The Carpenter's Plow

A friend of mine sat across from me in our church’s fellowship hall last Sunday.

“What’s up with communion class?” she asked, a look of disbelief on her face. “Is it always so boring?”

I tried not to choke on hot coffee as I laughed. Children in our church who desire to receive their first communion must attend a class that meets for one hour each Sunday afternoon for six weeks. One of the child’s parents must attend, also. I guess my friend lost the coin toss with her husband. The class is many things, but dynamic is not one of them.

“Yeah, it’s pretty dry,” I observed. “You never read the blog post I wrote that was inspired by one of those classes. I’ll have to show it to you.”

So, for my church friend (and blog reader) and her daughter as she prepares to receive her first communion, allow me to share a flashback from two years ago…

Speaking of “Oy,” I was sitting in General Mayhem’s First Communion class yesterday when our pastor made an interesting observation. He commented that Jesus was a carpenter. This fact I already knew. Then he observed that Joseph and Jesus made plows and yokes.

“And from what I understand, they were pretty good plows, too,” the pastor added.

I almost laughed out loud.

This was news to me. While I knew that Joseph was a carpenter, and assumed that Jesus learned some carpentry skills from Joseph, I never spent much time considering what they manufactured, or the quality of their craftsmanship. This instantly amused me to no end, and I mentally drifted away from the class I was sitting in to a large farmer’s field near a dusty road where two men stood next to a donkey, talking...

“Hyam, what beautiful crops you have.”

“Thank you, Hershel,” Hyam replied. “I have been blessed many times over.”

Imagine Mel Brooks talking to Jackie Mason.

“Your rows! They are so straight and even! How do you do such magnificent work?” Hershel asked.

“I’ll tell you a little secret,” Hyam replied, leaning towards his friend and whispering conspiratorially. “The secret is in my plow, and my yoke.”

“Your plow and your yoke?!” Hershel shouted, in surprise.

“SSHHH! Yes, my plow and my yoke,” Hyam assured him. “They are my father’s father’s, father’s plow and yoke. They are very old.”

“No!” Hershel whispered. “But, how can this be so?”

“It was the Jewish carpenter, Joseph, and his son,” Hyam explained. “They made them for great grandfather Ephraim. For three generations our fields have grown straight and true. You put the yoke on your ass and he walks a straight line all by himself! The plants, they are healthy and bountiful. Our family has been blessed. And another thing, the plow and the yoke, they have never broken!”

“How can that be?” exclaimed Hershel.

“It is true,” Hyam assured his friend. “When the son of God makes a plow, he really makes a plow! And I know for a fact that he never got a sliver while making them. Not one! Not even a teeny bit”

I don’t know how long I mentally checked out of the class, but when I returned General Mayhem was answering a question about the Lord’s Supper and the forgiveness of sins and my farmer’s conversation drifted away. Things like this happen to me all the time.