A Lineage of Grace

by Francine Rivers

  “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?

  “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 ma
ny 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 with 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 waterpots 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.

  Jesus! The one who will save his people! Immanuel! God with us!

  Soon, Israel would be free!

  * * *

  They all returned together from Nazareth and went to the synagogue to worship the Lord. Jesus sat near the front, his disciples around him. Mary, throat tight with excitement, strained forward to watch from the women’s gallery as the Torah was read and the men began to talk about the meaning of the Law of Moses. When Jesus rose, there was a hush, for many had already heard he had been preaching along the shores of the Sea of Galilee. And it was rumored that he had turned water into wine at a wedding in Cana.

  The old rabbi held out his hand in invitation to Jesus. Jesus drew his prayer shawl over his head and stepped up to the platform. The rabbi handed him the scroll. Jesus unrolled it and began to read. “‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, for he has appointed me to preach Good News to the poor.’”

  Mary’s heart leaped. She remembered Joseph’s words when, together, they used to marvel at Jesus’ reading of the Torah. “His voice,” Joseph would say, tears in his eyes. “His voice is like no other when he reads the Law. It doesn’t pass over his tongue by years of practice, but comes out through his heart.”

  Now their beloved Jesus was proclaiming to all that he was the Anointed One, the long-awaited Messiah! Mary looked down at her other sons, sitting in the row Jesus had left. To her dismay, she saw their shoulders droop and their heads go down.

  “‘He has sent me to proclaim that captives will be released, that the blind will see, that the downtrodden will be freed from their oppressors, and that the time of the Lord’s favor has come.’” Jesus closed the scroll and gave it back to the attendant. Then Jesus stepped down from the platform and took his seat again. The silence was deafening, every pair of eyes fixed upon him. Mary’s heart was pounding faster and faster.

  Jesus spoke with quiet authority into the pulsating silence around him. “This Scripture has come true today before your very eyes!”

  A man came to his feet. “These Scriptures are about the Messiah! He blasphemes!”

  Mary saw the one her son called Peter jump to his feet, his face flushed. “If you ask what he means, perhaps . . .” He was drowned out by the rising voices.

  “I hear he’s performed miracles . . . water into wine . . . tells stories about seeds and sparrows . . . has great wisdom. . . .”

  “Where does he get his wisdom and his miracles?” a man in the shadows mocked. “He’s just a carpenter’s son. What makes him so great?”

  Mary felt her face heat up, for she could feel the glances of the women around her as the mocking words roused in the minds of the Nazarenes the foul rumors about her and Joseph and how Jesus was conceived. “No,” she said softly. “No, no.”

  “We know Mary, his mother,” someone joined in.

  “And his brothers—James, Joseph, Simon, and Jude.” Her sons, mortified, were pointed out.

  “All his sisters live right here among us!” another called out.

  Mary glanced back and saw Sarah blush and cover her face and Anne withdraw until she was near the doorway leading down and out of the synagogue.

  “No . . . no . . . no.” Mary shook her head, feeling eyes of pity and condemnation upon her.

  She turned away, only to hear a woman whisper, “And I always thought Jesus was such a nice boy . . . so good to his mother. . . . She’ll never live down the shame of this day.”

  Jesus remained seated. “A prophet is honored everywhere except in his own hometown.”

  “Now he’s calling himself a prophet!” a man shouted angrily.

  Jesus looked down the row at his cringing brothers. “And among his own family,” he added. He stood and faced his accusers. “Certainly there were many widows in Israel who needed help in Elijah’s time, when there was no rain for three and a half years and hunger stalked the land. Yet Elijah was not sent to any of them. He was sent instead to a widow of Zarephath—a foreigner in the land of Sidon. Or think of the prophet Elisha, who healed Naaman, a Syrian, rather than the many lepers in Israel who needed help.”

  “Who does he think he is, speaking to us like this?!”

  “He’s a blasphemer! Stone him!”

  “No!” Mary screamed, seeing men laying hands upon her son, seeing the disciples enter the fray. She pressed through and raced downstairs. “Let him go! Let my son go!” The men below rose and pulled and shoved Jesus and his disciples from the synagogue. She tried to reach him as the mob propelled him up and up toward the brow of the hill on which the town had been built. “No!” she cried out. “You don’t know what you’re doing!”

  A man shoved her back
so that she fell to her knees, scraping her hands on the rocky ground. Gasping in pain, she scrambled to her feet and hurried after the crowd. Suddenly everyone stopped, and a strange hush fell over the mob. As Jesus walked back through their midst, each moved back from him as though being pushed back by unseen hands.

  Panting, tears streaming down her cheeks, Mary ran to him and fell into step beside him, his disciples following. “Open their eyes, Jesus. Make them see. I know you can. Make them understand who you are!”

  He stopped at the edge of town, on the road leading down the hill toward the Sea of Galilee, and looked at her. “They’ve hardened their hearts, Mother.”

  “Then soften them. Please, Jesus. For me.” Never had she seen such sorrow in his eyes.

  He reached out and tenderly cupped her cheek. “Mother,” he said gently, “Nazareth is no longer my home.”

  Confused, she searched his eyes. “But, Jesus, how can you say that? I’m here. Your brothers and sisters . . .”

  Jesus drew her into his arms and held her tightly. She inhaled the scent of her son and put her arms around him as she had done so many times in the past. But now something was different. She felt engulfed by his love, upheld in it, and yet felt him withdrawing from her. She held on tighter, but he took her hands from behind him and stepped back. He spoke in a still small voice. “Each must choose.” He searched her face for a moment and then turned from her.

  As Jesus walked down the road, only his disciples followed.

  * * *

  Mary gathered her sons and daughters. “Your brother has left Nazareth and he won’t be coming back.”

  “Even if Jesus wanted to come back, I doubt he’d be allowed back inside the synagogue.” James was downcast.