Three Days: A Mother's Story (6 page)

As was our custom, we had traveled down to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover. Not unlike my children, I welcomed the change of pace this annual pilgrimage offered. Of course, the preparation involved work, but it was happy work, and once we were on our way I was always reminded of my own girlhood days and how excited my sister and I would become at the thrill of a new adventure on the road. As usual, we traveled in the company of family and friends and neighbors, and, as usual, the children usually ran free and sometimes a bit wild.

Yet even when I made this journey as a mother with my large brood of children, I never concerned myself too greatly over their safety or welfare. I knew that between our neighbors and relatives, my children would be well looked after. It was the same way I watched over my sister Sarah’s two little girls when they latched onto me, as they so often did, begging me to tell them stories of our adventures in Egypt. To them Aunt Mary was something of an experienced traveler.

And, most assuredly, I
never
worried about Jesus. By this time, he was nearly an adult, not to mention a very responsible and trustworthy young man. Naturally, we had no reason to concern ourselves over his actions. Now, our young Joses, on the other hand, actually fell into mischief a time or two during these trips. Although, it was nothing we could not easily sort out eventually.

As is the usual case, after being away for a couple of weeks, I looked forward to going home again. For although I liked the adventure, I welcomed the thought of being back under my own roof, eating from my own garden, and sleeping in the bed made by my husband’s strong hands. And so I was happy when it was finally time to leave Jerusalem.

It was early in the morning when we began our journey back to Nazareth. But by that same afternoon, I realized that I had yet to see my eldest son. “Joseph!” I called toward the front of our traveling group, where most of the men were walking together, discussing important things like politics and the future of our people. “Have you seen Jesus?”

It quickly became obvious that Jesus was nowhere among our group. Joseph immediately offered to return to Jerusalem on his own to search for our missing son. But I knew I would be at my wits’ end if I did not go with him. My family offered to keep our other children with them as they continued toward home, hoping to meet up with us later. Meanwhile, Joseph and I hastened back to the city.

We searched where we had been staying but found no sign of him or even anyone who had seen him. We went to the various sites around town, looking around the numerous pools and public gardens as well as the marketplace, but by nightfall we had not found our son.

I know that neither of us slept much that night. And although I prayed to Jehovah, asking him to protect his Son and to keep watch over him, I still fretted over Jesus’s safety. It was so unlike him to worry us like this. It seemed the only reason for such distress must be an unfortunate disaster of some kind. Unwelcome images of my beloved son, injured in some way, flashed like uncontrollable lightning bolts through my mind. Perhaps he had been run down by a careless soldier’s horse. The Romans have always been so inconsiderate of our people. Or maybe he had eaten something bad and fallen ill and was now lying along the street somewhere, stricken with fever and thirsting for a cup of cool water. Only my prayers could quiet my fearful heart, but even then I was uneasy and without sleep.

It was not until the following day when we went to the temple that we noticed an impressive young man with a group of teachers and elders gathered attentively around him. Then, upon second look, we realized that the young man was our son!

Well, I ran over right to where Jesus was standing, and, interrupting my son in mid-sentence, I demanded to know what he was doing. “Do you not know that your father and I have been sick with worry for you?” I said rather loudly. “We’ve been all over Jerusalem looking everywhere for you!”

“Why were you looking for me?” he said calmly. “Did you not realize I would be right here taking care of my Father’s business?”

While I knew this was not any form of back talk or disrespect, it hurt just the same—almost like a slap in the face. His Father’s business? I remember pondering his explanation as we hurried out of town, hoping we might catch up with our traveling companions and abandoned children. What kind of business could that possibly be? After all, Jesus was only twelve—a mere boy, really. Still, I hid his words, like I have hidden so many other things, as if they are seeds planted deeply within my heart. Perhaps one day they will all sprout and grow into something that makes more sense.

But not today
, I am thinking as I sit here listening to John reminding us of the words my son said only days ago. “Do you not remember,” John says with enthusiasm that is easily betrayed by the sadness in his eyes, “Jesus said that he was going somewhere, somewhere we cannot follow, but that he was sending a helper back to us—a loyal friend who will guide us to the truth.”

“Maybe we should go looking for this friend,” another disciple suggested.

“No, we need to stay put,” someone else said.

And soon they were arguing. Some felt we should search for this helper person immediately. Some felt we should stay hidden here lest someone else in our group be arrested and put to death. Others, mostly the women, wanted to go wait at the tomb.

We are like small children on our way to Passover, except that we have no parent to lead or watch over us. We are lost, truly lost. Or, more appropriately, we are like sheep. I remember how my son used to compare us to sheep—not a very flattering image, since everyone knows that sheep are the most senseless of all domesticated animals. But then Jesus would explain how he was our shepherd. And we never doubted this, for while he was here he was an excellent shepherd. But now he is gone, and we are very, very lost.

After that incident at Passover, I watched Jesus more carefully. But not so you would notice, for I did not want to make him uncomfortable. Not that he was ever uncomfortable, not to my knowledge anyway. But from time to time I would find myself just staring at him, wondering what this was all about and how Jehovah planned to reveal the true identity of this tall and handsome young man. But one year blended into another and nothing spectacular happened.

To be honest, there was one moment when I wished that Jesus was not God’s Son. I am not proud of this, but it is true. In fact, I briefly entertained thoughts that perhaps I had imagined the whole thing all those many years ago. But, in all fairness, it was a dark day for me when this happened. And I told no one (except for Jehovah, to whom I had to confess and repent) that I was such a selfish woman.

It was on the day that my dear Joseph died. Suddenly I felt so alone and overwhelmed at the prospects of providing for and raising my half-grown children. How my heart ached from missing my Joseph! But at the same time, Jesus was such a comfort to me. No mother ever had such a loyal and tender son. My other children, equally grief stricken over the loss of their father, were in need of reassurance. And it is a mother’s place to offer this condolence to her children.

But when I found myself alone in my garden, quietly grieving as I mourned the loss of my beloved husband, it was Jesus who met me there. And as I looked at my son through eyes blurred with tears, I saw the compassion of the almighty Jehovah on his face. And, like me, Jesus was crying. We embraced, and it was as if I was being held in the arms of my heavenly Father. In my deep need, I wished with all my heart that this fine young man might stay in my home and care for me like that forever. Alas, that was simply my selfishness at work.

However, Jesus did remain in my home for a few more years. How quickly those years passed. Already a fine carpenter, he took over Joseph’s carpentry business, training up his brothers so that they could take over in time. He stepped easily into the role of provider and father figure to his siblings. Not that they always appreciated this or respected his wisdom and grace in dealing with them. But they could not have asked for better. Nor could I.

“Why do not you take a wife, Jesus?” my oldest daughter, Hannah, asked him one day as he was at work. I paused near his workbench, pretending to examine a small stool he had just finished, as I listened to his response.

He planed a piece of wood, going over it again and again until the plank was as smooth as the Sea of Galilee on a day without wind. “I already have my hands full with this family,” he told her with a smile.

“But you should have a family of your own,” she insisted. “There are lots of nice girls in Nazareth who think that Jesus the carpenter is a very good catch.”

He laughed. “You better tell them to cast their nets elsewhere, little sister.”

I suppose I was relieved that Jesus showed no interest in marriage. Although, Hannah was right. There were plenty of young women in our village who thought highly of my son, plenty who would have been pleased to marry the honest, hardworking carpenter who took such good care of his family.

Then suddenly everything changed. It happened when Jesus was around thirty years old. One morning, after seeing my firstborn son nearly every single day of his entire life, he bid me farewell, and, instead of going off to work, he simply walked away.

Something about the determined look in his eye reminded me of the time he had stayed in the temple to attend to his Father’s business. I also knew, thanks to rumors that flew through our region like grassfire, that my dear cousin Elizabeth’s son (who was nearly the same age as Jesus) had just started a very unusual sort of ministry. People were calling him John the Baptist and John the Preacher, and some even thought he might be the Messiah. Although, I also heard that he quickly set them straight on this account, assuring everyone with ears to hear that he was only getting them ready for the one who would soon come.

He told his listeners that while he, John, baptized with water, the one who was coming would baptize with fire. I am still uncertain as to what this means, for I have yet to see my son, the true Messiah, bring down fire on anyone. And, of course, now it seems too late. Even so, I hate to doubt John’s prediction.

Naturally, I suspected that Jesus was going off to listen to his cousin’s preaching. And I later learned through a neighbor named Myra (she and her husband had witnessed this strange event for themselves) that Jesus had actually asked John to baptize him.

“John the mighty preacher was nearly speechless,” Myra told me. “But then he said—and I swear that I am not making this up—that he was not worthy to tie Jesus’s sandals and that Jesus should be the one doing the baptizing.”

In that moment, I felt something running through me—a rush of excitement mixed with a very real fear. And I knew this was the beginning. Although I felt disappointed, I was not very surprised when Jesus did not come home that day. Myra told me that after the baptism Jesus had turned and walked away, still dripping, heading straight for the wilderness.

“I heard that John the Preacher lives in the wilderness,” she said, probably to reassure me, “and that he survives on locusts and honey.” She made a face. “Do you think your son is going to do the same?”

“Jehovah will watch over him,” I told her, concealing my concerns from her curious eyes. “He will be fine.”

For how could the mighty Jehovah allow any harm to come to his beloved Son? I remembered the times when I had fretted about something and Joseph had jokingly reminded me that God in his glory was perfectly able to send down legions of angels if necessary to protect young Jesus. And so I told myself that I need not worry as Jesus set out on his Messiah’s mission. Jehovah would watch over him then as well.

But where was Jehovah yesterday? What was he doing when the sky turned dark and my son cried out for deliverance? Where was God then?

9

THE NEXT TIME I saw my son, after he had been baptized by his cousin, he was not the same man who had walked away from Nazareth only a week before. He had a different look in his eyes. Maybe it was some sort of spiritual confidence or just pure determination, but he had definitely changed. Now, he was as kind and loving and gracious as ever when he greeted his family, but it was obvious to me that his mission here on earth had begun.

It was not long before Jesus began to teach. But his teaching was unlike anything any of us had ever heard before. And the way he could speak with such conviction and hold the attention of his listeners was truly incredible. It was as if we could not get enough of his words. Even I, his own mother, was often caught as if spellbound by his ability to speak what I knew must be truth in a completely new and profound way. Truly amazing!

And yet he was my son. I had given birth to this young man, had nourished him from my own breast, had washed, fed, and cared for him when he was too little to care for himself. And yet he was God. It was almost too much for me to contain in my small, earthly head. But my heart knew it was true.

Not long after Jesus began his ministry, my favorite sister, Sarah, who lived in the neighboring town of Cana, invited us to visit her family and celebrate the wedding of her firstborn son. Her handsome Benjamin had been betrothed to a young woman from a fairly well-to-do family, and I am sure Sarah wanted to impress us with this match. Since I have always loved Benjamin, I was happy to go, as were my children. Even Jesus promised to meet up with us there. By now he had several faithful friends who traveled everywhere with him, soaking in all the words of his teaching as well as helping see to his needs. It was plain that my son was in good hands. Not only Jehovah’s but also those of these loyal men who clearly loved their leader.

We all know that weddings do not come cheap, but it was obvious that Sarah and her husband had spent a lot on this one. However, they had no idea how many guests the wife’s family would invite, and early in the evening poor Sarah realized they had completely run out of wine.

“Mary,” she whispered to me. “Whatever are we going to do? We will appear to be the most thoughtless of all hosts, and poor Benjamin will be shamed in front of his new in-laws.”