“And clings to that belief until proven otherwise,” James said bitterly.
Mary’s eyes filled with tears. Were they asking for signs and wonders? “Jesus healed your sister. He multiplied our loaves of bread. He kept the cruses of oil filled.”
James glared at her. “You think so.”
She went cold at their disbelief. “He brushed his fingertips across Anne’s forehead, and the fever was gone.”
“It’s more likely Jesus picked her up just after the fever broke.”
“I remember, Mother,” Joseph said in agreement. “You were so tired you couldn’t stand when Father came home. Anne was asleep.”
“Anne was dying.” She looked between these two headstrong boys who looked so much like their father, Joseph, and yet had so little faith. Anger filled her at their stubbornness. “Go out and sweep the shop for your brother. Go! Or must he do everything for you?”
She knew how hard it was to wait. But someday they would see Jesus lifted up in power, and then they would believe and stand with him. Someday!
But when? Oh, when will that day come?
Year upon year passed.
Every spring, Mary’s eldest son told her to make the preparations for the trek to Jerusalem for Passover. And every year, she would feel the rush of excitement as she looked up at him. “Is it time? Is this the year?”
Every step she took toward Jerusalem was one of anticipation. When all their relatives came together in King David’s city and reclined together for the Passover meal, she prayed fervently that this would be the year Elijah would enter and proclaim that the Messiah had come. The bread was broken and passed, the wine sipped, the parsley dipped, the herbs eaten, and the youngest was sent to see if Elijah was at the door. Mary held her breath, her heart pounding.
“Elijah is not there, Grandfather.”
Year after year. Jesus grew into manhood, and still the son of Zechariah and Elizabeth did not appear.
Every year, Mary raised her cup with the others and said: “Next year in Jerusalem.” Then she bowed her head so Jesus would not see her tears of disappointment.
MARY carried her jar down the hill to the well and took her place in line to wait. She listened, only half interested, as the women talked about a new prophet at the Jordan River. There was always someone claiming to be a prophet of God.
“My son went down and heard him,” one woman was saying. “He came back last night and told us this man speaks the words of Isaiah with power.”
“Do you think he’s the Messiah?” another asked.
“Who but God knows?”
“My husband left this morning to hear John preach. He took our sons with him.”
At the mention of the man’s name, Mary’s heart leaped. She leaned forward. “Did you say his name was John?”
“He’s called John the Baptist.”
Containing her excitement, Mary filled her jar and lifted it to her head and plodded her way up the hill. She sloshed water as she set the water jar down and hurried through the house to the shop, where Jesus was working. “I just heard there’s a prophet named John preaching at the Jordan River,” she told him. “We must go and find out if this is Elizabeth’s son.”
Jesus continued filing a yoke. “I heard.”
He knew? Why had he said nothing to her? She came closer. “We should go right away! I’ll go at once and tell James and Joseph to make ready. They must come with us. And Simon and Jude, of course, and your sisters and their husbands. They should all come with us!”
Jesus raised his head and looked at her briefly, then returned his attention to the yoke he was smoothing.
Mary frowned. “Isn’t this the sign we’ve been waiting for: John’s appearance?”
“Everything in God’s time, Mother.”
Over the next few weeks, Mary strove for patience, but it seemed everyone in Nazareth except those of her family had gone down to hear John. The women at the well talked constantly about “the baptist.”
“There are multitudes gathering at the river.”
“I heard that some Pharisees went to hear him, and he called them a brood of snakes.”
“Even the tax gatherers and Roman soldiers are going down to hear him.”
“My son thinks John is the Christ.”
The hair on the back of Mary’s neck prickled.
“Everyone is wondering about him,” another said.
Mary had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out in frustration that her son Jesus was the Christ, the Messiah. Each day added to her distress.
Finally she could bear it no longer. “I’m going to go, Jesus,” she announced. “I want to see John.” She was disheartened when he didn’t offer to accompany her.
The banks of the Jordan were teeming with men, women, and children when Mary and her younger sons arrived. The crowd was excited. Some called out questions to the wild-haired man who was sitting on a flat rock and was dressed in a garment of camel’s hair and a leather belt about his waist. Was this unkempt man Elizabeth’s son? It seemed everyone had come to hear this voice crying out in the wilderness, for there were gathered by the river prostitutes and priests, Roman soldiers and Hebrew scribes, farmers and fishermen.
“Prove by the way you live that you have really turned from your sins and turned to God!” John shouted, pointing at several Pharisees who stood near the water. “Don’t just say, ‘We’re safe—we’re the descendants of Abraham.’ That proves nothing. God can change these stones here into children of Abraham.”
Even from a distance, Mary could see how his words were received. The Pharisees’ heads reared up and they turned their backs, stalking away. John shouted after them, “Even now the ax of God’s judgment is poised, ready to sever your roots. Yes, every tree that does not produce good fruit will be chopped down and thrown into the fire!”
“Mama!” Jude pointed. “There’s Jesus!”
Mary spotted him among the throng near the river, where men and women around him were crying out for John to baptize them. Her heart beat faster as her son came closer to the prophet. “I baptize you with water for repentance,” John said, lowering a man beneath the waters and raising him. As the man got his footing and stepped away, John looked straight at Jesus standing on the bank. He stared at him and fell silent as Jesus walked into the water and came face-to-face with the one who had recognized him from the womb.
Mary took Simon’s and Jude’s hands and pressed through the crowd to get closer. John and Jesus talked briefly, and then John took hold of Jesus and lowered him beneath the waters, raising him up again. John looked up sharply as though something in the sky had caught his attention. Mary looked up, but saw nothing unusual. John stepped back and spread his hands as he stared at Jesus again, his expression rapt. Her son turned and waded out of the river and walked up the bank as several young men splashed their way into the water to get close to John.
“Come, my sons. We will do as your brother has done.” Mary led her sons down to the river to be baptized, searching the crowd for a glimpse of Jesus. She thought she saw him once, but decided it couldn’t be him because he was going off toward the east.
When Mary and her younger sons arrived home in time to begin the Sabbath, Jesus was not there.
Nor did he return.
A week passed, then another, and another, and Jesus did not come home. Where could he have gone? Had he been attacked on the way home and left bleeding beside the road? Surely not! But what else could have happened to him? James and Joseph were concerned and went off to seek word of him, returning a week later, unsatisfied and distressed. “No one has seen him, Mother.”
“Jesus will come home when he’s ready,” Mary said, instilling more confidence in her words than she felt. Wherever Jesus was, she knew God was watching over him and keeping him safe from harm.
She was not afraid for him until she heard rumors that John the Baptist had been taken into custody by order of King Herod. Had her son gone to Jerusalem to argue for John’s release?
&n
bsp; “Where is your good son, Mary?” the women asked at the well. “My husband came by the shop yesterday to have his plow repaired and found only Simon and Jude there.” When Mary told them he’d gone down to the Jordan to be baptized, they shook their heads. “But that was weeks ago. It’s not right that he leave you and the boys to fend for yourselves.”
Even her sons objected to the way Jesus had gone off and left them without a word.
“He must do what his Father tells him.”
“Our father is dead, Mother, and Jesus is the head of the household.”
“Simon and Jude have read the Torah, and they’ve been apprenticed to Jesus in the shop long enough to carry on in their brother’s absence.” Even as she said the words, it occurred to her that Jesus might not come back at all. He was the Messiah! Why would he return to live in an obscure village in the district of Galilee? “Maybe he’s gone to Jerusalem.” If not Jerusalem, where?
What sort of son would leave a mother to worry like this?
She must not worry. She must trust in God.
The least he could have done is tell you where he was going and when he’d return! If he’s so good, why would he turn his back on you and walk away without a word?
Should she make demands of Jesus? He’d never given her cause to worry before. He’d never done anything without reason and prayer.
He’s your son. He owes you something for the suffering you’ve endured.
He is God’s Son and owes me nothing! Mary covered her face and wept. Never had she felt so alone, even now with James and Joseph sitting on each side of her, Simon and Jude at her feet, her daughters close by. She hadn’t felt such loneliness since Joseph died. Jesus had been her consolation, her strength.
It wasn’t happening the way she’d expected.
Let him come, and watch how I crush him.
“No. The promise is being fulfilled.” Mary raised her head. “The Lord is with us, and Jesus will make all things right.”
“Mother,” James said, putting his arm around her.
She shook his arm off and stood. “The Lord is with us, and you will see the day come when the Messiah crushes Satan beneath his heel.”
She saw her sons exchange looks of concern. Sorrow filled her. It would take more than her word to make them believe. It would take a change of heart.
The day before Mary left to attend a relative’s wedding in Cana, Jude came racing up the hill into the house. “Jesus is coming! He’s coming home!”
She ran down the hill to embrace him, weeping in joy. As soon as she put her arms around him, she was alarmed. “You’re so thin!” she said in dismay. “And dark.” She touched his sunburned face, seeing the signs of healing heat blisters. “Come, you must eat and rest.”
Laughing, Jesus lifted her and kissed her cheeks as he set her on her feet again. “Woman, why are you always trying to tell me what to do?”
Mary laughed with him and cupped his bronzed cheeks. “Is it not like a mother to mother her son?” It was only then she noticed a group of men watching the exchange. “Who are these men?”
“They are my friends, Mother.”
She peered around Jesus and recognized two of them. “James! John! How is my brother Zebedee?” She went quickly to greet them.
“He is well, Mary,” John said, embracing her.
“But annoyed that we’ve left his household to follow Jesus.”
She looked at the others and thought them a motley group. “Come. I have bread enough for all, and tomorrow we are invited to a wedding feast in Cana. And your friends are welcome to attend with us.” Simon and Jude were vying for Jesus’ attention as they all walked up the hill together.
She spent the evening joyfully serving her son and his friends. James and Joseph had come and drawn Jesus outside to talk with him earlier. She knew they were taking their older brother to task for worrying the family, and knew anything she might say would only add fuel to their fire. Still, she stood in the doorway, hoping her presence would still their critical tongues. Her presence did not ease their tension, but she was thankful Jesus listened as they listed their complaints. She had worried. She had slept fitfully.
“I must go where the Spirit leads,” Jesus said when they allowed him to speak.
James’s face was taut with frustration. “And what about Mother?”
Jesus put a hand upon James’s shoulder and smiled tenderly. “I have not left our mother without provision.” Mary understood as clearly as James and Joseph that it was their time to help provide for her, that the full responsibility would no longer be on Jesus’ shoulders.
They left, annoyed when Jesus would not explain his absence or make promises regarding the future. She saw all too clearly the selfishness motivating their demands on him. Without their older brother to tend to everything, their lives would be less tidy, less convenient, less self-centered. She saw also their niggling jealousy of Jesus as the one who had captured and held her love. Perhaps she did favor Jesus over her other children, but how could she not when he was a perfect son and the others caused her endless trials and often, albeit unintentionally, hurt her feelings? She loved every one of her children, for they were her own flesh and blood. Would they never understand that Jesus was more than a child of her flesh? Would they continue to live in stubborn resistance? How was it these strangers who had come home with Jesus saw him more clearly than his own brothers did?
And what a diverse band of men they were—mixed in age, occupation, education, and district. Simon Peter, a fisherman with a graying beard, was near her own age, while Andrew, his younger brother, looked more like a scribe than a laborer. Nathanael, tight-lipped, listened to every word Jesus said without making comment, while Philip asked question after question about various points of the Law.
Still, unlike James, Joseph, Anne, Sarah, Simon, and Jude, these men hung on Jesus’ every word, and hope spilled from their eyes.
As the sun set, Mary lit the lamps and went to bed content, for Jesus was home.
And all would be well now.
Mary, Jesus, and his friends walked together to Cana the next morning. She longed to have Jesus to herself again, even if for just a few minutes. But he seemed intent upon encouraging these disciples to learn what he wanted to teach them. Perhaps later she could talk with him alone. She ran her hand down his arm, pleased that the tunic she had woven during his absence looked so fine on him. The work had kept her hands and mind occupied during the long, dark days she hadn’t known where he was.
They arrived in time to join the procession through the small village as the bride was carried to her husband’s household. The entire village was in attendance and the food and wine given freely to all. The music of harp, lyre, flute, and drum kept many dancing far into the night.
Mary had never seen so many at a wedding feast. Though the food was replenished from time to time, the wine flowed less freely as the celebration stretched to two, then three, days. On the fourth day, she overheard whispers of discontent. Jacob, the bridegroom, was so smitten with his new wife that he didn’t even notice the look of growing strain on the servants’ faces as they tried to see to the needs of his guests. One tried to gain the steward’s attention, but failed.
Mary approached the servant. “What troubles you?”
“We have these pitchers of wine left, and then we have no more.”
“Perhaps Jacob has a store of wine in his house.”
The servant shook his head.
If the groom ran out of wine before the wedding celebration was over, he would be shamed before his guests. Poor Jacob would never outlive such embarrassment. “Come. I’ll speak to my son. He can help you.”
Jesus was deep in conversation with his friends when she approached. She entered the circle and knelt before her son, speaking softly. “They have no more wine.”
“How does that concern you and me?” Jesus asked, not unkindly. “My time has not yet come.”
She tilted her head and looked into his eyes wi
th pleading. He knew as well as she that the lack of wine would pour humiliation on the groom’s head and diminish his reputation before the community. She knew Jesus would not ignore the plight of this young relative, especially when he had brought friends with him to join in the celebration and increase the strain upon Jacob’s supplies. Smiling, she took his hand and kissed his palm. Then she stood, stepped outside the circle of her son’s disciples, and spoke to the nervous servants waiting. “Do whatever he tells you.” Then she stood aside to wait upon Jesus’ decision.
Remaining seated, Jesus looked at six large stone water-pots set against the wall. They stood empty now, but would be filled for the custom of purification. “Fill the jars with water.”
Perplexed, the servants looked at one another. Mary could imagine them wondering what good that would do, for even the drunkest guest would know the difference between water and wine. However, they were so desperate they hastened to obey. They raced back and forth between the communal well and the big stone pots while Jesus returned his attention to his disciples. When the jars had finally been filled to the brim, the perspiring servants came quickly to Jesus.
“Dip some out,” Jesus said, “and take it to the master of ceremonies.”
Mary followed the servant, who dipped a pitcher into the water and carried it to the master of ceremonies. The water poured red into the man’s cup, and she felt a wave of exultation. When he sipped it, his eyes brightened. She was close enough to hear him speak to the groom. “Usually a host serves the best wine first. Then, when everyone is full and doesn’t care, he brings out the less expensive wines. But you have kept the best until now!”
Laughing joyously, Mary looked back at her son and saw astonishment on the faces of his disciples. Excited, the servants moved quickly among the guests, serving the new wine and spreading the news of what Jesus had done.
And Mary watched it all, tears of joy running down her cheeks.
Now they would believe! All the rumors that had surrounded her and Joseph would finally be laid to rest and her sons and daughters and friends would know the truth: Jesus was the one her people had cried out for over the centuries.
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