Joseph falls asleep with a decision already made. He has weighed the options, tried to keep his conscience clean, tried to do the least damage. He is a righteous man, and that righteousness does not make the situation simple. It makes it heavier.
Then God interrupts his careful plan—not with thunder, not with certainty, but with a dream. And the angel speaks a sentence that is almost startling, because the Gospel does not use the word “fear” until the angel names it: “Do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home.”
Why would Joseph be afraid? Because righteousness is not the same as comfort. A man can love God sincerely and still tremble when God leads him somewhere he did not choose.
Mary is pregnant. The child is not his. If Joseph stays, he will be misunderstood. People will talk. His reputation will not survive intact. His home, which he had imagined as predictable and respectable, will become complicated. He will be asked to raise a child who is not his—yet to treat that child as his own. None of this fits the life Joseph had pictured.
So the fear makes sense. And Joseph is not alone.
Many of us are not especially frightened by being decent. We can manage the basics: do not cheat, do not steal, try to be courteous, show up, be fair. A “good person” is something we can keep within reach.
But Advent is not simply a season of moral tidying. It is the season when God comes close enough to change the shape of our lives.
Because Christ does not ask to be an ornament in our routines. He does not come to make us slightly nicer versions of ourselves. He comes to make us like him. That is where the fear appears. If Christ is truly born into a soul, then old habits do not remain untouched. Grudges are not permitted to stay cozy. We are pushed toward forgiveness that feels unreasonable, toward patience when we would rather strike back, toward a freedom from possessions and praise that makes the world’s logic look flimsy. And yes—if we follow him, we will suffer. To walk with him is to carry a cross. It is to let some of our cherished plans be nailed down and surrendered.
Joseph stands at that threshold. He can protect his own future, keep his name unblemished, and pursue a life that makes sense to others. Or he can accept the strange, costly will of God. When Joseph wakes, he chooses the second. And in that choice, God entrusts him with something astonishing: real responsibility for the salvation unfolding in the world. Joseph becomes the guardian of Mary. He becomes the one who feeds the Son of God, teaches him how to work, shields him from danger, and leads the Holy Family through nights of uncertainty.
It will not be painless. There will be flight, exile, hardship, and the hidden daily sacrifices we never get to read about. Yet Joseph discovers what every disciple must learn: the world we try so hard to secure is passing away, but God offers a life that cannot be buried.
This is the Christian choice in its simplest form: cling to a plan that ends in dust, or surrender to a love that leads beyond death.
So, as Christmas draws near, ask for Joseph’s courage. Ask for the grace to stop negotiating with God. Open the door of your life—not once, but again—and let Jesus take up residence where fear has been living.