“Get up and take the child and his mother back to the land of Israel, because those who were trying to kill the child are dead.”
Joseph sat bolt upright, his heart pounding. “Mary!” He came to his feet and went outside, where she was sitting in the shade watching Jesus draw in the dust with a stick.
“Mary!” Elation filled him as he pulled her to her feet and kissed her. “We’re going home!”
* * *
Once again, Joseph and Mary left everything behind but their most precious possessions and went where the Lord led them. The journey back by the Way of the Sea went quickly for they traveled in haste, eager to return to their homeland. Joseph had it in his mind to take Mary and Jesus back to Bethlehem, where his ancestor David had lived. The town was close to Jerusalem, close to the Temple. Shouldn’t the Son of God be close to the center of worship? Shouldn’t he dwell on the mountaintop?
But when they came to a toll station on the southern boundary of Israel, where Joseph was required to pay a road tax, he spotted an insignia that troubled him. He frowned. “Who reigns in the place of Herod?” he asked.
The Roman soldier glanced up and gave a snort of derision. “Where have you been living, Jew? Archelaus, the son of Herod. Who else?”
Fear gripped Joseph.
Mary stood waiting for him, holding Jesus by the hand. When he approached, she peered up at him. “What’s wrong, Joseph?”
Sometimes Joseph wished his wife was less perceptive. “Archelaus reigns in Jerusalem.”
Her face paled. She knew as well as he that Herod’s blood ran in Archelaus’s veins. Would this king also be a ruthless enemy? Mary lifted Jesus and sat him on her hip. “Should we go back to Egypt?”
He thought for a moment and took the reins of the donkey. “We go on.”
“But, Joseph, shouldn’t we ponder this awhile until we know God’s will?”
Joseph turned the beast toward Jerusalem. “Nothing has changed, Mary. God said to return to Israel, and to Israel we shall go until he says otherwise.” He had only to glance at her to see her mind was going off in a dozen directions, considering all the possibilities. Mary pondered everything. “The Lord will protect us now, just as he did when we were in Bethlehem.”
As they walked up the road, the excitement of returning home evaporated in the heat of anxiety. God had sent them running to Egypt because of Herod. Would Archelaus be any less protective of his power than his father had been? When they arrived in Bethlehem, would people remember the attention Jesus had attracted from Simeon and Anna in the Temple? Would they remember the strange visit of magi who had traveled hundreds of miles to see the child whose birth had been announced in the heavens? Word of such an event spread. Rumors would abound. The new king would hear. And, like his father before him, Archelaus would want to eliminate anyone who dared challenge his authority—even the Son of God.
Lord, Lord, I fear for the life of your Son and his mother!
Joseph was afraid to pray more than that, for the commandment of the angel had been clear. Go back to the land of Israel. Still, with each step, Joseph’s apprehension grew. Lord, Lord, I am afraid. Help me obey.
“Joseph, can we rest awhile over there by those trees?” Mary said. He looked back at her and saw the sheen of sweat on her face. She hadn’t put Jesus down since they left the toll station. He led the donkey off the road and let the reins dangle on the ground so the animal could graze while they rested in the shade. Mary set Jesus on his feet and sank to the ground with a sigh of relief. Closing her eyes, she filled her lungs with air and smiled. “Every land has its own scent.”
While Jesus played nearby, Joseph fingered the knots on the strands of his prayer shawl. Lord, Lord . . .
Mary sat beside him. “Rest, Joseph.”
He didn’t want to share his worries with her. He wanted her to feel safe even when she wasn’t. “I’m not tired.”
She put her hand over his. “Close your eyes for a little while, Joseph. For my sake.” She rose and walked toward Jesus. When they came back and lay down in the shade, Joseph relaxed. The heat of midday came down upon him like a heavy blanket. He was tired, so tired he felt he was sinking into the earth.
He heard the familiar voice again, speaking softly, so softly, his soul leaned closer. “Joseph, son of David, do not go back to Bethlehem, for Jesus will be in danger there. Go instead to the region of Galilee and live in Nazareth.”
Awakening, he sat up. He saw by the position of the sun that several hours had passed. Jesus was still asleep in his mother’s arms.
“Mary,” Joseph said softly, heart pounding.
She opened her eyes sleepily and looked up at him. Blinking, she sat up. “The Lord spoke to you again. I can tell.”
“We’re to go to Nazareth and make our home there.”
“Oh!” Her face lit with joy. She held Jesus close as he awakened. “We’re going home, my love. Home to your grandma and your aunt and uncle. Home!”
* * *
When Mary and Joseph arrived in Nazareth with Jesus, they found the modest village near the trade roads unchanged. But Mary’s mother’s house was deserted, weeds growing in the garden behind it. Distressed, Mary and Joseph hurried along to her sister and brother-in-law’s house.
“Your mother died the year after the census,” Clopas, her brother-in-law, told them, after joyful greetings had been exchanged.
“We all thought something had happened to you,” Mary’s sister said. “When we heard what Herod did, we thought you were lost.”
“Lost? What do you mean?” Mary said, confused.
“What did Herod do?” Joseph said, standing beside her.
“He killed the male children in Bethlehem,” Clopas said. “All of them! From newborn to two years of age. Every one of them. As well as any father or mother who stood in the way of the king’s soldiers carrying out his orders.”
Mary felt faint. She clutched Jesus tightly in her arms as realization struck her. Had Joseph not obeyed the Lord immediately, Jesus would have been among the children slaughtered by Herod’s soldiers. That’s why he had awakened her in the middle of the night and taken her and Jesus from the city. He hadn’t known what was coming, only that God said, “Flee to Egypt.” By God’s great mercy, Jesus’ life had been spared, and Herod’s plans had failed.
Her throat closed in grief. God had saved her son, but what of those poor innocent children who had been slaughtered by Herod’s order? What of their grieving mothers and fathers? How could such evil exist in the world? Mary ran her hands over Jesus as she wept.
“Mama?”
She wept into the curve of his neck.
Her sister came to her. “When you didn’t return to Nazareth, we assumed you’d died in Bethlehem with your child.” Weeping, she embraced Mary and Jesus. “But you are all here safe and sound. God be praised!”
“Your mother believed you’d all been killed,” Clopas said. “She died believing that.”
Mary heard the hint of accusation in her brother-in-law’s voice and lifted her chin in defense of her husband. “God told Joseph we were to go to Egypt and wait there.”
Clopas’s brows came down as he looked at Joseph. “God told you to go to Egypt?”
Joseph’s jaw tensed, but he said nothing. Distressed, Mary looked between the two men. Clopas’s hostility was evident. Mary’s anger mingled with embarrassment. Joseph would not defend himself or explain. Did her relatives think she had lied about the angel of the Lord coming to her and telling her she would bear the Messiah? Did they prefer the rumors that Joseph had seduced her before they were wed and that they had concocted a ridiculous story to keep from being stoned? Would the rumors about the child she bore revive now that she and Joseph had brought Jesus home to Nazareth?
Holding Jesus close, she turned to her sister. This woman knew her better than any other, save Joseph. Surely she would believe. “When Jesus was born in Bethlehem, shepherds came to see him. They told us that the angel of the Lord had appeared
among them, and the radiance of the Lord’s glory surrounded them. The angel told them not to be afraid, for he was bringing good news of great joy. For that night in Bethlehem, the Savior—the Messiah—had been born. And the angel said they would find the baby lying in a manger, wrapped in strips of cloth.”
“A manger?” her sister said sadly.
Was that the only thing she heard? Did she not understand the fulfillment of prophecy?
Clopas made a sound in his throat. “The Messiah, born in a stable! And you expect us to believe that?”
Mary fought her tears. “Magi came to our house in Bethlehem, Clopas. They said they had followed a new star that appeared in the heavens at the same time Jesus was born. They brought gifts. They went to the king first, to ask where the Messiah was to be born.”
“Mary . . .” Her sister tried to soothe her.
Clopas glared at Joseph. “How did you ever convince her of all this?”
“I’m telling the truth!” Mary cried out. “Why won’t you believe?”
“Stop, Clopas,” her sister said. “I beg of you.”
“Don’t tell me you believe it!”
“I know my sister.” Her arms tightened around Mary. “She’s never lied before.”
“I’m not lying now!” Mary said angrily. “Jesus is the Messiah. He is!”
Clopas shook his head. “She’s out of her mind.”
“She speaks the truth,” Joseph said quietly.
Clopas stared at him for a long moment and frowned. “Even if I did believe it, what would it matter? It’s what everyone else in the village believes that matters.” Clopas looked at Jesus and grimaced. “A son born too soon after the wedding ceremony—to a girl so full of herself she’s convinced she’s borne the Messiah—is a scandal. The Messiah, born to a peasant girl in Nazareth. No one will ever believe it.”
Stunned, Mary could only stare at him in anguish. Joseph leaned down to her and took Jesus into his arms. “Come, Mary.” He slipped his arm around her.
“I’m sorry,” her sister whispered.
“Don’t you dare apologize to him,” Clopas said, glowering. “He’s the cause of this trouble, and the reason for the shame that has fallen upon our family.”
“You’re wrong.” Mary’s mouth trembled. “Joseph is above reproach, and Jesus is God’s Anointed One. Someday you’ll see the truth for yourself!” One day she would be vindicated. They would all see her son on the throne, ruling with righteousness!
“I’ll believe he’s the Messiah when I see him with an army behind him, driving the Romans out of Jerusalem!”
Mary felt Joseph’s arm tighten, pressing her through the doorway. She resisted, wanting to say more to her sister and brother-in-law. Anger coursed through her, but Joseph was firm. His arm encircled her protectively as they went out into the narrow street. “Oh, Joseph. I never expected it to be like this. Why do they prefer lies to the truth? Surely Jesus won’t grow up beneath such a . . . shadow.”
“God brought us here, Mary. What will happen now, I can’t say. We must live in God’s strength, my love.”
“Mama?” Jesus said, distressed by her tears of hurt and anger. Joseph ran his hand tenderly over Jesus’ hair, his eyes troubled. When Jesus looked up at him, Joseph smiled and brushed his knuckles against the smooth round cheek. Mary saw the love in her husband’s eyes and ached for him. His reputation had been ruined as much as hers. People believed he had seduced her.
Bless Joseph, Lord. Oh, please bless him for what he will suffer for the sake of your Son and me.
How many men would accept the loss of their reputation with grace, knowing their actions were by God’s direction? How many men would rise at the first whisper of God’s counsel and leave house and business and move to a foreign country? Or leave house and business and return to a town that thought they’d seduced a young virgin and filled her head with wild tales of angels and the coming Messiah?
Each day that passed increased Mary’s love for the man God had chosen for her. She had liked him when she first met him. She had respected him more with each trial they had faced, and she loved him now more than she’d thought possible. Oh, Lord, you have given me blessing upon blessing.
Joseph set Jesus on his feet and Mary took his hand. As the three of them walked down the street together, Jesus reached up and took Joseph’s hand. Mary smiled at her husband and felt the heaviness upon her heart lifting.
“Someday they will all see Jesus in power, Joseph. And they’ll know then how they wronged us.” Swallowing her tears, she lifted her head and walked on in silence.
* * *
Joseph’s small house was the same as when they’d left it. He set up his shop and made a meager living making yokes, plows, and ladders. When no work came to him, he would rise early and walk to nearby Sepphoris, hiring himself out to overseers who needed good carpenters to build lattices, doors, and furniture for the wealthy.
Life fell into a routine of struggle and hard work. Each morning, Mary and Joseph rose together, washed their hands and eyes. Mary pronounced the blessing over the house and went out to feed and water Joseph’s donkey before he went to work in his shop or started out for Sepphoris. Then she and Jesus went down to the common well to draw water for the day. She worked in the vegetable garden or small flower bed. She pressed oil for the lamps, pounded spices, gathered brushwood for the house fire, washed linen, worked spindle and loom, prepared meals, and laid out the pallets.
For Jesus’ sake, Mary made no mention of the visitation of the angel of the Lord, his miraculous conception, the visit of the magi, or the gifts still held by Joseph in trust for him. She said nothing of the four times that the Lord had spoken to Joseph. Someday, when Jesus revealed his power and purpose, people would listen to how he came to be. But she would not speak of the miracles now. She would not give what was holy to unholy people and give opportunity to those who would mock God’s Son.
Sometimes the ordinariness of their lives bemused her. In many ways, Jesus was like any other child she observed. He had crawled before he walked. He had stumbled when he took his first steps. He had chattered baby talk before he was able to pronounce words and put together sentences. He was curious, wanting to touch and hold everything within reach.
All the other mothers boasted about their sons, but Mary knew none could compare to hers. There was no child so perfect, so loving, so observant of the world and people around him. He watched and listened and was easily delighted. He never complained or whined, but simply stated his needs. He never tried to manipulate her with tears or tantrums.
Some said he looked like her. “Jesus has your chin, Mary. . . . He has your nose. . . .”
But no one ever said Jesus had her eyes.
It was Joseph who sheared Jesus’ curls when he was no longer a baby. They made the day a festival with all Mary’s relatives and old friends, giving nuts and raisin cakes to the children who came to join in the special day.
Whenever Joseph went to Sepphoris to find work, Mary would walk with Jesus out to the edge of town as the sun was nearing the horizon. “There he is, Mother!” Jesus would point when Joseph appeared, coming up the road toward Nazareth. “Father!” He would run down to greet him and walk beside him as Joseph came up the hill.
Every evening, Joseph would set Jesus in his lap and read from the scrolls. He knew many of the psalms written by his ancestor King David by heart. Mary loved to listen to him. They ate the simple dinner Mary prepared and talked of the day’s events.
She loved it when there was work enough to keep Joseph home in Nazareth, and he would take Jesus into his shop with him. She would bring them bread and water and stand watching for a few minutes. Joseph used every opportunity to teach Jesus how to use the tools of his trade: hammer, chisel, mallet, and awl. He taught him how to use a smoothing block and cubit measure. When he was older, Jesus would learn how to use the adze and ax. They worked well together—Joseph a patient teacher, Jesus a willing and eager pupil. Jesus’ brow would fur
row in concentration as he chiseled out a pattern Joseph had drawn on a board: a curving vine with a cluster of grapes, a Star of David, or a pomegranate.
“When we go to the Temple again at Passover,” Joseph said, “I will show you the great golden columns. Those columns are the work of skilled carpenters who carved them and then hammered thin sheets of gold over them so that they appear to be made of solid gold.”
Working at her loom in the evenings, Mary would listen to Joseph as he read from the Torah, the prophets, the psalms of his ancestor King David. It was Joseph who taught Jesus to read and write. And it was Joseph who took Jesus by the hand at the age of six and presented him to the preceptor of the synagogue so their son’s education would be properly supervised.
Soon after, Mary’s prayers were answered.
She stood in the doorway of Joseph’s shop and watched him carving a drinking cup. “You have never once said you wished for a son of your own, Joseph.”
He glanced up and shook his head. “Should I want for more than God has given me? Every day I look at Jesus and see the hope of Israel growing up.”
“It would be good for him to have brothers and sisters who would love him as we do.” There were still those in the village who whispered about Jesus’ precipitant birth and looked down upon him, and taught their children to do likewise. “And what about you?” she said, not wanting to give up her secret too quickly. “Children are a blessing from the Lord.”
He raised his head and smiled. “I would not ask for more blessings than what the Lord has already given me.”
“The Lord blesses those who love him, Joseph. He blesses them abundantly.”
Amused, she watched him whittle a curl of wood on the cup he held. She loved to watch him work, for he took such care with everything he did. He was a strong, kind, and loving husband and father. He leaned upon the Lord, seeking him in the morning, at noon, at night.
“Blessing upon blessing, Joseph.” Her heart overflowed with joy. She was eager to see the same wonder and thanksgiving in his eyes.
Joseph looked at her again, frowning this time, his dark eyes filled with question. She knew then her husband had never asked God for more. But she had. She had asked for blessing upon blessing for this man God had placed at her side. And for Jesus. Should he not have the pleasure of brothers and sisters?