her.

         Joseph had not known what to say. It seemed impossible that the story was true, and equally impossible that Mary would make up such a story. And so, after she had finished speaking, Joseph simply stood and walked away. He had not spoken to her since, but he had seen her. It was clear that her pregnancy was real.

         Near the pile of rocks where Joseph sat, there was a grove of olive trees, and from among them he could hear birdsong, two doves calling to each other. Joseph had often seen them flying into the trees carrying bits of straw. They were building a nest. Already he had begun to think of them as his neighbours. He had imagined that he and Mary might one day give them names, and that they, birds and people, would watch each other’s families grow.

         But now, none of that would happen. Joseph knew what he must do: he would break off the engagement, say good-bye to Mary, and move away from Nazareth. He would go to Bethlehem, the city of his ancestor David. He would do this soon. But now, for just a little while, he would do nothing. He would sit, grieving the empty strength of his hands that now had no proper work to do.   

         So his friend Levi found him that afternoon.  “I thought I would find you here,” he called.

         Joseph, recognising his friend’s voice, did not look up. With his head in his hands, he shouted back, “And I thought you might come and find me.”

         Levi sat down. “I know all about it,” he said. “What will you do?”

         “I will leave.”

         “If you leave,” Levi said, “Mary will have no husband, and the child will have no father.”

         “I will kill the man who did this to her.“

         “Yes,” Levi answered quietly. “I suppose you could strangle him - if you can find him.  And then you will go to court. And then you will go to jail. And Mary will still have no husband, and the child no father. That sounds like a good plan.”

         “What would you have me do? Pretend it did not happen?”

         “Have you talked to Mary?” Levi asked.

         “There’s no need to talk. She is with child. And the child is not mine.”

         “You still need to talk to her,” Levi insisted.

         “Only to say goodbye.”

         So the two friends talked through the afternoon - which is to say that Levi talked while Joseph sat, sometimes staring at his hands, and sometimes at his unfinished house. And when at last Levi asked if perhaps Mary’s story might be true, Joseph stood, and turned to face his friend.

         “Listen,” he said, “You’re good with words. You work with words. You teach at the synagogue. But I work with stone and wood. I work with what makes sense. A strong foundation. Solid walls. A floor of cedar cut into planks. A stone lintel above every window, every door. A sloped roof, with tiles to shed the rain. This I understand. But angels?  I know nothing about angels.”

         “Nobody knows about angels,” Levi said. “And yet they are real.”

         “This is real,” Joseph insisted, pointing to the pile of stones at his feet. “A pile of rubble. A house that will never be built.”

         “All right,” Levi answered, and then he also stood. “Let me tell you something.” He picked up a large, flat rock and put it in Joseph’s hands. “You showed this to me once. Do you remember? How to build a house. You put one stone on top of two stones, to cover the gap between them. Or you put two stones on one, so that the gap between the two stones sits in the middle of the stone beneath. You use small, flat stones to keep everything level. In this way your house will be strong. You build your walls wide at the base, two or three stones wide, but narrower as it gets higher. And you never know exactly where you will find the one stone you need, to fill the empty space you are working with. But you have to trust that the stone you need will be in the pile somewhere. You have to trust that all the random stones will fit together and make a house. Am I right, Joseph?”

      “Yes. You are right,” Joseph said, and despite his grief he smiled, pleased that his learned friend, with his soft hands, remembered that lesson from long ago.

         “Yes. I am right,” Levi said. “And this is your faith, Joseph: that if you are patient and careful, you will always find what you need in order to build what must be built.”

         “What are you trying to tell me?”

         I’m telling you that your life is a pile of stones that you must somehow fit together. So there is Mary: she is one stone. There is the angel, for another. And then there is the child: a third stone. And then there is you, Joseph. You are the most stubborn, most awkward stone of all. But strong.”

         “And,” Levi shouted, to stop his friend from interrupting, “there is prophecy. Long, long ago, God spoke to us about a child, a son of David and a son of God, who will be born of a young woman and of the Holy Spirit. And this, Joseph, is the cornerstone: God promised that one day He would come among his people as a human being. He will be Emmanuel. He will be “God with us.”

         “What has that got to do with me?” Joseph asked.

         “What indeed,” Levi yelled. “You, Joseph, are a son of David. And Mary is a young woman, strong and full of courage. And God has to start somewhere. Why not with you two? Why not?”

         A cold silence hung between the two friends. They stared at each other almost in anger. “These are the stones you have to work with,” Levi continued quietly, “and you must trust that they will fit together. And now, Joseph, I am going home, for I am hungry.  And this has been a lot of words, even for me. Will you come with me?”

         “I will not go into town,” Joseph answered. “The town is full of gossip. The town is full of whispering. About Mary. About me.”

         “Fine. Then I will bring you something to eat. And some water. And where will you sleep tonight?”

         “I will sleep here.” Joseph said.

         “All right. I will bring a blanket also. And you can use a stone for your pillow, as our ancestor Jacob did. And may God visit you as you sleep, as he visited Jacob, and give you a good dream.”

         The night was warm, and though Joseph had done no work that day, he found that he was very tired. He lay wrapped in his blanket on the stone foundation he had laid. He looked at the stars. He heard the doves in the olive grove saying goodnight to each other. And he slept. And he dreamed.

         Or did he? It seemed to Joseph that two birds came and visited him as he slept. They were beautiful, their wings brown and grey, and their voices soft. And in his dream, if it was a dream, Joseph said to the two winged creatures, “I don’t believe in angels.” And they - birds or angels or whatever they were - said nothing. But one of them brushed Joseph’s face with the tip of a wing, as if blessing him, and flew away.

         Early next morning, Joseph rose and walked to Mary’s house. She met him with silence and sadness, but she did not look away.  

         “I am a stubborn man,” Joseph said to her. “There are many things I don’t understand. And I’m not sure I believe in angels. But I believe in you, Mary. I do not think you would lie to me.”

         Then Mary ran to him. But Joseph raised his hand and said, “No - at least, not yet. But walk with me for a while, Mary. I want you to show you what I have been building. And I want you to meet two friends of mine. They came to me last night, I think. They came on wings. They came from the sky. I would like you to meet them. Can we walk together for a while?”