6—ANNA & SIMEON

Flaming Hope With A Flickering Candle

Who said God answers prayers? There are millions upon millions of people praying to him all the time. There is no way he could hear them all at once and keep them sorted out.

Besides, we’re not the only things God created. You think the earth is some big deal? Our planet is only one of many to belong to our sun-star. Our sun-star is only one of millions in our galaxy. Our galaxy is only one of millions of galaxies.

So who are we? We are punier than the smallest needle point compared to the rest of the universe. We are nothing. Each of us just a spec. A forgettable dot on the sea of the cosmos. A whisper in the realm of existence.

• BC 90-80
• Asher, Province of Galilee, Palestine

“Sir, you have a baby girl!”

Some people are stubborn though. They actually believe God notices them. Who do they think they are?

“We shall name her Anna.”

Anna has a strange life ahead of her. Her entire life she will wait and hope, wait and lose hope, wait and hope. Sometimes desperately.

Does God really answer prayer like they say? Anna will not find out until the very end—nearly a century from now.

Raising cattle is hard. Still, it is a contented way of life. But as little Anna grows, she becomes discontented. It had started when her father took her over to the Great Sea coast for the first time. There she saw all the excitement of big city life.

Back home, Anna embroiders a handkerchief with an image of the seacoast. She is good at embroidering. And as she does, she hums. She is both artistic and musical. Her family is proud of her.

Oh, dear Anna, if you only knew what lies ahead of you in the big city where you will move some day. Excitement, yes. But not the kind you have in mind. Riots, spies, invasions, massacres right in the temple. The sacred temple.

Perhaps you shouldn’t go, sweet Anna. You’re too pure and innocent. Are you sure that’s what you want? Can you handle it, little girl with the curls and big dove eyes and quick smile with a tooth missing?

Will you have the past-understanding stubbornness that will be required of you, little Anna with the new pink shawl and necklace made out of daisies? The peace and freedom your family takes for granted will end in a few years. Things will never be the same.

Can you keep the candle of your faith burning for so long?

•  BC 74

 There is a wedding. Yes, it is Anna’s. She is all grown up.

She is a beautiful young woman with a round face, pointed chin and hazel eyes. When she works, she hums. When she walks, she is more likely to skip. When she gets worried, she twirls a strand of her brown hair around two fingers.

Anna has found the man of her dreams. He wants to whisk her off to the bright lights, sprawling synagogues and never-ending markets of the big city.

Candles. Flowers. Wedding veils.

“Here comes the bride… Here comes the groom…”

Parading through the streets back to the bride’s home.

Vows. Smiles. Kisses.

Wedding feast. Gifts.

“My little girl is grown up. That just can’t be.” Her father, Zedakiah, is tall with a receding hairline, and beard trimmed short and precise. He puts a small table and two chairs in the wagon that is being loaded up for the long trip ahead.

“Oh, Father,” Anna replies, her hands on her waist. “I’m not a little girl any longer. I’m sixteen. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

“I’ll take good care of her, sir,” Thomas assures.

Anna gazes at Thomas, tall and clean shaven with black eyes and neatly combed hair. He even has a cloth tucked in his belt that he uses to wipe his hands periodically.

Little by little, Anna’s mother sends things out to the wagon to add to the collection. Finally, the wagon is full with everything Anna’s mother thinks they’ll need to start housekeeping.

Anna’s mother hands her a tote full of wool yarns she has had dyed in different colors. “You’ll want this when you  are in one of your designing moods. You can use part of it to make a tapestry for your wall,” she explains with tears in her eyes.

Anna and Thomas climb into the wagon and Thomas clicks to signal the oxen to move out.

“Send word when you arrive there,” Zedekiah calls after them.

“And write often,” her mother adds. “Oh, Anna. We’ll miss you so.”

Anna is too far away to hear her mother’s whispered last words. Eyes straight ahead, sitting next to her Thomas, she does not see that her mother is now weeping freely in the arms of her father.

I’ll miss you too, Mother and Father. And I’ll wear the mail courier out delivering letters to you.

Anna tries to etch their likeness, their voice and their mannerisms in her memory. But now, just as her mother had done seventeen years earlier, it is Anna’s turn to go out into the exciting world and follow her new husband’s dream.

Hope is aflame in Anna’s heart.

• Jerusalem, Province of Judea

Off the happy couple goes to Jerusalem. The hub of world activity. The spoke in the wheel of justice.

Thomas lands a fantastic job with an exporter. He even gets to travel sometimes.

“He’s getting to know a lot of important people,” Anna tells her new friend as they walk to the market together one morning. “He’s going to be important himself someday. I just know it.”

Anna gets a job too. She is a seamstress at the national temple. Part-time work to keep all the priests’ official garments mended. There’s a large staff. Everyone loves each other. It’s great to be part of the center of holy activity.

Thomas and Anna are so happy. Everything is perfect.

The flame in their hearts is like a torch.

•  BC 67

Something is wrong. Anna’s tears fall like a torrent onto the miniature scroll and her pen.

Thomas was in a terrible accident. He was killed, she writes her parents.

Anna listlessly drops her pen. She cannot see now for the tears. She takes her handkerchief out of her sleeve and once more wipes away her tears, but it does nothing to wipe away the confusion.

She leans back on her stool now, arms hanging at her sides. She raises one hand to her forehead, leans back and groans aloud.

“Thomas,” she whispers. “My dear, dear Thomas.” Then the scream. “Why? Why God?” The groans from deep in her throat mingle with sobs.

After a few moments, she grows quiet. She wipes her face, pulls her hair away from her eyes, and picks up her pen again.

She resumes. He’s gone. He’s never coming back.

But the tears are always near, and once more she stops writing. Once more the pen drops, only this time on the parchment where it smudges her last word. She does not notice. Instead, she turns on her stool, hugs herself, and rocks back and forth, back and forth.

“Oh, my Thomas.” Her words come from deep in her throat and struggle to be released. “Oh, my God.” She puts her head down in her lap. “I can’t stand this.”

Anna rises, looks around her room and notices his robe still on a hook. She picks it up, buries her face in it, absorbs the smells that are her Thomas—were her Thomas—and leans one shoulder on the wall. She sinks to the floor, holding on to Thomas’ robe, and sobs.

With a start, she realizes she has drifted off and awakens to a room with deepened shadows in it. She turns onto her knees, pulls herself up and walks back over to the table with her letter to be sent home. She lays Thomas’ robe across her lap, smooths it gently, and picks up her pen.

Thomas is gone. What am I going to do? I loved him more than life itself. I cannot live without him.

The funeral had been yesterday, the same day as the accident. She had been in such a daze, she’d hardly known it was happening. Her friends at the temple and their husbands had sat with her. She couldn’t remember who handled the expenses. Oh, yes, his employer did.

She imagines her parents worrying over her facing all this alone.

Thomas’s sister lives here, she scribbles quickly while she has some control. And I have a good friend who works at the temple with me. They’ve both said they will stay with me awhile.

Why them? Why can’t it be Thomas staying with me?

She gently puts the pen down, pushes the parchment out of the way and lays her head on the table cradled in her arms.

“Oh, Mamma. Oh, Father,” she whispers. “I can hardly stand it.”

Friends come and go as young Anna, only 23 years old, tries to absorb her grief.

Sometimes she looks at the things Thomas brought for her during his travels and washes them with her tears. Sometimes she re-reads the little tablets of clay where he had scratched notes for her to find whenever he was gone—tablets that she is now so grateful she did not throw away. Sometimes she paces. Or sits with her eyes closed and dreams of happier days. Or just cries into the silence.

_____

“Now that the funeral is over, we’ve got to decide what to do with your house.” Her father tells her.

“Father, I know what you’re thinking. But I can’t leave here.”

Anna’s parents have arrived.

“Thomas is here. Everywhere. I need that. And my work. I need to keep my job. I don’t need any more changes right now.”

They are eating. Her parents had brought cheese, raisin cakes and dates with them. They had bought bread at the market on their way to Anna’s house.

“But, Anna…”

Her eyes aren’t as swollen from the tears as they had been, but there are still tell-tale signs from when she cries in the night. She has learned to control them better during the day.

“Please, Father. Please be patient with me.”

She stands and takes the dirtied bowls and platters out to the well in her yard. She has hardly eaten at all. She is growing alarmingly thin.

“Look at you, Anna,” her mother interjects, almost in tears herself. “Your cheeks are sunken in, you have dark circles under your eyes, and you walk around like you’re half dead yourself.”

“This is what I need to do. Gradually I’ll heal. Somehow.”

“Yes, it takes time to heal,” Zedekiah interjects. “But are you sure you can do it away from your family?”

“This is the family of God, Father. I’ll be fine.”

Has God forsaken Anna? Does she not understand what is going on? Does she actually believe it will all work together like a mosaic? How gullible.

The flame in Anna’s heart is still strong. It will survive.

•  BC 63

 The trumpets blare from atop the watchtowers. The sound they had all dreaded. “He’s just outside our wall. Defend your city!”

Anna knows who is there, just as everyone else does, and her mind gropes and fights, not wanting to admit the inevitable. Roman Commander Pompeii and his army have arrived.

It is the Sabbath and the temple is busy. Undaunted, despite the threat, the priests continue to offer their sacrifices. Pompeii had known they would.

“Look out!”

With a bang that invades Anna’s ears and devastates her soul, mortar from the great stones of the eternal temple break loose and fly across the courtyard.

It has begun.

Again the colliding and banging and crashing of war machines and their targets. Again. Again. And again. The forces of war running wild perpetually.

Anna rushes out of her work room and into the grand courtyard of the temple. Worshippers run in every direction. Most out the front gate and hopefully away from the danger.

Now fragments off the great stone wall. Flying everywhere. Now chunks. Larger and larger.

What to do? Where should she run? Where can she hide? How will she escape?

The priests do not run, as though in oblivion. Their sacrifices continue as though nothing were happening.

Anna remembers that she has a friend who lives near the temple. Can she make it that far before the dreaded Roman legionnaires charge into the city?

Out the gate. Running. Bumping into other people running. All, like Anna, fleeing for their lives.

She arrives at Judith’s street near the temple, and turns, rushing toward hoped-for protection. The enemy legionnaires have not yet broken down the gates of Jerusalem, but it is only a matter of time. Then the invasion. Anna must find an escape.

As soon as she recognizes Judith’s gate, she pounds on it.

“Judith. It’s me. Anna. Are you in there? Judith?”

She hears scraping of wood against wood on the other side of the gate, and it opens.

“Oh, Judith. You’re home,” she says to her friend who is hiding most of her body behind the half-opened gate.

“Come in quickly so I can shut the gate” Judith replies, her eyes flashing.

Anna hurries in and helps her friend bolt it back.

Judith’s hair is in braids and she has flour on her hands and the tip of her broad nose. Anna sees a bowl full of bread dough on a nearby table.

“What’s going on out there?” Judith asks, fear in her eyes. “It’s Pompeii, isn’t it?

From inside her friend’s house, they can hear the noise. The great noise of the indestructible temple. The insufferable noise of what cannot be happening.

Then silence. The rest of the day. The rest of the night.

It is morning. Still the silence. Is it over? Really over? Judith stands on a bench and looks out in the street through the only window facing it.

Roman legionnaires everywhere. A few brave citizens make their way outside their homes as quickly as possible to what they believe is safer quarters. Heads are covered to protect their identity.

Judith steps down off the bench to give Anna a chance to see what is going on during their nightmare.

“They need me. I must return to the temple,” Anna announces stepping down off the bench.

“No, Anna. It’s too dangerous.”

“There will be wounded. They need me.”

“But.”

Stubborn Anna covers her head with her shawl, waits a moment while Judith unbolts the door. She joins the other brave ones in the narrow streets, staying close to the shadows and scurrying like insects, afraid of being discovered.

She stops in front of the grand entrance to the temple grounds. What will she find? Legionnaires there too. But only as guards. She sees a small woman and hurries over to her.

“What’s going on inside?” she inquiries from under her shawl.

“Horrible!” the woman chokes out. “They’re dead. All dead.”

Realizing the woman has already been inside the compound and been able to come back out safely, Anna decides to try. Slowly she walks closer to the entrance. She hesitates and looks at the Roman legionnaires. They are not stopping her, or anyone else.

Then, even more slowly, she creeps in and takes her shawl off her head. She stops and gasps. It is not as horrible as she had envisioned, for it’s far worse. Laying out across the outer courtyard, waiting to be identified, are the priests. Blood saturates their clothing and runs along the cobblestones around them. Their throats have all been cut.

Anna walks among them looking, although she does not want to. Looking into the faces of the forever gone. Her tears protectively fall to obscure the faces of those she has known so long, now distorted with death.

Oh, God. If you are so good, how could you allow this to happen?

Satan is laughing. He has convinced everyone Satan is a figment. So God is all that is left to blame. That is good.

Anna stays at the temple all day. Thoughts of Thomas mingle with the present hideous reality. Her tears come again. She tries to control them. She is needed.

Continually she searches through the bodies, trying to find someone who might have survived the slaughter. Sometimes she does.

As relatives come in, Anna goes over to them, comforting them and walking with them as they search for what remains of their husbands, their fathers, their sons, their brothers.

Whenever the relative finds a loved one, Anna says, “I’m so sorry. I lost my husband in a terrible accident. It is devastating. I’m so sorry.” She says the same thing to them all.

Eventually, Anna must go home. She must face her own reality. Again the shawl over her head to protect her identity.

Alone she walks among the rubble and foreign legionnaires. Alone with Thomas in her heart giving her courage. Alone with God in her soul, giving her hope.

When she arrives at her street, she screams. She doesn’t mean to. It is so unlike her. But she screams. Before her are the hollow remains of what is left of her neighborhood. And her home. Her and Thomas’ home.

It has been burned. All her mementoes. All his clothing that she had saved. All that used to be Thomas. Gone. Forever gone.

Stubborn Anna, 27 years old, and more alone than ever, turns back. She must return to the temple. There are apartments there. Perhaps she can rent one. After it is repaired. After the wounded are cleared out. And the dead.

Now, more than ever, she and the others pray. “Please, God. Send us our Deliverer, our Savior, our Messiah.”

God, is this what you have had in mind for your followers? Are you sure? Her hope continues as a flame. But it is flickering. It flickers a lot these days.

• BC 48

 Roman Caesar and Idumean Prefect Antipater have allowed people to go back to some semblance of normalcy.

Anna, now 42, has gotten to know the latest new high priest fairly well, as well as seamstresses are allowed to get to know important people.

Up the stairs and down the hall, the High Council of Seventy—the Sanhedrin—meets in its chambers. “Gentlemen, it has come to our attention that young Herod, the new lieutenant prefect of the province of Galilee up north, has defied us.”

Holy shock.

“No one is allowed to execute anyone without both the agreement of the civil government and religious government. He knows that.”

Righteous wrath.

“He has defied us. Young Herod has executed several gangs of robbers up in his province. We have ordered him to appear before us in three weeks.”

Lieutenant Prefect Herod actually shows up for the hearing. In his haughty way, he pretends he is sorry. He is not. They will hear from him again later. They will be sorry. He keeps his promises.

God, we’re still looking for your Deliverer. He’s the one we really want to rule over us. God, do you hear us? God, are you there? Anna, where’s your candle?

 BC 40

 Anna is now 50 years old. Caesar has died suddenly. Jerusalem’s Prefect Antipater has died suspiciously. One of his sons, lieutenant prefect of Jerusalem and Perea, has committed suicide.

Chaos. Political chaos.

The high priest is taken out of power. He had been a political appointee, as usual. The appointment is no longer valid. The former high priest-king is brought back to power.

All of Palestine is elated. Praise God!

Anna is delighted. She had liked this man. Everyone had. He made a better leader of religious and state affairs. Now things will really go back to normal.

Daily, as always, she sits in her little room mending or making priestly garments. As she does, she hums. Sometimes she bursts out into song. But mostly she hums.

Normal does not last long. Rome strips the priest-king of his crown. All he has left is his priestly turban. But people are grateful he is at least still their high priest.

Anna creates a new normal. Ruling bodies come and go, priests and Levites come and go. But Anna continues to work on the priestly garments. As she does, she hums.

In her daily prayers, she thanks and praises God. Everyone does. Anna’s candle burns brighter. The flame of hope is stronger now.

It lasts only three years.

Anna prays. “Oh, God. Where is your Deliverer?”

So does a man she will meet soon. His name is Simeon.

 BC 37

 “No! It can’t be. Not again!” Anna cries out, rushing to the courtyard from her work room and apartment. The awful, crashing sound that cannot be mistaken for anything else. The same sound that had whisked away half the city long ago.

Once more the battering rams. Once more the shaking and rocking of the walls of the eternal city. And of the holy temple. And of hope.

This time, it is Herod, son of Antipater. He has been made king of all Palestine by Caesar. Jerusalem has blocked the highways and closed all its gates. Herod is a half breed. Half Jew and half Arab. He cannot be allowed to be their king. Their high priest is supposed to be their king. This cannot be.

Having nowhere else to go, Anna stays at the temple compound. People run in off the street seeking shelter in the holy place. She stands by the front and directs people where to go for greatest safety.

A woman and four children, one in her arms, rushes in. An old couple, both walking with canes. A nearby merchant with a cart of his basket wares, pulling it by hand. Two more with pottery thrown in their cart, pulling it themselves like a team of mules. Three crying children huddled together. A blind beggar being led by a friend, or perhaps a relative. A merchant laded with silk fabric on his back. A woman full of jewelry and make up and her hair partially braided and partially hanging loose. A man carrying a bundle of parchment scrolls. A toddler wandering alone and crying. Two women huddled together.

Once the traffic from outside reduces to a trickle, the gates are closed and Anna joins the crowds huddled together in hope of living through what most do not.

They hear shouting of Herod’s soldiers outside the walls. The defiance of outnumbered Jewish zealots. And the screams.

Clanging of steel against steel. Crashing of rock against rock. And the silent, ravaging fires.

“I’ve been through this before, you know,” She whispers to the three children and toddler she had personally taken to herself at the gate. I was only 27 at the time. I lived through it. God will help us.”

Anna begins to hum. The faster the catapult throws rocks on the compound, the faster she hums. The louder the clash of nearby swords, the louder she hums.

Then the front gates to the temple compound shudder and thunder. A stampede. Soldiers breaking through.

“Quickly! Back here!” she hears a priest shout to the others in the outer women’s courtyard. “This way, everyone!”

And the others in the terrified throng follow him into the elevated courtyard designated only for men. Escape the invading soldiers. Escape the defiance and death. Just like before.

Finally, but gradually, the chaos of death moves away. And it too dies.

Hours later, though perhaps it has only been moments, Anna and some of the other adults gain the courage to walk out to where the fighting had occurred. Again the screams of disbelief. Again the remains of butchery. This time, Anna does not throw up.

The wounded. The dying. The dead. The temple on fire.

Not again. Not here. Not in the temple.

“Come on, men! Let’s put this fire out!”

Simeon, tall with a black beard and large hands, grabs a tapestry and beats the flames with it. Others follow his example.

“Move that furniture out of the way! It’s just fueling the flame!” Simeon barks.

“Wait a moment! Is that someone trapped under there?” He rushes over to the piled stones and quickly moves them out of the way. He sees a hand. Then an arm. Now the face. It is the face of death. If his hands had been more calloused, perhaps he could have gotten to the poor man in time.

He rushes over to the next suspicious pile of rubble, hoping this time he can save a life. His hands are bleeding. They are the hands of a scholar, not a fighter.

After this, Simeon spends more time at the temple with the other volunteers. Doing what he can to help repair it. Through the months that follow, his hands callous and he becomes a more productive worker.

Anna and the other women prepare meals for the men, and make sure drinking water is always nearby.

Anna tells Simeon he reminds her of her little brother. They talk sometimes. Mostly about the Deliverer.

Sometimes Simeon shows his anger. He sets his jaw, purses angry lips, and slams his fist down on whatever is nearby during their talks. Silence. Then a deep breath. Once more he gets control of himself.

“Why?” he so often asks. “Why does God wait so long to keep his promise?”

There never is an answer.

Have they all misunderstood God? Is God what and who they had thought all these years? Anna needs fuel for her flickering candle of hope. Simeon too.

•  BC 36

 “Where are they?” demands the centurion.

“Sir, you need to keep your voice down,” Anna boldly admonishes, her eyebrows lowering and coming together in disapproval. “This is a house of worship,” she adds with a whisper, holding a finger up to her lips.

He draws his sword and points it at her. “The Sanhedrin! The Council of Seventy. Where is their assembly room?”

Startled, Anna does not know what to do. She reaches back and begins to twirl a few strands of her hair around her fingers. Other than that, she does nothing.

Scowling, the centurion marches to the other end of the magnificent courtyard and off to the side where the officiums and apartments are. One by one his men break down the doors along the corridor. Searching. Now up the stairs and those rooms.

The doors to the council chambers are flung open. Swords flash. Without warning blood spills without mercy. In only moments the mission is completed. The entire Council is wiped out. The soldiers retreat in triumph. King Herod has been avenged of the men who had condemned him for killing the robber gangs up in Galilee years before. When will people learn?

The soldiers march back through the courtyards and corridors of the temple. Past the priests, the worshippers, and Anna. Their bloody swords still drawn. A trail of blood mocks the hallowed domain.

Priests run toward the council chambers. Levites run there too. Anna follows. Rome has killed again. But who? In a few moments the word is passed along the crowd and to Anna.

God, surely it is not your will to kill religious leaders. What’s going on, God?

Slaughter once more. The tears of Anna once more. Once more the prayer. “Oh God, send us your Deliverer, our Savior. Please, God.”

Anna is not as young as she used to be. Neither is Simeon.

He has gone back to being his old self. Simeon the book worm. His clothes look like his little house—messy. His hair looks like the scrolls scattered around his study —out of place. But his mind is clear and organized. His goal, like many other pious worshipers, is to memorize the entire Law of Moses and the prophets. He prefers the prophets and currently has memorized most of Isaiah.

Whenever he comes to the temple, he usually has one or two, and sometimes three scripture scroll under his arm. Always looking for someone to have a discussion with about the scriptures. Especially about the prophets. When he cannot find anyone available to have discussions with, he sends word to Anna. She is always willing to discuss the scripture scrolls, and often agrees with his conclusions. That is satisfying.

 BC 35

 New men must be found to head the national religion. Nominations. Hearings. Confusion.

Over in the palace, King Herod is deciding who to appoint as the new high priest. King Herod’s new wife has a favor to ask.

“Sweetheart, my little brother wants to be the high priest.”

Herod does not even look up from the scroll he is reading. “Nonsense. He’s only 17 years old.”

“But darling, sweetie. He looks older. He’d make a good one.”

“Oh, well. What difference does it make? The high priest has to do what I tell him anyway.”

“I knew you’d agree. It will make the people happy.”

The news rushes around the national temple and reaches Anna. She is startled.

“A teenage high priest? The temple will be a laughing stock.”

“Maybe not,” someone replies thoughtfully. “Remember, he’s the grandson of our last high priest-king. He could be good for the country.”

God, things are in a mess. We’re ready for your Deliverer. Could you possibly send him now? God? God?

Aging Anna hopes so. Simeon too. Just keep your candle lit, Anna.

• BC 34

 King Herod always makes it a point to attend annual national services at the temple. This year will be quite interesting, with that kid acting as high priest.

“Wasn’t it just wonderful, the service and all?” he hears someone say.

“Oh yes. And our new high priest was born for this job. It’s in his blood.”

Herod does not like what he hears. That young man has gotten just a little too popular.

There is a swimming accident. There is a grand funeral in the national temple. It had to be.

Anna cries. Simeon cries. The nation cries.

Someone gives King Herod an idea. “Sir, there is a man who seems to be liked, but not too liked. Respected, but not too respected. Understands the letter of the law, but seems to prefer following what he calls the spirit of the law.”

“Sounds good to me. What is his name?”

“Jesus.”

“Excellent. We’ll appoint this Jesus as the next high priest.”

“Fine. Prepare a public declaration.”

“Oh God, this isn’t the Jesus we had in mind. Jesus means deliverer, but he’s the wrong one. God, send your Deliverer.”

Anna and Simeon pray every day. Without fail. Sometimes they talk of it privately. No one else seems to understand the way they do.

• BC 27

 It has been ten years since Anna and Simeon first met. It is barely dawn. Someone knocking on Anna’s apartment door.

“There is a gentleman here to see you. His name is Simeon.”

Anna dresses, throws water on her face, runs a comb through her hair, and hurries to the front of the temple compound. She sees him.

“Anna, it’s about to happen!” Simeon announces, not waiting for her to be close enough for a private conversation.

His hair does not look like it has seen a comb in a week. His clothes look like he has slept in them, which he probably has. His beard has crumbs from no telling how many meals the past few days.

They walk over to a corner of the portico for some privacy.

“Soon, Anna!” Simeon continues. “He’s coming soon.”

“The Deliverer, Simeon? How do you know?”

“God spoke to me last night. The—”

“God did what?” Anna questions, her eyes wide, her mind suspicious.

“God spoke to me last night, Anna. The Deliverer is coming soon.” Simeon is smiling and waving his hands.

Anna tries to share his excitement. She wants to. “When?”

“I don’t know for sure. Some time in my lifetime. God promised I would not die until I saw him with my own eyes.”

Simeon has never exaggerated before. He has always stated the facts as they were, without distortion or embellishment. Anna thinks about what Simeon has just said, eying him and curling a strand of hair around her fingers.

“Simeon,” she finally says with a twinkle in her eyes and a new smile, “I believe you. I hope in my lifetime too.” Anna’s now 63. “God does answer prayer, doesn’t he, Simeon?” It is not really a question.

Come, Deliverer. Come and save us. We’re ready for you. God, you do hear us, don’t you?

The flame of Anna’s hope glows a little brighter.

•  BC 23

 The life-time position of high priest is interrupted again. Herod has his eyes on a beautiful young lady. But she does not come from a family of consequence. No one ever heard of her family, at least no one of any political importance.

That Jesus is ousted as high priest. He’s done a pretty good job and kept out of trouble. Anna likes him. Simeon likes him. Zechariah and the other priests have grown to admire him.

Nevertheless, Jesus is ousted. He is in the way. In the way of progress. Of love. Of King Herod. So Simon is made the new high priest in grand ceremony. Now that Simon is important, the king can marry Simon’s daughter.

“Who is this Simon?” people ask. Some have seen him at services sometimes. Especially the important ones. But he never participated in any temple activities that anyone remembers.

God. It’s been so long. We believed in you. Do you believe in us? We need your Deliverer. Please send him, God. We really need him.

• BC 22
• Nazareth, Province of Galilee

 In the little town of Nazareth, up in the province of Galilee, there is born a little baby girl. Her name is Mary.

Anna has just retired. The temple allows her to continue living in her apartment. She has been there nearly all her life. It’s all she knows any more.

“Will you pray for me, Anna? My child is sick,” someone asks her.

“Anna, remember me in prayer. I need to find a job,” another requests.

Anna prays for the Deliverer to come too. She has waited this long. What’s another ten years or so? Whatever it takes. Anna is learning. In her heart of hearts she knows God will answer her prayer. And his promise to Simeon.

The flame of hope continues to burn. It never goes out.

•  BC 18
• Jerusalem, Province of Judea

 Anna is now 72 years old. Simeon is 62. It has been nearly twenty years since King Herod did so much damage to the national temple. It has since been repaired. The roof put back on and the walls restored. But it is not grand enough for Herod.

“I cannot tolerate having a temple in my city that is so puny. It does not become my greatness,” King Herod declares. So the work is begun. Bit by bit.

“Sorry, Anna. But you’ll have to take everything out of your apartment and move to the other side of the building until they tear down and rebuild this section. You should be able to move back in about three months.”

“Sorry, Anna. But you’ll have to vacate your benevolence room. You will be in one of the store rooms until they can tear down and rebuild this section. You should be able to move back in about ten weeks.” Another move.

King Herod is paying for the whole thing. This should make him very popular with the Jews. It doesn’t.

Oh God, send us your Deliverer. Herod has no right pretending he is so good when he is so bad. They say it’s darkest just before light. Send us some light God. Just so we can know you are out there. Out there somewhere.

Simeon continues to talk with Anna sometimes. About the coming Deliverer. She must keep her flame alive. It flickers sometimes. Anna is growing old.

•  BC 7

 “It’s Zechariah!” Anna explains to Simeon one day. “An angel has appeared to him. Right here in the temple. He told him his wife would have a son by the end of the year, and the son would announce the coming of the Deliverer. Do you think he really did see an angel?”

Simeon believes all right. It confirms what God had told him several years before. Simeon is growing quite old and stooped. It will have to be soon. He is confident it will be soon.

“Yes, Anna. I believe it.”

Oh yes, God! You haven’t forgotten us. You’re still there.

Come, Deliverer. Come! Anna, hang on to your candle.

•  BC 6

 Anna looks at the small clay tablet delivered to her by one of the Levites. It contains only four words.

Today is the day!“Today’s what day?” she asks herself. Anna is now 84 years old.

Her eyes aren’t as bright as they used to be, and she can no longer sew, partly due to her failing eye sight and partly due to the arthritis in her fingers. Her lustrous brown hair is now gray. She has wrinkles on her face and brown spots on her hands. But she still has her pointed chin. The pointed chin her Thomas used to love to kiss.

Anna decides to have breakfast and wait for Simeon. He will arrive soon. Of this she is confident. They have been friends a very long time.

As she waits, she dares to hope. Hope beyond seemingly all hope. Could it be? Could it, God? Her hands quiver and she is unable to hold the spoon.

“He is on his way. The Deliverer!”

She recognizes Simeon’s voice and turns toward him where she has been waiting for him out on Solomon’s portico.

“It’s now?” Anna asks, the flame of her hope about to leap out of her aging heart. Anna has always believed.

A seemingly insignificant threesome is in Jerusalem. They are headed for the temple. They must go through the purification ceremony. Being a first-born, baby Jesus must be presented to the Lord.

Inside the temple grounds, Mary and Joseph stand in awe of its greatness. They walk across the courtyard and toward the grand stairway leading to the altar courtyard. Though they try to be quiet, the click of their heels echoes slightly off the walls.

Someone else hears it too. He is sitting on a bench near the steps. He watches as the young couple goes through their ceremonies. They aren’t particularly noticed by anyone else. They are just an ordinary couple going through a routine ceremony. Lots of parents and babies go through this every year.

The ceremonies over, Mary and Joseph turn to leave. Mary is holding their baby.

Simeon stands just as they turn. He walks toward them. He is insignificant too.

“Please, may I hold him? He’s our Deliverer, our Savior. He is, isn’t he?”

Amazed that the old man understands this, Mary gently hands her precious baby over to him. Old Simeon carefully cradles Jesus. He sings to the Deliverer, softly with a crackly voice. The Deliverer wakens and blinks.

As the reality of the moment sinks in, Simeon’s aged heart bursts with excitement. He sings louder and louder until he is bellowing ecstatically. Baby Jesus once more opens his eyes, wiggles playfully, and smiles.

But what about the others? They’ll want to know about it. He mustn’t keep it to himself, Simeon turns and faces the nearly empty temple courtyard. His eyes glisten and open wide as he makes the glad announcement.

“Everyone!” he shouts. “He’s here at last. Our Deliverer! Here he is. Praise God. He’s here!”

No one much pays attention to the old man. No one except the old lady.

It is Anna. She has been praying in the back. No duties are required of her any more. So she prays for her people. And the Deliverer.

Anna, though a little hard of hearing by now, looks up when she hears Simeon’s familiar voice and sees him up front with a young couple and baby.

This is it, Anna! The moment you’ve been praying for all your life. Yes, Anna, God does answer prayer. Do you want to see for yourself, Anna? Go up there. You can, you know. Go up there and meet him for yourself.

The flame in her heart leaps up nearly out of control.

She makes her way toward them. It is a long way. She progresses as rapidly as she physically can. Her feet scoot and shuffle, but her heart races.

While they wait, Simeon turns to the young couple. “Could I pray for you?”

Mary and Joseph smile in assent.

“At last, God, I can die in peace.” The old man fights to keep back his tears. “You have kept your promise.” Tears of relief. “I’ve seen with my own eyes your Deliverer whom you have sent to rescue all the nations of the world.” Tears of joy.

The prayer over, Simeon hands baby Jesus back to Mary. Anna is moving a little closer. They wait for Anna. Just like Anna has waited for the couple and their baby. Day after day. Year after year. Decade after decade.

Slowly she makes her way toward them.

Your prayers, Anna. God came through. He didn’t let you down after all. God heard you all along. How could you have ever questioned God?

She looks ahead of her. Closer and closer she proceeds to her answer.

Simeon puts his arms around Mary and Joseph and blesses them. “This baby will someday cause many people to rise or to fall throughout the nation. You will know it when people take sides, deciding whether to join him.”

He looks deeply into Mary’s eyes. His own eyes shimmer with sympathy. Should he tell her? He must.

“A sword shall be thrust through your own soul. But, as a result, the true thoughts and motives of those people will be revealed.”

Anna is now a short distance from them. Simeon looks over at her and she smiles back at him knowingly.

No longer able to wait for her, he walks to where she is, takes her arm and escorts her the rest of the way to her Deliverer.

“Yes, Anna. At last it is him,” he whispers. “Our Deliverer. Our Savior. Our prayers all these long years, Anna, have been answered. He is here. At last he is here.”

“We knew all along he’d come, didn’t we, Simeon?” she responds. The last few short steps are made in holy silence. Mary and Joseph smile at Anna.

Her aged eyes glisten. The eyes so wide and bright those many, many years ago. Not so wide and bright any more. But still full of hope. A hope that she now sees for herself.

Anna stops, stands next to Mary and Joseph, and looks into the eyes of God.

“I knew!”

Her voice is halting and squeaky. No matter. It speaks what she must speak. “I knew all along,” she tells the young couple. Mary holds baby Jesus so Anna can see him better. “I knew God answers prayer. I just didn’t know when. But I knew,” she says, stroking the flawless soft cheek of her Deliverer.

Old Anna has actually touched him. He has come into her world so she could.

_____

Finally, everyone leaves. Mary. Joseph. Jesus. Simeon. All but Anna, of course. She will continue to live at the temple. And die soon.

In the months that follow, she tells everyone the story. The priests, their assistants, the Levites, the worshipers, anyone and everyone she can convince to listen.

“The Deliverer has been born!” she tells everyone. They acknowledge her words condescendingly.

Some are more polite. “Where is he?”

“He was here not long ago. I saw him with my own eyes. We are going to be delivered from our enemies at last. God has heard our prayers.”

Some believe her, but do not become very excited. Others do not believe her at all.

He apparently was not born here in Jerusalem the holy. There were no declarations, no ceremonies and no processions. No. Surely Anna is mistaken. Surely God does not answer prayers. At least, not that way

5—SHEPHERDS

Glory of the Ordinary

•  BC 6
• Bethlehem, Province of Judea, Palestine

 It is late. Amos, Benjamin, and Jesse head toward town with their sheep.

Their clothes are crusted along the bottom with mud and who knows what else. Because of the precarious places they have to go to find and bring back straying lambs, their clothes are ripped. It is just part of the job.

The three have been shepherding together for seven years and are tight. They need each other. Not so much out in the pasture, but when in town.

People there don’t really like them. They’re inferior and can’t hold a decent job. They’re dirty and smelly. May as well be with other animals that are dirty and smelly. After all, no one makes them live in squalor. They could do better if they wanted to. They just don’t want to.

Low wages is better than no wages, though. Everyone says so. Keeps them off the streets begging in front of the proper people. The educated. The refined. The holy people.

Speaking of holy, you never see them in the temple. When you do, they have to stay in the outer courtyard with the women and Gentiles. They wouldn’t understand what was going on if they did go into the men’s courtyard. But then, they don’t try. Let’s face it. They’re losers. Always have been. Always will be. Just losers.

Amos, Benjamin and Jesse, each in charge of a herd of sheep, stop just before they arrive at the sheep gate into the holy city. There are corrals there for night-time confinement and final count. They’d better deliver the right number of sheep to the temple this time. Last time they were short and their pay was docked.

•  Jerusalem, Province of Judea

 The priest fills the temple courtyard with righteous indignation.

Priest Eli is tall, middle-aged with a little gray at his temples and much grayer in his thick eyebrows and long beard. He holds a clay tablet on which is kept a tally of sheep for slaughter.

“We are low on sheep to sell for sacrifices,” he shouts. “This is twice in as many months!”

His face turns red and the veins in his neck stand out, making his eyes look smaller and piercing.

“Your holiness,” Levite Aharon replies. “They were due to have been brought into Bethlehem just this evening and should be coming through the Jerusalem sheep gate first thing in the morning.”

Aharon is one of the younger Levites and is often seen rushing around the temple grounds on missions assigned to him by various priests.

“If those shepherds want to be employees of the temple,” Eli grumbles, shoving the clay tablet back at the Levite, “they must always put God first. They must set their priorities lest Jehovah rebukes them.”

“Maybe we should pray for them, sir,” Levite Aharon replies.

Eli glares at the young man a moment, turns and walks away.

• Bethlehem, Province of Judea

 “Hey, Benjamin. You got your quota for tomorrow?” Jesse asks.

Each shepherd has his own personality. Jesse, definitely the leader, is stocky, broad nosed, with a receding hairline and big grin on his face most of the time.

Although Dandy Amos would like to be leader of the threesome, Jesse is the real leader. Amos talks too much and loses credibility. Jesse has the common sense needed for leaders. Besides, he outweighs both of them put together.

“I sure hope so,” Benjamin replies briefly, trying to keep track of the number of sheep entering his corral.

Benjamin, on the other hand, is tall with a thin face which is disguised with a bushy beard. He has big feet and often finds himself tripping. However, he is so nimble, he can fit into tight places like small cave openings to drag out stray lambs. He entertains the others sometimes with his flute which also keeps the sheep calm.

Amos joins them. “I lost five just last week. Things are getting bad. Lions got two of them.”

A short muscular man, Amos has curly hair which he loves to flaunt by running his fingers through it, supposedly to push a stray lock off his forehead. No beard for him. He likes to show off his good looks. The other shepherds call him a dandy. That’s okay with him.

“What happened to the other three?” Benjamin asks, tripping over a rock jutting out of the ground but not enough to be seen.

“Robbers. We’re just not getting enough protection.”

“Can’t ever get an appointment to talk to the priests so we can explain how bad things are,” Amos says.

“I managed to get in to see them a few months ago,” Jesse says. “They said that, if I couldn’t handle the job, I should say so and allow someone else to raise God’s sheep. And, besides, they couldn’t believe there were that many lions in such a civilized area.”

His sheep continue to file into the corral, and are nearly all in.

“Man, I’m short two,” Benjamin interjects. “What am I going to do? I can’t afford another pay cut.”

“They’re supposed to be our bosses, but none of them ever comes out to see what kind of working conditions we’re really up against,” Amos says.

“’Well, good-night guys.” Jesse waves to the others and heads for home.

•  Jerusalem, Province of Judea

 As the sun opens its dawn eyes, the temple workers check the pens out in the courtyard holding sacrificial sheep and doves near the main gate. They must have enough for all the travelers who daily come to the temple to worship and sacrifice to God.

Others sit at their tables and count out their temple shekels which they will sell to these same travelers in exchange for their Roman currency.

_____

Amos, Benjamin and Jesse make their way into the capital city through the sheep gate. The one next to the prison house. The one where they keep the debtors. The sight always makes them nervous.

Being full daylight, they are edgy. They have every right to be. They had promised to be there at dawn. They would slip in a back way if there were a back way. But the courtyard with the temple store is right in front.

“Excuse me! Coming through!” the three say sporadically as they maneuver their flocks through the outer courtyard.

“Pardon me! Sheep for the slaughter. Sheep for the slaughter. Excuse me! Coming through!”

The first worshippers of the day hurry out of the way of the hired help. Some are not quick enough, however, and their worship clothes are slightly touched by the beasts.

Some bring out handkerchiefs to put over their nose, and wave their other hand while coughing, “Get away from me, you swine.”

“Where have you been?” Priest Malachi asks as he rushes over to the shepherds, smiling superficially.

“The pasture we were assigned to could not support this many sheep,” Jesse explains. “We had to go out farther.”

“Why wasn’t this reported months ago?”

“We did report it, sir,” Amos explains. “We sent a message to the temple requesting someone come out and look over the land and maybe set aside larger areas for each of us.”

“I’m sure you understand that none of us has time to go running around the hills inspecting the grass supply,” Priest Malachi responds, his smile now gone. “Not with all the responsibilities we have to our worshippers here at God’s temple. Perhaps you should pray about it.”

“But when you hired us,” Amos interjects, “you told us…”

“I would love to stay and chat, but in just a few moments I have to counsel one of our troubled worshipers who habitually breaks one of Moses’ great laws.” He turns to leave, then turns back.

“By the way, we won’t be able to pay you until next week, seeing as your deadline was yesterday. You understand, of course, that we have to keep our budgeting on schedule.”

An hour later, Amos, Benjamin and Jesse make their way back through the crowd. “Excuse me. Coming through. Excuse me.”

A righteous worshipper looks away from her friends, holds her nose in an obvious gesture of displeasure, then turns back to her friends, proud of her show of smugness.

Out through the front gate and past the prison. Out the sheep gate. Down Mount Zion and farther from the eternal city. Across the plain back toward Bethlehem with empty hands, hearts and hopes.

“Probably God doesn’t even notice us anymore,” Benjamin mumbles. “He’s busy with the holy people.”

They must now go home and face their families. Without their pay. What will they do? How will they feed their families? Does anyone care? Does God even?

• Bethlehem, Province of Judea

 Morning of a new day. It starts in a haze of hopelessness. It will end with a burst of glory such as the world has never seen.

For the temple leaders? Not them. The temple worshippers? Not them either. The citizens of Zion, the great Jerusalem, perhaps? A thousand times no. It will be for the overlooked, the neglected and the forgotten. It will be for these smelly, dirty shepherds.

Amos, Benjamin and Jesse, having been assigned their new herd of sheep, head once more out of town. It is mid-afternoon, but they must go ahead and start. People are glad they are leaving. Can’t go soon enough for most. They can take the smells with them. Dirty, smelly sheep. Dirty, smelly men. It’s better they be out of sight. And out of mind.

The three shepherds hope their newly assigned pasture will be better than the last. It will take them four days to arrive there.

Back on the trail. Walking. Circling the sheep to make sure they do not stray. Rescuing the little ones from shallow precipices they do not see. Pulling long thorns out of those that don’t realize the dangers of some bushes. Watching for signs of snakes in the grass. Carrying those too small or too hurt to keep up. Making their way back up into the hills. Slowly. Laboriously.

A few hours later the sun dims and warns them they must stop before night. Although the sheep of each of the three shepherds mingle, in the morning the shepherds will divide them up again. They know how. For now it is better that they all be together. Better for the sheep. Better for the shepherds.

They find a suitable place and drop their tents to the ground. For now, they sit on their tents until they have rested.

Each man goes through his food supply and selects something for an evening meal. Then they settle down to eat and wait for sleep that will not come.

They talk. Amos and Jesse do. Benjamin does not.

“Hey, Benjamin. What’s wrong?” Amos asks while getting out a hand full of dates.

He does not answer.

“Come on. Tell us what’s wrong.” Amos repeats.

“Yeah. You’re among friends. Spill it,” Jesse interjects.

“Well, you know that raise I was supposed to get, the one everyone gets each year?”

“Yeah?”

“They’re not giving it to me. They say they were happy to give me that big chance after I got out of prison. But I’ve made my quota more times than most.” Benjamin throws down an uneaten roll of bread.

“Man, I missed work a month to serve time for not paying the midwife for my last baby. But I got my raise,” Jesse responds, taking a bite of cheese.

“I was depending on it. I need it.” He picks up a rock near his hand and throws it at nothing. “I’ve been here without fail all year without being off sick once.”

“What are you going to do, Benjamin?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Silence.

Half way noticing what they are eating. Their ears constantly listening for the sheep. Thinking of families and jobs.

And existing. Only existing.

Amos jumps up. “What was that!”

“What?”

The other two jump up. They look around. A lion on the prowl? A snake? A robber?

They hear shuffling. Shuffling of… The shuffling of…of wings? An eagle? A vulture? But where?

A strange man stands in front of them. Still. Like a rock. Strong. Like the wind. Not a word. Not a word from him.

The shepherds try to hide their fear, knowing deep down that they cannot fight whoever this is with just hand weapons. A standoff begins, one which they know they cannot win. They await their doom.

“Don’t kill us! We have families!” Amos says in a quaking voice. “These sheep aren’t fattened up yet! They wouldn’t be any good to you! Don’t…”

He cannot finish. It’s the light. The man is beginning to glow. Brighter. Flashing. Blazing. They see wings. No, that’s not possible. But indeed is possible.

The glow spreads, shimmering as it goes.

Brighter and brighter.

Larger. Larger.

Now even the shepherds are engulfed in the light. They try to shade their eyes. But if they look down, the light is there. If they look to the left, the light is there. To the right, still, there. Everything in the circle of light bedazzled.

The stranger continues to stand motionless—the one they dare not defy.

The shepherds, too, are motionless.

Then the stranger raises his hand. Does he have a weapon? The shepherds raise their hands protectively in front of their faces. Instead, the stranger speaks. His voice is booming…

“Do not be afraid!”

…yet peaceful.

His voice is thunderous…

“Please! Don’t be afraid!”

…yet believable.

The shepherds slowly lower their hands, lower their puny weapons, and stare at the voice. They’ve never heard a voice quite like it. For a moment, they forget the light and focus on the voice. For now it is laughing!

“I bring you the most joyful news!”

His joviality cannot be contained. He struggles happily between his laughter and ecstatic words.

“The most joyful news ever announced!” he continues excitedly.

Despite efforts to resist, the mood is catching. The shepherds find themselves grinning, despite their determination not to.

“And this news is for everyone. Everyone, I tell you. Everyone. You and you and you. Your families. Your cities. Your nation. The world. The universe. Those who lived before you. Those who will live after you. Celestial news.”

News? What news?

“The Savior—yes, the Deliverer, the Lord…” he continues.

Yes? Yes? What about him? What about the Deliverer?

“…The Lord has been born tonight in Bethlehem, Judea! He’s here. At last he’s here.”

Our Savior and Deliverer has just now been born?

“Do you,” Amos gets the courage to blurt out. “Do you want us to go see him and guard him? Where is he? Just tell us where he is.”

The stranger actually hears. Now he’s answering. The wonderful, glorious, marvelous answer.

“You will find him wrapped up in cotton bands and lying in a feed trough in a barn.”

“Oh, now, wait a moment. Just hold on there,” Jesse, the bravest of the three questions. “What kind of joke is this? This is King Herod’s doing, isn’t it? He’s trying to catch us committing treason.”

As though their doubts serve as a signal, in a flash, the stranger grows even brighter. His light shatters and zooms up into infinite space. And seemingly this one man, if he is a man, multiplies into an army of others just like himself.

Everywhere wings. Everywhere angels. All along the grass. Up over the trees. Hovering closely over the shepherds. Leaning over clouds. Suspended from stars. A stream of holy angels that flash and zoom, flash and zoom up into space and beyond. The light, the blinding light.

As though a star has just been born.

This cannot be.

Oh, but it can be. He has given up everything for you. He has not only entered a human body, but he’s lying in a feed trough—for you.

Then the song.

The ears of the simple men, the dirty men, the smelly men, are now delightfully deluged. Engulfed with the uncompromising chords of a song bursting over the brink of eternity. Rushing like an out-of-control torrent to the hearts of simple shepherds. Though impossible, the song echoes louder and louder, as if gaining potency from the light itself. It is out of control. They’re praising God. It cannot be repressed.

“Glory. Glory to God. Glory to God in the highest heaven,” the angels sing over and over in jubilant triumph.

“Peace on earth!” Yes, singers of God, sing on.

Catapulting. Zooming. Through the corridors of the heavens. Through the hearts of ordinary shepherds. And into the soul of mankind.

“Peace on earth for all those pleasing him,” the angelic choir sings. “…pleasing him… pleasing him…”

The song resounds from galaxy to galaxy. The passion song of the universe. Eternity stops and absorbs itself in melodious divinity.

Then the light begins its return ascent. Slowly at first. Away from the lowly shepherds and the trees above them. The clouds above that. Away from earth’s atmosphere. Past the stars. Higher, higher, smaller and smaller.

Gone.

The light is gone. Exploded in pride.

The heavens once more are black except for the tiny twinklings that have adorned the sky since creation.

The shepherds stare up into the heavens. Then at each other.

“Did you see it?” Benjamin whispers, his eyes still on the heavens.

“Did you hear it?” Amos adds in kind.

“We all did!” Jesse answers for them all. “What are we waiting for?”

“He said tonight. The baby was born tonight,” Amos says, now looking at the other two.

“Come on, let’s go in to Bethlehem.” It’s Jesse. “We’ve got to see him for ourselves.”

“We passed a cave just before stopping,” Benjamin remembers aloud. “We can take the sheep back there.”

The shepherds hurriedly round up their food, their un-erected tents, and their sheep, and rush them back to the spot where the cave is. The sheep are herded in.

“Our tents and supplies,” Jesse instructs. “We can pile them in front of the entrance. The sheep won’t cross over any of this. They’ll be okay.”

“Yeah!” Amos shouts. “We got a personal invitation. We have to go.”

Half an hour later they are on their way back toward Bethlehem. They can travel much faster without the sheep.

“Do you think we’re the first to know?” It’s Benjamin. It’s hard not to talk about it.

“Yup. We’re the first,” Jesse responds.

“Wonder why God chose us? No one even likes us.” Amos tries to brush dirt off his robe.

“Who cares? We have seen the light. Bright as a star. All that’s left is for us to see him for ourselves.” Jesse picks up his pace, glad he hadn’t had a chance to eat much.

They become pensive and concentrate on walking as fast as they can toward town. Two hours later they’re at the city gate. They speak to the guard.

“Let us in!”

“Who are you?” the guard in the tower calls out.

“Amos, Benjamin and Jesse,” Jesse responds. “We work for the temple. We’ve got a matter of great importance to take care of.”

“Having to do with the temple?”

“Yes, it is about worship. Let us in.”

Shortly, the bars are removed and the gate slowly creaks open.

Once inside, they stand wondering which way to go.

Where to start? So many people in town for the census. The crowds have thinned down considerably, though, for it is now past midnight. Only the unlucky ones are unsheltered.

They see a patrol of Roman legionnaires passing the next intersection, but decide against getting their attention. They see a man carrying a torch up ahead. They call out to him.

“Hey, you with the torch. We’re looking for someone. Stop a moment. We’re looking for someone.”

No, he hasn’t heard of any babies born tonight. “And what’s that smell? Get away from me.”

They see a man and woman with three children obviously looking for some place to spend the night. Obviously exhausted, the woman and children stop and slide their backs down the outside wall of a house, apparently unable to go any farther.

They are startled.

“We just want to ask you something, sir. Please, we don’t want to hurt any of you. We just want to know where the baby is—the Deliverer, the Savior.”

“What baby? What Deliverer?” the man replies, half-heartedly. “What Savior? We could sure use a deliverer tonight. There’s no place left to spend the night. Heaven help anyone having a baby in this town.”

They continue looking and asking.

“The town hostel, of course,” Amos exclaims, stopping in his tracks. “Why didn’t we think of that in the first place?”

They resume their search.

In short order they find it, for it is not located too far from the city gate for the convenience of travelers. The three men go inside.

“Hey, get out of here. You been playing in a dung heap or something?” the proprietor demands.

“We just want to know if you heard about a baby being born tonight,” Jesse asks.

The proprietor remembers someone coming by, saying his wife was having a baby. “I have no idea who it was. I didn’t have any room anyway. Maybe someone in the tavern knows something. Now, get out of here!”

They go out into a courtyard where the revelers are. The celebrators. Celebrating the big nothingness that comes out of their liquid courage.

“Is the baby here? Is the Deliverer here? Is that what you’re celebrating?” It’s Jesse again.

“Baby? Deliverer? You King Herod’s spies?” one of the drunks responds.

“What are you talking about? You’re crazy. Get out of here. You stink to high heaven.”

The crowd laughs in derision, some too drunk to notice any smell at all.

“No, it’s true,” Jesse reassures them with his charismatic smile. “The baby, he is the Deliverer. The angel told us!” It doesn’t work.

Derision arises amidst the counterfeit laughter and drowns out the frustrated shepherds.

A hand rests on the shoulder of Amos. He turns.

“There’s no baby here,” the stranger explains half seriously while holding a handkerchief over his nose. “There were a lot of families around town with babies, but none born today that I heard about.”

“Well then, pregnant women.” The shepherds just won’t give up. “Did you see any pregnant women?” Benjamin asks.

“Come to think of it,” a second stranger nearby responds, “I was asked by a young man on the street this afternoon if there was a room anywhere because his wife was about to deliver.”

“That’s the one!” Jesse’s big grin is back. Amos’ too. Can’t see Benjamin’s for his bushy beard, but he’s smiling too. “Where are they?”

“Uh, I think I was over by the market when I saw them.”

“Thanks, man.” they yell almost in unison over their shoulders as they rush out the gate.

Back in the darkened streets, they hurry over to the market place. It is near the middle of the night. Not a single light. Everyone has long ago closed up and gone to bed. All but the unlucky ones. They sleep in the city square or lean against the wall of a stranger’s house.

Frustrated, but not deterred, the three shepherds make their way up and down the streets, though occasionally ducking into dark doorways to avoid questioning by the Roman patrols.

“Look for a sign. Any kind of sign. The angel wouldn’t have told us about the baby if he hadn’t wanted us to go honor him.” It’s Amos.

Up and down the street. Block by block. Nothing. Nothing but darkness.

“We will search all night if that is what it takes,” Benjamin says. “Angels wouldn’t lie.”

“Look! There’s a narrow seam of light, Jesse announces. “Where’s it coming from?” They follow the light. It’s coming from under the wide door of a small barn.

They know. Without a word they know. Their silence envelops their awkward thoughts in holiness. They stop. The rush is over.

One by one, quietly so as to not disturb the neighbors, they walk toward the door. On the other side lies the Deliverer, the Savior of the world, announced by angels. In their heart of hearts they know.

Should they knock? They pause. Should they or shouldn’t they? They’re suddenly aware of jitters.

They whisper.

“Do you really think he’s in there?”

“Do you think he’ll be like us?”

“Think he’ll have a halo and all?”

“Do you think he’ll go directly to the palace and have servants and all?

“The angels came to us, didn’t they?” Jesse reassures them. “Do you see anyone else they went to? He must be like us. He’ll understand us.”

They knock on the gate.

Scuffling. Shuffling. Muffled voices from within.

“Who’s out there?” A man answers. “It’s late. Who are you and what do you want?”

“Uh, sir, we’re just shepherds. But the angels. The angels told us,” Amos calls as quietly as he can through the closed double doors. “Our Deliverer. Is he in there? Please, can we just take one little look? We won’t hurt him.”

“No one else could have known,” comes the muffled reply.

The hinges rattle, the door is unbolted, and brave Joseph opens it a crack, a broken piece of ox yoke in the hand behind his back.

Straw is mingled in his hair. His clothes look like he had slept in them. His eye lids droop in exhaustion.

The three visitors wait while Joseph scrutinizes them.

“Please, sir,” Benjamin whispers.

Joseph opens the door wide enough for the night visitors to enter.

Crude shepherds walk into a rough shelter of holiness. Their hearts beat rapidly, beating with the pulse of the universe. The pulse of divinity.

Joseph picks up a small lamp hanging from a peg by the entrance and leads them over to one of the stalls. There Mary is, lying on the straw with an old smelly blanket over her.

“Sweetheart, wake up. Wake up. There are some people here to see baby Jesus. We must show them. Wake up, sweetheart.”

Mary blinks her eyes, looks up into Joseph’s face, then beyond him.

“Please wake up, sweetheart. They’ve come to see Jesus.”

Mary blinks again and nods.

Joseph helps her sit up. She smiles weakly, yawns, and resumes her smile. Next to her is a feed trough filled with straw.

Inside is a tiny baby. And sure enough, he is all wrapped up in swaddling bands, just as the angels had predicted.

The three smile. God smiles. They’ve found each other. The simple in heart have believed.

Baby Jesus is sleeping, but wakens and looks up at the humble men. Their eyes glisten.

“He did this for us?” Benjamin whispers, not really expecting a reply. “He came down from heaven to this for us? But we’re sinners. He cared this much? He loved—this much?”

Amos nudges Jesse and whispers.

“What do we do now? Do we bow?”

“Yeah. We’re supposed to bow.”

Awkwardly, not used to society’s formalities, they drop to their knees, then bend low until their heads touch the ground in polite humility. They wait.

Mary looks over at Joseph and he picks up her signal. He clears his throat. “You may rise.”

They look up. Another mutters under his breath. “Make a speech, someone.”

“Not me. I flunked out of school.” It’s Amos. “You do it, Benjamin. You were named after the tribe of King Saul—Benjamin.”

Benjamin clears his throat in embarrassment.

“Sir. Ma’am. Baby. God’s angels appeared to us. They told us the Deliverer, the Savior was born tonight. Why’d they do that? All those religious people at the temple. Why didn’t the angels tell them instead? Some of them go to lots of religious feasts. We can barely afford to go to the three required ones. They’re so good.”

Realizing his speech has stalled, he looks at Mary and shifts gears.

“Your baby, ma’am. Your baby is going to save us. Man, oh man! He has heard our prayers. No more soldiers and war chariots and cruel kings like Herod. Peace on earth. That’s what the angels sang. Peace at last. In my lifetime. Praise God for your baby.”

Joseph speaks for both of them. “He’s not just Mary’s baby. He belongs to all of us—me, you, people everywhere—and to God.”

Joseph leans over and carefully puts baby Jesus in his arms. “Come. See God’s Son up close.”

“Oh, well, we’re not really very clean.” Jesse slaps his hands on his robe to wipe off some dirt.

Come, young man with not much education.

Come, you who are not noticed by the important.

Come with dirty hands and shoes with holes in the bottom and hand-me-down clothing.

You who have no importance. No big officium and secretary and name engraved on your door.

All with run-down camels and yards with no flowers in them and beds made only of straw.

Look into the eyes of God.

Once again the baby opens his eyes a moment, stretches in a miniature show of strength, then returns to sleep.

“Look at those long fingers,” Amos comments.” He’ll be able to throw quite a spear.”

“Oh no,” Joseph corrects. “Not a spear. Peace. He will fight war with peace. And he’ll win too. Peace on earth, remember?”

“Look at that jaw. What a man he’ll grow up to be,” Jesse quips. “Determined. Maybe even stubborn.”

They all grin. The baby seems oblivious to all the attention. Or is he?

“He’s pretty tired,” Joseph explains. Half-jokingly, he adds, “He’s had quite a trip.”

_____

Indeed, Lord Jesus, you have.

From throne in heaven to feed trough. From mansions in heaven to a stable. From streets brilliant with gold to a dark narrow street in the middle of somewhere. From bed of heavenly clouds to wrinkled cotton bands and sticky straw.

Oh Son of God. It’s all wrong. Go back and do it again. Unwed mother? Dirty stable? Unwanted? No one told but uncouth, underpaid, unnoticed shepherds?

Where’s the queen? The holy wedding? The temple? The palace? The crowds waving banners? The choirs singing manicured anthems with a world class-orchestra?

It’s all wrong, God. You’ve got it all mixed up.

_____

The shepherds look over once more at Mary.

“You’re so blessed, ma’am, to be the mother of our Deliverer,” Amos says.

“God bless and keep you, ma’am,” Benjamin adds. “God protect you and your family in this wicked world. May he deliver us all.”

Mary nods in tired appreciation

They take a few steps to Joseph, and one by one clasp his hand.

“Well, so long,” they each repeat in almost a whisper, not knowing quite what else to say, and also not wanting to awaken the now sleeping baby.

Joseph leads them to the double doors.

The insignificant men leave. The men holy people hardly ever approve of.

Back out in the dark street, they turn in the direction from whence they had come, and head toward the edge of town. Slowly.

All thinking. All pondering. All absorbing.

It begins to rain. They do not care.

Benjamin hears a stray puppy whimpering as they pass. He pauses, reaches down, and puts the puppy under some trash nearby for protection, but it runs back out, afraid of the unknown.

Rainwater from farther up the street streams down in this direction faster now. Benjamin puts the puppy back, but once again it runs out and in the path of the faster flowing water. It is frightened. It does not understand.

The other men have paused to watch him, but then resume their journey down the street. Benjamin catches up with them and says, “If only I could become a dog just like him. I could show him how to crawl under the shelter so he can be saved. If only I could become just like him…”

The rain ceases as suddenly as it had started.

Amos pauses, then stops all together

“Guys, what are we doing? We can’t keep this a secret. We must tell it! Despite dangers of King Herod’s jealousy, we must tell it.”

“You’re right,” says Jesse. “Let’s go back over to the hostel tavern. People will still be there.”

The men take off in a run through the streets. But this time not quietly. How, indeed, can they be quiet at a time like this?

“He’s here!” they call out as they run. “The Deliverer is here. He came tonight!”

“Hey, be quiet out there. People are trying to sleep, you know.”

They run and shout anyway. Back at the hostel. They pound on the gate. “Let us in, let us in!” Jesse shouts. “We found him. It’s true, it’s true.” The latch to the gate rattles and the gate is opened. “Get in here. You’re going to waken all the guests and attract Herod’s soldiers.

“Then wake the guests and alert the soldiers. They’ll be glad. He’s here.”

The proprietor prods them through the gate and into the soggy courtyard where nearly the same crowd as they had seen an hour earlier is still there, celebrating the world’s nothingness.

“We found him!” Jesse continues. “We found him. Our Deliverer. He was born tonight. We know it was him.”

“Come on, guys. You expect us to believe that? What’s that smell anyway?”

“It’s true,” Amos interjects with the most serious and authoritative voice he can muster. “Angels appeared to us. We saw them with our own eyes. Our Deliverer is here. Right here in our own town. He’s here. He’s come at last. At last.”

“People don’t see angels anymore.”

“We did. It’s true.”

One of the patrons calls out amid the objections. “I know this guy, Amos. He’s never lied to me yet. Amos, you say you actually saw angels?”

“I swear it. We all did. We saw the angels. They announced his birth.”

The discussion continues a little longer. But gradually the people return to the nothingness that entertains them so. Strangely, no one asks where they can find this baby, their Deliverer. What does it have to do with them?

Their divine mission completed, the shepherds leave the little town of Bethlehem through the gate. In silence, they work their way back out through the hills until they arrive where they left their sheep.

The sheep are safe in the cave. There have been no problems in their absence.

It is an hour before dawn. They pull their bed rolls out and try to sleep. But how can they? Angels actually appeared to them tonight. Right on this very spot.

They etch every moment, every word and every gesture in their minds. They must never forget.

“Remember when the first angel appeared?” Benjamin inquires softly but happily. “I nearly jumped out of my skin. What did you guys do?”

“Remember when all the other angels appeared? And the light? I thought the sun must be exploding.”

“Or a star was being born,” Amos adds.

“Remember when we saw him?”

Yes. Remember. Always remember…

Day dawns. Amos, Benjamin and Jesse wake up out of a sleep that did not ever really come. And return to the dream they had lived only hours before. They talk quietly among themselves.

Benjamin gets out his flute and plays a haunting melody that drifts past the sheep onto echoing hills and valleys below.

“Man. The angels appeared to us,” Amos says softly. “No one else tried to see the baby. Why didn’t everyone in Bethlehem go looking for him after we arrived? Everyone knows that’s where the eternal king of the Jews is supposed to be born. Why didn’t people look?”

“Maybe they got the announcement in Jerusalem,” Jesse decides. “We must return.”

“Do you think they’ll believe us?” It’s Benjamin, wiping the tip of his flute on his sleeve.

“We’ve got to try.”

The men return their sheep to Bethlehem and the corrals, then make their way to Jerusalem. In through the sheep gate. Past the prison. Around to the front entrance of the temple.

“Excuse me, sir. Did you see or hear anything unusual during the night? Light or singing?” Jesse asks.

The worshiper scowls, puts a handkerchief over his nose and turns away.

Jesse asks another worshiper.

“Uh, no. Didn’t see or hear a thing. Slept like a baby last night.”

“But the Deliverer. Isn’t he supposed to be born in Bethlehem, Judea, the home town of King David?” Amos adds.

“Hey you, there. Let’s not bother our worshipers. Let’s go along home now. They have important things to take care of today.”

So the unimportant shepherds turn back toward the outer wide-swung gate of the grand temple. The temple where they know they will never really be welcome. Slowly. Confused.

On their way out they hear a scholar. He is making a speech to whoever will listen to him.

“…Yes, God will be our Great Deliverer. He will deliver us some day from our enemies. He will deliver us from wars and rumors of wars. He will bring us the Prince of Peace. Jerusalem will rise again. Holy Jerusalem will reign with the Lord of all lords, the King of all kings.

“No more Herods. No more Caesars. No more soldiers and  legionnaires and swords. Our God will deliver us. God is indeed the Great Deliverer. And when he comes, we will all stand and salute him as our Savior. We will bow and submit to him as our Ruler. All praise to God, our Deliverer!”

“Oh, yes. Praise God.” his listeners declare almost in unison.

Then, as the shepherds leave out the gate, they hear the great choir of the great temple break forth in song.

• He is our Deliverer,
• He is our Deliverer,
• He is our Deliverer.
• Hallelujah,
• Amen.

Shivers up spines. Arms raised to the heavens. Triumph. Glorious triumph.

And in their blind zeal, they missed him.

4–JOSEPH II

WALKING TALL

• BC 6
• Nazareth, Province of Galilee, Palestine

 There is a wedding in the little town of Nazareth in a couple of weeks. It isn’t the kind they’d planned. Mary is now four months pregnant.

The neighbors don’t come. They do not understand. Instead, they gossip. People think Joseph is crazy for marrying a girl who obviously got pregnant while on vacation with her cousin.

A few trusted relatives come. But they, too, don’t understand. Cousins Elizabeth and Zechariah were invited, of course, but little John is so tiny. They dare not travel with a baby that young.

Besides, an old couple with a baby might attract too much attention. People would probably hound the old parents as they travel from town to town on their way across the country. “She couldn’t be a day under seventy,” they’d declare. Then they’d start treating them like freaks. Then the physicians would converge on them. They’d want to analyze Elizabeth’s reproductive system. Zechariah’s too. No, a trip away from home would be out of the question. Mary’s family has received their regrets.

There are no exciting feasts for Mary, no bridegroom parades for Joseph, no running through the streets on their way to the bride’s house. But there is, indeed, a wedding. And a little reception.

It is a quiet occasion. Mary is obviously pregnant. Everyone is obviously embarrassed, but they’ve loved Mary all her life. She and her parents try to explain it, but no one seems to understand. Actually, they don’t understand themselves very well.

Nevertheless, Mary and Joseph the carpenter are nervously and happily whisked off to wedded bliss. Then they settle down to wait for God’s and Mary’s child.

They move into Joseph’s little home. It only has a courtyard and one room. Mary has trouble finding spots to store things. So she has to go to the market more often than usual.

Joseph insists on going with her. He will not allow his bride to endure people’s malicious remarks alone in the market or on the streets. Insensitive things like, “He’s sure not going to look like Joseph.” Callous things like, “Hey, babe! You available tonight?” Heartless, stabbing, unbearable things like, “There goes the whore.”

When the taunts come, Joseph whispers, “Don’t listen to them. They don’t understand.” When the jeers come, Joseph encourages, “This is God’s baby. Some day they will worship him.” When the hurts come, Joseph spurs her on, “Smile, Mary. Be proud. Walk tall.”

_____

Mary is now six months pregnant.

There is a knock on their gate. Joseph opens it and sees Mary’s now feeble grandmother and her father holding several long, narrow boards.

“I don’t use this old loom any more. I’ll bet Mary can,” her grandmother, Eve, explains while leading her son-in-law, Heli, to the courtyard.

Mary hears and recognizes the voices from inside their one room, her home, and comes out smiling broadly.

“Welcome to our humble home,” Mary announces.

“Where do you want me to put this loom, Joseph?” Heli asks.

“Mary, what would be most convenient for you? Would it be best by the door?” Joseph asks. It’s the farthest away from all my sawdust.”

“That would be perfect. That way I can store my distaff and spindle just inside the doorway out of the rain. Let me bring you two a goblet of juice.

“That’s okay, sweetie. We’ll only be here a few moments. Then we’ll be out of your hair. Joseph has better things to do than talk to crotchety old people,” her grandmother says with a smile.

Heli immediately gets to work putting the loom back together and Joseph goes back to work.

Grandmother Eve sits down on a bench. “As I said, it’s old, but good. I inherited it from my mother. She would be proud for you to have it.”

Mary looks at her grandmother with shimmering eyes. Sometimes the tears aren’t very far away. She says nothing.

“Oh, sweet Mary. How are things going for you? Are the people around the market treating you okay?” her grandmother asks, sensing what life for Mary must be like.

“Yes, I guess so,” she replies.

“Come to your grandmother, sweetie. Let me put my arms around you a moment like I used to do when you were a little girl.”

A quiet moment. A moment when two souls unite in heart. In faith.”

“Oh, God of our fathers”, Grandmother Eve prays. “Mary has taken on such a great burden. But she loves you with her whole heart. Help Mary be strong.”

Another moment. Then Mary pulls away from her grandmother. She is smiling. She takes a deep breath.

“I could certainly use that loom. We just go to the market to buy food, but not fabric or anything else.”

“I remember getting this loom from my mother. Oh, my! I made thread and fabric for my new husband’s—your grandfather’s—clothes. And I made a beautiful tapestry for our little house. Yes, we started out in a little house too—about the size of yours.”

The next day, Mary goes back to her childhood home.

“Mother, would you teach me to spin wool one more time with the distaff and spindle? Cotton too? I think I can do it this time. And could you give me some bolls of cotton? Joseph’s business is just getting off the ground and…”

Grandmother Eve is down taking a nap. She takes many naps these days.

By the time her mother’s lesson is over, Grandmother Eve walks out of her bedroom. “I thought I heard your voice, Mary. Here is some flax yarn so you can make a special linen shawl for yourself. I had a great aunt whose husband was in the business. Normally took him three weeks to convert the fibers out of one batch of straw into yarn.

Mary leaves her bench and sets her thread-making distaff and spindle on it. “Oh, I couldn’t take that, Grandmother. It’s too precious.”

“I have saved it all these years for something special, Mary, and your situation is as special as I will ever see. Take it, child. With my blessing.”

One by one Mary throws away the dingy covers Joseph had used for bedding and makes new ones out of wool Joseph buys for her at the market. For their little room she makes a small tapestry to decorate the wall, just as her grandmother had done in her youth.

She goes through Joseph’s clothes and mends them. What she can’t mend she tells Joseph to use as shop rags.

Before long, using the cotton her mother had given her, Mary is making spans and spans of swaddling bands and baby blankets. For their baby. The baby that belongs to the three of them—Mary, Joseph and God.

Each night she and Joseph pray for God’s baby. But that is as intimate as they get. There must never be any doubt whose baby it is. She must remain a virgin. She just prays that her delivery will not be harder than it is for other women.

Sometimes during the night she hears Joseph out in the courtyard working by moonlight. Cutting and pounding. Cutting and pounding.

_____

Mary is now eight months pregnant.

Early one evening a clay brick comes hurling over the wall of the courtyard.

Joseph hurries toward the gate to find out what has caused the noise. He sees the brick, picks it up, and realizes something is etched on it. He shines his lamp on it.

“And you call yourself a Jew!” is scratched into it. Under that, the star of David.

Booing outside the wall. Then rushing footsteps that soon disappear.

Joseph clenches his teeth, looks up into the heavens, then returns to their room. Mary is humming a song and looking over some of her handiwork.

“What was it?”

No reply.

“Come on,” she prods, “what was it?”

No reply. She looks up, puts down the little blanket, rises and steps over to her protective husband. Then she sees it. The anger in Joseph’s glare, veins sticking out in his neck, and his lips flattened together. She has not seen that look very often in Joseph, but she sees it now. It frightens her.

“What’s going on? Did something fall and break?”

Nothing. Instead, Joseph’s face distorts until his nostrils are flaring and his teeth gritting. He has never been this angry.

He bangs his fist on the closed door to their room.

“Why can’t I protect you better?”

He leans his head on the door while his chest heaves around his racing heart.

Mary draws closer, he turns and looks at her. She puts both hands up to his cheeks and turns his head so she can look into his eyes.

“Joseph, what was it? You’ve got to tell me.”

He says nothing.

She backs up and looks at him again. This time she sees he is holding something behind his back.

“What is it? Please show me, Joseph.”

Slowly, he brings his hand out in front and she sees the brick. She takes it, though he does not give it up easily. And reads it.

The brick falls out of her hand and to the floor. Mary leans her head on his chest.

Protectively, he puts his arms around her.

Silence.

Mary takes a deep breath. Now trembling, a tear slips down her cheek for them both.

“Oh, Joseph, I’m so sorry I brought all this on you.”

“Don’t ever say that, Mary,” he whispers. “God has given us an assignment. We will see it through. Somehow we will see it through. Even if the whole village turns against us. Even the whole world.”

Silence once more. Clinging tighter. Loving deeper. Trusting greater. Then her audible sobs. They mingle with his inaudible anger.

Sighs.

Moments later, Joseph turns Mary so she is beside him, and walks with her to a bench. They sit. He pulls her over to him once more. Her sobbing softens into whimpers.

“Oh, Jehovah God. Don’t let this happen to Mary. I can take it. But Mary. She’s too sensitive. Don’t make her go through this. Give her strength.” He pauses. “What’s going on, Jehovah God? Things don’t make sense right now.” His voice is cracking. It is not supposed to.

Joseph trembles, trying to maintain his masculine control. A few betraying teardrops make their way slowly down his cheek and onto her shiny black hair.

Quiet. Wondering. God leans low. He whispers to them. They cannot hear. But they sense it.

“Something in the scriptures. Something. Where is it?” Joseph, the typical man, the typical fixer, must find some way to solve their problem.

He gently pulls Mary from him, she shifts, then lays her head down on the bench where he has just placed a pillow. She stares across the room into nothingness.

He opens his door wide and goes out to the courtyard where he has a jar in which he stores his precious copy of a scripture scroll. He opens the lid, places the scroll on his work table, and rolls through it. Rolling. Searching.

“I know it’s in here.”

Mary now watches him from their doorway.

“How could God have chosen me, Joseph? I’m not strong enough to bear the insults.” Mary stares up into a few stars appearing in the early evening sky.

“What will it be like after he is born? It can only be worse. What am I going to do, Joseph? Maybe God made a mistake.”

“No, Mary. I found it. Here it is.”

Joseph looks over at his little bride, his very pregnant little bride. “You and I are in training. So we can help him.”

“Help him do what?”

“I’ve been reading from that prophet who said you would be a virgin when you conceived him—Isaiah. Listen to this.” Joseph rolls the scroll in place, puts it under one arm, and leads Mary by the hand back inside where they return to the bench. He puts the scroll in his lap, leans Mary’s head over on his shoulder, and holds her close as he reads.

“We loathed him and rebuffed him. Full of anguish, steeped in heartache. We turned our backs on him and refused to speak to him whenever he came near. No one liked him or wanted to be around him.”

Carefully putting the scroll under the bench, Joseph turns slightly and holds Mary’s head so he can look into her eyes once more.

“Don’t you see? It’s going to be like this all his life. We must be ready. We must learn how to handle the taunts ourselves so we can teach him how to.”

“So, what are we supposed to do, Joseph? Do we report the people who threw the brick over our wall to the congregation at the synagogue? Do we try to avoid them? Do we try to prove God is on our side?”

The distortions in her gentle face return and tears slip down uncontrollably. Joseph groans from his own fountain of agony.

She cries aloud. Out of control. She stands and walks back out to the courtyard, shaking her head, hoping it will all go away—the taunts.

“What are we supposed to do, Joseph?” she cries, her head in her hands. “What are we supposed to do?”

Silence. Joseph is reading again. “There has to be an answer to her question,” he mumbles. He finds it.

“Shhhh,” he says, getting up and walking out to her. “This is what we are to do. It is right here. ‘He was persecuted and tormented. Yet he never spoke out.’”

Joseph reads a little further silently. He decides not to read it to Mary. She is not ready for it. The part where he will be executed someday. Joseph does not like what he is reading. Surely he can protect God’s Son better than that. Can I change the course of history? The providence of God?

He closes his mind to the whole thing and turns his attentions back to his little wife. He sets down the scroll and embraces her once more. They rock back and forth like a whisper in the wind.

“Nothing? We can’t say anything back?” Mary groans, looking up into her husband’s strained eyes.

“Don’t argue with them,” Joseph explains as tenderly as his masculine being can. “They’re going to do what they want regardless of what we say.”

Indeed, through the following weeks, the insults on the other side of their closed gate do come. But gradually the young people learn to handle them. As they do, the insults decrease. The effectiveness is declining too much.

The two continue to go to town every morning to shop for food. Sometimes more often.

“Keep your head high, Mary,” Joseph whispers to her. “Come on! Smile! Hold that head up! Walk tall!”

_____

Mary is now nine months pregnant.

One day, Joseph comes home, slams the gate shut.

“Caesar has ordered everyone to go to the town where their ancestors settled when they first came to this country.” He calls out.

Mary opens the door, holding a baby blanket in her hand.

“We will all be accounted for in this nation-wide census, and then taxed accordingly. What next?”

Mary puts one hand on her abdomen and another on her lower back. “I can’t go. Bethlehem is a week away, Joseph. It’s impossible. I’m due any day. What are we going to do?”

“You have to go. Everyone in the country has to.” He runs a hand through his black hair and paces. “They’ll fine me if you don’t. And if I can’t pay the fine, they’ll put me in jail until I do. Then you’ll be without anyone—anyone meaning me.”

“Oh, God.” Mary lifts up her eyes to the sky. “Do something! Nothing can happen to my baby—to your baby. Please, God, do something.”

“We’ve got to talk to Jehovah God about it right now.”

He takes Mary into his arms, tries to slow down his breathing, and raises his eyes.

“Oh, Lord Jehovah God. We come to you as the ones you have chosen to take care of your baby. We’re only human. We can’t guarantee his safety on a trip like this. It will be too hard on Mary. Please make the government change its mind, or at least make exceptions for the sick. We pray this with…”

Mary tenderly interrupts before the prayer is ended. “…Lord, if you could just make the baby come early, that would be okay. Could you let little Jesus come early? Please?”

Mary is now crying.

“It will be okay, Mary. God will find a way for you to not have to go. Just you watch.”

Joseph lifts her chin, kisses the end of her nose, and smiles comfortingly. She smiles through glistening tears.”

_____

“Nothing’s working, Mary,” he confesses coming through the door to their residence. “I’ve tried everything. I can’t even get the tax collectors to talk to me.

Sitting on the side of their bed, he lowers his head, and puts his hands over it. He stands, walks over to their little window facing the street, and looks up at the sky.

“Nazareth isn’t that old,” Joseph explains. “So the town is nearly empty with people heading out to their ancestral towns. Next time we go out to the market for food, well, we won’t be able to hide in the crowd like we used to.”

He turns and looks again at Mary. “There are more Roman legionnaires and Herodian soldiers on the streets than ever. The tax people are threatening to have me arrested.”

_____

Mary continues to not have birth pains. Taking long walks around the block every morning with Joseph aren’t helping. Taking various oils isn’t working. Nothing is working. What has gone wrong? Doesn’t God hear prayers?

Mary and Joseph are eating their evening meal. It is a week after Joseph has received the ultimatum from the tax people.

“We can’t afford the fine, Joseph,” Mary says. “And I can’t let you go to jail because of me. The last caravan out of town is leaving tomorrow morning. We can’t wait any longer. We have to go.”

Joseph throws down his bread. “No, Mary. I can’t let you do this.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be, Mary. I’m supposed to take care of you and the baby. How can I on the road?”

“I promise you, Joseph. The baby and I will be okay. Really.”

• On a Road Between the Provinces of Galilee and Judea

 The trip is long. The swelling group of travelers makes its way across the plains, over the streams, up and down the hills and around the mountains. Roman patrols are doubled.

In the evenings, the group stops and makes camp. The inns are all full with other travelers. Together in their bedroll, they sleep. At first sleep is sporadic until they can relax. Sometimes they pray a little. Sometimes they giggle or whisper sweet nothings, or cry a little. One day. Two days. Three long, long days.

God looks down on the insignificant couple as Joseph strides and stumbles his way down the sometimes rocky roads, leading Mary and her donkey, one couple of many on the highway.

God is satisfied. They have what it takes. They’ll do fine. Everything’s going along just as planned—planned hundreds of years earlier. God thinks about explaining it to them outright but decides not to. They’ll understand for themselves soon enough.

•  Bethlehem, Province of Judea

 The words Joseph and Mary thought they’d never hear.

“There it is on that hill, folks,” the caravan leader announces. “Everyone needing to stop in Bethlehem, we’ll be there in a couple hours. Don’t forget to take your belongings when you leave.”

The sight of their ancestral home, the home where the great King David once grew up, gives them renewed energy.

The caravan stops to rest outside the city. Mary and Joseph are the last to leave the group. Mary’s birth pains have just begun.

“Hang on a little longer, Mary. We made it this far. Jehovah God is surely with us.” Joseph smiles at her, but his gut is churning.

The two make their way several hundred yards to the city gate. Joseph leads their donkey to a hitching ring along the wall. He takes out his water skin, gives Mary a drink, pours some water in a bowl attached to the saddle, and gives some to the animal.

“Stay here, Mary,” Joseph says as he helps her off their donkey. “I’ll go on into town and line up an inn for us.”

He helps her settle on the saddle blanket where she can lean back against the city wall. “I’ll be right back, Mary,” he promises. He only hopes he can keep that promise.

An hour later, Joseph walks back out through the city gates and toward his young wife. Mary is lying down with their tote of clothing under her head. She looks so little and helpless.

Joseph can hardly bear to tell her the news. He hits his fist on the wall above her and stares at the empty sky.

Without looking up, she whispers, “Don’t say any-thing. Just sit here with me, Joseph.”

He sits down on the barren ground next to Mary and places his head next to hers. He hears her groan and his heart pain mingles with it.

I’ve got to think this through. There has to be a way.

A Herodian soldier on patrol walks up. “You can’t stay here, folks,” he says gruffly. “You’re holding up traffic. I’ll be forced to have you arrested if you don’t move along.”

As Joseph stands, he objects. “But don’t you see, my wife’s about to have a baby?”

Now eye to eye, the soldier counterattacks. “Sorry. This isn’t a hospitium. Move along, sir. Sorry, young man.”

The soldier marches off, but not very far. He turns, and locks eyes once again with Joseph.

Mary stirs. “I can do it. Just help me up.”

Slowly the couple with the bundle now slung over Joseph’s shoulder, and the bundle in Mary’s little womb leave the city wall with Mary on their donkey clinging to its mane. The sun is about down. They begin to walk. Walk the streets. They are homeless.

They pass the market by the gate and turn in direction of homes. Slowly they walk, Joseph puts the donkey’s reins between his teeth so he can use both arms to steady Mary on its back.

They pass a man, Joseph hands the reins to Mary, and they stop. He turns and calls after the man.

“Sir, my wife is about to have a baby. Could we stay in your home tonight? I’ve got money. I can pay you.”

“Sorry. I don’t live here myself. We just barely found a place ourselves. We’re sharing a room with two other couples, on the condition we put our children in the bed roll with us. Sorry.” He walks on down the narrow street.

Crowds everywhere bumping into each other. Out-of-town people here for this needless census and taxing. Trying to go into overcrowded taverns to eat. Sitting in the city square with baskets of food. Squatting in deserted doorways with small loaves of bread or dried meat or not-so-fresh fruit trying to assuage their hunger. Some laughing and making the most of it. Some tussling with restless children. Some just meandering.

“Sir, my wife’s about to have a baby. Please, are there any places left?” I must not give up.

The stranger just hurries on.

Half an hour later, Joseph helps Mary down off the donkey and helps her sit on the saddle blanket on the street again. She is against the wall making up the outside of someone’s home. He walks up to the gate and knocks. “Please, my wife’s about to have a baby. Do you have any room for us?”

“We’ve got people sleeping in every spot. There’s no space left. Try next door.”

“Ma’am, my wife’s about to have a baby. Please, do you have any room left for us? We’re desperate.”

“Sorry. Too bad, too. It’s going to be a chilly night.”

Joseph walks back down the street where he had left Mary and looks up into the sky. A star is beginning to shine unusually bright. He’s grateful for it, as it helps light up the darkening street. He looks at it and prays.

“Please, Jehovah God. Why is this happening? You’ve got to help us.”

He goes back to the wall where he had left Mary. She is trying bravely not to scream. People are passing by unconcerned, unnoticing, busy, busy. Even the Roman legionnaires and Herodian soldiers.

Joseph kneels by her side. He realizes by Mary’s muffled screams that the pains are getting worse and closer together.

“Don’t they realize what’s going on? This is the Son of God they’re all rejecting.”

“You didn’t tell them that, did you, Joseph?” Mary manages.

“No, of course not. They’d think I was a lunatic, and I’d never find us a place.”

He hesitates to say it but does anyway. “It’s not supposed to be this way, Mary. This baby is supposed to rule our country. He should have been born in Jerusalem. You should have given birth in the palace. There should have been an honor guard outside the door.”

“You know, it doesn’t have to be a house,” she responds. People have stables.”

“Be right back!” Joseph announces, and bounds off again.

He hurries up to a nearby house and knocks once again on the gate.

“Young man, I told you a moment ago we have no room left. We just can’t help you. Quit coming here.”

The gate starts to close, but Joseph puts his foot in the way. “Your stable, sir. We’ll take your stable. Here. I’ve got payment in full for one night.” He shows the coins in his hand.

“You’ve got to be out of your mind, young man. It’s dirty and smelly in there.”

“We’ll take it! It’s fine. Just fine.”

Joseph shoves his money at the reluctant and puzzled man in the gateway.

“Young people! What’ll they do next?” the home owner mutters as he jingles the money in his hands. “Well, there is a lamp out there hanging from the peg by the entrance. And there may be an old blanket I used awhile back for a sick calf. Maybe you can do something with that.”

“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir,” he says walking backward a few steps, then turning to run.

“Okay, Mary. We’ve got a place!” he grins. “Just wait here one more moment. I’ve got to go arrange things for you.”

“Ohhh!” she cries out, no longer looking around to see if anyone has heard her. A few on the side of the street nearby turn and stare at her in the darkened dusk, shrug their shoulders at her, then turn away in the unconcern of forgetfulness.

Moments later, Joseph is back.

“All right now, Mary. You don’t even have to walk. I found a small cart, and you’re going for a ride.”

“Oh, Joseph, you’re out of your mind,” she laughs amidst the pain.

He carefully picks her up and gently places the mother of God’s Son into the cart.

“And away we go!” he shouts, pulling it himself.

“Joseph, don’t you drop me!” she giggles.

The stable door is open. He rolls her in and closes the door.

He has cleared out an empty stall and filled it with fresh straw. Again Joseph carefully bends down, picks up his little wife, and moves her carefully to the floor. Then he takes a smelly blanket off a peg on the wall.

With Mary sufficiently covered with the blanket, Joseph sits on the cold dirt floor to wait. Cold, cold ground. Coldness in the air. Coldhearted people around them. But then, they just don’t understand.

Warmth. The warmth of human love. The warmth of divine love. Warmth infiltrating, permeating, saturating. Warmth such as has never been felt before.

“Ahhhhhhh!” Mary screams. “It hurts, Joseph. It hurts!”

She squeezes Joseph’s hand until it turns white.

“That’s fine, Mary. You’re doing just fine.”

“Ahhhhhh!”

“Breathe! Breathe, Mary, just like your mother told you. Like Aunt Elizabeth did.  Breathe!”

Come, Lord Jesus.

“Ahhhhhh!”

Mary’s perspiring. Joseph’s perspiring. Perhaps even God’s perspiring.

“Come on, Mary. You can do it. You’re almost in the final stretch.”

“This isn’t a chariot race, Joseph!” she gently chides unexpectedly.

“That’s good, Mary. Keep up your sense of humor. Keep a positive attitude. That’s good.”

Yes, come to us, precious Savior.

“Ahhhhhh!”

“That’s right! That’s right!”

You’re closer to us now. Keep coming, Lord Jesus.

“Ahhhhh!”

“He’s coming. He’s coming, Mary. Keep pushing!”

Yes, it’s hard. But please keep coming to our world.

“Ahhhhh!”

Joseph cradles the baby’s head in his hand.

“Just a little more, now. A little more, Mary.”

We need you, Lord Jesus. We desperately need you.

“Ahhhhh! Ahhhhh! Ahhhhh!”

“He’s out. He’s born. Jesus, the God-Man is born!”

Mary slumps back in exhaustion. Joseph cuts the cord and ties it, just the way he’d heard things were done. Then he holds the slippery baby up to Mary, gently sets him in her arms and stares.

Tears return to her eyes, but now they are tears of joy and satisfaction. Joseph’s big rough hands are under hers to steady them.

Then he remembers his clean robe in their tote. Joseph pulls it out, lays the Son of God on his robe and folds it around him.

“The swaddling bands, Joseph. I brought swaddling bands along. Finish wrapping him in that.”

Joseph pulls everything out of their tote, finds the bands, wraps the baby’s arms, legs, and body with it, and hands him again to his mother.

The young man squats in the floor next to the mother and baby. All is now quiet.

_____

But in heaven, Jehovah God rises from his throne, raises his holy hand in triumph and shouts “Yes!” A yes that resounds through the universe and beyond. The angels pat each other on the back and burst out in a song of triumph that shoots through the heavens and slides down to the countryside outside of the little town of Bethlehem.

“Light the light! Light the light!”

Suddenly the angels begin to glow. Brighter and brighter. Ready for their descent. Ready for their appearance. Ready for the moment of glory.

Silence. Divine silence. Wonder. Awe. Overwhelming astonishment. Overpowering love.

_____

An insignificant couple. A dirty stable. Smelly. Dingy lighting. Cobwebs.

“Now what happens?” Joseph whispers.

“Well,” Mary replies hesitatingly. “He looks pretty sleepy.”

“Do you think he’ll start talking right away? How fast will he grow? He’s God’s Son, you know. He can do anything.” Joseph’s heart is about to burst with pride.

“We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

Mary closes her eyes, then opens them again and snickers. “Wonder if he’ll wake up after a while and say, ’Mother, I’m ready for my milk’. “

Joseph snickers too.

He stays awake awhile and watches his wife and baby sleep a now restful sleep. They will have lowly visitors in a few hours, then fall back to sleep.

_____

It is daylight now. The hinges on the stable door creak. Joseph is just returning.

“I tried to pay our taxes, but they insist on seeing you and the baby too for census purposes. They agreed to let you wait a day and check in tomorrow. I bought another scripture scroll while I was out. Just a small one. Micah.”

Joseph spends the next day reading and searching the scroll of the prophet he had just brought. Searching for more prophesies about the Son of God, the Savior, lying beside his Mary.

“Listen to this, Sweetheart! This was predicted by Micah. You won’t believe it! ‘Bethlehem in the province of Judea, you are just a small Judean town, but you will be the birthplace of my King who has been alive since before time.’”

He takes baby Jesus’ little fist into his big rough hand and watches him sleep.

“You mean little Jesus was supposed to be born in Bethlehem all along?” Mary responds.

Joseph grins and shakes his head. “What a time God had getting us here! We fought it all the way!”

Census completed and taxes paid, the young couple wonders what to do.

“Well, if Jesus was supposed to be born in Bethlehem, maybe he’s supposed to grow up here,” Joseph surmises.

“People are beginning to go home now. I’m going to go out and find some work. After the mess people made of the town while here, I don’t think I’ll have any trouble.”

Joseph is back to his normal take-charge self. Mary smiles in approval.

“Besides, we won’t have to put up with the taunts here,” he adds.

Everything works out as planned. The young couple with their divine baby move into the one-room house Joseph had left behind and turned into a sheep pen when he had moved to Nazareth.

Joseph insists on going shopping with Mary, though. He walks beside her and “their” baby. He walks proudly.

Often he grins at the passersby who only glance briefly his way, fleetingly wondering why he is grinning so widely. They do not hear that he is shouting silently to them all, He’s the Son of God, you know! He’s going to save you some day!

Yes, indeed, Joseph is walking tall.

3 –JOSEPH

Two Fathers, One Son

God has selected Jesus’ human father. He is strong as a rock and fiercely loyal. His ability to love is unstoppable. He loves Mary completely and without reservation. He will love Jesus the same. And the gaps in Joseph’s character? God will fill them in. For he is the other Father.

Very soon Joseph will learn of his destiny.

• BC 6
• Road between Provinces of Judea and Galilee, Palestine

Far away, Mary turns in the direction of home and steps into the pages of human and divine history that will indeed include her Joseph.

As her small caravan makes its way up into the mountains. Mary’s mind wanders from one thing to another. She prays fervently. She is more frightened than she ever has been. The fear not only persists, it grows.

Oh, my God. Will my parents disown me? Will I be stoned?

The traveling party is now in the foothills. One step at a time her gentle donkey takes her closer to her destiny. Will it be glory or doom? Sometimes she puts her hand over her womb and looks up into the sky.

Oh, my God. I am so scared.

Tears are her constant companion as she envisions her rejection.

Sometimes her body grows so limp with worry, she nearly falls off her donkey. But a kindly woman in the group has noticed Mary is apparently not feeling well, and rides next to her. Whenever it looks as though the little woman is about to pass out, the woman reaches over and touches Mary’s hand.

“Are you all right, sweetheart?” the new friend always says.

Each time, Mary straightens back up and brings her mind back to the here and now. But it is only temporary.

She thinks back to Joseph and their wedding plans. She’d had everything worked out. What she would wear, what would be served at the wedding feast, and who her maids in attendance would be.

Joseph had even begun etching invitations on small pieces of wood. He is so patient. And full of delightful surprises. Now, it is all gone. Well, a big wedding feast isn’t so important. The big thing is Joseph’s love.

On the donkey treads with its precious passenger. Patient. Reliable.

Oh, my God, will Joseph turn me into the authorities and have me stoned to death? Please, God, don’t let it happen. I’m so scared.

They pass the city of Cana. She is almost home. She must stop the tears. She must return to her old confidence. Oh, I’ve only been thinking of myself. What about my baby?

Jesus is indeed growing within her. Mary is very tired, and she senses her baby is too.

The journey. Such a long journey Jesus has made. From Creator to created. From All Powerful to completely dependent. From the infinite universe to a little womb. From being everywhere at once to confinement in a body. A miniature body at that.

Her donkey sways and plods with the little lady on its back. Now and then Mary thinks the heavenly Father’s Spirit enters her womb and he, too, gently rocks his baby boy.

• Nazareth, Province of Galilee

 Up in the hills, Joseph looks over the two trees he will need to keep his business going the next three weeks. With his ax, he cuts off all the branches close to the trunk and throws them out of his way.

That complete, he stops, takes some big swallows of water and sets his water skin down on one of the tree stumps. He walks over to where he had laid his robe on the small tent he had slept in the previous night and wipes his brow with it. He sits on the larger tree stump to rest his stocky frame.

She’s never going to be gone from me this long again. I love her too much. I could never let her go again.

He looks up at the white clouds playfully bumping into each other. Oh, Jehovah, God, bring her back home to me soon.

Rest over, he expertly strips the bark off the two trees with his adze.

Time for another break, but not nearly as long. He must finish everything before dusk. He eats a few fresh grapes he had bought at the market that morning on his way out of town.

Oh, Mary. Why did you have to go away? Jehovah, keep her safe. Keep my Mary safe.

Back to work. Hovering over one of the tree trunks, he uses the back side of his axe to tap in wedges along its length. Then with full muscle he hammers them in with the precision learned from his father down in Bethlehem until he has split the log.

He moves the wedges over just about a finger span, and repeats the process to make his first board. He goes through the exercise until he has all the boards he can glean from the two trees he had cut the day before. He muscles the heavy cargo onto his wagon, waters his ox, and starts back toward Nazareth.

She said she wanted one last vacation alone before the wedding. What was she thinking? I know she’s sometimes independent, but she didn’t have to go so close to our wedding date.

“Oh great Jehovah,” Joseph says aloud. “It’s been three months. What is she doing down there? Don’t ever let Mary leave me again. I can hardly stand it.”

When he reaches home, there is a small parchment attached to the gate latch. Wiping some of the sawdust off his rough hands, his fingers touch it, and fold around it. Time stands still. His other hand pulls at the twine around it. Slipping. Slipping. Almost off. He drops the twine to the ground. Careful not to tear anything, he begins to unroll the scroll. He sees it is in Mary’s unique script. A little more to unroll the rest. Then a little more. Time. Time takes too long. Now he sees the whole message.

My dearest Joseph. I returned home last evening. I must see you as soon as possible. I have never stopped loving you. Mary.

“Yes!” he shouts to the world. “She’s back!”

He opens the double gates and leads his ox and wagon into his small courtyard. Hurriedly, he takes the yoke off and leads the animal to a water trough. Unloading the cart and taking the ox back to the livery will have to wait.

He tugs off his dirty clothes as he goes through the courtyard, leaving them on the ground. He shakes the sawdust out of his normally black hair and splashes water from his wash bowl onto his grimy face. He shoves his head as far into the bowl as he can, and pours water over it. He rises, slings the water out of his hair, pats it down with his hands, and picks up a discarded shirt to wipe water off his face.

Rushing into his small quarters, he grabs clean clothes off a hook and puts on more decent sandals.

Within moments Joseph is out the gate and rushing up the street.

Before long, he comes in view of Mary’s home. His heart beats faster in anticipation of his reunion with his sweetheart. He touches his hair to make sure it is in place for his Mary. Anything and everything for his Mary.

He knocks on the gate. The latch moves from inside. Joseph grins in anticipation. The gate slowly creeks open. Hurry! Hurry!

But it is Mary’s mother.

“Mary’s upstairs on the roof, Joseph.”

His future mother-in-law does not look happy.

What is wrong? Something’s wrong? Was she injured? Has she changed her mind about the wedding? What’s going on?

He takes broad strides toward the stairway to the roof. Sarah takes hold of his arm and looks up into his young, confused eyes. “Be gentle with her. She’s still our daughter. We still love her.”

Something is wrong. What is it? Oh, Mary, what is it? Whatever it is, I’ll stand by her and help her through it. My love for her knows no bounds.

“Okay,” he responds aloud. “Just let me see her now.”

She nods in agreement, and Joseph springs up the steps, three at a time.

He stops.

There sits his Mary. Nothing wrong that I can see.

His grin returns, wide and unrestrained, his eyes flash in fantastic love. He starts walking over to Mary, the love of his life, when her mother’s hand once again stops him.

“Wait. Not yet,” she whispers.

Mary looks at Joseph with eyes of love and fear.

“Joseph, I love you with my whole heart. I have always loved you. You are the only man I have ever loved. Do you believe that?”

“Of course, Mary. I believe you.”

What an odd question.

Then Mary slowly stands. Joseph is unsure what she is showing him, not wanting to know.

She lets her cloak slip down to her feet.  “Joseph, I am pregnant.”

Joseph stares in disbelief. Confusion takes over his eyes, his lips and his demeanor. Deep breathing builds up as if getting ready to fight an unknown, unseen enemy.

His fists clench.

He puts a hand up to his forehead. He turns and looks away and then back again, hoping he only imagined what he was seeing and what he has just heard. But the love of his life is still pregnant.

Mary does not say anything. She just stands there. Tears. Waiting for him to say something.

“Mary! How could you do this to me?”

Joseph turns, jumps down the stairs and bounds out of the house, leaving the gate open behind him. He throws the gift he’d brought her at the wall of her house.

He stumbles down some street in some village somewhere. Somehow, eventually, in a time where there is no time, a familiar gate appears. He staggers toward it, not completely aware that he is doing it.

Joseph puts his head down on his closed front gate. With his fist, he pounds it relentlessly. “Mary! Mary! Not you! Why? Why?” he cries out to an unseeing and uncaring world. And though he is talking to Mary, he is glad she is not around to hear him. He is now aware that he never wants to see her again.

He sobs uncontrollably. Betrayed by innocence. But not innocence after all. The ultimate betrayal.

His voice, his sobs, swirl through his head and rush to the ears of Satan who laughs in sadistic excitement.

God wants to reach down and comfort him, but Joseph is not yet ready.

Somehow Joseph manages the lock and stumbles through the gateway to his courtyard, and toward his little living quarters, the living quarters he had thought he and Mary would be making into a home. But he cannot go inside.

“Oh, Jehovah God, why? Why, God? Why did it have to happen? Oh, God, not this,” he bellows at the sky.

Stumbling around the ox and wagon he’d forgotten he left there in his hurry, his hand lands on a bowl of water where he’d washed less than an hour earlier. He pushes it over and down onto the ground in retaliation. Retaliation on Mary. He works his way from object to object, throwing everything he can see with young, strong arms. The arms that once held Mary protectively.

He turns and, tramping over the mud and broken pottery on the ground, he finally makes his way into his quarters.

The man! Who’s the other guy? Who did this to her? He kicks the stool in the middle of the room.

Did Mary consent? Was she raped? He takes hold of the stool and throws it across the room.

He picks up a piece of fine clay on which he had sketched a picture of her and throws it at the wall. He drops to his knees and remains there a few moments as though begging providence to back up and start all over again with this morning.

Was it someone she’s known for a long time? Has she been seeing someone behind my back? What’s going on, Mary? Mary!

He sits now on the floor with her picture. All broken. Crushed. Cut to the heart. Unhealable. Inconsolable. Betrayed with the ultimate betrayal.

Oh, Mary… Oh, Jehovah God… Say it’s just a dream.

Sprawling completely prostrate now, he hits his fist against the floor. He is bleeding. Bleeding from the broken pottery. Bleeding from the broken promise. The broken heart. The broken life. “Oh, Mary… Oh, God…” he groans.

Joseph opens his eyes and it is dark. No sounds on the street. It must be very late. Too late. Too late to do any work. Too late for Mary. Too late for him. Too late for happiness.

Getting up, Joseph stumbles toward the courtyard and pauses in the doorway, momentarily forgetting what he’s doing. Forgetting because there’s nothing to remember. Only betrayal. And a treacherous emptiness.

He turns back into his quarters and throws himself across his bed on top of the crumpled covers, and stares at the dark ceiling with unseeing eyes. He pounds his bed mercilessly, turns over. Then over again. And again. How can he sleep?

Turning, he sits up and puts both open hands up to his head and his ears, hoping the echoes of betrayal will go away. But they haunt him. He raises his fists to heaven. “Why, God? Why did you do this to me? Why?”

His masculine nature wants to fight. But who is the enemy? Who can he cut down?

Rushing out through his door into the blackness of his night, he fumbles with a flint to light a fire. A fire to burn the wick in his lamp so he can see.

Joseph sets the olive-oil lamp down and steps over to the wagon filled with the boards he’d brought home earlier in the day. The day of hope and promise. The day of betrayal and utter nothingness.

He jerks the straps off, scourges the boards with them, then throws them down. He grabs the first board and slings it at the storage bin. No more neat piles. No more everything in its place, because now nothing is in its place.

With some strange force coming out of his abyss, he grabs each board, slinging it in the same general direction. He does not care that he is tearing up his bin like his heart has been torn up. He does not care that he is damaging his wall like his life has been damaged.

He must do battle. Battle the boards, the wall and the unknown force that has invaded his world.

The wagon empty, he remembers the doors he’d just begun for the mayor’s new house.

Gotta get them built. Gotta get them done. Gotta do it. Gotta concentrate. Gotta cut and pound, cut and pound, cut and pound.

With all the uncontrollable energy that possesses him, Joseph attacks the wood with a vengeance—cutting, pounding, avenging, thinking…

I’ve got to turn her in to the court. No, I can’t do that. That’s Mary I’m talking about. Mary’s the love of my life. Mary was the love of my life.

He cuts and pounds…

I know. I know what I can do. Yes, that’s it. I’ll pay for her to have an abortion. I know it wasn’t her fault. Someone forced her. Mary wouldn’t betray me like that. She can have an abortion. Then, in a few months, we can be married—celebrations, the wedding parade, the wedding feast, and everything.

Cut and pound.

It’ll all be put back together again. Our dream will be intact. We can go on living as though nothing ever happened. I can forgive Mary. I know I can. I could even move her away from here after the wedding and we could start all over again. No one would be the wiser for it.

Surely, if it means forgiving Mary and getting married after all, God would be for an abortion. God loves forgiveness and marriage. God would approve of the abortion. And the baby wouldn’t ever know the difference.

Cut and pound.

The baby? The baby? It’s growing inside her? It’s already got life? I don’t think I could bring myself to bring it up to her.

And think.

Adoption. That’s the answer. Maybe someone in Mary’s family would adopt it. There’s got to be people around here who can’t have children of their own. Mary could just give it up; then we could go on like nothing ever happened.

No. The baby would still be around. What if the baby looked like Mary? Every time I saw it, I’d be reminded of the betrayal. The betrayal? Yes, the betrayal. What am I going to do?

And weigh.

Annul the engagement. Divorce her. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll quietly send her the legal papers ending our engagement and marriage. That way nothing embarrassing is discussed in the courts to get people asking questions.

Then she can do whatever she wants. Maybe I’ll even move away. Maybe Mary would be better off without me. Maybe I’d be better off without her.

“Oh, Mary… Oh, Jehovah God!” he shouts at the universe. “I don’t know what else to do,” He groans. “Oh, Mary… Oh, God…” Only God hears the helpless whisper.

In a timeless moment, the doors are completely built. The sun, like everything else, betrays him as it shines brightly and unashamedly down onto his courtyard.

He takes a deep breath and puts his forearm up to his brow to decide what to do next. He wants to disappear. He cannot. He will wash up and write out a bill for the doors before delivering them. On his way, he will stop at a lawyer’s shop to draw up a bill of divorcement.

Making his way across the courtyard to his small room, he sits down on his bed, unused the night before. Slowly he takes off his dusty sandals. His logical mind engaged. His emotional mind shut down. The walls stare at him, and he notices the broken pieces of Mary’s picture. He leans back on his pillow. And closes his eyes.

“Joseph! Joseph!”

Startled, he sits straight up in bed. Instinctively, he puts his hand on the hammer he keeps at his bedside.

“Hey, where’d you come from? How’d you get in here? Get out of my house before I do something you’ll regret. Do you hear me? Get out! Now!”

The vague form of a man at the foot of his bed stays. “Joseph, descendant of David…”

“Huh? How’d you know that? How do you know my name? And my ancestry? Lucky guess. Just get out of my house!”

“Joseph, do not hesitate to make Mary your wife!”

“Mary? Mary? Are you the man who…” He can’t quite say it.

“Make Mary your wife,” he repeats.

Joseph’s white-knuckled grip on the hammer loosens and he laughs nervously. “You are kidding me. Who are you, anyway, telling me what to do?”

“Listen to me, Joseph. The child in her womb…”

“The child? It’s already a child, even though it’s not yet born. But… Who are you?”

Joseph completely lets go of the hammer, but he keeps it nearby just in case.

“The child,” the stranger says, “has been conceived by the Holy Spirit.”

Joseph simultaneously tries to comprehend what is said, and fights it.

“The Holy Spirit?” he repeats. “The Spirit of Jehovah God?”

He stands, points a finger at the intruder and lets his guard down to debate him.

“Are you out of your mind?” he objects. “The Holy Spirit does not make women pregnant. You must really take me for a fool. Get out of my house!”

“Joseph, Mary will have a son.”

“A son?” He’s caught up in the conversation even though he knows he should be kicking this stranger out. For some reason, he cannot.

“Mary will have a son.”

“Number one, I could care less what she has. And number two, how can you possibly know she will have a son?”

Without responding, the man continues. “You shall name him…”

“Me?” he interrupts again. “Oh, I’ll not be around when she has that babe. We’re getting a divorce. I’ve already decided. No more Mary for me. It’s good riddance as far as I’m concerned. I don’t know why I ever let myself be taken in by her, anyway.”

“You shall name him Jesus.”

Joseph cannot resist the man. He cannot resist what the man is trying to tell him.

“Jesus?” He’s startled by the name. “Jesus means deliverer.”

“That’s right, Joseph. This Son of God will deliver people all over the world and in all ages from their sins.”

Suddenly, it dawns on Joseph that this man talking to him knows too much to be just an ordinary man. He is speaking with far too much authority. What is there about him?

Joseph sits back on his bed, for some reason feeling drawn into the conversation more than drawn to get rid of him. His message is magnetic. But why? Who is he, anyway?

Anger has given way to curiosity. Now curiosity gives way to possibility. He stares at the man and tries to comprehend his words. Thinking. Absorbing. His head swimming.

Again he objects. He must. But in a different way.

“You mean this is God’s baby I’m supposed to raise?” He doesn’t believe he is saying this.

The stranger smiles. “Precisely.”

“No! No! It’s not possible. God can’t have a son.”

“He can have a brain child.”

“A what?”

“Any time God speaks to mankind, that is his brain child. He’s about to put his words in the form of a human so you can see them for yourself.”

“This is hard.”

“God spoke for centuries and people didn’t quite catch on. So now he’s going to speak through the life of a man. That man is who Mary has conceived.”

Does he dare? Dare to believe? Oh, how he wants to. For Mary’s sake, he wants to. It would put things back the way they were.

Walking over to his little window, Jesus looks up at the sky, his hands holding his head. He turns and stares at the now silent stranger. He looks down at the pieces of Mary’s picture.

Can he take the plunge? The plunge that makes no sense to him, but makes much sense to him?

“How can I do that? I’m not strong like God.”

The stranger smiles and takes Joseph a little deeper. He quotes an ancient prediction. “This will fulfill God’s message through his prophets. Don’t you remember the prophet Isaiah?”

The stranger standing next to Joseph’s bed quotes it. “Listen! The virgin shall conceive a baby! She shall give birth to a son, and call him Emmanu-El, which means God is among us.”

“A virgin? Is Mary still a virgin?”

Joseph lunges at the idea. How he loves his Mary. How can he give her up?

“A virgin?”

Doubts return with his hated unmanly tears.

“No, that can’t be. Virgins can’t be pregnant. Mary has betrayed me.”

Again the stranger waits while Joseph thinks and absorbs and struggles. Momentarily he looks over at the stranger, then picks up one of the pieces of Mary on the floor.

Without looking up, he whispers, “Who are you?”

In his heart, he knows. Somehow he knows. One more plunge of faith. A big one.

“Are you…? I guess this sounds bizarre, but are you an angel?”

The stranger smiles.

“You are, aren’t you?”

The instant Joseph comprehends and believes, the angel disappears. The young man opens his eyes and jumps up. It had been a dream, but a dream of reality. A dream of hope beyond hope. A dream that will change his destiny and the destiny of the entire world.

He raises his eyes to the ceiling and shouts aloud, “Mary’s a virgin! Mary’s still a virgin!”

Turning, he looks for his scripture scroll of Isaiah. “Where did I put them this time?” He rummages around his one room, then the courtyard. He it on the ground next to the broken bowl. Some of the water has soaked the edges.

Grabbing it, he turns it quickly in his hands. It will not turn fast enough. Impatiently he puts the scroll back on the ground and rolls it all out in front of him. He straddles it, scanning and searching for the word to jump out at him—the word virgin. Frantically. Desperately.

“There it is. Mary’s still a virgin. Mary is the virgin.”

Joseph’s excitement recalls another statement of the angel, and his mind climbs deep, deep into the Word of God.

Jesus…Emmanu-El…God with Us. God’s Spirit. Oh, Jehovah God. This is your baby.

His soul grabs at the thought and hangs on to it relentlessly. He looks up at the sky. “Oh, Jehovah God. How can I ever be a father to your baby?”

Joseph once more has startled himself. Did he really hear what he thought he heard? Did he really say what he thought he said?

Looking up into the sky, he shades his eyes from the sun and watches the clouds race by. Confusion returns, and along with it, fear.

He continues to stare at the fleeting clouds above. Clouds willing to flee with the hope that has risen in his soul.

Something swells up inside of him. Something deep within him begins to rumble and quake. His whole body slowly begins to shake—very slowly, very steadily as he continues to search the heavens.

Rising slowly and steadily from the depths of his soul, his being shouts to the heavens beyond the sky he sees.

“Jehovah God! Creator of the universe!”

His heart beats faster. “How can I be a father to your baby?”

His eyes search the heavens for an answer.

“How can you give me this kind of responsibility? I am just a weak man. I am not strong like you. Oh, Jehovah God, I can’t handle it!”

But Joseph hears something deep in his soul.

“We fathers will work it out—you and I.”

He turns and sits on the ground in the solitude of his crowded courtyard. He struggles to comprehend. He stands and goes back into his room. He sits on his bed. He moves to the floor. The floor next to where he had shattered his picture of Mary.

He stands.

His hair in shambles, sawdust permeating his clothes, tear stains crisscrossing his rugged face, he runs out the gate without locking it.

“I must get to Mary. I must tell Mary. I must help Mary. She needs me.”

Bolting down the street, he races toward the home of his bride. Seemingly the homes and shops he passes jump out of his way. Seemingly the wind picks up his feet and delivers him to the familiar gate. He pounds on it and rattles the latch. Deliriously, he pounds.

“Mary! Mary! Open up. Please Mary. Forgive me, Mary. Please, you’ve got to come to the gate. Please, Mary!”

The gate opens and this time it is Mary’s father. “She’s back up on the roof. We’ve been expecting you.”

Joseph once more takes the stairs three at a time, spots Mary, and kneels in front of his beloved, his bride, the mother of God’s baby.

He puts his head in her lap and sobs. Mary sobs. Their tears mingle and rise higher and higher through the universe. At last they reach the throne of God and swirl restlessly at his feet.

God reaches down and touches those tears. Now, somehow, the young couple way down on earth, feels peace like a river.

“We’re still getting married,” Joseph whispers. “God has chosen us to raise his baby. I think I understand now. We’ve got to follow through. He’s put his trust in us. Oh, Mary, how I love you.”

“I love you too, my dear sweet Joseph. I always did and always will.”

The two sit alone together. Together facing something they cannot explain to themselves, let alone to other people. Together facing what seems to be the impossible, and which of course is the impossible.

“Why did God choose us?” she whispers.

There is no answer.

“Mary, all I can say is that I’ll do the best I know how,” Joseph responds. “It won’t be enough.”

“God doesn’t want us to do anything other than give him a normal home so he can grow up,” Mary replies. “That’s all. He’ll do the rest.”

“What about our wedding? No one will believe us.”

“Oh, I didn’t really need a big wedding, Joseph. We’ll be just as married without all the feasts and parades. I’m only worried about how you will handle what people say about you,” Mary adds.

“Not as much as the things people will call you, Mary. But, don’t worry. I’ll stand by you all the way.”

“Me too, Joseph. We’ll stand by each other.”

Late in the afternoon just before dark, Joseph returns alone to his home. The home where the angel of God had actually appeared to him. And changed his life forever.

As he walks in, he sees his scripture scroll rolled out to the place he’d read earlier. He reads it again and again. Then he prays.

One father praying to the other Father.

“Can I do it, Jehovah God?” he asks over and over.

Joseph understands all the hurdles he will have to overcome to protect his son—his and God’s son. At least he thinks he does. There will be so many. Many more than even Joseph comprehends. But God knows. And God is ready to do what is necessary.

_____

Over the next four years, God will speak to Joseph and give him specific instructions to help his young family out of some very tough situations.

God has spoken one time to Mary and that is sufficient. He will speak four times to Joseph. There will be a lot of things for the two fathers to talk over.

The two fathers will need that time together. They will need to confer together. Develop their strategies together. Plan their future together. The two fathers must be strong.

So, on this night, as Joseph drifts off to sleep, God in heaven looks down on this solitary man and knows he made the right choice.

They will share their fatherhood together. Joseph has faith in the heavenly Father. God has faith in the earthly father.

Together, not even hell will be able to stop them.