Thursday, February 22, 2007
Jesus? Mary and Joseph
I have these two ceramic statues resting on the headboard of my bed. They connect me to a dear departed aunt who was really into that whole ceramics thing of the '50s and '60s. She passed away last month at almost 100 years old, leaving much more than her ceramics as a legacy - five generations of beautiful people.
Sophie seemed quite taken with the two little busts during her sleepover. The following theological discussion took place.
"Babci, is this Mary?"
"Yes, it is. She was the mother of Jesus. And this is Joseph (my mistake), her husband, who took care of Jesus."
Sophie, contemplating, "Weren't your mommy and daddy named Mary and Joseph?"
Babci, flattered that she remembered, "Yes, sweet pea, they were."
Sophie, bright smile, "So Mary and Joseph are Jesus's parents and yours too!"
We both laugh at her clear, uncluttered logic. I share that I always liked the fact that my parents were named Mary and Joseph. Then I realize I've misnamed the statue.
"The man is really Jesus, not Joseph."
"Oh no, let's keep him as Joseph, your daddy."
Maybe she's on to something. Having Jesus as a brother has suddenly taken on a whole new meaning.
I didn't tell her, but my daddy Joseph was a carpenter too.