The other day my husband was stringing lights on our tree with our two boys—boys that know what it's like to live between us. Boys who've hauled their gear back and forth from my home to his. Boys who've loved us both even as we divorced each other.
Boys who've cried because only one of us was there to kiss them goodnight....Boys who, after a time, gave up and stopped crying.
But these days our kids never worry about where their socks are, or which house they're sleeping in tonight, or whether mommy and daddy will both be there to tuck them in. These days, I bring the hot cocoa into the living room to share with my reclaimed husband and our sons while we all admire the beautiful Christmas tree adorned with our shared ornaments, our history. Like our sons, impossible to divvy up.
And it got me thinking about Jesus. What would his life have been like if Mary and Joseph divorced? (Or, at least, divorced as we understand it today...Who knows whether they were even married?)
It was one hell of an idea because I knew in my heart that Jesus would have struggled. My hunch is that without Mary and Joseph and their generous loving care, he might never have reached his capacity as the illuminated being that became so loved and revered that people all over the world celebrate his birth.
Joseph (what a guy) stayed committed to raising Mary's son, even though it was a "virgin birth." That carpenter demonstrated enduring, devoted, unconditional love to Mary and Jesus, even though it must have been a seriously trying time for him personally. And all of us love the idea of the nativity; this tiny babe being born surrounded not only by the love of his mother and father, but also the sheep, cows, lambs, donkeys, and pigs. What child can't help but be captivated by being lain down in a manger surrounded by snuggly animals and loving parents?
From birth, this child—a child that an entire mystical, heaven-sent star shown down for—was surrounded by a safe, trustworthy clan of loving adults. At least that's the mythos of Christ's birth story for me. Don't we want every child to be so wholly received and loved this way?
And that's where my question came up. What if Joseph had ditched Mary when he heard she was pregnant? Son of God? Sure lady, whatever. I'm outta here.
What if they never made it to the manger?
What if the wise men hadn't come?
Now, of course it's Jesus we're talking about here—so one can argue that he'd have still become the great teacher of love, peace, and goodwill. He was the son of God after all.
But what if he was simply a great, inspiring, loving human being who'd studied and applied the principles of unconditional love and non-violence, like the Buddha, Ghandi, and Martin Luther King Jr.? What if he had the capacity to achieve such epic levels of forgiveness, compassion, and peacemaking because it was what he'd learned at home? Between himself, Mary and Joseph?
Joseph led his mother on a donkey, after all, to escape persecution. He didn't abandon Mary, and she trusted him enough to let him lead her to safety, as terrifying as it must have been for her. And they found a place to hide: a place they fashioned with joy, warmth, and comfort...even in the midst of their fear. They bound together as a non-negotiable unit, and they opened themselves up to receiving the support, nurturance, and reverence of a little tribe of animals and, of course, the wise men...the elders.
They found a way to give Jesus—as a tiny baby, then as a child—an overarching sense of safety, security, and belonging. Right from the beginning. And it was from that place that Jesus—the adult— was able to inspire others, even in a terrifying and stressful world, with his words and actions of peace, love, forgiveness, and hope.
This year, my Lego-building, sword-wielding, Matchbox-crashing boys are swirling underfoot, asking—no begging—me to teach them to knit, crochet, and sew. They learned how to finger knit at school, see? And they want wrapping paper because they are "making a lot of presents" for their friends and for me and for daddy and for other family members. They are talking about selling their wares to raise money for the starving children in Somalia in dire food crisis. They want to buy chickens for those children's families. And cows. You can see their little hearts ache for those famine-stricken children.
If we were still divorced, their hearts would be aching with something different. I know, because I grew up as a child of divorce and now, as an adult, I've learned that far too many of us are too embedded in our own painful experience to have much capacity for empathy or compassion for others. We are forced, as children, to navigate between two very different worlds and, sadly, we may never quite feel safe, secure, or as if we truly matter and belong. Divorcing parents don't intend for this to happen but, too often, it does.
This year (with my husband's ever-present financial, emotional, and logistical support) I've set aside time to do as they've asked during the quiet days leading up to that special dawn. And while we sit together I'll remind them of why, even in our non-Christian-science-geeky-solstice-celebrating home, we celebrate the birth of one of the greatest teachers and peacemakers the world has ever known.
But, oh Lord, I can tell you that if we were still divorced, well, it's doubtful that I'd have time, energy, capacity or support to sit down with my little rapscallions and teach them to sew or knit or crochet. I'd more likely be drinking cheap scotch while using the Grinch and Rudolph as babysitters.
When I think back to those dark days of our divorce, the days my husband and I believed our children would be better off with happier parents who lived in two different homes, the days we scrambled in our feeble attempts to co-parent with love when we had chosen not to love each other, the days we missed each other in unrecognizable, soul-choking ways but couldn't understand why, I remind myself of what Jesus once said, "Forgive them father, for they know not what they do." And we didn't.
But now we do.
On Christmas Eve, as we sit snuggled together with the boys sipping hot cocoa by our tree, we'll clink our mugs, and we'll see the same prayer of thanks in each other's eyes.
