Inspired by Francine River’s novella about Mary, entitled “Unafraid.”
If I had the time, I would like to sit with each of you individually and convince you that no matter how ordinary your life may seem, no matter how unlikely you might feel, God has an extraordinary purpose for your life. He chooses the weak to lead the strong, and the foolish to teach the wise. The more lowly you are, the higher he can lift you up.
I would like to look each of you in the eye and assure you that your situation is not hopeless, though it may appear so. When you feel helpless, you have not come to the end. When you come to face death itself, you have reason for courage. For God always keeps his promises.
Why do I have such confidence? Maybe after I tell you a bit of my story, you will understand. I’m sure you’ve heard it before, how a young peasant girl from Nazareth became the most blessed of women. How a virgin betrothed to a carpenter named Joseph would bear the Savior of the world. I’m sure you’ve heard before how we were unexpectedly visited by an angel of the Lord. How the King of kings was born in a manger in Bethlehem and worshiped by shepherds and wise men. How we fled to Egypt upon the Lord’s leading, come to find that King Herod had issued a decree to murder every boy ages two and under in Bethlehem because the birth of Jesus threatened his kingdom.
I love how often our story is told and retold, but it would be tragic if it seemed like some old tale. I can only hope time has not turned our family into mere characters, instead of real people. That’s why I wanted to pick up our story when the Lord led us from Egypt back to Nazareth, after the death of King Herod. We wondered how we would be welcomed, especially given our reputation, which the unexpected pregnancy had called into question.
But we continued an ordinary life back in Nazareth. I didn’t speak of Jesus as the Son of God because I knew his time would soon come to be King, but in my heart I pondered his life. When would everyone know who he was? More importantly, when would he know who he was?
From the moment I first saw him, I adored him. Every time I held him, I knew it was he who really held me. Every time I sang him a lullaby, I imagined all the angels standing by, peering through the stars at God’s beloved child. When he looked up at me with his big brown eyes, I was overcome by awe and love. Sometimes I’d cry and I didn’t even know why. I just couldn’t believe he’d chosen me. Ordinary, unlikely me.
Joseph’s carpentry kept him busy, but every morning and evening he made plenty of time to read the scrolls to us – the Torah, the prophets, the Psalms, and the story of King David. I loved to watch Joseph teach Jesus carpentry as he grew into a boy. I brought them bread and water just to spend more time with them. When Jesus was six years old, we brought him to the synagogue so he could be properly educated.
Soon after, our second son James was born. Having James taught me that Jesus turning out so perfectly wasn’t to my credit at all! Jesus wanted God’s will, but James always wanted his own. Jesus was a good older brother to James, always teaching him to obey. He would often ask me questions I didn’t know. All I knew of the Law was what my mother and father had taught me, but he wanted to know the reasons behind the Law. Sometimes, when he was asking me questions, I got the feeling he knew the answers and was actually trying to teach me.
Our third son was born and we named him Joseph after his father, and then came Anne who we named after my mother. Anne especially loved Jesus and sat on his lap as he told her stories about Noah and the ark, Jonah and the whale, and Daniel in the lion’s den. He sang psalms to the children, and we joined in. It was hard every day to let Jesus go with the other boys to study the Torah. He was growing up so fast. And then when he came home, he would work with Joseph in the shop.
As time went by, deep inside of me I questioned how Jesus could be the Messiah when his life seemed so ordinary. Yet I could tell he was different. He was a peacemaker, while my other sons loved to fight. They seemed to be bent on war. They would play the Jew and the Roman soldier. They made swords out of sticks and would strike down the Roman soldier. Their pretending expressed every Jew’s dream to break the chains of Rome, but I wondered how Jesus was going to do it, and if he would do it in the way anyone expected.
I could tell Jesus carried secret burdens. He’d wake up shaking from nightmares. He’d come home from the synagogue, troubled. There would be sweat on his brow as he sat with the prayer shawl over his head. I wanted to ask him so many questions, but I wondered whether he knew the answers yet himself.
I remember once when Anne got sick. After a few days she fell unconscious. Joseph and Jesus returned home from work and I ran her to them. Jesus immediately took Anne in his arms and whispered her name. Suddenly light came to her eyes and she was revived. She jumped up and hugged Jesus with her arms tightly around his neck, like she never wanted to let him go. I knew the feeling well.
I couldn’t believe why anyone wouldn’t see who Jesus was and love him so much, but I remember the first time he offended a rabbi at the synagogue. “You must explain to your son that I am a teacher of the law, and he is a student,” the rabbi scolded us. “How dare he imply by his questioning that I of all people am self-righteous!” He yelled. I was going to ask Jesus all that happened, but he left with tears in his eyes. I knew he hadn’t meant any disrespect.
The time came for Jesus to read the Torah in the synagogue. I wondered if he would finally announce himself as the Anointed One. Would people finally see that he was the Messiah? I prayed… “oh Lord, even David was anointed king as a boy!”
Jesus recited a passage from Malachi, “For behold, the day is coming, burning like an oven, when all the arrogant and all evildoers will be stubble. The day that is coming shall set them ablaze, says the LORD of hosts, so that it will leave them neither root nor branch. But for you who fear my name, the sun of righteousness shall rise with healing in its wings. You shall go out leaping like calves from the stall. And you shall tread down the wicked, for they will be ashes under the soles of your feet, on the day when I act, says the LORD of hosts. Remember the law of my servant Moses, the statutes and rules that I commanded him at Horeb for all Israel. Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the great and awesome day of the LORD comes. And he will turn the hearts of fathers to their children and the hearts of children to their fathers, lest I come and strike the land with a decree of utter destruction.” (Malachi 4:1-6)
My heart burned in my chest at the words Jesus spoke, “But for you who fear my name…” Would the congregation come to fear the name of Jesus?
I grew eager to see the great day of the Lord. I knew God’s timing was perfect and his ways were higher, but I wondered if I would live to see Jesus come into his kingdom. I had many conversations with Joseph and he helped me understand the Old Testament prophesies. Joseph seemed more troubled to consider Jesus’ future than I was. He recited Isaiah 53. I still couldn’t understand how anyone could despise and reject Jesus. He was so good, so completely perfect. How could people not rejoice once he revealed himself? Still, I remembered the words of Simeon, “And a sword will pierce your very soul.”
I also considered how even my own relatives thought I lied about Jesus’ miraculous conception. How people from my own town would have stoned me. If I had to suffer because of God’s will concerning Jesus, what about Jesus himself? Joseph admitted that he still did not understand God’s will, but that whatever happened, however things seemed, we must trust and obey God just like Jesus.
Every year our family would celebrate the Passover in Jerusalem, remembering how God had passed over the Jewish people but did not spare the Egyptian firstborns from death. It was a celebration of Israel’s liberation from captivity. I thought back to when my relative Elizabeth, mother of John the Baptist, had told me that when the time was right, John would announce the coming of the Messiah. Since then, Elizabeth had passed away and John had not been seen or heard of for years. But every year at Passover I hoped for his appearance and his announcement of Jesus as Messiah. But year after year, there was no sign of him, and Jesus sat unrecognized at the Passover feast.
Our family continued to grow as I gave birth to Sarah. And eighteen months later we had twins, Simon and Jude. As time passed and Jesus grew older, I wondered more and more about his future. Late one night I found Jesus reclining on the steps outside our house, sitting alone under the stars. I could only imagine what he was thinking as he gazed at them. Was he counting them, calling each one by name? I watched him for a while before I broke the silence. “Jesus,” I approached him with a renewed sense of wonder at how small I was. He wasn’t surprised by my voice, like he knew I was there all along. “My son, do you know who you are?” I asked. My heart leapt in my chest when he looked up at me. The stars were reflected in his eyes. “I am my father’s son,” he said, but I didn’t know if he meant Joseph, or God… “Jesus,” I paused, then decided to ask him directly, “Jesus, when will you make yourself known to the world?” Then he looked away from my face, but I still saw his smile fade. Suddenly I understood that there were things he would not, or could not, say. It seemed to cause him pain. “When my time has come,” he finally answered, and he looked back at me with such deep compassion that I didn’t have the heart to press him further.
Though Jesus was my son, he was not mine. Though I was his mother, I was not his authority. I felt this truth the heaviest when my husband Joseph put his hand on his chest one night and fell to the ground. Jesus was right there with us, holding him, crying. Though he desperately wanted to help his earthly father, he had to trust and obey his heavenly father above all. Joseph understood, and wanted to be alone with Jesus in his final hour. Through the crack in the door I fell to the ground and wept when I heard Jesus say to Joseph, “You have been a good and faithful servant.”
I was forced to accept that I could not understand God’s plan, even though I was looking God in the face every day. I had so many unanswered questions, even though I talked with him all the time. Though he couldn’t help my emotions to a certain extent, I knew he could feel them. He sympathized with my confusion and his eyes were always so full of compassion. When I was tempted to doubt his love, I saw how well he provided for our family, always. I saw how hard he worked to keep us safe. How he taught his brothers and sisters God’s ways. I wondered how long it would take for them to realize he was more than just their brother.
Years passed, and finally I heard news of a new prophet named John baptizing people in the Jordan River. I had to see him for myself! Could this be Elizabeth’s son, who would announce Jesus as the Messiah? The banks of the Jordan were full of onlookers when my sons and I arrived. Despite the crowd, John immediately recognized Jesus. Jesus went into the water to meet and be baptized by John, and as John baptized him, he looked toward heaven as if he saw it opening up. But I didn’t see anything. My other sons and I followed Jesus into the water and were baptized, but afterwards we lost Jesus in the crowd. I was worried when Jesus did not return home. Time after time, I had to remind myself that Jesus was not my own.
“As was his custom, Jesus went to the synagogue on the Sabbath day, and he stood up to read. And the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written, ‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.’ And he rolled up the scroll and gave it back to the attendant and sat down. And the eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. And he began to say to them, ‘Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing’.” (Luke 4:16-21)
My heart was about to burst with joy! Finally Jesus was making himself known as the Anointed One! But my excitement turned to terror in a moment. “Isn’t this Joseph’s son?” asked a man, but his question sounded more like an accusation. “No prophet is acceptable in his hometown,” Jesus responded. “Even in his own family,” he thought as his brothers looked away in shame and disbelief. “Blasphemous words!” a man shouted back at Jesus. Suddenly there was an uproar. The people grabbed Jesus and drove him out of the synagogue, even attempting to throw him down a nearby cliff. Jesus was forced to flee the town, and only his disciples followed him. I wept as I watch him leave our hometown, not knowing when or if he would ever return. After all this time of anticipating his announcement as Messiah, I could hardly bare how suddenly he was rejected by his hometown, even his own family.
The time of the Passover arrived, and I traveled to Jerusalem with my sons, daughters, and their families to celebrate. I overheard strangers talking about Jesus. They mostly spoke of his miracles, and I was grieved by the thought that all they cared about was what he could do for them, not who he was or why he came. What if he didn’t do as they asked or expected? Would they love him then?
Upon our arrival in Jerusalem, we heard shouting getting louder and louder: “Hosanna to the son of David: Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord; Hosanna in the highest.” (Matt. 21:9) There was a crowd before Jesus and behind him, spreading out their garments and tree branches in the road. I couldn’t believe my eyes! The people were all praising him! Finally he was going to be lifted up as Israel’s true King! Finally he would set his people free!
All we could do was keep up with the crowd. My sons James, Joseph, Simon, and Jude helped the rest of us to walk, and we were led to the entrance of the Temple. “Jesus must be going there to declare himself!” I thought, exhilarated. But a silence fell over the crowd as soon as we heard banging and clanging from inside the Temple. Suddenly I heard a familiar voice echo from the Temple with a tone of great authority and anger, “It is written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer,’ but you make it a den of robbers.” (Matt. 21:13)
The crowd gasped as Jesus emerged from the Temple. He was only feet away from where we were standing when he stopped to behold the city, tears streaming down his face, “Would that you, even you, had known on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes…” He fell to his knees and wept, but I couldn’t get close enough to hold him. It broke my heart that the same son I used to comfort every time he cried was now out of my reach. I couldn’t sing him to sleep. I couldn’t dry his tears or ease his fears. He was no longer a boy, but a man, and I couldn’t rescue him.
How could I have imagined the events that were taking place. The things that God had planned. How could I understand? I soon found myself in the midst of another crowd that was shouting for Jesus. But this time they were screaming, “Crucify! Crucify!” And I couldn’t fathom why. “No!” I cried. Couldn’t everyone see what I saw in his eyes? The innocence? compassion? And love? The very Spirit of God? But now they cried out for his blood! How could this be happening? They would kill our Savior King! They would kill my baby!
No matter how many had denied him, I would stay by his side. I followed him outside the walls of Jerusalem to a place called Golgotha, the place of death. Would this be how he was lifted up as the King of the Jews? In mockery rather than honor? In hate rather than praise? I could barely breathe as I fell to my knees. I couldn’t believe God could bleed. I felt the death of all my hopes and dreams. I watched as our future was nailed to the cross and all I loved and had longed for was lost. I felt as though I would die with the Son of God – how could I carry on?
Though my heart was distraught, I knew that God was still God. Though for thirty three years I called him my son, though he was my own flesh and blood, I had the feeling I barely knew him at all. You can only imagine my relief once I had eyes to see what I could barely believe in my grief. Mary Magdalene came bursting into the upper room, saying, “I have seen the Lord! He is alive!” Though others thought she was out of her mind, I immediately started to cry. In the midst of the commotion she caused I heard a familiar voice, “Peace to you!” Silence and wonder filled the room. It was too good to be true!
Standing before us was Jesus! I fell before him and kissed his wounded hands and feet. “Thus it is written, that the Christ should suffer and on the third day rise from the dead, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins should be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem.” (Luke 24:45-47) Everything became so clear to me as he spoke. Not only was Jesus the Messiah for Israel, but he was the Savior to every nation! The hopes and dreams I thought were lost were far exceeded! God’s plan was better than I could have ever imagined!
Suddenly I remembered back to when I cried out for God to save Jesus from the cross, but I couldn’t see that the one he was really saving was me. Ordinary, unlikely me.
That’s why I tell you with confidence that no matter how ordinary your life may seem, no matter how unlikely you might feel, God has extraordinary purposes for you. And he always keeps his promises.
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