Unafraid_Mary

by Francine Rivers

  When they stopped for the night, she ate sparingly before curling on her side. Smiling for the first time that day, she put her hand protectively over her unborn child and went immediately to sleep. Joseph sat by her and prayed. When night fell and she shivered, he lay down behind her and drew his mantle over her to keep her warm.

  The next day, they traveled through the beautiful plain of Jezreel. “Drink in the air, Joseph,” Mary said, smiling, for they were passing through green forests. Joseph drew the donkey aside so she could rest in a meadow of wildflowers. His heart turned over when she tucked a lily of the field behind his ear. “Does not the earth cry out, Joseph?” Her eyes shone as she stretched out her hand to the cloudless blue sky. “O Lord, our Lord, the majesty of your name fills the earth! Your glory is higher than the heavens!”

  Joseph took her hand and kissed it. How he loved her!

  Over the next few days, they camped by fresh running water. Then began the long, hard climb into the mountains. On the seventh day, Joseph watched grimly as the caravan moved away from them while he and Mary remained behind to observe the Lord’s Sabbath. He knew they would catch up the next day, for the string of heavy-laden animals could not move as quickly as a strong donkey whose only burden was a small girl and food enough for travel. Still, Joseph worried.

  Mary broke bread and handed him his portion. Her fingers brushed his hand tenderly. “God is watching over us, Joseph.” Her eyes were as soft as a doe’s, her faith as strong as a lion’s.

  They caught up with the caravan the next afternoon, then slowed their pace to match that of the slow, plodding animals. They passed by Mount Gilboa, where King Saul and his son Jonathan had been slain by the Philistines. They traveled through Dothan, where Jacob’s son Joseph had been sold into slavery by his brothers. They spent the day talking about his life and the Israelites’ slavery in Egypt. More than four hundred years had passed before the Lord spoke to Moses from the burning bush and used him to deliver Israel. And another forty years had passed while the disobedient generation had wandered in the desert, until finally their children had entered the Promised Land.

  “Soon the Promised Land will belong to us again,” Mary said, her hand caressing the curve of her belly. “God will make everything right.”

  Each day proved more difficult for Mary as her time approached. Every time Joseph saw her bend over, fear gripped him. She said little, but he saw her lips move as she prayed as hard as he that they would reach Bethlehem soon and find rest and shelter before the baby came.

  The caravan camped outside the walled city of Shomrom-Sebaste, and Joseph prayed that the caravan merchants would sell their wares quickly so they could move on. There were Samaritans who would gladly kill a Jew and take no pity on his pregnant wife. They traveled ten miles south to Shechem, another wealthy Samaritan city filled with arrogant, uncircumcised men. To think that Jacob’s well was in the midst of them! Joseph shook the unclean dust from his feet when he and Mary left Samaria.

  The caravan traveled around Shiloh. Once it had been the home of the Ark of the Covenant. Now it was a new city built up from broken-down buildings and shattered altars. Joseph and Mary turned aside from the caravan to say prayers in the synagogue at Bethel, for it was there Abraham had offered his sacrifices to God and Jacob had dreamed of angels climbing up and down a ladder to heaven. It wasn’t until they reached Ramah that they could see the holy city of Jerusalem and the pinnacles of the great Temple shining in the setting sun.

  “Only one more day, Mary,” Joseph said, worried over her increasing discomfort.

  When they arrived in Jerusalem, the paved streets were crowded. Joseph pulled at the donkey’s reins while a group of Roman soldiers watched them pass. Above them were the Roman fortress named for Mark Antony and the Temple, with its eaves and pinnacles covered with gold. Cupping Mary’s hand, Joseph kissed her palm. “The ways of God are beyond my understanding, for I would have thought the Messiah should be born in the City of Zion, in the Holy of Holies.”

  It was dusk when they finally arrived in Bethlehem. Normally a small town inhabited mostly by shepherds and farmers, it now teemed with members of David’s tribe come home for the Roman census. It was easy to find the line for registering, and he stood with Mary leaning against the donkey until it came his turn to give his name and the number of his household. “Joseph, of the tribe of Judah, and my wife Mary.” The Roman raised his head enough to see Mary’s condition. He added one check in the column for children, the better for gaining more taxes. “Next!” he said impatiently, dismissing them without a glance.

  “Oh, Joseph,” Mary groaned, her white hands spreading over her swollen belly as she bent forward.

  “I’ll find us a place.” He put his arm around her and helped her walk.

  Men stood on every corner, grumbling about the emperor’s decree and the throng of sojourners. Joseph set Mary upon the donkey again, but each step increased the pain he could see in her eyes. He stopped half a dozen times, only to hear the same response from each innkeeper: “There’s no room here. Now move along!”

  “Joseph!” Mary gasped, bending over again. “Oh, Joseph.” He’d never seen a look of panic in her eyes before, and it shook him deeply. Her fingers clutched the donkey’s mane, trying to keep herself from falling. Joseph quickly lifted her from the animal and carefully set her down against the wall of the last inn. He pounded on the door. “Please!” he said as a man opened the door. “Please, can you make room for us? My wife has reached her time.”

  The man peered past Joseph and grimaced as he saw Mary. “There’s no room for you here. Go away!”

  “Have mercy!” Joseph grabbed the edge of the door before it was closed. “Please! I beg of you!”

  “Beg all you want,” the man growled, “but it won’t change anything!” Regret flickered as he glanced at Mary again. “A curse upon the Roman dog who put people like you on the road.” He shoved Joseph back and slammed the door. There was a loud thud as he dropped the bar, denying entrance to anyone else.

  Shaking, Joseph turned to Mary. Her eyes grew huge. “Ohhh . . .” Her voice was taut with pain, her arms around her belly, her knees drawing up.

  He knelt down quickly and gripped her arms. “Hold on. Oh, Mary, hold on.”

  The pain eased and she looked at him with tear-washed, frightened eyes. “He will come soon, no matter where we are.”

  Oh, Lord, help us! Joseph looped the donkey’s reins into his belt and lifted Mary in his arms. Lord, Lord, show me where to go! “The Lord will help us, Mary,” he said as he carried her. “He will help us.” He fought back the doubts attacking him. Mary groaned and her body tensed in his arms. Fear filled him as he looked around, frantically searching for help.

  An older woman sat, leaning against a wall, a worn blanket wrapped snugly around her. “Try the caves down there.” A gnarled hand appeared from beneath the soiled blanket, a bony finger pointing. “The shepherds keep their flocks there in winter, but they’ll be out in the hills now.”

  “May the Lord bless you!” Joseph carried Mary down the hill and across a flat stretch. He saw the mouth of a small cave above him and headed for it. He wrinkled his nose as he entered the dark recesses, for the air was dank and fetid from the odors of dung and smoke. The donkey followed him into the cave and headed straight for the manger near the back.

  Mary tensed in his arms again and cried out. Fear washed over Joseph as he looked at the filthy floor of the cave. Is this the place where the Messiah will be born? Tears filled his eyes. Here, Lord?

  “He’s coming . . . ,” Mary said. “Oh, Joseph, Jesus is coming.”

  What did he know about helping a woman bear a child? Was there time to find a midwife? Even if he had time, where would he go to look for one, and what of Mary in his absence? “You must stand here a moment.” He set her gently on her feet. “Use this post for support while I prepare a place for you.”

  He found a pitchfork and spread straw in the stable near the back, then yanked
his blanket from the pack on the donkey and spread it over the straw. He helped Mary lie down. “Try to rest while I build a fire and find water.” Kindling and firewood were stacked to one side of the entrance of the cave, and a cask of water stood near a trough. He tasted it and found it surprisingly fresh.

  Within a few minutes, he had a small fire going in the pit near the center of the cave. Above it, the ceiling was blackened by years of soot, the floor caked with the packed dung of hundreds of animals who had been sheltered here over the years. “I’m sorry, Mary.” He knelt beside her, tears running down his cheeks into his beard. “I’m sorry I couldn’t find a better place for him to be born.”

  She took his hand and pressed it against her cheek. “God brought us here.” Her fingers tightened and she began to pant and groan. He felt her pain as though it were his own. For the first time in his life, Joseph wished he was other than a carpenter who knew nothing of these matters. He begged God for wisdom, for help, for Mary’s intense pain to be over, and for the child to be safely delivered. And then, Mary uttered a sharp gasp, and Joseph saw water spread a stain over the blanket beneath her hips. “Tell me what I can do to help you!”

  “Nothing.” Her grip eased on his hand, but she smiled through her pain. “Haven’t women been going through this since the Garden of Eden?” She closed her eyes as another contraction came rolling over the first, her fingers tightening painfully around his. When the pain passed, she panted heavily. “My mother gave me a small bag of salt, a piece of sharp slate, some yarn, and strips of cloth. They’re in the pack.” He found them for her. “I’ll need water, Joseph.”

  “There’s fresh water in the cask. I’ll fill the skin.”

  “Place it beside me and then go outside.”

  “But, Mary . . .” She was only fourteen, a mere child herself. How could she manage on her own?

  She spoke with authority. “Go, Joseph! I know what to do. Mother gave me instructions before we left Nazareth. And surely the Lord will guide me in this as he has guided us in everything thus far. Go now.” She clenched her teeth, her shoulders rising from the ground. “Go!”

  Joseph went outside. Too tense to sit, he paced, praying under his breath. He heard Mary moan and paused, listening intently in case she changed her mind and cried out for him. He heard the hay rustling and paced again, staring up at the points of light in the dark sky. He sensed forces gathering around him as though invisible beings had come to witness this event. Angelic or demonic, he didn’t know. Heart pounding, Joseph beseeched God for help and stepped back so that he was standing in the entrance of the cave. The wind came up and for an instant he thought he heard laughter and a dark voice speaking: Do you really believe you can protect them from me?

  Joseph fell to his knees and raised his hands to the heavens, where God was upon his throne, and he prayed fervently. “You are the Lord our God, the maker of the heavens and the earth. Protect Mary and your Son from the one who is trying to destroy them both.”

  And he stretched out his arms as though to take the full force of whatever would come against them.

  The cold wind stopped and the air around him grew warm again. His heart slowed as he heard the sound of wings. Scriptures flooded his mind. Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. I am with you.

  Squatting, Mary uttered a last fierce cry as the Son of God, bathed in water and blood, slid from her body. Sagging to her knees, Mary lifted him and held him against her breast, welcoming him into the world with soft joyous tears. He cried in the cold night air, and Mary worked quickly, using the yarn to tie off the cord before cutting it. She gazed at her son in adoration as she washed his slick, squiggling body with water and rubbed the salt over his skin to prevent infection.

  She was surprised that he looked like any other baby. There was no hint of Shekinah glory, or of the majesty of his Almighty Father. Ten fingers, ten toes, a thatch of black hair, skinny little legs and arms and the wizened face of a newborn who had dwelt in water for nine long months.

  She laughed as she wrapped him snugly in strips of cloth and held him again, kissing his face and cradling him tenderly in her arms. “Jesus,” she whispered, “my precious Jesus.” She was filled with emotion. She held in her arms the hope of Israel, the Anointed One of God, Son of Man, God the Son, the Son of God. Closing her eyes, she breathed a prayer. “Help me be his mother, Lord. Oh, help me.”

  When all was accomplished as her mother had said, Mary rose on trembling legs. “Joseph,” she called softly, “come and see him.”

  Joseph entered the cave immediately, his face pale and sweating as though he had been the one in travail and not her. She laughed softly in joy and looked down at Jesus sleeping in her arms. “Isn’t he beautiful?” Never had she felt such love for any human being. She felt she would burst with it.

  Joseph came close and peered down at the baby, a look of surprise on his face. Mary’s knees were trembling with exhaustion, and she looked around for a warm, safe bed for her son. There was only the manger. “Add more straw, Joseph, and he’ll be warm.” As Joseph prepared the manger, Mary kissed her baby’s face, knowing that one day this baby would grow up and hold the destiny of Israel in his hands.

  “It’s ready,” Joseph said, and Mary stepped over and placed Jesus in the manger filled with straw. When she turned, she felt light-headed.

  Joseph caught her up in his arms and placed her in a bed of fresh straw. Her eyes were so heavy. “I’m sorry, my love,” Joseph said in a choked whisper. “There’s no one here to help you but me.” He removed her soiled dress, washed her gently, dressed her like a child in a soft woolen shift her mother had made for her, and covered her with blankets, tucking the edges around her the same way she had tucked Jesus into his humble, warm bed.

  Mary sighed, content. “All is well, isn’t it, Joseph?”

  He kissed her softly. “Yes, my love. All is well.”

  Joseph rose and went to stand by the manger. His heart beating fast, he stared down at the child. Tucking his finger into the edge of the blanket, he drew it down so he could gaze on the face of the one who would save his people. “Jesus,” he whispered. “Jesus.” He touched the velvet-soft skin of the infant’s face and brushed the tiny palm. When the baby’s fingers closed around his finger, his heart raced even faster. Never had he felt such encompassing joy—and spreading terror.

  Am I to be his earthly father, Lord? A simple carpenter? Surely your Son deserves better than I!

  Joseph looked around at the dark walls of the shepherds’ cave, and tears filled his eyes. Filled with shame, he looked down again and swallowed hard. “Forgive me.” This child deserved to be born in a palace. “Forgive me.” Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  The baby’s eyes opened and looked up at him. Joseph’s shame melted away as love filled him. Leaning down, he kissed the tiny hand that gripped his finger, and everything in him opened to the will of God.

  When a footfall sounded behind him, Joseph turned sharply, placing himself firmly in front of the manger. An old shepherd stood at the entrance of the cave, a younger man just behind him. They peered in with expressions rapt and curious. “Is the child here?” The older man stepped inside the cave. “The child of whom the angels spoke?”

  “The angels?” Joseph saw other shepherds behind these two, and beyond them, a flock of sheep in the grassland below the hillside cave.

  “An angel of the Lord appeared among us, and the radiance of the Lord’s glory surrounded us,” the shepherd said as others crowded the entrance. “We were terrified, but the angel said not to be afraid.”

  Another said, “He told us, ‘I bring you good news of great joy for everyone!’”

  Another pressed forward. “‘The Savior—yes, the Messiah, the Lord—has been born tonight in Bethlehem, the city of David!’”

  The older shepherd looked from Joseph to Mary, asleep in the hay, and then to the manger at the back of the cave. His eyes glowed with hope. “‘And this is how you will recognize him: You will find a b
aby lying in a manger, wrapped snugly in strips of cloth!’”

  “Suddenly, the angel was joined by a vast host of others—the armies of heaven—praising God: ‘Glory to God in the highest heaven, and peace on earth to all whom God favors.’”

  Tears streaming down his face, Joseph turned and lifted Jesus from the manger. “His name is Jesus.”

  At the sound of Jesus’ name, the shepherds fell to their knees, their faces aglow in the firelight.

  Mary awakened. Startled at the gathering of strangers, she pushed herself up. Joseph came to her and hunkered down, with Jesus in his arms. “The Lord has announced Jesus’ birth, Mary.” He explained how the shepherds had come to find them.

  Smiling at the shepherds, Mary sank back wearily. She smiled serenely as Joseph placed God the Son in her arms. Joseph and the shepherds watched as she and Jesus fell asleep together.

  “The Lord is come,” Joseph said quietly.

  The old shepherd closed his eyes, tears blending into his beard. “Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

  Mary awakened in the wee hours of morning at Jesus’ cry. She drew him close and nursed him, marveling at what God had done for her. Each tug at her breast filled her with a sense of wonder and bonded her more strongly to her son. The night was still and silent as she cuddled Jesus close. She could see light streaming into the entrance of the cave and wondered at it. When Jesus finished feeding, she rose carefully, wincing at the pain in her loins, as she carried him back to the manger and snuggled him into the blanket cradled by hay.