This is the story of a man who became a legend without uttering a single word on the record. It seems important to mention that up front. It’s the kind of thing that could trip you up later, if you’re not expecting it.

In the Bible, Joseph of Nazareth is inaudible and all but invisible. The only record we have of his life as the legal father of Jesus is a few mentions in the New Testament. And in those verses, Joseph does not speak.

The Christian literature likes to say, “He accepted his subsidiary role.” But was it subsidiary? Or just painted that way?

In this restlessly imaginative portrayal of The Adoration of the Magi, Mary sits outside a rickety hut, holding baby Jesus on her lap. Three dignitaries from faraway lands bring gifts for the newborn, while six local farmers climb all over each other to gawk at the visitors.

Even the anti-Christ shows up. That’s him in the doorway, half-naked and wearing a silly hat, looking like he just came from a Super Bowl halftime show.

In the middle distance, a man leads his donkey to a house whose red flag suggests it’s a brothel. The recalcitrant animal is being ridden by a monkey. I’m pretty sure there’s a metaphor burrowed in there somewhere, but it’s hard to be certain when the artist is Hieronymus Bosch.

Down in the valley, Herod’s murderous armies hunt for the baby boy whose birth has unnerved the Judean king.

Where in the world is Joseph?

On the left panel of this triptych, the wealthy man who commissioned the painting is kneeling in front of Saint Peter, who holds the keys to heaven. Behind them, in the shadows, Joseph is drying the new baby’s diapers by a fire.

How do you portray the husband of a virginal woman?

Joseph was kept in the shadows for centuries to make it easier for the Catholic Church to shine a spotlight on the divine birth of Jesus.

Some artists even used Joseph as scriptural comic relief. In Rest on the Flight into Egypt — one of Gerard David’s loveliest paintings — Joseph tries to knock chestnuts out of a tree so they’ll have something to eat on the long journey from Judea to Egypt.

In Nativity, Joseph is on the floor, cooking a pot of porridge. Back in the barn, an ox and a donkey exchange knowing glances. Even the animals recognize an offbeat portrayal of Joseph’s humanity when they see one.

Conrad von Soest portrayed Joseph as an older man whose gray hair and gray beard are visual shorthand for “this man is not the biological father of Jesus.”

In researching St. Joseph’s place in art, I’m always struck by the variety of Josephs: at times elderly to the point of doddering, at other times young and vigorous; on some occasions industrious, yet often depicted fast asleep.

Elizabeth Lev, “The Silent Knight,” 2021

Was Joseph really an older man when he married?

It’s not likely. In the New Testament, Joseph goes on a physically demanding journey of a thousand miles — either on foot or by donkey — to protect his earthly son and postpartum wife from King Herod’s death squads.

Moreover, Joseph worked as a carpenter, a job that demanded strength and agility, particularly if he was assigned to one of Herod’s building projects.

Joseph probably worked with crews of men. They commuted together to sites by walking, perhaps for miles. The worksites were noisy, and the work was demanding on both muscle and mind.

Mike Aquilina, “St. Joseph and His World,” 2020

If the New Testament is our guide, Joseph would have been a young husband and father who considered work an essential part of human dignity.

Joseph steps out of the shadows

During the 17th century’s emotionally exuberant Baroque period — which is closely associated with the Catholic Counter-Reformation — artists began painting tender father-son moments in religious pictures.

In St. Joseph Cradling the Infant Christ, Italian artist Guido Reni describes Joseph as an older man experiencing the wonders of fatherhood for the first time. In this picture, Mary is in the shadows.

In St. Joseph and the Christ Child, the Spanish artist Bartolomé Esteban Murillo depicts Joseph as a young man looking off in the distance as if to ward off threats to his family. Jesus leans on his dad and looks out to meet our gaze. What is the toddler trying to tell us? That he personally chose Joseph, of all the men in the world, to be his guardian?

Joseph sails to the Americas

Also during the 17th century, King Charles II named Joseph the patron saint of the Spanish empire. Soon missionaries were bringing even more images of Christianity’s favorite dad to South America, Mexico, and Canada — in an effort to delight and persuade potential converts.

Inspired by these European pictures, the Cuzco School of artists in Peru created a bold new look for Joseph. The Cuzco style is a happy fusion of Old World technique and indigenous tradition built on bright colors (especially red and yellow), regional symbolism, and the lavish use of gold leaf.

In Saint Joseph and the Christ Child, the matching father-son gowns represent Cumbi cloth, a beautiful fabric reserved for Inca kings and queens. Jesus’s cute red sandals echo the shoes worn by Inca elites. By contrast, he’s carrying a wicker basket full of carpentry tools that extol the virtue of honest labor.

If the co-stars in this painting look a little flat, like cutouts on a page, it’s because many indigenous artists were not interested in chiaroscuro and linear perspective, two volume-creating techniques that were popular in Europe.

Nevertheless, it’s easy to see the influence of Murillo in the youthful face of Joseph and in the artist’s decision to show a father and son holding hands as they walk through the lush Peruvian countryside.

A rare glimpse behind the scenes

The son of a barber, Murillo was a great storyteller who became the most popular religious painter in Spain due to his extraordinary ability to create a connection between the surface of the painting and the viewer.

In The Holy Family with a Little Bird, Murillo invites us into Joseph’s slightly cramped workshop.

Mary is winding yarn on a spindle probably made by her husband. A basket of laundry waits on the floor. On the workbench, Joseph is making a harness that makes it easier for oxen to pull a heavy load when working in pairs.

The young couple pauses to delight in their son, who teases the family dog by holding a goldfinch high above it. Murillo’s diagonal composition leads the eye to Joseph, who points out Fido’s laudable patience.

This could be any working couple experiencing the simple joys of co-parenting.

The question of race in religious paintings

From the Middle Ages on, Joseph and his family were portrayed with fair skin, as if they were European. In fact, they were Jewish peasants.

In The Holy Family, American artist Janet McKenzie addresses the question of race in religious paintings.

She shows us a family who has African features or perhaps Mexican or Peruvian features. Jesus, Mary and Joseph did not look like this. But it is a wonderful equivalence, forcing us to recognize both the differences and the similarities. We are compelled to think again and to look twice. 

Wendy Becket, “America Magazine,” 2010

Unusual shades of violet, rose, and lavender infuse the painting with a quiet dignity. Jesus looks out at us with the curiosity of a child secure in the love of his parents. “The artist makes it clear this is a family unit,” said Becket. “Joseph shares equal responsibility for raising this child.”

Is this what non-toxic masculinity looks like?

The Bible reveals very little about the inner life of its characters. Yet somehow it tells us almost everything we need to know.

Joseph accepted the hardships that came his way, and he eased the experience for his family as best he could with a calm readiness that is unusual, even among history’s heroes.

While I was looking at paintings of Joseph of Nazareth, Washington Post columnist Christine Emba was looking at “toxic masculinity” and the identity crisis affecting young men. Her column attracted so many comments, WaPo published a follow-up: “Who’s an ideal man? Our readers have thoughts.”

This reply caught my eye:

If young men are wondering what good masculinity looks like these days, a decent place to start is by learning the skills that allow you to advocate for and protect others.

If you’re really strong and smart, you will garner enough power, influence, and kindness to begin protecting others. That’s it. Full stop. Real men protect other people.

Scott Galloway, NYU professor and host of the Prof G podcast, 2023