Mary slipped into the small space between the neighbor’s house and the wooden slats of the fence that penned the goats. There was a recess there and a small depression in the ground where she could kneel, unseen, and spy through the narrow gaps in the fence. No one else knew this place, not even Evelyn, her best friend. It was her own secret. A place so secret that she was certain Evelyn, and the children would give up looking. It was a place she’d come to for years, whenever she felt a need to be alone. So, it was deeply disturbing when, a moment later, Thomas, the shepherd boy, came sliding through the dust into her secret place and knelt next to her, touching her, all sweaty and smelling of it. He grinned at her. His hot breath wafted over her, and she pushed him away.
“What are you doing?” She whispered angrily.
“Hiding.” He answered, smiling at her in that strange way he had lately developed.
“Well, get out, this is my hiding place!”
She paused, curious, then asked, “How did you even know where I was?
“I saw Evelyn, with the children, looking for you. I knew what you were playing.”
“But how did you know this place?”
“I’ve seen you in here before, on my way out to the sheep.”
Mary considered this, then gave Thomas a push. She whispered, “Get out.”
“Can’t you share a little? If I get out now, they’ll find us.”
He was right. Evelyn and the children were just coming around the corner of the house, hunting for her.
Mary turned to Thomas to shush him and caught him looking down the loose-fitting neck of the frock she wore. She slapped him on the shoulder and pushed him away.
“Sorry,” he whined.
“I couldn’t help it. Your… you’ve changed, …a lot this year.”
She kicked at him, seeming to be deeply offended. Inside she wasn’t as offended as she made it appear. Perhaps she should be, but truthfully, she was flattered by his attentions.
“Get out!” She whispered too loudly.
“There you are!” Evelyn called from the goat pen.
Mary kicked at Thomas and said again, “Get out!”
This time she spoke in full voice. The best hiding place in all of Nazareth was compromised, never to be of use again. The children laughed and giggled when they saw Mary and Thomas crawl out from the small space together. While Mary straightened herself and brushed the dust from her robes. Thomas ran off, chasing the children into the village, pretending to be a lion. The children laughed and screamed with glee as they ran from him. Mary followed with Evelyn at her side.
“I think he likes you,” Evelyn suggested.
“Thomas?” Mary queried, knowing the obvious answer.
She commented, “He’s a child.”
“A boy child,” Evelyn corrected, adding, “he’s the same age as you.”
At that moment, they were passing the home of Joseph, the carpenter. They could see him working in the courtyard of his home. He looked up as the girls passed by, his eyes fixed on Mary who had, in Thomas’ defense, grown into quite an attractive young woman over the past year.
“What about him?” Evelyn asked.
“He likes you too. I can see it in his eyes whenever you are near.”
Mary blushed.
“The carpenter? He’s too old. He doesn’t even know that I exist.”
Secretly, Mary was well aware of his notice. For some time now she had sensed the carpenter’s interest. She had very often seen him smile at her as she passed by. She was both flattered and frightened by his attentions. He was, in spite of the age difference, an attractive man and the most eligible bachelor in Nazareth, and for miles around.
“Don’t despise his notice, Mary,” Evelyn advised, seeing a frown on Mary’s face.
“There are many women in Nazareth and about, who would treasure the attention he pays you. Besides, I think he’s cute.”
“Cute?” Mary echoed, hoping to sound disagreeable.
In truth, thinking about him made her strangely warm. She fanned herself as they passed from his view. In Mary’s mind, he was more handsome than “cute”. At twenty-three, he was strong, tall, well-muscled and the finest carpenter in all of Galilee. Turning to Evelyn without looking up, Mary asked, “Do you really think he likes me?”
~
It should not have been surprising to Mary, when at the end of her fourteenth winter, her mother and father sat her down and told her that Joseph, the carpenter, had asked for her hand and, in response, they had promised her to him.
“You will be betrothed in the month of Tishri, at the new year,” her father concluded.
Though he smiled warmly, there was a subtle sadness in his eyes as he spoke it. Mary was stunned. She couldn’t speak at all. She couldn’t think what to say. Just a month ago she was playing hide and seek in the carpenter’s sight, now she is given in marriage to him, a grown woman, bound to leave her home and her childhood behind, destined to go and live with a man she hardly knows. It was all too overwhelming. Tears flowed as she ran from the table and collapsed, sobbing, on her bedding.
Her mother came over to comfort her and they talked into the night, but the next morning Mary rose early and went to hide in the small space between the neighbor’s house and the goat pen. She knelt there alone for most of the morning, praying. Though she could hear her parents, and others in the village calling for her she did not respond.
Sometime after the third hour, Thomas stuck his head into the small space and seeing her said, “There you are. The whole village is looking for you.”
“Go away, Thomas. Leave me alone to pray.”
“What’s wrong, Mary?”
Tears began to stream down her cheeks again, and when she didn’t answer, Thomas pushed his way into the small space next to her.
“Don’t touch me!” She barked at him.
“I’ve been promised.”
Thomas was speechless for a moment. A thousand thoughts passed through his mind, but he had no idea what to say. He finally managed to croak the words, “To who?”
Mary answered without looking up, “Joseph, the carpenter.”
“But he’s too old,” Thomas complained in shock.
They both sat in silence.
Finally, Mary spoke, “I should be happy.”
Again, silence between them. Something caught in Thomas’ throat. It choked him. All his muscles went taught as he tried to hold back the tears, to stifle a sob that gripped his diaphragm.
Mary said, “I am happy. At least I think I will be. It’s just that…. “
Before she could finish, Thomas bolted from the hiding place and ran off down the street toward the fields.
Mary took a deep breath and sat quiet for a moment. She came to realize, as Thomas already had, that her childhood was over, and that life, as an adult, in the Roman world, seldom turns out as children imagine it will.
Mary finished her prayer, “…and thy will be done, Lord, not my own. May our lives be as you see fit, oh Lord, my God.”
~
It had not been easy for Joseph to ask for Mary’s hand. To say the least, he felt awkward in arranging his own marriage. Things like the shidduch, the mohar, shiluhim and ketubah are most often arranged by one’s father. But Joseph’s father had passed away long ago, and his mother more recently. He was left on his own in the world, to make his own arrangements, and it was made worse by seeing that Mary’s father, Joachim, a shepherd by trade, was uncomfortable with their direct negotiations. Without an intermediary, the proceedings seemed to him against tradition, maybe even to the point of being unscriptural, a possibility far from either’s intent.
It wasn’t that Joachim thought Joseph an inappropriate match for his daughter. Indeed, he was thrilled by the prospect. Joseph would be a welcome addition to their family. It’s just that he didn’t feel he had a good bargaining position, dealing directly with the groom for the mohar, (the bride price). He was not a wealthy man, and he was embarrassed that he could not offer a dowry. If he had such wealth, his family would not be living in Nazareth. Beyond those practical matters, Joachim wasn’t sure he was ready to give his daughter up in marriage. To him, she was still a little girl. To be most accurate, she was his little girl. If he could afford to continue feeding her properly, he would reconsider her betrothal.
Joseph placed no importance on the dowry. Mary was enough of a prize. He’d watched her grow into a woman. He knew her to be obedient to both her father and the Lord. She was a very hard worker, and brave, but also playful. She had learned well from her mother to cook and keep a home. Beyond all this, Mary was a stunning beauty and desirable to any man. Joseph had been prepared to offer a significant mohar, (bride price), but Joachim asked only one thing.
“She is still a young one,” he suggested, nervously.
“I know it is much to ask, but, more than money, I would ask that, since your own father has passed away, you would allow me, in his stead, to determine the time for the nuptials. I know that this is not the tradition, but I beg your indulgence.”
He paused again, seeming embarrassed, then said, “And, when it is time for the Yichud, when you lie together, I beg you be gentle with her and consider her youth.”
Beyond the embarrassment of the moment, it seemed a strange request to Joseph, but easily enough promised. He was in no hurry in that regard, at least not that he would be willing to admit.
In spite of the promise Joachim extracted from him, Joseph still intended to pay the mohar. In addition, he planned to surprise Mary with a special Matan, (a love gift), to let her know the feelings he held in his heart for her. He was concerned that, because of their age difference, Mary might think he had only asked for her hand because he wanted a young woman to work hard for him, to care for his home, and to bare him sons so that he could laze in the years ahead. Joseph wanted Mary to know that, in his heart, she was much more than just a servant to him, that his feelings for her ran deeper than that. Despite the difficulties of tradition and the embarrassment of personal feelings, by the end of the day all basic matters of their betrothal had been settled by the two men, and they parted friends.
The kiddushin, (betrothal ceremony), was held at the synagogue in Cana, not far from Nazareth. The synagogue in Cana was commonly used for such events, usually hosted by ceremonial professionals. While Mary and her mother made arrangements for food, wine and guests, Joachim worried about expenses. He and Joseph selected the witnesses and, with the help of the Rabbi, worked out the ketubah, (marriage contract). Once that was done, Joseph slipped away to the market in Capernaum where he purchased rings and the Matan for Mary, a beautifully decorated Havdalah. He was certain that she would be thrilled. From that day, it was not many weeks before Mary and Joseph stood together at Cana, under the chuppah and recited the seven blessings, the last of them, thus, “Blessed art Thou, O Lord, King of the universe, who has created joy and gladness, bridegroom and bride, mirth and exultation, pleasure and delight, love, brotherhood, peace and fellowship. Soon may there be heard in the cities of Judah and in the streets of Jerusalem, the voice of joy and gladness, the voice of the bridegroom and the voice of the bride, the jubilant voice of bridegrooms from their canopies, and of youths from their feasts of song. And Blessed art Thou, O Lord, who makes the bridegroom to rejoice with the bride.”
Joseph and Mary raised the cup and drank, before receiving the rings that Joseph bought in Capernaum. The Rabbi read the ketubah and the guests were served a traditional meal along with a meager supply of the best wine Joachim could afford. The master of the feast was openly insulting, screwing his face up in a bitter display when he tasted the vintage. It broke Mary’s heart to see her father treated with such disrespect. He had always worked hard to give her and her mother the best that he could afford.
In spite of the poor quality, the wine was soon enough consumed by their gluttonous guests and, unfortunately, there was nothing held in reserve. Mary was grieved further at hearing many of the guests complain. Some pretended that the poor wine was an insult, and they left the banquet before the ceremony was ended. Joachim had not yet scheduled the Yichud, the ceremonial consummation of their marriage. In Joseph’s mind, compared to the Yichud, the guests’ early departure was of little consequence.
At the end of it, Joseph presented Mary with the Mattan, the ornate Havdalah he’d purchased secretly. Mary was speechless. Her eyes filled up with tears. Joseph believed they were the result of her joy at seeing the beautiful gift. In her secret heart, however, Mary’s tears were for the hurt she felt inside over the many insults her father and mother had endured as the price for her being wed.
~
In mid-summer, Joseph worked in the heat of his courtyard making a table for the home he and Mary would share. Though he was stripped to the waist, sweat still trickled annoyingly through the thick forest of hair that covered his chest. He was alone. He’d no one to carry water for him. Mary was still living at home with her mother and father. Joseph was left to wonder how much longer it would be before Joachim would announce the time for the Yichud. He was a very patient man, but he was beginning to feel a certain desperation about his marriage. He loved Mary and wanted her to be with him in their own home. He needed a partner, one to carry water for him so that he would not have to stop his work and take time to go to the well.
For decency’s sake, he donned his tunic before setting out for the village well. He’d not gone far before sighting Joachim, coming from the opposite direction, with Mary in tow. Joseph’s heart leapt for joy at seeing her, then leapt again, in anticipation that Joachim was coming to announce the date for the Yichud. Joseph’s face brightened with a broad smile. He waved. He hardly noticed that his greeting was not returned. As they drew closer, however, he began to see the dower expression that dominated both their faces. As they approached, his own joyful expression began to fade, replaced by one of deep concern. Mary was pale, nearly faint, her eyes were ringed in red, as if she’d been crying through the night. When Joseph reached for her she drew back from him.
“Mary, what’s wrong?”
“We must speak,” Joachim said, coldly.
“In private, inside your house.”
“Of course.”
Joseph’s mind raced through scenarios, wondering what could be so wrong, wondering if he might have done something to create this deep sadness, and, was that anger he heard in Joachim’s tone?
They passed through the courtyard, walking by the nearly finished table without a word. Once inside, Joachim, still holding too tightly to Mary’s wrist, declined to sit. He glared at Joseph. Tears filled his eyes, and he shook with what could only be rage. After a moment he jerked on Mary’s arm and thrust her toward Joseph, saying, “Tell him!”
Mary stood alone for a moment between the two men. Her normally beautiful countenance, was ashen and she folded over, covering her face with her hands, falling to her knees, and sobbing at his feet.
Joachim said, his voice hoarse with angry emotion “Please tell me to my face that you broke the promise you made to me.”
Joseph was stunned and confused. He’d no idea what Joachim meant, or how to answer. He said nothing, but stood looking down at his beloved, Mary, broken, on her knees before him. He felt his own anger growing from within the pit of his stomach. Thinking that all the hurt was her father’s doing, Joseph considered forcefully removing Joachim from his house, but before he could, Joachim cried out, “She is with child!”
Joseph felt as if a spear were rammed through his chest. He staggered at the blow and himself collapsed to his knees beside Mary. Joachim, still standing, still shaking with rage, was stunned by Joseph’s reaction. His own hands flew to his face, clawing senselessly. A moment later he tore his tunic, and looking to the sky, pounded his bare chest, all the while silently begging for God to grant him death. After a moment he reached down and slapped Mary, twice, hard, on the back of her head. When he drew back for a third, Joseph intervened, staying his hand.
Mary fell on her face, sobbing uncontrollably.
Joachim gave out a tortured cry, then again tore his tunic and fell to his knees sobbing beside her, his precious daughter, his little girl.
He cried, “Please, O Lord. Please have mercy,” then he collapsed into a heap on the floor of Joseph’s front room.
Still kneeling, Joseph struggled with his own shattered emotions. At first, in denial, he reached out to Mary, but before his hands touched her, he drew back, repulsed, wounded by the revelation of her betrayal. When he was able to gain his voice, he asked, in a dark, vengeful tone, “Who, Mary? Who has done this?”
Before she could answer, Joachim, prostrate on the floor beside her, begged, “Please have mercy, Joseph, please don’t report this to the scribes.”
He sobbed, adding, “Please don’t have my daughter stoned.”
Then, begging, he suggested, “You can divorce her, send her away, but please have mercy on her.”
Joseph was again unable to speak. A knot had formed in his throat. Unlike Joachim, he hadn’t yet given thought to the consequences this news could bring.
Mary, hearing her father’s plea, began to wail. Joseph took a deep breath and prayed quietly for The Lord’s mercy and for wisdom and strength in the face of this shocking announcement. As he prayed, he felt a calmness come over him. He was able to resolve right away, that there would be no stoning. Such things were not in his heart, or within his capacity. He could not imagine himself casting the first stone at this woman whom he loved with every fiber of his being. Though he was deeply hurt, he reached out and placed his hand softly on the back of Mary’s head. “Who, Mary? How has this happened?”
After a moment Mary lifted her head and looked into his eyes. She held his gaze, and in that moment, he could see no guile in her. Mary pushed herself up to her knees and threw herself at Joseph, wrapping her arms around his neck and sobbing into his shoulder. He did not return her embrace, but he didn’t push her away either, and when she had calmed herself, she pulled back, looked into his eyes and said, “It is from the Lord.”
Joseph was stunned. Joachim rose to his knees and shouted at her, “LIAR!”
His face contorted into an angry mask, and he said, “This is blaspheme that she claims on top of her sin. I think she lies for your benefit.”
“No,” Mary pleaded, she said, “I lie for no one. I’m telling you the truth. This child within me has come from the Lord Himself.”
Then she related the story she’d already told her mother and father, of a visitation from an angel. Of the words he’d spoken to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High.” (Luke 1:30-32)
She concluded saying, “I am to call the baby, ‘Jesus,’ as the angel instructed.”
Joseph could barely take it in. He wondered if her story might be true. He wanted to believe her, but “the Son of the Most High”? He thought it more likely that, in her youth, her innocence, she had pushed the facts from her mind and replaced them with this more comfortable fable. He was at a loss for what he should say or do.
“Leave me,” he said quietly.
He took Mary gently by her shoulders and, pushing her away, repeated his request.
“Leave me. Both of you. I must have time to think. I must pray for God’s wisdom.”
~
Joseph spent the rest of the day on his knees alternating between prayer and angry self-pity. He felt like a child whose emotions were being blown by a fierce wind, in every direction. At one moment his heart was filled with sadness and grieving, the next, he was filled with rage, desiring satisfaction from whomever it was who had lain with Mary or forced himself on her. After many hours of prayer, he’d resolved nothing. The gates of wisdom remained closed and barred, his pleas for help ignored until, each day, after working himself to exhaustion, he fell asleep.
Many months passed while Joseph thrashed with his dilemma. He wavered still, between anger and mercy. In that time Joachim had sent Mary away to live with her cousin, Elizabeth and her husband, Zechariah, in Bethany. Her absence made it possible for Joseph to more calmly, considered quietly divorcing her. His resolve faltered, however, each time he considered what her life would become as a divorced woman with a child. The divorce would brand her publicly as an adulteress and her life after that would be a sentence worse than death. It was during this period of emotional struggle that the boy, Thomas, came to his courtyard to inquire of Mary’s whereabouts.
Joseph frightened even himself when he grabbed the boy by his throat in a fit of jealous rage, thinking Thomas to be the one who’d done this to Mary. He lifted the boy off the ground in his powerful grip and thought to kill him, but when he looked into the boy’s pleading eyes, he released him and apologized, advising the boy to, ” never speak of Mary to me again.”
Later in that week the soldiers came to Nazareth and posted the Emperor’s edict in the village square. All males of age were to register for a tax, in the place of their birth. Joseph, being descended from David, would have to travel to Bethlehem, five days journey. He welcomed the excuse to leave Nazareth’s poor memories and dusty streets behind. He spent the rest of the day securing the house he’d lived in all his life. The house he’d inherited from his deceased father. The house he’d lovingly expanded and improved in preparation for his marriage so that he and Mary would have a place to raise their children. He gazed at the table he’d left finished, in the courtyard. He ran his hand back and forth over its smooth surface, his eyes closed, his practiced fingers feeling for even the slightest flaw. There were none. He prayed over it, then he brought the table inside where it would be safe from weather and out of view of thieves while he was away.
That night, as Joseph slept, exhausted, he was awakened by the sound of a mighty, rushing wind, and a swirling, spectral light that appeared in his room. Frightened, he pushed himself against the wall and huddled there while the swirling light resolved itself into a presence that was clearly angelic. An ethereal voice called to him, “Joseph, son of David.”
Joseph cringed in a corner of the room, afraid. His terror caused him to stop breathing as the angel spoke.
“Do not be afraid. Take Mary home with you, as you travel to Bethlehem. Do not divorce her for what is conceived in her is from the Holy Presence of God. She will give birth to a son, and you will name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.”
Having said this, the angel vanished with a suddenness that startled Joseph back to awareness. He found himself soaked in sweat, wrapped in his bedding, sitting in a corner of the darkened room. He thought for a moment that the visitation had only been a terrifying dream, but it still seemed real. The more he thought of it the more real it became until he was certain that what he’d seen and heard was a vision from God, a visitation from the Holy One of Israel. Then he remembered what the angel said, that they would call the boy, “Jesus”. That was the very name Mary gave him when she confessed her condition to him.
Joseph’s heart began to pound with excitement. At the first sign of light, he rolled up his bedding and packed his tools along with the meager belongings he would need for his journey, loading them on the colt he kept in a shed behind the house. He took one last look around the small house and brushed his hand over the smooth top of the unfinished table. A gentle breeze blew in over the wall of the courtyard, brushing his face, urging him on. There was a chill in the air that foretold the coming of winter.
In the narrow street outside, he led the small donkey to Mary’s house, rousting her mother and father from their sleep. He spoke excitedly as he related to them the story of the angel’s visit. He inquired of Mary’s location, then he bid them farewell, gave his blessing, and promised to travel to Bethany and take his wife, Mary, with him, to Bethlehem.
~
Mary was startled by an unexpected knock at Zecharia’s door. She placed Elizabeth’s baby, John, in his cradle and went to see who was there. Brilliant light and cool air streamed through gaps in the door’s crude slats. The poor construction made Mary think of the finely crafted doors Joseph made in Nazareth. When she opened, the morning sun blinded her momentarily, but she could see the figure of a man standing in front of her, in silhouette. In her moment of blindness, she did not recognize him until he spoke.
“Mary. It is I, Joseph, your husband.”
Mary threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her cheek to his chest. She began to cry for joy. She could hardly believe that he’d come for her, though she had prayed that he would. She thought she would never see him again. She feared that he would divorce her, or worse, charge her in public, but here he was, her husband, Joseph. He’d come for her at last.
Joseph’s chest convulsed. He sucked in the cool air and a tear escaped his eye. He held tight to her, his wife, this child, this beautiful woman. They stood that way, quiet, for a very long time. Just holding on to one another.
Mary’s cousin, Elizabeth called from inside the small house, “Who is there?”
Mary answered, her voice was filled with excitement and emotion.
“It is Joseph! My husband, Joseph!”
Elizabeth came quickly into the room and, smiling, ushered them both inside.
When they settled, Mary chattered unceasingly, peppering Joseph with questions about Nazareth and her parents, but Joseph fell silent. He was hardly able to take his eyes from his young wife’s swollen belly, worrying and wondering how he could be a good father to this child of God.
“You have grown large,” he said.
Mary was hesitant, self-conscious, not sure of Joseph’s meaning. She glanced nervously at Elizabeth.
“She bares God’s child well, with great beauty,” Elizabeth responded.
Mary tried to reassure him, her voice almost pleading, “I will give birth soon, then my body will return to normal. I promise I will be a good wife for you, Joseph. I will be pleasing to you and bare you many children.”
Joseph smiled at her, a warm smile, and he said, “I have great confidence in you Mary.”
He went on then to explain about the edict from Rome and governor Quirinius. When he finished, he added, “We must travel to Bethlehem.”
He looked again at her swollen belly and asked, “Can you travel?”
Elizabeth answered for Mary, “She is very close to her time, Joseph. You should remain here, with Zecharia and I until she gives birth.”
“Oh no,” Mary interceded, wanting desperately to please her husband in every way.
“I can travel. We can go whenever you desire, husband.”
Elizabeth gave her a stern look.
“Surely you can spend the night here,” she said, turning to Joseph, pleading with him to be sensible.
Joseph nodded his assent and Elizabeth rose from her place to begin preparing a meal for them. Mary gave Joseph’s strong hand a squeeze then followed her older cousin from the room.
Later, when they had eaten, Joseph told them of the vision he’d been given in Nazareth and the words the angel spoke to him concerning the child. He concluded, “The angel told me the baby will be a boy and instructed that we are to call his name, Jesus.”
He looked Mary in the eye and said, “the name, ‘Jesus’, that’s how I know that what you told me of the child in Nazareth is true. He truly is the Son of God Most High.”
At his words, both Mary and Elizabeth were filled with wonder. They fell to their knees in prayer, praising God for all that he was doing in their lives. Mary’s eyes filled with tears of relief and vindication. Elizabeth was filled with wonder, remembering the powerful vision that came to her own husband, Zecharia, in the temple, concerning their son’s birth. She remembered the way her baby, John, leapt with joy inside her at the sound of Mary’s voice, when she first came to stay with them.
~
The journey to Bethlehem was arduous. The roads they traveled wound through rugged country, up and down, switching back on the many steep hills. Though the distance was short, navigating the rocky roads with a colt, loaded with all their possessions, and Mary, nearly due, showing signs of the strain, made progress slow. The small colt protested its load by regular stops, refusing to go further without rest. There were many other delays and, though she hid it well, Mary was feeling small twinges, warning signs that birth was eminent.
Concerned about her condition, Mary asked, “Where will we stay in Bethlehem, Joseph? Do you have family there?”
His answer was brief.
“There is an inn. We will stay at the inn.”
Mary had never stayed at an inn before. There was one in Capernaum that she had seen once or twice, but she had never been inside. So, all of this was new to her, and nothing was familiar, or comforting. The inevitability of giving birth was terrifying enough. Like any young woman, she wanted her mother, or someone familiar to help her through it, but there was only Joseph, her new husband. Though she trusted him, and appreciated his kindness and compassion, the truth is that he too is unfamiliar to her. Though he told her he had helped birth many a lamb among the sheep, he could not replace her mother at a time like this. He could not give her the kind of support and encouragement she would derive from another woman’s presence, from someone who had also given birth. It was all too overwhelming. She felt alone and frightened, and, though she tried, she could not stop the tears that began to stream down her cheeks as she sat on the back of that small beast. She hoped Joseph would not take notice.
Joseph was a bit overwhelmed himself. The road was crowded with pedestrians making their way to or from Jerusalem. Many traveled here from far-flung parts of the Roman Empire. Like himself, they were all returning to the places of their birth, to register for the tax that Caesar commanded. On the way, they were often reminded of the imperial power of Rome, being forced off the road by squads of soldiers on horseback and on foot. As a result, it took most of the rest of the second day for them to complete their journey, and it was nearly dark when they at last arrived at the small inn, just inside the gate of Bethlehem. The setting sun brought on a chill wind and Mary wrapped herself in a shawl. Joseph helped her down from the beast. When her feet hit the ground, a stream of warm fluid flowed down the insides of her legs. She cried out, “Oh, Joseph! The baby comes!”
Mary’s soft features twisted into a mask of pain as a strong contraction gripped her small frame. Joseph wrapped his arm around her and helped her to walk to the door of the inn. He knocked on the rough wooden exterior. He couldn’t help noticing its shoddy workmanship. A moment later it opened just enough for a heavy-set man with stony features and piercing eyes to stick his head through the opening. “We’re full!” He said, abruptly, without further consideration.
The door closed before Joseph could think or speak. He knocked again and the door opened immediately, a bit wider this time, but the innkeeper stepped into the gap so that his corporeal mass blocked the way. He spoke more forcefully this time.
“We are full! There are no rooms!”
“But, sir,” Joseph sputtered politely.
“My wife is with child, and she is about to give birth.”
There was a hint of panic in his voice and demeanor. Mary held her breath and she flushed at hearing him say the words, “my wife”. She’d not heard them before, and they brought her some comfort but did nothing for her pain and terror. The inn keeper hesitated, looking into Mary’s soft, brown eyes.
“Right now?” he asked, as if it were the greatest inconvenience.
“Yes!” Mary cried. “I can feel the baby coming!”
The innkeeper hesitated, looking first at Mary as she held tightly to her swollen stomach and then at Joseph. His angry glare softened.
“There are no rooms,” he repeated, softer this time. Then he added, “But the stable, below, is empty. There is a fireplace, so it can be made warm. You can stay the night there.”
He came out then, closing the door behind him, and led them around to the back of the inn, to the stables which occupied a small space beneath the inn, a cozy shelter carved from the rock upon which the inn had been constructed.
“Make yourselves comfortable here,” he invited. “There is plenty of hay for bedding. I will have my wife come with a lamp as soon as she has finished serving our guests. Perhaps she can be of help. You can build a fire here.”
He pointed to a small fireplace in the corner that Joseph supposed was used by shepherds, to stay warm on cold nights. The innkeeper indicated one of the piles of hay and some split wood nearby, then he left them, hurriedly. Mary whimpered as Joseph settled the colt and pulled the bedding down from its back. He stuffed it with hay and arranged a place for Mary to recline near the small fireplace.
~
At the same time, not more than a stone’s throw from the inn, Heli, one of the local shepherd boys, sat in a broad field of grass watching the sunset. As the sun faded behind the rocky hills a radiant display of brilliant amber, pink, and finally deep purple, faded to a twinkling carpet of stars that filled the sky above. With the sheep safely huddled in their walled pens, he lay back taking in the wonder of it all. He spent most of his nights out here, bored, dreaming of life in some other place. A life of adventure perhaps, as a king, like David who had been born right here in Bethlehem. Though it was a small village, it had once known greatness. Heli thought perhaps the village might know greatness once again, someday. He often fantasized about such things. In a little while he would join the other sheepmen at the fire and listen to their often-repeated tales of adventure, but for right now he preferred to be left alone, to dream his own dreams and make up his own tales of adventure.
Heli took one long look at the stars above him, then closed his eyes and began to drift off, hearing faint strains of music floating across the field, from the inn that lay just beyond the rocky hill behind him. He was at the edge of a dream when he was suddenly consumed by a sense of someone’s presence. The sense was so powerful that it raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He opened his eyes expecting to find one of the shepherds standing over him but all he saw was the blanket of stars in the sky above. The brilliant display made him wonder about the Lord, who had created all of this.
Heli had lived as a Jew all his young life, practicing his faith under his father’s instruction, but with little commitment. The traditions of God’s miraculous power in the lives of his people seemed something from a far distant and mythical past. The promises of the profits were, to Heli, children’s tales told at bedtime by old men. The reality of life for Heli, and for everyone he knew, was the crushing power of Roman occupation, the oppression of the Pharisees, of the Sanhedrin, and of Herod’s tax collectors. Heli’s heroes were the zealots that rebelled against all that authority. Young men who lived by their wits and a dagger, living in the remote hills around Jerusalem. They were his hope for the future.
Heli shivered and sat up quickly. The sense of a presence had grown stronger within him. He looked around in the dark and worried that he was being watched by a predator, a wolf, or worse, a lion. Some were rumored to still wander in these hills. In the distance, near the sheep pens, he could see the shepherds’ fire. The sheepmen were gathered around it, singing, telling tales and keeping warm. Nervous about this feeling of being watched, Heli got up and went to join them.
As he walked across the field, the strong sense of a presence followed him. It made him want to break and run, but he’d been told, if it was a lion stalking him, running would be the worst thing he could do. As he drew close to the circle of light cast by the shepherds’ fire, he froze in his tracks as the sound of a woman’s screams pierced the night from the direction of the inn. The conversation at the fire fell silent and the other shepherds looked up, peering past him into the darkness beyond. As Heli began to turn, to see what had riveted their attention, he was blinded by a brilliant flash of light. He fell to his knees, covering his eyes with his hands, expecting to be struck down by lightning, but, instead, a watery voice spoke directly into his ear.
“Do not be afraid for I come to you with word from the Lord, your God.”
At this, Heli dared to spread his fingers and peer through them. There, in front of him, stood a presence of light in the form of a man that could only be an angel of the Lord. Without further thought, Heli prostrated himself before the presence, pressing his face to the ground. The other shepherds sat frozen with fear, as, again, the watery voice spoke, this time so that all could hear.
“Do not be afraid for I bring you tidings of great joy that will be for you to share with all people. At this very moment in Bethlehem, the city of David, a savior has been born to you. He is the long-awaited Messiah. You will find him, a babe, wrapped in swaddling cloth and lying in a manger. You must watch over him as you watch over your own sheep. Go now and seek him.”
As Heli looked up he saw a great number of these heavenly beings, all bathed in light and praising God saying, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace to all men for it is mankind with whom God’s favor rests.”
~
Not far from Bethlehem, in Jerusalem, the piercing sound of a woman’s scream caused Herod’s eyes to burst open and himself to spring upright on his divan. His heart pounded and sweat covered him as a nightmare quickly faded from his consciousness. He looked up and saw that his guards stood silent at his chamber door, as if nothing had happened.
“Who screamed?” He demanded of them.
The two came to attention as one, both glancing at one another before the senior answered, “We heard nothing, sire.”
“Are you deaf? I was awakened by a woman’s scream, as if she were in labor. Call for the captain of the guard!”
The junior rushed off to wake the captain. This would not turn out well for either of them. At the least, the captain would be angry that he was, once again, awakened in the middle of the night. The guard was certain there would be repercussions, though worse things had come lately as a result of the king’s madness. Just a few years ago, as an example, Philip, the senior of the two guards, had himself participated in the execution of Herod’s sons, Alexandros and Aristobulos. They were sentenced to death by strangulation for no other reason than that their succession to the throne had become politically inconvenient. The king’s dark moods and madness had grown worse since that time.
“What have you done now?” The captain grumbled as he hurried down the long hall with the junior guard.
“Nothing, sir. I swear to you. The king claims to have been awakened by a woman’s scream, but we heard nothing. I think the king suffers from nightmares again. We should call for the physicians.”
When the captain arrived at the king’s chamber, he, Vestus by name, moved ahead and groveled before Herod, hoping to appease him.
“Come close to me,” Herod commanded.
Vestus stood up and approached the king with humble caution. As he drew near he was overwhelmed by the smell of garlic and sweat infused with expensive perfumes, stale wine and the king’s necrotic breath.
“Who are these men you’ve assigned to my chamber?” The king inquired in a conspiratorial whisper.
“They are trusted members of your personal guard, Highness.”
“Who trusts them, you?” Herod asked, then in a hoarse whisper he commanded, “I want them removed from my presence, immediately.”
Frustrated by the king’s growing paranoia, the captain of the guard dismissed the two soldiers, telling them to take up positions outside the door. When he returned to the king’s side Herod asked, “Who was it that screamed?”
“I heard no one scream, Sire. Perhaps it was only a dream.”
Herod thought for a moment but couldn’t drive the obsession from his thoughts. He grew testy and said, “It was no dream. A woman screamed. Are you also trying to deceive me?”
“Certainly not, Sire. I heard no one scream. Perhaps it came from elsewhere, outside, somewhere in the night.”
Again, the king paused to think. He looked across the room, through the open balcony at the stars twinkling in the night. He could not shake the disturbing sense that filled his heart since hearing the scream, but he would not stoop to let on to these men who troubled him by their very presence. Perhaps he would undertake to build another fortress, far out in the Judean desert, where he could be alone and feel safe.
“Perhaps you’re right,” Herod allowed, seeming to relax a bit.
“Shall I call for your servants, Sire?”
The king nodded that he should and Vestus turned to leave. As he walked away, Herod spoke to his back.
“You are the only one I can trust, Vestus. You are like a son to me.”
Vestus smiled, but his heart was turned to ice by the king’s words. Having King Herod perceive you a son would be like drinking poison.
At the same moment that Herod heard a woman cry out in labor, in a land distant from Herod’s palace, a bright meteor, born in the sign of Aries, streaked across the sky from east to west. The event excited Larvandad’s study of the stars this night. He made a hasty diagram then hurried down from his rooftop for some rest. In the morning he rose later than intended. He scurried around gathering the things he would need, calling upon his servants to prepare for a journey. He intended to travel from his home in the city of Qum to consult with his colleagues, Hormisdas and Gushnasaph, in the nearby town of Saveh. He would inquire of them, if they had seen the sign in the heavens, and together they would determine what the event might mean for Persia and its ruthless king, Orodes III.
~
Heli did not often make the trip to Jerusalem, but he had taken the angel’s charge to “watch over the child as he would his own sheep”, with serious intent. So, it was on the fortieth day of the child’s birth, that he traveled to Jerusalem with the baby, Jesus, and the baby’s parents, Joseph the carpenter and his young wife Mary, both from Nazareth, in Galilee. They entered Jerusalem through the gate of the Essenes, and struggled through the teaming streets to the Temple, where they entered into the court of gentiles, through the Tadi gate.
Throughout the journey Heli had felt the power of this child’s presence in the same way he’d felt the angel’s presence on the night that Mary gave birth. It was the same power and presence he’d felt at the inn, when he and the other shepherds found the child, lying in a manger, just as the angel told them. He could feel that presence even now, in the midst of the pressing crowds that filled the temple.
On this day, Simeon, the elder, sat in his usual place awaiting God’s promise concerning the consolation of Israel, spoken to him many years before. He was old now, though he hadn’t been when he’d begun this vigil. Today his quest was made difficult by rude crowds swarming through the temple like tourists. This trying of his patience had been the way of things ever since the emperor’s decree.
The temple and the streets of Jerusalem teemed with strangers and strange tongues. At his advanced age it was hard to know if it was the crowds he found disturbing, or if he had just grown weary of it all. Whenever he considered abandoning his sentinel for the Holy One of Israel, he could hear the voice of the Holy spirit echo in his ear. It was the voice of the Lord telling him to remain on task because he surely would not die without first seeing the Lord’s Salvation. In obedience, Simeon stood up and scanned the swirling throng, searching, ever searching for the Holy One, feeling like Diogenes of Sinope, with his lamp, ever searching for an honest man.
At the same time, a few paces away, a stout young man with a shepherd’s staff rudely pushed his way through the throng, moving closer to where Simeon stood. As he cleared the way before him, Simeon was roughly jostled by the retreating crowds. He backed into the stool he’d been sitting on, lost his footing and tumbled to the stone pavement of the courtyard. A complaint went out from the crowd, and they opened a space around the old man who had fallen in their midst. As Simeon struggled to sit up, he came face to face with the young, offending shepherd, who leaned down apologetically and reached out for Simeon’s hand.
“How rude,” Simeon complained, while taking the young shepherd’s hand.
“I am so sorry, father,” the young shepherd apologized with polite humility.
“It’s the Gentiles, father. There are so many. I am trying to clear the way for this first born of Israel, that he might be presented to the Lord according to the law of Moses.”
The young man pulled Simeon to his feet as if he were a feather and when Simeon was standing erect, he saw a young woman behind the shepherd bearing a child in her arms. For the longest time Simeon stood in silence, staring at the baby in her arms. He felt himself filled with the Holy Spirit, an experience familiar to him. The Spirit opened his eyes and he saw the aura of God resting on the child who was asleep, in spite of the stir of people. Tears filled the old man’s eyes and he reached out for the child. Without waking him, Mary passed the baby into Simeon’s waiting arms. He took the child gently to him and looking up, tears streaming down his face, asked, “By what name is the child called?”
Joseph answered, “His name is Jesus, as the angels commanded.”
“This is Emmanuel, the Messiah of God,” Simeon announced in a loud voice, and, at the sound of that name the child woke. His dark eyes searched for the source of the calling. They settled on Simeo, gazing deeply into the old man’s, tired eyes. As the baby smiled, Simeon lifted the child and presented him to Lord in consecration. At the same time, he lifted his voice and cried out, “Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you now dismiss your servant in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all people, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.”
At that, the crowds grew quiet and all eyes turned to the child Simeon was holding up before the Lord, and then to Joseph and to the baby’s young mother.
Anna, the prophetess, was not far from the place where Simeon stood. In spite of her advanced age, she heard Simeon’s declaration quite clearly. She knew him well, being also a fixture in the temple. In fact, she lived now within its walls and had for many years. She was well known among the priests and the temple elders, those who were leaders among the people of Judea.
“Out of my way,” she commanded as she moved through the crowd toward the epicenter of Simeon’s declaration. She knew full well its meaning and she meant also to lay her eyes on the Holy One who was to be Israel’s consolation. A moment later, as Simeon was returning the child to his mother’s arms, the crowd separated, and Anna stepped into the open space that formed around the baby Jesus. She gave a quick nod to Simeon, who nodded in return, and then she turned her full attention to the child in Mary’s arms.
She smiled in her feeble way. Her eyes twinkled, bright with moisture from within the deep wrinkles of an old woman’s face.
“The child’s name?” She asked, tersely.
Both Mary and Joseph responded at once, not knowing who was asking.
“Jesus.”
“Hmmm.” Anna mumbled as she lifted her hand and placed it on the child’s forehead.
She closed her eyes and suddenly sucked in air, as if she’d been pierced. She moaned and began to tremble before pulling her hand away. Her eyes burst wide opened and she stared intently into Mary’s own eyes.
After a moment she announced, “This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed.”
Lifting her aged arms to the heavens she closed her eyes once again and shuddered. A mournful tune went out from her that could be heard over the sounds of the crowded courtyard. A vision came to her in which she saw the child’s death, as a man, at the hands of priests in collusion with kings and conquerors. She was horrified by the vision, but deep within she found the certain knowledge that this child’s death was Gods will and gift to all mankind. In fact, the vision revealed to her that this child was born to die, the Lamb of God, a sacrifice for the sins of all the world.
When she opened her eyes, she looked into the face of the frightened girl holding the baby Jesus in her arms. Anna found, for the first time in all her life, that she could not speak the things she had seen, for she had both seen and felt the pain this young woman would feel one distant day to come. Still, she could not help but to warn Mary, and the words tumbled from her mouth, uncontrolled.
She heard herself saying, “And a sword will pierce your own soul too.”
Mary gasped in horror. Her eyes filled with tears. The old woman’s words sounded more like a curse than a blessing. It was a terrible prophecy. Anna’s face turned ashen with regret, and she backed away, disappearing into the crowd.
“Heli,” Joseph called, “we must go!”
Heli, snapping out of his shock over the seer’s words, nodded another apology to Simeon and began pushing his way out of the temple, through the crushing crowds. Mary and Joseph with the baby, Jesus, fell in behind him, following in his wake. Once they were on the road to Bethlehem, they walked together in silence, until Mary had to go aside to nurse the child. She sat down on a small patch of soft, grass that grew in defiance of the surrounding rocky terrain. When she settled herself and provided for modesty, Joseph and Heli came to sit beside her. After several moments filled only with the sounds of the baby’s suckling, Mary asked, “What did she mean about the sword, Joseph?”
Joseph didn’t answer right away. He was still angry about the incident, but finally he said, “I’m not sure what she meant. It seems to me she’s just a mean old woman. Bitter and childless herself.”
After a moment Heli said, “But many say she is a seer, a prophetess, that she is known and respected among the priests.”
“I too have heard that of her,” Joseph agreed.
“She is called Anna, the daughter of Phanuel.”
The three fell silent again, drifting into their own thoughts.
When the baby finished, and fell asleep, they climbed back down to the road and resumed their journey.
It was Mary’s idea to return to Bethlehem instead of Nazareth. Though Joseph had prepared them a home there, she simply was not ready to face the scrutiny of her native village. The gossiping old women would be counting the months out on their fingers, then glare at her with disapproval. They would make horrible, whispered accusations. She was not ready for that. She didn’t know if she ever would be. She didn’t tell Joseph about her fears. Instead, she told him she was simply not prepared for the five-day journey to Nazareth.
Joseph agreed, though he understood in his quiet way that it was her fear of reproach more than the long journey. This was the trait she had first come to love most in him, his gentle, understanding heart. She had seen it again and again. In the way he comforted her over the wine incident at Cana. In his compassion at the announcement of her pregnancy. In his coming to Bethany to receive her though she was swollen with child. Time after time in their journey together Joseph had shown the depth of his love for her in his patience and compassion. His skill as a carpenter had already brought them offers of work and a comfortable room at the inn. For Mary, the decision was made. Bethlehem would be their home.
Heli interrupted her thoughts. “The angel told us that the child would be our savior, the Messiah, the Lord. Surely, he will be a great warrior, like King David. Surely, he will crush our enemies under his foot. Perhaps he will die in battle. Maybe that’s what the old woman meant”
“She didn’t say that he would die,” Mary responded.
She was upset by his assessment. She corrected him, “She said that I would die.”
Joseph grimaced and turned away at the thought. After a moment he said, “She said that ‘a sword would pierce your own soul too’. It’s a metaphor, it’s not literal in meaning. She is saying that both you and the child would experience soul-wrenching emotional pain as a result of his destiny. Perhaps we will learn in time what destiny she means. Perhaps we will be able to avoid the suffering she is referring to.”
He looked sternly at Heli and added, “Perhaps we should change the subject.”
His words brought a period of quiet reflection in which both Joseph and Heli secretly committed themselves to being more vigilant protectors of the baby, Jesus.
Mary rode in silence on the back of their colt while Joseph and Heli walked along the narrow road to Bethlehem, one on either side of her. Joseph struggled with his role, projecting his thoughts into the future, wondering how he could ever be adequate as father to the Messiah. He worried about how he would teach the child, provide for him, protect him from the wickedness that prevailed in the world of men. Mary wondered at her role also, being the mother of Christ. Her mind reeled with all that she had heard from both priest and prophetess. While she held those things, keeping them deep in her heart, she looked down at the baby in her arms. Seeing him there brought simpler thoughts to mind. Even so, Mary said, “Joseph. I’m afraid.”
Joseph placed his hand gently on Mary’s arm and, looking into her eyes he said, “Don’t be afraid, Mary.”
Heli stopped in his tracks and smiling in wonder, remembered aloud, “That’s exactly what the angel said on the day of the child’s birth. ‘Do not be afraid for I bring you tidings of great joy’”
B. James Wilson 
Leave a comment