We know that Joseph and Mary have already endured a great deal. Out of their common lives, they have been thrust into the center of a divine and universal drama that has forever marked them as extraordinary people. A child has been conceived in Mary by the Holy Spirit. Joseph and Mary have experienced astounding angelic visitations and tried to integrate into their lives the thought that their baby son would save the world. They have undoubtedly suffered harsh judgment from family, friends, and the community, since this pregnancy has come out of wedlock in a culture that did not suffer such thing well. Add to that a difficult late-term trip from the north country of Galilee to the southern land of Judea, which is like traveling from San Jose to Sacramento by foot and donkey. Now, after birthing a child, receiving visitors from the fields and from foreign countries, they get another angelic visit. This time, they're told to escape to Egypt to avoid the cruelty and paranoia for Herod the King. This was the equivalent of sending them now from San Jose to Los Angeles, with the caveat that Egypt was a foreign land not always kind to Jews, and a place that represented captivity to the Hebrew mind.

We know nothing of their life there. We do know that after Herod's terrible purge of small boys, and then after Herod's death, an angel, an angel gave orders to go home. Finally home, after so much adjusting and adapting for the sake of Jesus.

One might wonder why Matthew is the gospel writer who spends time and ink writing about the foreign emissaries (wise men or kings) and about Herod's reaction to the birth of Christ. My take on that is that Matthew was a government official, a tax collector at the very least. More than Mark, who was a missionary, and more than John, who was a fisherman, and more than Luke, who was a historian and physician, Matthew was tracking the effect that the baby King of Kings would have on Herod, the King of the Jews. This baby really threw Herod, even though the Baby would grow up to rule a much larger domain.

As we mine this story for the gold of personal application, it is not hard to feel the pull toward the impact that detours have on our lives. At any given time, we might enjoy a life that we call normal. We're cruising along with ordinary movements and planned routes - it's all mapped out. Suddenly circumstances throw up a blockade and the word "detour" is painted in bold letters, sometimes with an arrow pointing the way and sometimes with no arrow. Sometimes people in our sphere of influence don't cooperate with the plan and so we have to detour because our journeys are tied to theirs. Sometimes health doesn't cooperate and we have to change our course or our pace. Sometimes tragedy or trial completely derails our carefully crafted intentions. In a few other instances we have a kind of visitation or intervention from God. In a dream or in a prayer or from the mouth of a prophetic friend, we might hear the words "stop, go, change directions, or I'm taking you somewhere you never dreamed of going."

You fill in the story with your own unique application, and already I can see you squirming in your pew and loosening your collar and fidgeting with your fingers - either from a similar memory or from the fear that such a detour might interrupt your current plans.

The problem with detours is that they take us out of our comfort zones - away from familiar places and people and routines and into the unknown, unplanned-for and sometimes unwanted realms (places we never would have gone on purpose).

For some people, this is not as painful. In one camp, there are those who roll well with the punches, think outside the box and have built-in shock absorbers that lend well toward surprises and detours. Often these dear folks suffer some for want of planning, intentionality and clear direction. But detours aren't so painful. In fact, spontaneous people shine in such moments.

Other people are marvelous at planning and brilliant at crafting life itineraries, but aren't so ready for detours, surprises or spontaneity. Great at drawing maps, but not so great at winging it.

Obviously, some people do both planning and spontaneity well. Sadly, some people lack skills or capacities for either spontaneity or planning. For most of us, we're somewhere on a spectrum, leaning one way or the other, often marrying the other kind so that our lives together can benefit from a kind of balance that is sometimes painful to negotiate but actually helpful in the long haul.

Okay, so if life throws us a detour sign, what do we do? I try to pray like crazy. I try to surround myself with wise counselors and honest friends who will tell me the truth about what the sign might mean and what I need to learn and do about it. Even more, I lean heavily on the intuitions of my wife and gladly submit to her sense of things, both to honor her and to give us the best possible chance of making the correct maneuver.

Then we endure the pain of transition, and acknowledge the grief associated with change, lest I cast us into depression, and try to find a sense or normalcy and routine and balance on the new path that life has thrust in our way.

And, assuming God's sovereignty over the whole matter, we try to find some meaning and purpose in the detour. What are you doing, God?

For awhile, it doesn't hurt to question God. I'm one who even believes that it's honest and okay to vent our frustrations to God. Ultimately, though, there are some thing we have to accept to stay sane and to maintain intimacy with God and openness with His doings and dealings. But why does God create painful detours? Or at least allow them?

First, God creates detours because He has better ideas than we do. Our plans are always thin - the equivalent of having a map of a flat earth. God's plans are always richer, better and more effectual in His grand scheme for the world and for us. At some point, we'll lose heart if we don't accept and celebrate this (James 4:13).

Which raises the second reason that God might give us detours: our pride. We need, sadly, perpetual reminders that we are not the lords of our own lives. We are so forgetful.

Third, we need to learn dependence on God for intimacy sake. On our own self-laid courses, we grow relationally dull to the voice of God and the movements of the Holy Spirit. This dullness turns in to lukewarmness. Dependence however turns up the flame. We love the One we truly need. If our life is built in such a way that we really don't have need, then we really won't enjoy passionate love.

The fourth reason God might throw detours into our paths is a character issue. These trials and surprises both prove our character and improve our character. They test us and they test us like metal. The heat and pressure of detours literally alters the stuff we're made of and reshapes us.

The fifth reason I can think of for detours is that we get grooved or stiff, so that if God needs us for new things we don't have the capacity - we've already hardened into one kind of tool that is useless for another kind of task. Perhaps God wishes we were more pliable.

Beyond those five things (God has better ideas, we need our pride broken, dependence leads to intimacy, detours build character and change keeps us pliable), why would God give or allow us detours? I dunno! (Proverbs 3:5-6).

This I do know, like Joseph and Mary settling, finally, into a home in Nazareth, it sure feels good when our lives settle into a kind of normalcy, at least for a season.

Still, let's not kid ourselves. Even when it seems like we're finally home after a long season of displacement, this is only a short season of feeling at home. It is likely to be only a brief respite to rest, get our bearings and heal our wounds so that we can be readied for the next God-ordained adventure in faith and character-building. This is God's way, at least for this life. If that sound disappointing or distressing, then hear this: set your minds on the things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. Fix your eyes on that scene that place, that long season which will be a forever season in a place that will be forever home. Then and only then will we truly rest and settle in and live without the fear of painful detour after painful detour.

Until that day, and until that place, let us encourage one another on this meandering road.