He’s just a carpenter. A blue-collared day laborer. And he’s the one who builds mountains and stars.
He’s just a carpenter. A townie, a long long ways from cosmopolitan. And he’s the King of kings.
But he’s just a carpenter, uneducated, the son of nobodies. And he’s the dearly loved son of the Father.
The crowds are blind, eyes filled to the brim with scoffing, incredulous. They can’t see beyond their own limiting words.
It is true. He is a carpenter. But he is not just a carpenter. He is so much more.
And by his grace, we are too.
We are not just sinners.
We are not just failures.
We are not just inadequate.
We are loved.
We are saved.
We are sought after and enjoyed by our God.
So when people see us and laugh, saying we’re “just a” whatever, we smile and nod and run to Jesus.
And there we sit among the wood chips, remnants of a Roman cross, and we belly laugh with the Carpenter who saved the world.
Jesus left that part of the country and returned with his disciples to Nazareth, his hometown. The next Sabbath he began teaching in the synagogue, and many who heard him were amazed. They asked, “Where did he get all this wisdom and the power to perform such miracles?” Then they scoffed, “He’s just a carpenter, the son of Mary and the brother of James, Joseph, Judas, and Simon. And his sisters live right here among us.” They were deeply offended and refused to believe in him.