Unafraid_Mary

by Francine Rivers

  Mary’s heart pounded heavily with dread. She looked up at Joseph and saw the tension in his face.

  “It is time,” the oldest said, and they all rose. He grasped Joseph’s arms. “May the God of your fathers watch over and protect your son.” They went out into the night, and Joseph closed the door after them.

  Mary stood up, trembling with fear. “What shall we do, Joseph?”

  “We shall wait.”

  “You told me once that Herod has spies everywhere, even in the Temple. Wouldn’t he have had those men followed? They know where we live.”

  He came to her and cupped her face. “Who’s been telling me all these months that Jesus is from the seed of God?”

  She was unable to stop the trembling. How could they protect Jesus if King Herod came searching for him?

  Joseph drew her into his arms. “I’m afraid, too, Mary, but surely the Lord can protect his own Son.”

  “We should go back to Nazareth.”

  “No. We wait here.” They both needed reminding. “God directs our steps.”

  Joseph heard the voice again that night while he lay upon his pallet with Mary tucked against him. “Joseph,” the angel said, luminescent and powerful, yet comforting. “Joseph.”

  “Yes, Lord,” Joseph said in his sleep.

  “Get up and flee to Egypt with the child and his mother,” the angel said. “Stay there until I tell you to return, because Herod is going to try to kill the child.”

  Joseph awakened abruptly in the darkness. All was still in the street outside. He rose carefully so he wouldn’t awaken Mary, took up the gifts the magi had left for Jesus and placed them carefully in the box with the scrolls that had been passed down to him. He went out to the stall he’d built at the back of the house and harnessed his donkey, tightening straps around its girth to mount burden baskets on each side. He tucked the box with the precious scrolls and gifts for Jesus in one and packed his tools, leather apron, and squares of olive wood in the other. Then he went to fill two skins with water and scoop enough grain into a bag to last the family a week.

  “Mary,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her brow. “Mary, wake up.” She sat up and rubbed her eyes like a little girl. He brushed the tendrils of hair back from her face. “An angel of the Lord came to me in a dream. We must leave Bethlehem at once.”

  She glanced up, her eyes alight with hope. “Are we going back to Nazareth?”

  “No, my love, we’re going to Egypt.” He saw alarm and dismay enter her eyes, but had no time to ease her fears. “Come, come,” he said, taking her hand. “We must leave.” As soon as she was standing, he took up the blankets and folded them quickly. “Make Jesus ready to travel.” He took the blankets out and tied them on top of the pack.

  Mary came outside soon after, Jesus bundled warmly and already asleep again in a sling she’d tied around her shoulders. She could nurse him easily as they traveled.

  They set off into the night. Joseph felt no regret at the loss of the house he had purchased for his family or the business that had just begun to prosper. His only thought was to get Jesus safely out of Bethlehem before Herod sent his soldiers to find and kill him.

  “Lord, give us strength for the journey,” Joseph whispered. “Give us strength and courage for whatever lies ahead.”

  As they traveled along a byway widened by the onslaught of pilgrims coming up from the regions of Ashdod, Ashke-lon, and Gaza, the sun rose in front of them. Jesus awakened and cried. “He’s hungry,” Mary said. They stopped to rest so she could nurse him. “Did you ever think, Joseph, that we might be following the same road Joseph did when his brothers sold him to the Ishmaelites?”

  Her sweetness pierced him. She thought about so many things, pondering them and wondering at possible hidden meanings. “No. I only thought to get us out of Bethlehem as fast as possible.” He watched her set Jesus on his feet. She laughed as the little boy trotted happily toward a path of red poppies. Sometimes Joseph could hardly fathom that this child was the Son of God. Most of the time, he seemed like any other little boy of his age, fascinated by everything around him, needing protection and guidance. Yet there were times when a light would come into his eyes as though he remembered something. Was he merely human? Or wisdom incarnate, budding each day until full comprehension of who he was came upon him in all force? And then what would happen? Would this little boy Joseph loved like his own flesh and blood become the warrior-king all Israel longed to see?

  Or . . . Joseph felt a strange sensation prickle along his spine. His throat closed hotly. Or would Jesus grow up to be the suffering servant of whom the prophet Isaiah had spoken?

  Tears came as he watched Jesus. Sometimes Joseph had to remind himself that this child who played like any other was the Son of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Herod, the most powerful man in all Judah, was trying to kill him.

  What kind of opposition would Jesus face when he became a man? Had not every prophet but Moses and Elijah met with a violent death?

  “Jesus! Come!” Joseph caught him up and held him close, love filling him until he ached with it. Eyes hot, he kissed Jesus and swung him up so that the child was perched on his shoulders. Jesus hugged him around the chin and Joseph felt a rush of pleasure. Taking the child’s hands, he kissed each palm, then held both their hands outstretched. Jesus laughed.

  Mary’s eyes were aglow. “He looks as though he would like to embrace the whole world.”

  Yes, Joseph thought. But will the world embrace him?

  Twenty long months passed. Although Joseph prospered, he felt uncomfortable dwelling among idol worshipers. The Law required that he take his family to Jerusalem for a pilgrimage at least once every two years, and that time was drawing near. And it was not just the Law that made him want to go. He longed to hear the sound of the shofar and the drone of voices speaking Aramaic in the streets. He prayed constantly that God would call them out of Egypt.

  Every afternoon as the sun was setting, Joseph opened the box that held the precious scrolls and called Jesus to him. The boy climbed into his lap, and Joseph read aloud from the Torah or unfurled a scroll with the words of King David or the prophet Isaiah. And then he would hold the boy close and pray.

  Joseph was resting in the afternoon heat when the angel of the Lord appeared to him.

  “Get up and take the child and his mother back to the land of Israel, because those who were trying to kill the child are dead.”

  Joseph sat bolt upright, his heart pounding. “Mary!” He came to his feet and went outside, where she was sitting in the shade watching Jesus draw in the dust with a stick.

  “Mary!” Elation filled him as he pulled her to her feet and kissed her. “We’re going home!”

  Once again, Joseph and Mary left everything behind but their most precious possessions and went where the Lord led them. The journey back by the Way of the Sea went quickly for they traveled in haste, eager to return to their homeland. Joseph had it in his mind to take Mary and Jesus back to Bethlehem, where his ancestor David had lived. The town was close to Jerusalem, close to the Temple. Shouldn’t the Son of God be close to the center of worship? Shouldn’t he dwell on the mountaintop?

  But when they came to a toll station on the southern boundary of Israel, where Joseph was required to pay a road tax, he spotted an insignia that troubled him. He frowned. “Who reigns in the place of Herod?” he asked.

  The Roman soldier glanced up and gave a snort of derision. “Where have you been living, Jew? Archelaus, the son of Herod. Who else?”

  Fear gripped Joseph.

  Mary stood waiting for him, holding Jesus by the hand. When he approached, she peered up at him. “What’s wrong, Joseph?”

  Sometimes Joseph wished his wife was less perceptive. “Archelaus reigns in Jerusalem.”

  Her face paled. She knew as well as he that Herod’s blood ran in Archelaus’s veins. Would this king also be a ruthless enemy? Mary lifted Jesus and sat him on her hip. “Should we go back to Egypt?”
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  He thought for a moment and took the reins of the donkey. “We go on.”

  “But Joseph, shouldn’t we ponder this awhile until we know God’s will?”

  Joseph turned the beast toward Jerusalem. “Nothing has changed, Mary. God said to return to Israel, and to Israel we shall go until he says otherwise.” He had only to glance at her to see her mind was going off in a dozen directions, considering all the possibilities. Mary pondered everything. “The Lord will protect us now, just as he did when we were in Bethlehem.”

  As they walked up the road, the excitement of returning home evaporated in the heat of anxiety. God had sent them running to Egypt because of Herod. Would Archelaus be any less protective of his power than his father had been? When they arrived in Bethlehem, would people remember the attention Jesus had attracted from Simeon and Anna in the Temple? Would they remember the strange visit of magi who had traveled hundreds of miles to see the child whose birth had been announced in the heavens? Word of such an event spread. Rumors would abound. The new king would hear. And, like his father before him, Archelaus would want to eliminate anyone who dared challenge his authority—even the Son of God.

  Lord, Lord, I fear for the life of your Son and his mother!

  Joseph was afraid to pray more than that, for the commandment of the angel had been clear. Go back to the land of Israel. Still, with each step, Joseph’s apprehension grew. Lord, Lord, I am afraid. Help me obey.

  “Joseph, can we rest awhile over there by those trees?” Mary said. He looked back at her and saw the sheen of sweat on her face. She hadn’t put Jesus down since they left the toll station. He led the donkey off the road and let the reins dangle on the ground so the animal could graze while they rested in the shade. Mary set Jesus on his feet and sank to the ground with a sigh of relief. Closing her eyes, she filled her lungs with air and smiled. “Every land has its own scent.”

  While Jesus played nearby, Joseph fingered the knots on the strands of his prayer shawl. Lord, Lord . . .

  Mary sat down beside him. “Rest, Joseph.”

  He didn’t want to share his worries with her. He wanted her to feel safe even when she wasn’t. “I’m not tired.”

  She put her hand over his. “Close your eyes for a little while, Joseph. For my sake.” She rose and walked toward Jesus. When they came back and lay down in the shade, Joseph relaxed. The heat of midday came down upon him like a heavy blanket. He was tired, so tired he felt he was sinking into the earth.

  He heard the familiar voice again, speaking softly, so softly, his soul leaned closer. “Joseph, son of David, do not go back to Bethlehem, for Jesus will be in danger there. Go instead to the region of Galilee and live in Nazareth.”

  Awakening, he sat up. He saw by the position of the sun that several hours had passed. Jesus was still asleep in his mother’s arms.

  “Mary,” Joseph said softly, heart pounding.

  She opened her eyes sleepily and looked up at him. Blinking, she sat up. “The Lord spoke to you again. I can tell.”

  “We’re to go to Nazareth and make our home there.”

  “Oh!” Her face lit with joy. She held Jesus close as he awakened. “We’re going home, my love. Home to your grandma and your aunt and uncle. Home!”

  When Mary and Joseph arrived in Nazareth with Jesus, they found the modest village near the trade roads unchanged. But Mary’s mother’s house was deserted, weeds growing in the garden behind it. Distressed, Mary and Joseph hurried along to her sister and brother-in-law’s house.

  “Your mother died the year after the census,” Clopas, her brother-in-law, told them, after joyful greetings had been exchanged.

  “We all thought something had happened to you,” Mary’s sister said. “When we heard what Herod did, we thought you were lost.”

  “Lost? What do you mean?” Mary said, confused.

  “What did Herod do?” Joseph said, standing beside her.

  “He killed the male children in Bethlehem,” Clopas said. “All of them! From newborn to two years of age. Every one of them. As well as any father or mother who stood in the way of the king’s soldiers carrying out his orders.”

  Mary felt faint. She clutched Jesus tightly in her arms as realization struck her. Had Joseph not obeyed the Lord immediately, Jesus would have been among the children slaughtered by Herod’s soldiers. That’s why he had awakened her in the middle of the night and taken her and Jesus from the city. He hadn’t known what was coming, only that God said, “Flee to Egypt.” By God’s great mercy, Jesus’ life had been spared, and Herod’s plans had failed.

  Her throat closed in grief. God had saved her son, but what of those poor innocent children who had been slaughtered by Herod’s order? What of their grieving mothers and fathers? How could such evil exist in the world? Mary ran her hands over Jesus as she wept.

  “Mama?”

  She wept into the curve of his neck.

  Her sister came to her. “When you didn’t return to Nazareth, we assumed you’d died in Bethlehem with your child.” Weeping, she embraced Mary and Jesus. “But you are all here safe and sound. God be praised!”

  “Your mother believed you’d all been killed,” Clopas said. “She died believing that.”

  Mary heard the hint of accusation in her brother-in-law’s voice and lifted her chin in defense of her husband. “God told Joseph we were to go to Egypt and wait there.”

  Clopas’s brows came down as he looked at Joseph. “God told you to go to Egypt?”

  Joseph’s jaw tensed, but he said nothing. Distressed, Mary looked between the two men. Clopas’s hostility was evident. Mary’s anger mingled with embarrassment. Joseph would not defend himself or explain. Did her relatives think she had lied about the angel of the Lord coming to her and telling her she would bear the Messiah? Did they prefer the rumors that Joseph had seduced her before they were wed and that they had concocted a ridiculous story to keep from being stoned? Would the rumors about the child she bore revive now that she and Joseph had brought Jesus home to Nazareth?

  Holding Jesus close, she turned to her sister. This woman knew her better than any other, save Joseph. Surely she would believe. “When Jesus was born in Bethlehem, shepherds came to see him. They told us that the angel of the Lord had appeared among them, and the radiance of the Lord’s glory surrounded them. The angel told them not to be afraid, for he was bringing good news of great joy. For that night in Bethlehem, the Savior—the Messiah—had been born. And the angel said they would find the baby lying in a manger, wrapped in strips of cloth.”

  “A manger?” her sister said sadly.

  Was that the only thing she heard? Did she not understand the fulfillment of prophecy?

  Clopas made a sound in his throat. “The Messiah, born in a stable! And you expect us to believe that?”

  Mary fought her tears. “Magi came to our house in Bethlehem, Clopas. They said they had followed a new star that appeared in the heavens at the same time Jesus was born. They brought gifts. They went to the king first, to ask where the Messiah was to be born.”

  “Mary . . .” Her sister tried to soothe her.

  Clopas glared at Joseph. “How did you ever convince her of all this?”

  “I’m telling the truth!” Mary cried out. “Why won’t you believe?”

  “Stop, Clopas,” her sister said. “I beg of you.”

  “Don’t tell me you believe it!”

  “I know my sister.” Her arms tightened around Mary. “She’s never lied before.”

  “I’m not lying now!” Mary said angrily. “Jesus is the Messiah. He is!”

  Clopas shook his head. “She’s out of her mind.”

  “She speaks the truth,” Joseph said quietly.

  Clopas stared at him for a long moment and frowned. “Even if I did believe it, what would it matter? It’s what everyone else in the village believes that matters.” Clopas looked at Jesus and grimaced. “A son born too soon after the wedding ceremony—to a girl so full of herself she’s convince
d she’s borne the Messiah—is a scandal. The Messiah, born to a peasant girl in Nazareth. No one will ever believe it.”

  Stunned, Mary could only stare at him in anguish. Joseph leaned down to her and took Jesus into his arms. “Come, Mary.” He slipped his arm around her.

  “I’m sorry,” her sister whispered.

  “Don’t you dare apologize to him,” Clopas said, glowering. “He’s the cause of this trouble, and the reason for the shame that has fallen upon our family.”

  “You’re wrong.” Mary’s mouth trembled. “Joseph is above reproach, and Jesus is God’s Anointed One. Someday you’ll see the truth for yourself!” One day she would be vindicated. They would all see her son on the throne, ruling with righteousness!

  “I’ll believe he’s the Messiah when I see him with an army behind him, driving the Romans out of Jerusalem!”

  Mary felt Joseph’s arm tighten, pressing her through the doorway. She resisted, wanting to say more to her sister and brother-in-law. Anger coursed through her, but Joseph was firm. His arm encircled her protectively as they went out into the narrow street. “Oh, Joseph. I never expected it to be like this. Why do they prefer lies to the truth? Surely Jesus won’t grow up beneath such a . . . shadow.”

  “God brought us here, Mary. What will happen now, I can’t say. We must live in God’s strength, my love.”

  “Mama?” Jesus said, distressed by her tears of hurt and anger. Joseph ran his hand tenderly over Jesus’ hair, his eyes troubled. When Jesus looked up at him, Joseph smiled and brushed his knuckles against the smooth round cheek. Mary saw the love in her husband’s eyes and ached for him. His reputation had been ruined as much as hers. People believed he had seduced her.

  Bless Joseph, Lord. Oh, please bless him for what he will suffer for the sake of your Son and me.

  How many men would accept the loss of their reputation with grace, knowing their actions were by God’s direction? How many men would rise at the first whisper of God’s counsel and leave house and business and move to a foreign country? Or leave house and business and return to a town that thought they’d seduced a young virgin and filled her head with wild tales of angels and the coming Messiah?