A doff of the fabric headwrap to proverbial third banana, Joseph of Nazareth. If ‘tweren’t for this intrepid nail pounder, the Virgin-esque Mary would’ve been subject to stoning or other unkindly acts from the uncircumsized lynch mobs of the day. Who knows if wunderkind J. Christ himself would’ve been born but for the unselfishness of the original Good Joe. If you think me disrespecting to suggest such a thing on this the holiest of Christian days, ask yourself what mortal man among us would marry a woman who claims to be without sin, yet is revealed to be with child prior to the wedding and sit-down reception of fishes and loaves? How would he react when visited in a dream by an angel of the Lorde and told that his intended will bear a son who’ll save the citizenry from their sins, but the lad won’t be named Sonny Boy Junior, but bloody Emmanuel? The scene in the Bethlehem barnyard with the baby in swaddling clothes— bandages—resting in a manger—feeding trough—would surely try the most stoic of men.One imagines poor, honourable Joseph holding the umbilical cord of the newborn who is not his own, surrounded by goats, cows and three wizened old men, his patience tried to the very limit, muttering under his breath, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph.” And so ‘tis that we salute this goodly Godly servant, along with surrogate Mother Mary, upon the birth of their beloved Christ child. A bygone era’s Modern Family, as we think of it. Merry Christmas, all.
