Kissing the baby, Anne held her up to the midwife. “Give the child to her father, so that he may bless her.” As the woman left the house, Anne shifted on the pallet, wincing at the pain. She strained to hear what her husband had to say, but it was the excited voice of their older daughter, Mary, she heard.
“Can I hold her, Father? Please. Oh, she is so sweet.”
Joachim spoke too softly for Anne to hear. When he entered the house, she searched his face. Though he did not look at her with reproach, she saw his disappointment. Leaning down, he placed their newborn firmly in her arms once again. What could he say to ease both their hearts? God had not seen fit to give them a son.
“I love her,” Mary said, coming into the house.
“We all love her,” Joachim said quickly.
Ah, but Anne understood. A son would work alongside his father. A son would go to synagogue and give distinction to his father. A son would provide for his mother if his father died. A son might one day grow up and stand against Israel’s oppressors. Or even turn out to be the long-awaited deliverer, the Messiah for whom all Israel prayed.
But a girl? What use was a girl, other than to share in the daily chores? She would simply be another mouth to feed until the time came for her father to find her a proper husband.
“I’ve been considering the name Deborah,” Anne said quietly, head down. This baby was more delicate than her first, but there was a sweetness in her face that gripped Anne’s heart.
“We will call her Mary.”
“But Mary is my name,” their older daughter said, looking between them.
Joachim put his hand on her head and spoke gently. “Your sister shall be little Mary.”
Anne reached out to her older daughter. “Don’t be distressed, dear one. Go outside so that I may speak with your father.” When she was alone with Joachim, she looked up at him. “Won’t you please consider another name, my husband? Deborah is a strong name. And there are so many Marys. It has become the most common name in all Israel.”
“And when there are enough, perhaps the Lord will finally hear our cry!” Joachim’s voice broke. Color seeped into his cheeks as he looked away. “Her name shall be Mary.” He left the house. Anne overheard him tell their older daughter to play with her friends and leave Mama alone to rest.
Anne studied her newborn’s face. “Mary,” she whispered. “My precious little Mary.” Her heart was heavy, for both of her daughters now bore a name that meant “bitterness and suffering.” The name Mary declared the depth of every Jew’s despair under the oppression of Roman conquerors. Mary was a cry to the Lord for rescue.
Raising her knees slightly, Anne cradled her baby on her thighs. She unwrapped the cloth and stroked the small arms, studied the legs bowed from nine months in the womb. Tears streamed down Anne’s cheeks as she kissed the tiny hand that clasped her finger. Little Mary’s skin was softer than a baby rabbit’s. “Lord, Lord, please let her name come to mean more than ‘bitterness and suffering.’ Let it come to mean ‘strength is from the Lord.’ Let it come to mean ‘God’s love upholds us.’ Let it mean ‘trust in God, and let nothing defeat faith in you.’ Oh, Lord . . .” She wept softly as she lifted her baby to her breast. “Let the name Mary remind us to obey without fear.”
ONE
Mary sat alone beneath a mustard tree, her hands covering her face. Did all brides feel this way when the contracts were signed, gifts given, and futures sealed by the will of others? She trembled at the prospect of life with a man she hardly knew, other than as a man admired and befriended by her father upon his arrival in Nazareth three years ago.
“He’s of our tribe, Anne,” Joachim had announced after meeting Joseph at the synagogue. “And descended from the royal line of David.”
“Is he married?” Her mother cast an eye toward Mary.
Thus had plans for her future been set in motion, for her father was quick to find out that Joseph was looking for a wife from the tribe of Judah, a descendant of David, a young woman of unquestioned virtue and faith. Mary knew their ambitions. Mary’s older sister was married to a Nazarene, and her parents hoped to marry their younger daughter to another man of their own tribe. And of course he must be devout, kind, and able to provide a good home for her and any children she might give him. So they invited the carpenter to their home frequently, and Joseph was receptive to their hopes.
“Why did he not seek out a young woman in Bethlehem?” Mary had asked her mother once.
“Why ask such questions?” Her mother had been impatient. “Just accept that God sent him here to Nazareth.”
Her father had been less inclined to believe that God would be intimately involved in the personal life of a humble carpenter or a poor man with failing health and a daughter soon of marriageable age. “Joseph needs work like anyone else, and Sepphoris is growing. Carpenters and stoneworkers can earn more money there than in Bethlehem.”
The men had begun to discuss a match, but when her father died, Mary’s future was left for her mother to settle. And she intended to settle it sooner rather than later.
“Your father wanted to give you more time, Mary,” she had said, “but time can be an enemy. You are ready to marry, and, considering our circumstances, there’s no time to waste. I’ve already spoken to Joseph, and he has agreed to take you as his wife. All will be well now, Mary. We will not be left to fend for ourselves.”
Now, sitting beneath the mustard tree, Mary buried her face in her arms. Would they have been left to fend for themselves? God promised to care for those who put their faith in him. Mary believed the Lord’s promises.
All she had ever wanted was to be close to the Lord. Her heart yearned for him. She longed for him as a deer panted for streams of water. How she wished she’d been among the people delivered from Egypt. How blessed they’d been to see God’s miracles, to hear the Law for the first time, to see water spring from a rock, and to taste the manna from heaven. Sometimes she almost wished she had been born a man. Then she could have gone to the desert cliffs of Qumran and dedicated her life to God.
Was it youth that made her restless? Her deep thirst for the Lord frustrated her. How could she love the Lord God with all her heart, mind, soul, and strength if she was to be given to a man? How could she love God fully and still give proper honor to her husband?
And yet she understood the practicality of marriage. Women were vulnerable. How often she heard the hoofbeats of Roman soldiers approaching her little village of Nazareth. Countless times she had seen them at the well, filling their waterskins. Then they took whatever foodstuffs they needed from the resentful, downtrodden citizenry. Sometimes they took young women as well, leaving them abused and ruined. Life could become unbearable for an unprotected woman, especially a young one. Mary’s mother had taught her to run and hide when she heard the sounds of horses or marching feet. Her heart squeezed tight with anxiety, for she could hear them coming closer now.
Pax Romana had brought anything but peace to Israel, for Mary’s people fought Rome’s control. Wouldn’t it be wiser for her to remain unwed rather than to marry and bring children into such a world? Many Hebrews fought against Hellenistic influences with all their being, nursing their grievances, fanning their hatred into violence. Others turned traitor, rejecting the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and adopting the customs of their conquerors.
Where was God in all this? Mary knew he was as powerful now as he had been when he created the world. Was she disloyal to wonder if her people had brought this wretchedness upon themselves? She knew the history of her people. She knew how God had disciplined them in the past in order to make them turn back to him. Why must Israel repeat her cycles of disobedience, generation after generation? And how much longer would it be until God once again sent a deliverer?
For as long as Mary could remember, she had heard her people crying out for rescue from Roman oppression.
Someday the Lord would send the deliverer, the one promised after Adam and Eve’s fall from
grace, the one who would make all things right, all things new. The Messiah. Every day Mary prayed for him to come . . . as she prayed now, sitting beneath the shade of the mustard tree, struggling with questions beyond her ability to understand. Torn by the turbulent world around her as well as her own now-settled future, Mary cried out for a savior.
Oh, Lord, when will you send us a deliverer? Rescue us from the foreign oppressors who carry golden idols, arrogantly proclaiming their capricious emperor a god!
She must cease this struggling. She would be wed to Joseph. The matter was settled. Mary honored her mother and would obey.
Oh, Lord God of Israel, I don’t understand these things. Is it wrong to want to belong to you? My soul longs for you. Help me to be obedient, to be a proper wife to Joseph, for you are sovereign and must have chosen this man for me. Make me a woman after your own heart. Create in me a clean heart, and renew a right spirit within me.
A strange tingling sensation spread over her skin. Her hair prickled as she raised her head and saw a man standing before her. Heart thumping with terror, she stared at him, for she had never seen anyone like him before. Was it merely the sun at his back that made him look so terrifying?
“Greetings, favored woman! The Lord is with you!”
Trembling, she sat still and silent, wondering at his words. She shut her eyes tightly and then opened them again. He was still standing there, looking down at her with kind patience. What did his greeting mean? Were not all God’s chosen people favored? And why did he say the Lord was with her? Was he the Lord? Fear filled her, and she closed her eyes again, for surely anyone who looked upon the Lord would die.
“Don’t be frightened, Mary, for God has decided to bless you!”
A sob welled up inside her throat, catching her off guard, for she wanted nothing more than to please God! But the Lord knew how undeserving she was. She blushed, remembering that only the moment before, she had resisted the idea of marrying Joseph, though he loved God as much as she. And now, this man said precious words that filled her with joy!
The stranger drew closer, his head inclined toward her. “You will become pregnant and have a son, and you are to name him Jesus.”
Jesus. The name meant “the Lord saves.”
The angel was still speaking. “He will be very great and will be called the Son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor David. And he will reign over Israel forever; his Kingdom will never end!”
Mary swallowed, her mind whirling with the implications of his words. He was telling her she would bear the Messiah! As soon as the words were uttered, she felt attacked by a chorus of dark voices.
You? Why would the Lord choose anyone so low? The Messiah will not come from some Nazarene peasant girl. What evil is this, that one so unworthy should dare imagine she could bear the Messiah! Ignore this madman. Look away from him! Reject what he says. Close your eyes! Say nothing!
Yet another voice spoke, a quiet voice, a voice her heart recognized.
What is your answer, Mary?
She stood, tilting her head as she looked up at the angel. “But how can I have a baby? I am a virgin.”
The angel smiled tenderly. “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the baby born to you will be holy, and he will be called the Son of God. What’s more, your relative Elizabeth has become pregnant in her old age! People used to say she was barren, but she’s already in her sixth month. For nothing is impossible with God.”
Mary drew in her breath with a smile and clasped her hands. Oh! She knew how Elizabeth had always longed for a child. Nothing was impossible with God! Elizabeth would be like Sarah, who bore Isaac in her old age. She would be like Hannah, dedicating her son to the Lord. The news made Mary’s faith leap. She wanted to race to Elizabeth and see this miracle for herself, but the angel stood in front of her, silent, waiting for her answer.
If she said yes, she would become the mother of the long-awaited Messiah. Why the Lord had chosen her to be part of his plan she couldn’t even guess. She was uneducated, poor, and lived in an obscure village that most Jews disdained. Yet she also knew from listening to Scripture readings in the synagogue that God often used the most unlikely and unworthy to fulfill his purposes. It didn’t matter who she was. God would accomplish his purposes in his way. The angel of the Lord was asking her to be part of God’s plan. And everything within her heart and soul cried out a joyous yes.
Do you really think you can be the Messiah’s mother? Do you think you will know how to rear God’s Son to be king over Israel? The dark voices again.
No. I won’t, her heart answered. But God will.
Gathering her courage, Mary looked up. “I am the Lord’s servant.” She spread her hands. “And I am willing to accept whatever he wants. May everything you have said come true.”
As soon as she made her decision, the angel was gone. She uttered a soft gasp of dismay. She would have thought she imagined the entire episode had not the air still trembled around her. Shaken, she clutched her hands against her chest until she remembered the angel of the Lord had said not to be afraid. Letting out her breath softly, she knelt and lifted her face to heaven. She lifted her hands, palms up. Lord, your will be done.
Her skin tingled strangely as she saw a cloud coming down. She placed her hands over her heart as she was overshadowed. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the scent of spring flowers, earth, and the heavens. Her skin warmed as her body was flooded with sensation. She drew in her breath and held it. For one brief space in time, nothing moved; no sound was heard as all creation paused.
Within the womb of a poor peasant girl from an obscure village in Galilee, God the Son became one with the seed of Adam.
* * *
Joseph glared at Mary. “How can you expect me to believe such a story?” All his hopes for a bright future were demolished. He would never have thought a girl like Mary—so young, so sweet, so devout—could betray him in so foul a manner. Pregnant! He was attacked by emotion, shaken by it. He shut his eyes, fighting against the violent thoughts filling his mind: Denounce her! Cast her aside! Report her to the rabbi! Have her stoned!
“No!” he cried out, putting his hands over his ears. He opened his eyes and saw Mary’s mother, Anne, cowering and weeping in the corner.
Only Mary was calm. “You will believe, Joseph.” She looked up at him, her dark eyes innocent. “You will. I know you will.”
How could she appear so calm when, with one word, he could have her killed?
“There is only one way a woman conceives.”
“For God, anything is possible.”
“And God would choose you to bear the Messiah?”
She laughed at his sarcasm, her face filled with joy. “Hasn’t God always chosen the weak to confound the strong? Oh, Joseph.” She clasped her hands, excitement radiating from her. “Think of him. God never chooses as man would choose.”
“I can’t believe this. I can’t! It defies all reason!” He had to get out of this house. He couldn’t look at her and think clearly.
“Joseph!” Anne rose and came after him. “Joseph! Please!” she cried out as he went out the door and left it ajar behind him. “Joseph!”
He ducked around the corner and walked quickly away, heading up a narrow street toward the end of town. He didn’t want people noticing he was upset and asking questions. He had to think!
Out of sight of Nazareth, he wept. What should he do now? Forget she was the daughter of a man who had befriended him, a man who was of his own tribe? Could he ignore the fact that she was pregnant with another man’s child? She had committed a sin of abomination! She was unclean! If he married Mary now, people would point the finger at him. Both their reputations would be ruined. The gossip would circulate for years to come. And when the child was born, what then? Everyone would know he was conceived before the wedding ceremony, and would whisper behind their hands as he passed.
Why were women
such weak vessels, so easily deceived? He kicked the dirt angrily. Who could have done this to her? Who would dare take advantage of an innocent, fatherless girl? And why would she concoct such a ridiculous, outlandish lie to cover up her sin? He grimaced. An angel came and told her she was to bear the Son of God! What man in his right mind would believe such a story?
When Joachim had offered Mary to him, Joseph thought he’d been offered a future and a hope. Now, he held disaster in his hands. If he exposed her, he would have to stand by and watch the daughter of Joachim stoned to death for the sin of fornication. And the child she carried would die with her.
Yes! Do it! rasped the dark foreign voice. Why shouldn’t she die for betraying you and her father? Why shouldn’t she be cut off from Israel for rejecting the Law you live by? Kill her! Kill the child!
The violence in his thoughts frightened Joseph and he cried out, “Oh, God, help me! What should I do? Why do you throw this catastrophe at my feet? Haven’t I tried all my life to do right? to live according to your Law?” He sat, dragging his fingers through his hair. Gritting his teeth, he wept angrily. “Why, Lord? Make me understand!”
The sun set, but he was no closer to an answer. Weary, Joseph rose and walked back to town. The streets were empty, for it was late and everyone had returned home. He entered his workshop and sat at his worktable. He’d never felt so alone. “Where are you, God? Where are you when I need your counsel?” He considered going to the rabbi for advice, but rabbis could not always be trusted to keep confidences. Joseph wanted no one else to know about Mary until he had decided what to do. He ran his hand over the yoke he had been carving, then picked up his tools. Perhaps work would ease his mind.
Who was he to condemn Mary?
Joseph followed the Law, but he knew in his heart that it was only on the surface. Beneath the dutiful hours in synagogue, the giving of tithes and offerings, his heart was rebellious against the yoke of Rome, the yoke of corrupt rabbis, and the weight of the Law itself. How could any man help it? Sin taunted Joseph every time he saw a Roman soldier mocking a woman at the well, or a rabbi haranguing some poor widow for her tithe, or a rich patron who ignored what was owed for work rendered, or a beggar who cursed him when he had no money to give. Though Joseph had taken countless lambs to the Temple in Jerusalem for sacrifice over the years, he had never felt completely cleansed of sin. The blood of the sacrificial lamb covered it over, and then he’d sin again. He wanted to do right, but he found himself failing again and again.