“Yes, Joseph. The Lord has blessed us.” Her eyes welled with tears at the look of joy on his face. “Our child will be born when the wheat is ready for harvest.”
She laughed in delight as Joseph caught her up in his arms.
FOUR
Mary welcomed her second son with the same joy and anticipation with which she had welcomed Jesus. Her heart melted as she held this new baby close to her and nursed him. “Here he is, Jesus. Your brother, James.” She nestled the baby in her firstborn’s arms, laughing at the look of pleasure as he gazed at the new baby. She brushed Jesus’ hair back. “He is blessed among children to have you for his brother.”
Revelations came one after another during the next few months as Mary discovered the differences between her two sons. When Jesus was a baby, he’d cried only when he was hungry or wet. James cried whenever he wanted her attention. Even after ten months, James would awaken her several times in the middle of the night, crying until she rose and took him from his bed.
The women at the well were full of advice.
“If you don’t put that baby down and let him cry it out, he’ll be having tantrums for the rest of his life.”
“Jesus never cried like this.”
One of the women rolled her eyes. “She thinks the sun rises and sets on that one.” The woman went off with her jug of water.
“Every child comes with trials, Mary,” another told her. “Sometimes it’s worse when you have an easy baby to begin with and then others that aren’t so easily soothed later. No child is perfect.”
Jesus is, Mary wanted to say, but she kept quiet, knowing it would sound like a boast rather than the truth. Having James had taught her that her mothering had nothing to do with Jesus’ character. If he was a perfect son because of her training, wouldn’t she be able to apply the same methods to bring up another son for the Lord? Both of her sons had strong wills. Jesus gave his full strength and attention to doing the will of God, while she could see James’s will directed at getting his own way. If he was this trying as an infant, what would he be like as he grew into a boy, and then a man?
“I want James to be like Jesus,” she told Joseph.
“That might be possible if he had the same Father.” Joseph took her hand between his. “Mary, we will be diligent in teaching our sons the ways of the Lord. We will strive to live lives pleasing to God. Beyond that, James will decide.”
Jesus still found time between school and working with Joseph to sit with her and talk awhile. He would take his little brother on his knee and play with him while he asked her a question. Often he wondered about things beyond her understanding. “Have you asked Joseph about this?”
Jesus was never satisfied when she tried to direct him in this way. “I’m asking you, Mother.”
“All I know of the Law is what my father and mother taught me.”
She repeated what she had been taught, but Jesus wanted to know the reason behind it. Once he had asked her why a group of boys had thrown rocks at an old leper. She had told him what she knew the Law said about lepers.
“Is that reason enough to throw stones at a sick old man?”
Mary’s throat tightened at the pain she saw in her son’s eyes. She cupped his cheek. “There is no reason in cruelty. It just is.”
God opened her womb again, and James was followed by little Joseph, named after his father. Then came Anne, named for Mary’s mother.
The children loved Jesus and were as envious of his attention as they were for hers or Joseph’s. Anne especially wanted to sit in her big brother’s lap whenever Jesus was in the house. She pleaded with him to tell her stories, and Mary would listen as he told his younger brothers and sister about Noah and the ark full of animals, Jonah and the big fish, Daniel in the lions’ den. He sang psalms to the children in the evenings. Mary and Joseph sang with him when they were songs they knew, but sometimes Jesus would sing familiar words to a tune they had never heard before.
Each morning, when she kissed Jesus before he went off to study the Torah with other boys his own age, she felt a pang of sorrow that she didn’t have him all to herself anymore. He was growing up, and her days were filled with a woman’s duties to her household. When Jesus came home, he didn’t sit and talk with her. He went straight to work alongside Joseph, filling orders for customers and helping put bread on the table for their growing family.
Is this really the Messiah? This quiet boy who says little and seems to have no ambition beyond learning the Law and Joseph’s trade?
The thought came to her out of nowhere and she winced, disturbed by it. She pressed her fingers to her forehead, trying to rub it away. But it remained like a dark echo of someone else’s voice.
Can this really be the Messiah who will deliver Israel? Is this the warrior-king who will deliver his people?
How could such a betraying thought come to her mind? She knew who Jesus was! She knew that her firstborn had been conceived by the Holy Spirit! She knew he was the long-awaited Messiah!
A clatter of noise and familiar voices drew her outside, where she saw James and Joseph having a sword fight with two sticks. She sighed. Those two seemed so determined to vie for position with their fists. She often found herself dreaming of the easier days when she and Joseph had had only Jesus. Loving, teachable Jesus, who drank in the world around him but never seemed a part of it. Her son of another world. Her son of the Holy Spirit. How could she help but favor him?
Her thoughts were cut short as James and Joseph’s play grew more heated. James shoved his younger brother into the dirt and stood over him, stick pointed at his heart. “You’re dead!”
Tears streaked Joseph’s dusty face as he pushed himself up. “It’s your turn to be the Roman.”
“Stop it!” Mary cried out and then was immediately sorry for speaking so harshly. Why were boys so bent toward war? She knew it was the dream of every Jewish boy—including hers—to break the chains of Rome.
Jesus had come to do just that, but she wondered if it would happen in the way everyone expected. Jesus, her son. God’s Son. Would Jesus one day march upon Jerusalem as King David had done? Why was that so difficult for her to imagine? What cost to this child who could look at his quarrelsome friends and siblings with such love?
She knew Jesus struggled, too. She remembered when he had been a little boy, disturbed by frequent nightmares. How many times had she taken him into her arms and asked him what was troubling him? He would never say. She saw the pain in his eyes when he came home from synagogue, the look of anger when he saw someone being treated unjustly. At times, there would be a sheen of sweat on his brow as he sat with his prayer shawl over his head, his face strained as he prayed.
One day she asked him, “Why do you look so distressed, Jesus? Tell me what’s wrong.”
“What good would it do to tell you?”
“It might ease your burden.”
He looked at her, his dark eyes filled with compassion. “It’s not ease I need, Mother. It’s renewed strength. And it will come when I most need it.”
She was about to press him further when Joseph entered the house, his shoulders stooped, his eyes downcast. Mary’s heart sank. “Tobias didn’t pay you for the chair you delivered?”
“He said he had unexpected expenses. He’ll pay by the full moon.”
Her skin went hot. It wasn’t right that Joseph worked so hard and then was left to wait for his wages. Tobias could afford to pay his debt. He sat in the gate with the elders! Unexpected expenses! She’d heard only yesterday that he had bought a mule for his youngest son. She rose, her hands balled into fists. “I’ll go talk with him.”
Joseph looked up. “You will not.”
“It’s not right that he takes advantage of you! If you won’t allow me to go, then let Jesus go down and speak to the man.”
“Mary,” Joseph said with a pained expression, “Tobias will pay in his own time. He always does.”
“And while we’re waiting upon his time, how do we
buy bread for our table?”
“There’s plenty of work in Sepphoris.”
“It’s not right, Joseph,” she said, tears springing into her eyes. “You work so hard.”
“It’s not Tobias who provides our livelihood, Mary. God always provides.”
Joseph and Jesus left for Sepphoris the next morning. Late that afternoon, Anne became ill.
* * *
Two days passed, and the fever raged, unabated by cool damp cloths that grew hot from the child’s burning forehead. Anne cried incessantly while Mary paced with her in her arms. For once the boys were quiet. They loved their little sister and sensed Mary’s fear. By the third day, Anne was unconscious.
When Joseph and Jesus returned from Sepphoris, Mary rose in a flood of tears and flung herself into Joseph’s arms, for their youngest was dying.
Jesus laid his carpentry tools down and walked across the room. Joseph’s hands tightened at Mary’s waist and she turned.
Jesus stood over his sister for a long moment. Then he knelt down beside her pallet. “Anne,” he said softly and brushed his fingertips across his little sister’s forehead. She drew in a deep breath and opened her eyes.
Mary gripped Joseph’s hand.
“Jesus,” Anne said, smiling, her face filling with healthy color. “You’re home.” Mary’s little daughter reached up to him. Jesus scooped her into his arms and straightened. Anne wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, and rested her head against his shoulder. Jesus nestled his head into the curve of his sister’s neck and closed his eyes.
Heart pounding, her skin prickling, Mary sat down heavily on the stool by the door. Joseph’s fingers trembled as he gripped her shoulder. She started to laugh and covered her face, tears streaking her cheeks.
“Anne’s well, Mama.” James rose. “Can we go play now?” He rushed to Jesus, who shifted Anne enough so he could put an arm around his younger brother.
“Yes, she’s well, James. Go on outside and play.”
Young Joseph raced after him.
And Mary realized, though James and Joseph had seen, they hadn’t understood.
* * *
Josiah, one of Jesus’ friends, came into the woodshop with a message from the rabbi. “He wants you to come now. It’s about Jesus.”
“What about Jesus?” Joseph said, setting aside his adze and dusting the wood chips off the front of his tunic as he followed Josiah outside.
“The rabbi is angry with him again.”
“I didn’t know he’d been angry before.” Joseph could feel the sweat beading on the back of his neck. “What happened, Josiah?”
“I don’t really know,” the boy said, shaking his head. “All Jesus did was ask him a question, but the rabbi’s face got all red and he started shaking. Then he told me to come and get you.”
They hastened along the street into the center of town to the synagogue. When Joseph entered, he felt the air crackle with tension and could hear the rabbi speaking in a taut voice about some aspect of the Law. As soon as he saw Joseph, he clapped his hands. “Enough for today. Remember what we’ve discussed as you go home. Think well on these things.” He waved his hand in dismissal.
The boys rose and hurried from the synagogue, all except Jesus, who sat on a bench in the front. Heart sinking, Joseph came up beside him and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
The rabbi shoved his hands into his sleeves and glowered at Jesus. “I’m tired of him questioning me!”
Joseph blinked. “Rabbi?” The synagogue was the place for questioning, the place for exploring the Law.
The rabbi shook his head, annoyed. “I don’t mind questions. It’s the manner of his questions I mind.”
Confused, Joseph looked from the rabbi to Jesus and back to the rabbi.
“Speak with him!” The rabbi’s eyes flashed. “Explain to your son that I am the rabbi, and if he persists in asking questions that make me look . . . self-righteous, I will bar him from the synagogue. I will not have a mere carpenter’s son undermining my authority.”
Heat poured through Joseph’s body. He let go of Jesus’ shoulder and took a step forward, but Jesus caught his hand and stood. “I meant no disrespect, Rabbi,” the boy said with quiet dignity and looked straight into the man’s eyes and said no more.
All the bluster went out of the rabbi. He blinked. Then his eyes narrowed as he sought some hint of mockery. “You’ve been warned.”
As Joseph left the synagogue with Jesus, he thought of asking him what question had caused such hostility. But when he looked at Jesus, he saw tears. Wincing, Joseph put his arm around the boy. “Did he humiliate you before the others?” Of course he had, Joseph thought, angry enough to go back and give the rabbi a piece of his mind.
Jesus shook his head, that faraway look coming into his eyes again. “Why are men so stubborn?”
Joseph knew Jesus was not asking him for an answer.
* * *
When it came time for Jesus to read the Torah in the synagogue, Mary pressed forward in the women’s gallery until she was able to see down into the gathering. The reader chanted the Shema. The children answered “amen.” Facing Jesus on the platform was Nazareth’s rabbi and the wealthy merchant who headed the congregation. Behind them sat the town’s seven elders and then the men according to their trade. She spotted Joseph, Jesus, James, and Joseph among the carpenters.
Mary’s fingers gripped the lattice. She had been waiting for this day, the day when her son would read before the congregation. Would he declare himself before the gathering? Would they finally see that he was the Anointed One of God?
The rabbi, followed by the head of the congregation and the chief of the court, approached the Ark of the Covenant and lifted out the sacred scroll of the Torah. The congregation rose and cried out, “And whenever the Ark set out, Moses would cry, ‘Arise, O Lord, and let your enemies be scattered! Let them flee before you!’”
Jesus stepped out from the benches where the carpenters sat and walked forward, adjusting his prayer shawl across his shoulders. He walked with great dignity for one so young. Did others see the difference in his demeanor? Mary’s heart pounded as Jesus ascended the platform. Would something happen today that would make his identity known to all in Nazareth who had whispered behind their hands about her and Joseph? Would they finally see that this son of hers was the Messiah? Would they gather around him and praise his name? Would they follow wherever he led them?
Let it be so, Lord. Let his time be now. Father in heaven, we have waited so long. David was anointed king as a boy. You gave David victory on every side.
Jesus took the place of the reader and held the scroll open. “‘The Lord Almighty says, “The day of judgment is coming, burning like a furnace. The arrogant and the wicked will be burned up like straw on that day. They will be consumed like a tree—roots and all.”’” As Jesus read, Mary’s skin tingled. His voice was that of a boy, but it held an authority that had nothing to do with years. Did others hear it?
“‘“But for you who fear my name, the Sun of Righteousness will rise with healing in his wings. And you will go free, leaping with joy like calves let out to pasture. On the day when I act, you will tread upon the wicked as if they were dust under your feet,” says the Lord Almighty.’”
Her heart swelled with pride. Joseph glanced up at her smiling, his eyes shining.
“‘Remember to obey the instructions of my servant Moses, all the laws and regulations that I gave him on Mount Sinai for all Israel,’” Jesus read on. “‘Look, I am sending you the prophet Elijah before the great and dreadful day of the Lord arrives. His preaching will turn the hearts of parents to their children, and the hearts of children to their parents.’”
Jesus lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over the men listening and then up into the women’s gallery. “‘Otherwise I will come and strike the land with a curse.’”
Mary felt the hair rise on the back of her neck. She was not afraid of the son she had bor
ne for God, but of the future of her people. What of her other sons and daughter? Would they believe Jesus was the Anointed One of God and follow him no matter the cost? Or would they continue to witness his goodness, his love, his mercy, and still not understand that he was more than another child of her loins? He was God’s Son sent from heaven to deliver Israel from bondage.
Ah, the son you bore is greater even than Moses. Your child will reign! Look at your boy, Mary. It’s your blood that runs in his veins.
Her heart filled with a mother’s pride as she stared down at Jesus. The men of Nazareth surrounded him and celebrated his first time reading the Torah before the congregation. It was a great and glorious day! The women around her pressed closer, congratulating her for such a fine son. “He reads so well, Mary. . . . He has such dignity. . . .” One of the elders began to sing a song of celebration, and the other men joined in until the sound of their voices swelled deep and strong, rising.
My son! My son!
Mary stared down at Jesus. When he looked up at her, she was surprised by the look of disquiet on his face. He looked straight at her, and she suddenly realized the direction of the thoughts racing through her head.
My son.
My blood.
My child will reign!
Staring back at Jesus, she pressed cold hands to her burning cheeks.
Oh, Lord God of Israel, forgive me! Jesus is your Son. He is a child of the Holy Spirit. I am only the vessel you used to fulfill your promise.
Jesus’ face had already softened. His eyes shone as he raised his hands and spun around, laughing as he danced while the men of faith surrounded him, arms joined so they formed a circle.
* * *
Mary sat on a small bench in the garden in the quiet of the evening. The children were all asleep on their pallets. Jesus and Joseph were talking after the day of celebration, poring over the Scriptures as they so often did. How many times had Mary heard Joseph say to their children that God’s word was settled in heaven, and the truth of it would last to all generations? Jesus’ brothers were too young yet to understand, but still their father would say, “Meditate on the Law, my children, for the Lord’s commandments will make you wiser than your enemies.”