Out of the Carpentry Shop


The heavy door creaked on its hinges as He pushed it open. With a few
strides He crossed the silent shop and opened the wooden shutters to a
square shaft of sunshine that pierced the darkness, painting a box of
daylight on the dirt floor.

He looked around the carpentry shop. He stood for a moment in the
refuge of the little room that housed so many sweet memories. He
balanced the
hammer in His hand. He ran his fingers across the sharp teeth of the
saw. He
stroked the smoothly worn wood of the sawhorse. He had come to say
good-bye.

It was time for Him to leave. He had heard something that made Him know
it
was time to go. So He came one last time to smell the sawdust and
lumber.

Life was peaceful here. Life was so . . . safe. Here He had spent
countless hours of contentment. On this dirt floor He had played as a
toddler
while His father worked. Here Joseph had taught Him how to grip a
hammer. And
on this workbench He had built His first chair.

I wonder what He thought as He took one last look around the room.
Perhaps He stood for a moment at the workbench looking at the tiny
shadows cast
by the chisel and shavings. Perhaps He listened as voices from the past
filled the air. "Good job, Jesus." "Joseph, Jesus – come and eat!"
"Don't worry, sir, we'll get it finished on time. I'll get Jesus to help

me."

I wonder if He hesitated. I wonder if His heart was torn. I wonder if He

rolled a nail between His thumb and fingers, anticipating the pain. It
was in the carpentry shop that He must have given birth to His thoughts.

Here concepts and convictions were woven together to form the fabric of
His ministry.

You can almost see the tools of His trade in His words as He spoke. You
can
see the trueness of a plumb line as He called for moral standards. You
can
hear the whistle of the plane as He pleads for religion to shave away
unnecessary traditions. You can picture the snugness of a dovetail as He

demands loyalty in relationships. You can imagine Him with a pencil and
a ledger as He urges honesty.

It was here that His human hands shaped the wood His divine hands had
created. And it was here that His body matured while His Spirit waited
for the right moment, the right day.

And now that day had arrived. It must have been difficult to leave.
After all, life as a carpenter hadn't been bad. It wasn't bad at all.
Business was good. The future was bright and His work was enjoyable. In
Nazareth He was known only as Jesus, the son of Joseph. You can be sure
He was respected in the community. He was good with His hands. He had
many friends. He was a favorite among the children. He could tell a good

joke and had a habit of filling the air with contagious laughter.

I wonder if He wanted to stay. "I could do a good job here in Nazareth.
Settle down. Raise a family. Be a civic leader." I wonder because I know

He had already read the last chapter. He knew that the feet that step
out of the safe shadow of the carpentry shop would not rest until they
had been pierced and placed on a Roman cross.

You see, He didn't have to go. He had a choice. He could have stayed.
He could have kept his mouth shut. He could have ignored the call or at
least postponed it. And had He chosen to stay, who would've known? Who
would
have blamed Him?

He could have come back as a man in another era when society was not so
volatile, when religion wasn't so stale, when people would listen
better. He could have come back when crosses were out of style, but His
heart wouldn't let Him.

If there was hesitation on His part of humanity, it was overcome by the
compassion of His divinity. His divinity heard the voices. His divinity
heard the hopeless cries of the poor, the bitter accusations of the
abandoned, the dangling despair of those who are trying to save
themselves.And His divinity saw the faces. Some wrinkled. Some weeping.
Some
hidden behind veils. Some obscured by fear. Some earnest with searching.

Some
blank with boredom. From the face of Adam to the face of the infant born

somewhere
in the world as you read these words, He saw them all.

And you can be sure of one thing. Among the voices that found their way
into
that carpentry shop in Nazareth was your voice. Your silent prayers
uttered on tear-stained pillows were heard before they were said. Your
deepest
questions about death and eternity were answered before they were asked.

And your direst need, your need for a Savior, was met before you ever
sinned.

And not only did He hear you, He saw you. He saw your face aglow the
hour you first knew Him. He saw your face in shame the hour you first
fell.
The same face that looked back at you from this mornings mirror, looked
at
Him. And it was enough to kill Him.

He left because of you. He laid his security down with His hammer. He
hung tranquility on the peg with His nail apron. He closed the window
shutters on the sunshine of His youth and locked the door on the comfort

and ease
of anonymity.

Since He could bear your sins more easily than He could bear the thought

of your hopelessness, He chose to leave. It wasn't easy. Leaving the
carpentry shop never has been.


Written by Author, Max Lucado