Unafraid_Mary

by Francine Rivers

  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 furrow 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?

  “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.

  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 so
und 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.