Dear and Glorious Physician

by Taylor Caldwell

  Mary answered his knock, opening her door and smiling gently, and she led him down the steep flight of stone stairs into the cavelike room below, where it was cool. She had prepared a meal for him on the wooden table: honey in a comb, fresh twisted bread, fruit and cheese, goat’s milk and wine. A dim blue light suffused the poor room, in which Mary was a bright shadow. While he ate she sat and watched him, her hands folded on her knees, her beautiful face tranquil. He had painted her portrait on wood but, as he gazed at her, he was frustrated. He had thought at the last that he had obtained a fair image of her. But she had changed again; she was a shy maiden, dignified and composed, her eyes far with dreams. She appeared to give out a light from her very flesh, so that there was a glimmering about her.

  Lucanus said, “Lady, did your Son always know who He was? From His very childhood?”

  Mary pondered, then she inclined her head. “I believe so; I know so. Even in His cradle, which Joseph, my husband, made so lovingly with his hands, He seemed to be always meditating. He was the gentlest of babes; He never cried, even when hungry. He appeared to know us from His very birth. Sometimes at night I would hold a lamp over Him, to be sure that all was well, and that He was sleeping. He would open His dear eyes and smile at me reassuringly.

  “He was a strong and vigorous boy, obedient and often silent. He delighted in the toys which Joseph made for Him; He played as other children played. But in the very midst of His play He would become still, as if thinking and reflecting. It was this that annoyed the other children, this, and His sudden wandering away from them so that He could be alone.

  “We did not speak to Him of His birth and His mission. There was an understanding between all of us. Once He found me weeping, for I dimly comprehended His ultimate fate, from the prophecies and from what old Simeon had told me in the Temple. I am a mother, Lucanus. My Son was dearer to me than life itself, and sometimes my heart almost broke, and I dared to wonder if mankind was worthy of Him. When He saw me weeping, and He was but ten years old then, He came to me and put His arms about me and held me to His boy’s breast, quiet and comforting. He asked no questions. He wiped my eyes gently, and I burst into fresh sobs, and finally He said, ‘You must not weep, My Mother, for I am with you always’.”

  Mary paused, and though she smiled there were tears in her eyes. Her quiet hands began to tremble.

  “When He left me, after John baptized Him, and retired into the desert for forty days, it was as if all light had gone out of life for me, for I understood that I had Him no more, that from henceforth He belonged to God and to the world. Joseph was dead; I followed my Son through the country very often, and He was concerned for me, for I was no longer young. Sometimes when the people surrounded Him, listening to Him, I stood on the edge of the crowds, not wishing to trouble Him with my presence. But His eyes always found me, and sometimes they became sad. There was always, between us, the greatest of love and devotion, and comprehension. Often when He was the farthest away He would appear to me in dreams, full of tenderness and consolation. He knew I was a woman, and a mother, and that I suffered for Him, and that always I thought of Him as my flesh and my heart’s darling, above all.”

  She closed her eyes in deep pain, and Lucanus knew she was thinking of the crucifixion, for her face paled and became fixed. After a while she began to speak again, in a low voice.

  “There is one strange evening that I remember, when He was but fourteen. He had worked all day in the shop, for He was a marvelous carpenter, and He had many orders. He was weary. But that night, at sunset, He left the house and climbed up the hill behind our home. No one was about, for it was time for the evening meal. I have never seen the sky so red as it was then, as if the heavens were burning. Even the mounts flamed, like glowing rocks. I do not know why I followed Him. I stood below Him, on the little stony path, and looked far up at Him. He wore a white robe which I had spun and sewn for Him, and He stood against all that fiery landscape like a statue. He did not move; it was as if He were waiting. So great and wide and awesome was the scene, so flaming with dull fire, that I closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them, He was not alone.

  “A great dark angel, towering and majestic, stood before Him, and I knew that the angel was all evil, though his face was somberly beautiful. He appeared to be clothed both in flame and in the night, and his mighty wings reflected the sunset like carved basalt.

  “He and my Son contemplated each other in silence, and my heart failed with terror as they confronted each other. Did they speak? I do not know. Though it was very quiet I heard no sound. My Son was very young, but He was tall and straight, and He showed no fear of the terrible angel with his handsome face which was sorrowful and yet so proud.

  “Then, as I watched, the angel bent and lifted some of the crumbling earth in his hands and showed it to my Son, and now I heard his faint and derisive laughter. How I understood I do not know, but he was displaying to Jesus the worthlessness of the world. He threw away the earth and put his foot upon it, and it was then that I heard a faint pealing of thunder as if it came from the angel himself.

  “And then Jesus bent, too, and lifted some earth in His hands, and He held it lovingly, rubbing it between His fingers. It was dry and without verdure, but as He held it it suddenly bloomed into a mass of thick green leaves filled with bending and tiny lilies. I could smell its fragrance; it flowed on the wind.

  “The angel looked upon the blooms, and he fell back and covered his face with his hand. Then, with a mighty cry, he disappeared, and my Son was alone.

  “I fled down the path into my house, and after a while Jesus returned. He looked at me closely, then He put His arm about me and kissed me on the cheek. I clung to Him. We said nothing. We sat down and ate our supper.”

  Lucanus gazed upon this lovely woman who had seen so much and who had suffered so much. She was smiling faintly, again caught up in dreams. Then he knelt beside her and touched her feet with his lips, and he trembled with reverence and love. She looked down at him, and her face was illumined, and she put her hand on his head, and he thought of his mother, Iris.

  Mary refilled his goblet with wine and gave it to him, and still kneeling, he drank of it and was wonderfully refreshed. “My dear child,” she said, “do not weep. Am I not the most blessed of women? Rejoice with me that He is my Son.”

  They went up the stone steps together, out into the incandescent noon, which, however, made the little street appear even more desolate than before.

  “I must leave you now, Lady,” said Lucanus. “For I have much to do.”

  She nodded. “That I know. Peace be unto you, Lucanus.”

  He left her, walking slowly down the narrow street. Then, at the end, he turned about and looked at Mary.

  She stood against the background of the hot and brazen mounts, and it seemed to him that she had grown very tall, and that she was clothed in pure light, and that her face beamed like the moon when it is full. Her aspect was incredibly beautiful and full of peace, and intrepid, and the street was desolate no more.

  She lifted her hand to him in farewell, and in blessing.

  (Continued in the Holy Bible, Gospel of St. Luke, and Acts I and II.)

  Bibliography

  (A few selections)

  Ancient Rome — Chiara Cardona

  Aristotle’s Politics — Benjamin Jowett, translator

  Babylonia (or Chaldea) — The Laws of Babylonia and Laws of the Hebrew Peoples — C. H. W. Johns

  Caesar and Christ — Will Durant

  Catiline, Clodius and Tiberius — E. S. Beesly

  Catholic Encyclopedia, The

  Christ as Prophet and King — John S. Fernan, S. J.

  Companion to Scripture Studies, A — Rev. John Steinmueller, S. T. D., Vol. 13

  Daily Life in Ancient Rome — Jerome Carcopino

  Death of Virgil, The — Herman Broch

  Devils, Drugs and Doctors — Howard W. Haggard, M.D.

  Emotion as Basis of Civilization — J. H. Den
ison

  Encyclopaedia Britannica

  From Medicine Man to Freud — Jan-Ehrenwald,M.D.

  Golden Bough, The — Sir James G. Frazer

  Greece (History of Nations) — C. W. C. Oman and G. Mercer Adam

  Greek Art — Thomas Craven

  Greek Historical Thought — Arnold Toynbee

  History of Rome, The — Theodor Mommsen

  History of the Romans under the Empire — Dean Merivale

  Holy Bible, The

  Human Destiny — Lecomte du Noüy

  Ides of March, The — Thornton Wilder

  Importance of Living, The — Lin Yutang

  Jesus, Son of Man — Kahlil Gibran

  Jesus and His Times — Daniel-Rops

  Life and Teaching of Jesus Christ, Our Lord, The — Jules Lebreton, S. J.

  Life of Christ, The — L. C. Pillion S. S.

  Luke the Physician — Adolf Harnack

  Man and God — Victor Gollancz

  Mansions of Philosophy, The — Will Durant

  Mind and Body — Flanders Dunbar, M.D. 563

  Mishnah, The

  New Testament, The — James A. Kleist, S. J., and Joseph L. Lilly, C. M., translators

  Prince, The — Niccolo Machiavelli

  Realm of Spirit, The — George Santayana

  St. Luke’s Life of Christ — Translated into Modern English by. B. Phillips

  Satyricon — Petronius Arbiter

  Source Book in Ancient Philosophy — Charles M. Bakewell

  Story of Medicine, The — Kenneth Walker

  Tiberius the Tyrant — J. C. Tarver

  Voices of Silence, The — André Malraux

  World’s Great Religions, The — Life magazine

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