Hi. My name is Joseph. Yes, the Joseph. And I’ve come because I have a question for you.

But before I get to that, maybe a little background about myself will help you understand why I ask. I’m from a little backwater place called Nazareth, but don’t let that fool you. I come from a very good family. In fact, I’m a direct descendant of King David, the greatest figure in Israel’s history. As you can imagine, we’re rather proud of that, and even though I’m just a carpenter (which is only one notch above being a shepherd), still my family holds a certain place in society. I was raised to be strictly obedient to the religious law. I remember my father saying to me, "Son, you are a descendant of King David; never bring dishonor to this family."

And that was important to me.

My family did everything the way things were supposed to be done. It was the custom for parents to arrange the marriages of their children when boys were as young as thirteen and girls twelve or so. So when I was a young teen, my marriage was arranged. After the bride price was agreed upon, it was understood that my bride and I would each live with our parents for a year or so. Among other things, it was a time to search the genealogical records at the Temple to be sure we weren’t close relatives. You know, in a small, isolated country like ours, that sort of thing could happen without anyone even realizing it. But the plan was that once we’d gotten the green light on that and it was time for her to move in with me and for us to start living as husband and wife, we’d have a wedding ceremony and a big party at her house. But now you have to understand that even during the time we were each living with our parents, we were legally bound. This was a done deal unless she turned out to be my first cousin or something. In our way of thinking, she had become my property, and we were just clearing the title before I took possession. The only way to break this deal was by divorce, and that would be very, very embarrassing for everyone involved.

It was during that time, when we were each living at home and had not yet had, as they say, "marital relations," that she came to me. I could tell she was anxious, afraid even. "What is it? Tell me." I was concerned. I was worried for her; I was afraid somebody was sick or something.

Well, you can imagine how my mood changed when she told me. She was . . . pregnant. Pregnant! She came from a good family; she seemed like a nice girl. Pregnant! At first,, I just couldn’t believe it. "You’re pregnant?" I asked. "Pregnant?" Then it began to sink in; pregnant, while betrothed to me. And I knew I wasn’t the father! I couldn’t help but think about how this was going to look. I thought of my father’s words, "Son, you are a descendant of King David; never bring dishonor to this family." That was important to me. And now, even though I had done nothing wrong, here I was embroiled in the middle of a humiliating scandal.

Boy, did my tone change. "YOU’RE PREGNANT?" I thundered. "YOU COME TO ME AND TELL MY YOU’RE PREGNANT? WHO IS THE FATHER? TELL ME! I WANT TO KNOW! Looking back, I’m glad she didn’t name some boy from the town; Lord knows what I might have done. But, of course, at that time, the ridiculous story she told me about an angel and the father being God just enraged me further. "Get out! GET OUT!" And she left, crying. And I didn’t care that she was crying.

I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t think of anything else. There was no one I could talk to about this. At first, I was so angry; I just wanted revenge. The penalty under the law for adultery was death by stoning. But I knew I didn’t really want that. And everybody would think I was the father anyway, and I couldn’t really prove otherwise. There was no way out of this without some risk of scandal, and, besides, over the course of time, I began to soften. I liked her, and I didn’t want her to have to be exposed to public disgrace (which, of course, would have also been embarrassing to me), so I finally decided to exercise some damage control and just dismiss her quietly. We could discretely sever relations, and she could leave town before she started to show. We would come up with some cover story, maybe that we turned out to be too closely related to marry after all. In any event, handling it quietly was the smartest, safest play, and the only way to protect my reputation and that of my family.

I was settled with that, and finally I could sleep. [Chuckle] Finally I could sleep. It’s ironic, isn’t it? I couldn’t sleep until I knew just what to do to take the safest course, and it was sleeping that made me take the riskiest course. That dream, that angel, coming to me when my guard was down, telling me to believe Mary’s ridiculous story. I knew it was from God, and I knew I would do it, risk everything, but I also remember waking up and thinking, "What if this kid has red hair?"

So what that birth meant to me was risking everything.

Well, let me get back to my question. You see, I’ve been wandering around watching y’all get ready for this birth. You buy lots of presents. I’m not knocking that; there’s a lot of nice things about it. I mean, sure, some of you are buying presents out of a sense of obligation, or so that you’ll get presents in return, but mostly it’s really nice. Really people enjoying giving.

But you do buy a whole lot of presents. It’s clear to me that for lots of you, Christmas can be really expensive.

But here’s my question:

I know your Christmas is expensive,

but is it risky?