James’s face was red and angry, Joseph’s pale, Simon’s and Jude’s, confused and hurt. James leaned close to her ear. “You see how it is now, Mother. Now that Jesus has a following, he doesn’t care for his own flesh and blood.”
“We will wait for him.”
“Why?” Joseph said. “To be further humiliated?”
James put his arm around her as if to shield her from the curious glances of the crowd. “We’re leaving,” he whispered harshly.
If she argued with her children, she would cause further disruption. She went with them a ways, and then she put her foot down firmly. “Are you all so proud you think Jesus must stop what he’s doing the minute we appear?” She did not say again that Jesus was about God’s work, for that would only incense them more.
“We came because we love him, and look how he treats us!” Simon said, tears running down his cheeks. “We came because we don’t want him to end up like John, with his head on a platter.”
Mary embraced her youngest sons and looked up at James and Joseph. “Wait for him. Wait! Did you come all this way to turn your back on him?”
“He turned his back on us first.” James turned away, but not before she saw the sheen of tears glistening in his eyes.
She refused to be swayed by hurt or confusion. She knew Jesus better than they did. Had she not been the one to suckle him at her breast and watch him grow into a man? Even as she walked away with them, she tried to turn them back. “Remember the parables your brother told us when he came home to Nazareth the last time. He’s teaching the people about the kingdom of heaven. He is defining the children of God. He does not think as we think, my sons. His ways are not like ordinary men’s. His ways are higher.”
As she spoke her faith, assurance came, bringing comfort with it. “He is not excluding us, my sons, but including all those who have come to him to hear what pleases God.” She looked back at those who craned their necks to hear her son’s words of hope. “Those who realize they need God—the gentle and lowly, the sick, those who mourn, those who are hungry and thirsty for justice . . .” She put her hand on James’s arm, stopping him. “You know him. James. Joseph. Simon. Jude. You know him. Can you really say in your heart that Jesus has no love for you?”
They wouldn’t listen.
She yearned to stay behind in Capernaum, but knew that if she did, these sons of Joseph would feel she had rejected them just as they were convinced Jesus was rejecting them. So, with sinking heart, she walked home with them. Every step away from Jesus made her feel more alone.
Each must choose.
The words echoed in her mind and made her heart ache. Jesus knew she loved him. Jesus knew she believed he was the Messiah. Jesus would understand that she couldn’t leave her other sons.
Each must choose.
She had to stay with them and make them understand.
Each must choose.
If she left her other children, they would be hurt and angry, believing she had always favored Jesus over them.
Each must choose.
The farther she got from Capernaum and Jesus, the softer the echo of her son’s words to her . . . and the deeper the ache in her heart.
Her sister, Mary, and Clopas stopped by Mary’s house on their way out of Nazareth. “We’ve talked about it for months and decided to close our house and shut down our business so we can go with your son.”
Mary’s eyes spilled over with tears. At last, her sister and her husband believed! She had thought the day would never come. “Wait,” she said and hurried to the box that held the last of the gifts from the magi. Mary put the incense and remaining pieces of gold into a bag and gave them to her sister. “For Jesus to use.”
“Why don’t you come with us?”
“I must try to sway my sons and daughters.”
Soon after, Mary went once again with her sons and daughters to Jerusalem for Passover. She sat among her disbelieving relatives, overhearing rumors that King Herod was looking for Jesus because he thought he was John the Baptist come back to life. There was growing antagonism in high places against her son. Wisely, Jesus had crossed the lake to Gennesaret and was preaching in the surrounding district.
Upon her return to Nazareth, she heard that Jesus had departed from the district of Galilee and gone into the region of Judah beyond the Jordan. She heard rumors that Jesus had gone to Sidon and Tyre. But why would her son be among the Gentiles? It was Israel that awaited the Messiah.
With each day that passed, she felt the distance widen between her and Jesus, and the hearts of her sons growing harder.
“I want to go to him,” Mary said, weeping. “I want to see my son!” All her efforts to save these stubborn children had failed. She was powerless to change their minds and hearts, powerless to turn them to the truth she knew: that Jesus was the Christ, the Son of the living God.
Oh, Lord God of Israel, God of mercy, why are they so stubborn? I can do nothing with them. Oh, Lord, I’m placing them in your mighty hands. Be merciful. Please be merciful.
“You tried to see him in Capernaum, Mother,” her sons argued with her. “Do you not remember what happened? He has thousands of followers crying out his name. He has his inner circle of friends. He’s famous throughout Judea. He doesn’t care about us anymore.”
It did no good to say Jesus loved them. It did no good to remind them of the years he had provided for them, held them in his lap, read to them, laughed with them, taught them. What would Jesus have to do to prove his love for them?
A year passed, and another, and Mary knew the time was fast approaching when she would have to do what Jesus said. She would have to choose. And she knew she must make the same choice she had made thirty-three years ago.
She must say yes to God and stop counting the cost. Even if it meant giving up her children.
MARY traveled with her sons and daughters and their families to Jerusalem for the Passover. Everyone they met was talking about Jesus, telling stories of his miracles and preaching. He had not gone to Jerusalem for Passover the previous year, but had spent the week with his disciples in the desert after feeding a multitude on five barley loaves and two fish.
“Rumors, just rumors,” someone near her said.
“I tell you, this man is a prophet of God!”
“He’s my brother,” Simon said proudly.
The strangers laughed at him. “Your brother!” They sneered. “Why aren’t you following him?”
Her sons and daughters made no claims after that, but they talked a great deal among themselves, speaking softly, gravely concerned. Everyone they encountered was talking about Jesus, and all were hoping “the Nazarene” would come to Jerusalem this year so they could see him.
Mary was greatly disturbed and pondered what she was hearing. What exactly were these people expecting of Jesus? These people acted like children playing flutes, expecting Jesus to dance to their tune. They could talk only of the signs and wonders her son was performing, but retained nothing of the lessons he taught. They were eager to see Jesus perform miracles, greedy to eat bread that cost them nothing, hopeful to see their enemies crushed and humiliated.
Her son hadn’t been born to do what men wanted, but what God willed.
How would Jesus do it? Mary wondered. How would her son bring redemption to these people who wanted to be entertained as much as the Roman mob did? If Jesus didn’t do what they wanted or expected, they would turn on him.
Mary felt a cold chill down her back. Hadn’t Jesus’ own brothers turned on him when Jesus hadn’t done as they wanted or expected? Could she expect more from strangers?
When they reached the gates of Jerusalem, Mary overheard someone say that the Nazarene was heard to be at Bethphage. “Let’s go and join him there,” she said to her children. “Let’s find your brother and stay with him.”
“He may need us,” James said, looking as concerned as she felt. As head of the family, his opinion swayed the others. Simon and Jude were excited about the stories
surrounding Jesus, as eager as everyone else to see what he could do, rather than hearing the word of the Lord and obeying it.
Before they had gone far, they heard shouting: “Praise God for the Son of David! Bless the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Praise God in highest heaven!”
The swell of voices grew until it was deafening. Mary’s heart beat faster and faster as she hurried along, knowing they were welcoming her son into Jerusalem. The day had finally come for Jesus to be proclaimed the Messiah! She saw him coming up the road, surrounded by followers waving palm branches and crying out his name. Men and women were throwing garments down for him to ride over. Others were stripping branches from trees and spreading them on the road.
There were so many, Mary and her children could not get close.
“It’s Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth in Galilee,” people were saying around her.
“Not a prophet,” she wanted to cry out. “He is the Son of God! He is the Messiah!” Overcome with excitement, Mary left the others and hurried along the outer fringe of the crowd along the road, crying out, “Jesus! Jesus!” She tried to keep pace, but lost sight of him as he entered the city. The crush of people drew her through the gates after him.
“Mother!” James called, pushing his way through the throng until he reached her. Shielding her, he drew her aside until Joseph, Simon, Jude, and the others caught up, and then they fell in with the multitude following Jesus.
“He’s going to the Temple,” Mary said, breathless. “He’s going to declare himself!” Bumped and pushed, she was pressed forward through the streets of the city. They had almost reached the steps of the Temple complex when she heard shouts and saw wealthy merchants and priests darting out, covering their heads. Doves and pigeons flew out from among the Temple’s columns and out across the city. Sheep bleated and ran among the crowd. She thought she heard Jesus’ voice echoing: “Don’t turn my Father’s house into a marketplace!”
“What’s happened?” people were crying out.
“He’s overturning the tables of the money changers and those who are selling sacrifices!” someone called back, laughing.
“The Nazarene is driving the money changers out with a whip!”
James’s face was pale, Joseph’s strained. Simon and Jude wanted to get closer and see. Her daughters and their husbands looked alarmed by the mass of people pressing from all sides to get inside the Temple complex to see what was happening.
“If there’s a riot, the Romans will come,” James said. “And then what will happen to him?”
Mary scarcely heard. The Passover week had begun, and the Lord had said to remove all leaven from their houses. Once, years ago, Jesus had said he had to be in his Father’s house—the Temple. And now, he was there, sweeping the evildoers out.
“Everything will be all right now,” Mary said, tears of joy running down her cheeks. “The Day of the Lord has come!”
By the time Mary and her family reached the corridor of the Temple, Jesus had gone. Everyone was seeking him. “He’s gone back to Bethphage,” some said. Others said he would go to Bethany to stay with a man he’d raised from the dead.
Exhausted, Mary went to Abijah’s house and stayed with her relatives. Teary, she sat silently listening to their excited speculations about Jesus and what he might do next. She wondered where Jesus was, if he had managed to find a quiet place to collect his thoughts, what his plans were, and how long it would be before she could join him. Closing her eyes, she thought back over the many Passovers she and Joseph had spent with Jesus. Once before, she had been separated from her son.
She felt at peace again, for she knew Jesus would return to the city in the morning, and she would find him in the Temple.
Mary sat all day in the women’s court, hoping for a glimpse of her son. She prayed and watched men and women come and go, hearing clearly their heightened talk.
“The Pharisees say he casts out demons by Satan, the ruler of demons.”
“But the Nazarene said a home divided against itself is doomed.”
Priests stalked along the corridors, saying, “We ask for a sign, and he dares call us an evil and faithless generation!”
“Mary!” When she turned, she saw her sister running toward her, arms outstretched. They embraced, laughing joyfully.
“My son,” Mary said, tearfully, “how is my son?”
“Oh, he’s wonderful. You must come and listen to him, Mary. Are your sons here? Your daughters?”
Her sons had come to the Temple with her that morning, and left her at the entrance of the women’s court while they went off to find Jesus and speak with him. She could only hope they would listen more than they talked.
“Come,” Mary’s sister said, her arm around Mary’s waist as she drew her toward a gathering of women. “I want you to meet my sisters.” She introduced her to Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Joseph, as well as others who had followed Jesus from Galilee. Each told Mary the story of how her son had saved her. Mary Magdalene had been possessed of demons while others had been sick or blind or hopeless. Mary wept with them, sharing the joy she saw in their faces.
Surely Israel would embrace her son as these women and the disciples had done. The Temple was filled with those who wanted to see the hope of Israel and hear the word of the Lord. Israel would repent and be united in devotion to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
“How terrible it will be for you teachers of religious law and you Pharisees. Hypocrites!” She went cold at the sound of her son’s anger. “For you won’t let others enter the Kingdom of Heaven, and you won’t go in yourselves.”
A low roar of voices was heard around her as Jesus walked among the pillars, his anger clear in his body and face. “You shamelessly cheat widows out of their property, and then, to cover up the kind of people you really are, you make long prayers in public. Because of this, your punishment will be the greater.”
Her heart beat in fear, for she saw the rage growing on the faces of the men he confronted. They shouted at him, but Jesus’ voice carried. “Yes, how terrible it will be for you teachers of religious law and you Pharisees. For you cross land and sea to make one convert, and then you turn him into twice the son of hell as you yourselves are.”
She saw her sons, their faces pale and taut with fear. They were afraid of what people would say. She saw it in the way they looked around them, and then at her, beseeching. She could almost hear them plead, “Do something, Mother. Stop him before we are all banned from the Temple.”
Her own cheeks were on fire as Jesus cried out in anger against the hypocrisy of the priests and elders. Everyone knew what he said was true, but no one had dared speak of it so boldly. Her heart hammered as she stared at Jesus striding along the corridor. Where was her quiet son, the one who sat meditating on Scripture beneath the olive tree in the yard at Nazareth, the one who sat soaking in the readings of the Torah at synagogue, the one who walked the hills above Galilee, praying? Her body shook at the power in his voice, for she was certain that if Jesus called for the stones of the Temple to fall, they would.
“You are careful to tithe even the tiniest part of your income, but you ignore the important things of the law—justice, mercy, and faith. . . . Blind guides! You strain your water so you won’t accidentally swallow a gnat; then you swallow a camel!”
Mary had never seen Jesus angry, and she trembled at the sight of his wrath. He stood facing the rulers, his voice filled with authority and carrying through the corridors to the very heart of the Temple, though he did not shout as they did.
“Snakes! Sons of vipers! How will you escape the judgment of hell? I will send you prophets and wise men and teachers of religious law. You will kill some by crucifixion and whip others in your synagogues, chasing them from city to city. As a result, you will become guilty of murdering all the godly people from righteous Abel to Zechariah son of Barachiah, whom you murdered in the Temple between the altar and the sanctuary. I assure you, all the accumulated jud
gment of the centuries will break upon the heads of this very generation.”
Jesus lifted his head and wept. “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones God’s messengers! How often I have wanted to gather your children together as a hen protects her chicks beneath her wings, but you wouldn’t let me.”
He faced the rulers once again, pointing at the scribes and the black-clad Pharisees with their prayer shawls. “And now look, your house is left to you, empty and desolate. For I tell you this, you will never see me again until you say, ‘Bless the one who comes in the name of the Lord!’”
Jesus turned and strode from the Temple.
For a moment, there was complete silence, as though all life had departed with him. And then there arose angry voices. Men shouted at one another, shoving, pushing. Mary saw her sons withdraw. The women with whom she had been talking scattered, rushing to the pillars and trying to follow their Master.
Mary was cut off, bumped, shoved. By the time she made it outside, her son was gone.
Her children surrounded her when she arrived at Abijah’s home, exhausted and depressed. “I couldn’t find him. I walked to Bethphage and back, but I couldn’t find him.”
“If he’s wise, he’ll stay out of sight and leave after Passover,” Abijah said grimly. “No good can come of what’s happened. The leading priests and other leaders of the people are at the court of the high priest, Caiaphas, right now, talking about Jesus.”
“I thought the people would riot after Jesus spoke against the Pharisees and scribes,” Joseph said. “Everyone was shouting, one against another.”
“Where could he be?” Mary said.
“He’s probably lodging with one of his leper friends or a prostitute. Your son seems to prefer their company to that of his own family.”
James’s face reddened. “And if he did come here, would you welcome him, Abijah?”
“Not now! I’d sooner house a scorpion than him in my house. He’s offended every Pharisee and Sadducee and priest in Jerusalem!”
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