It's going to be alright: Mary's story

Someone told me that they had come for him.

You know how people love to pass on bad news? Someone rushed to my lodgings to tell me the worst news there could be, and close behind them my daughters pushed past to kneel in front of me. They would have been more gentle with their choice of words but the news would have been the same.

They had him and they meant to kill him.

I have no words to describe the agony of that moment. I know that I have no right to speak of agony having witnessed what they did to my beautiful boy, but I was torn apart right then. There was a stillness in the room as time stopped and my heart began to bleed. I couldn't take a breath. 

It was over. 

I had never understood my boy Jesus. To be honest I longed for him to live a quiet life, to take over the business, to stay with us and find a nice girl to marry and bring me my first grandchildren as befits my eldest son, but I always knew that it wouldn't happen like that. That there would be no easy life, no perfecting the carpentry skills that his father taught him. Joseph always said he was a good woodworker - had a feel for the wood in his hands - and with practice he could be great, but Jesus always smiled said nothing. He knew that his hands were made for something other than sanding wood. 

As he grew up I knew that he was not like the other children, even though in many ways he was just the same. He had a sense of fun, a ready wit, a boy's curiosity. He had something about him... he was such a good boy. No pushover, don't get me wrong, he was no goody-goody. I used to say that he was stubborn, but Joseph always laughed at my exasperation and told me that it was determination. The other children looked up to him. They deferred to him; he had presence, even as a small boy. And as he grew up and Joseph took him to the temple, we were soon in awe of his understanding. It was as if he were from another world.  Ha. 

I knew. I think I always knew. I knew that day at the wedding when he did the thing with the wine; I knew when I heard reports of amazing things that he was doing. I knew he was born for something greater than staying at home with his mother. If only.

As I wept and rocked back and forth that awful night and wished for a husband to hold me, and a strong carpenter son to walk through the door to tell me that it would be alright, just as he always had - that's when it came back to me.

Thirty three years ago. 

I was in a room not dissimilar to this one, and I was sleepy. 

'Don't be afraid, Mary. You're going to have a baby, and you'll call him Jesus. He will be great - he will be the Most High - his kingdom will never end.'

That's what the angel said to me. Have you ever had an angel speak to you? I remember the turmoil in my head that night, and then the strange, unnatural calm that came over me. It would be alright. I've looked for that same calm many times since then but it doesn't come from inside me. No, it comes from God. When I was with my eldest son I usually felt calm; he had that effect on people. I saw it over and over again as he was growing up. 

These last few years it's been different, somehow. He still inspired, still comforted, still reassured, but I saw a few people narrow their eyes when he talked to them; some people didn't get it. They didn't open their minds to his message. And this is what got him into such trouble. His determination - that stubbornness - to get the message across made him his enemies. He spoke out more and more. Yes, he did his wonderful things, he healed people, he taught people, but he challenged them too. He didn't pull his punches, and some people don't like to be told.

But I digress. There was something else. Quite apart from the circumstances around his conception and cousin Elizabeth's response, apart from the angels and the shepherds and the wise men, as if those things weren't enough!

Something else. 

Back from the early days when I still didn't know what being a mother was all about. I was so, so tired that day that I could barely put one foot in front of the other but it was time to take him to the temple for purification, and so we did. Joseph was so proud. You should have seen his face; and when I think how hard it must have been for him... he was the proud daddy of that baby boy that day, let there be no mistake. He was a good man, my Joseph. I miss him so much. 

So - at the temple. We presented Jesus and they all crowded round. An old man called Simeon came up to me. He looked at me with urgency in his eyes and tears on his cheeks and he told me that my baby was special. He would save people. He said that he could die in peace now because he had seen the Holy One of Israel.

Joseph and I wondered at it. Simeon gazed at Jesus for a long time. I wasn't sure what to do as he was due another feed and I really didn't want him to make a scene in the temple. I should have known better. There was nowhere that he was more content than at the temple. Before Simeon turned to go, he put a hand on my arm and spoke in a low voice. His eyes filled with something I didn't recognise, but I now know it to be pity. 

He said, 'A sword will pierce your heart.'

I told Joseph about it when we got home and he didn't get it either. He dismissed it as just something else that we didn't understand about our baby son. He put his arm around me and told me 'It will be alright,' and my heart settled. I believed him. God has had his hand on this boy's life since the beginning. Why would it not turn out alright? Great things were in store.

That day, when they told me that he'd been taken, the old man's words came back to me. It's exactly what happened. I sat there, my daughters' faces buried in my skirts, and I wailed as if I had been stabbed in the heart. I thought I might die, it hurt so much. 

The thing is, I have had to be strong. From the day that I found out I was pregnant, life has had moments where I've needed to be strong above anything else, and this was one of those moments. I was no use to anyone if I crumbled and refused to get up off the floor. I brought my beloved son into the world and I nursed him, and I taught him everything I knew, and then listened as he taught me.

I would not fail him.

I cannot talk about the next hours. I saw it all. I saw him endure more than a man can endure and I must confess that I shook my fist at God as I watched my eldest son, my perfect boy, suffer so completely. They did unspeakable things to him and they left him on that hillside to die. I saw it all. My throat was hoarse from sobbing and my eyes ran out of tears and became so dry and sore from the dust and...from seeing things that no mother should have to see. 

My boy. My beautiful son. He knew I was there, you know; he spoke to me as I leaned on John and watched him bleed. I take some comfort that he knew I was there. I didn't run away as some did; I didn't fear the Romans. What could they do to me that they hadn't already done? They took my firstborn son and they killed him. They broke my heart.

I watched that kind man Joseph take his body down and I kissed his bloody forehead as they wrapped him in his grave-clothes. Even in death he was not diminished, you know. He was still so beautiful to me. They couldn't hurt him any more. I took the thorns from his head and I smoothed his hair as I used to when he was small. They had to pull me away as they laid him in the tomb. I would have stayed there with him. They could have buried me too.

They took me home and the girls sat with me late into the night. 

I have nothing more to say, because you know what happened on Sunday. You know that this wasn't the end, even though it seemed like it. 

I don't know what the eleven did that night but I didn't see them. They would have known that I'd have words to say to them - where were they when my boy needed them? They stayed away from me. I imagine they hid, and I suppose I don't really blame them. Who knew if the soldiers would come for them too?

But I sat and I wept some more, and I berated God who had asked me to bring his child into the world in the first place. I wanted him to take the pain away. To bring back my son. To make it alright. But surely nothing would ever be right again.

I didn't move all night and all day Saturday. The girls brought me something to eat, but there was no way that I could feel hunger. I prayed. I gave him all my tears and my pain and my pierced soul. I laid it down. I had nothing left.

And then things changed. Everything changed.

I knew before they came bursting through the door for the second time in three days. I knew before Mary took my hands in hers and stammered out her tale of joy and wonder.

It came to me in the night as I sat, lost in my pain. That strange, unworldly feeling of calm. God spoke words of peace once again; this time not to a naive young girl with an unplanned pregnancy - this time to a mother whose soul was torn apart from watching her perfect son crucified. He didn't leave me in my agony.

I knew that they would go to the tomb to take care of the body.

I knew that they wouldn't find him there.

It's all going to be alright. 

Picture credit: 1. Cenetaph003.jpg (sic) by LittleJack 
Courtesy of Morguefile.com
Used with permission.

Reposted from not long ago, actually, but it seemed the right thing for Good Friday.

A minor prophet

Afternoon, Lord.

I was reading something someone had written in an online diary the other day. They were asking and asking you what they should do with their life. Surely there's more to it than this?  The school run, the laundry, the shopping, the tidying... Where are the great things you want me to do, God?  Questions like that. 

Questions that I've asked as well. Sometimes I think I hear your answers and other times I strain to listen but all I hear is silence (and that little ringing noise that doesn't go away - any chance of a quick fix there?).  I know that I'm not on my own when I open my hands and my heart in front of you and ask you to tell me what to do with this life I'm living. There's so much literature about finding our path, our 'sweet spot', our purpose in life. It's all very inspiring; there's good Bible-based wisdom in it all. I want to do great things for you. I want to be involved in your Plan for the world. Not a bystander, not someone who takes the line of least resistance, but someone that you trust with a unique job to do. I want to understand what that job is and I want to do it well and I want to meet you one day and find you smiling. 

So the reply that my online friend received when she asked, 'What about me? What should I do with my life?' surprised me. You said, 'Just be.'

Be.

I'm not sure that this was the answer she was expecting. I know that there's a season for everything, and I know that this lady's life is busy with small children and work and other commitments and I know that her questions were born of a desperation to change from the humdrum to the extraordinary. To find some purpose that transcends the everyday. 

I want that too, Father. I love the full-colour roller coaster of life lived for you. I don't want to go back to the black and white or pale pastel way things were before. I want to experience all that you have for me. Fulfil my potential. Push at the boundaries and be all that I can be. 

It all feels about motion. Action. Dynamism. Excitement and suspense! Not stopping, waiting, resting, just be-ing. In fact that sounds a bit disappointing. 

And then I did that thing I do where I suddenly join up the dots. A few things that have been whirling round in my head like atoms flying around each other spontaneously collide. Ha! 

Just rewind a bit. A couple of months ago, I was leafing through my Bible and I came to the book of Micah. I didn't think I'd ever read any Micah but remarkably, there were a few notes in the margin. It turns out Micah is a minor prophet, and I learn that this doesn't mean that he was small in stature, or young, or not-very-important, it just means that he wasn't as prolific as other prophets like Isaiah or Ezekiel.  

He said some good stuff. He said that the Shepherd would be born in Bethlehem and would be the peace of his people. Oh yes. He said that he will shepherd his flock in strength and majesty and that his greatness will reach the ends of the earth. Amen to that. 

Micah also made some fairly dire pronouncements and a lot of stuff that I'd have to read with a commentary in my other hand, but I found this in chapter 6.

'With what shall I come before the Lord
and bow down before the exalted God?
Shall I come before him with burnt offerings,
with calves a year old?
Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams,
with ten thousand rivers of oil?'

Micah 6: 6-7

What can I do for you, Father? 

What can I give you to show you how I feel about you? 

What should my offering be, now that we don't burn things? 

What do you want me to do with my life?  

How can I do great things for you? 

And then:

'He has showed you, O man, what is good.
And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.'

Micah 6:8

I liked this. I underlined it and drew a line down the margin. It seems to me to be a wonderful summary of everything you ask of us. 

Act justly, love mercy, walk humbly with your God.

I filed it away. 

Some time later, a song I didn't know came on my worship CD in the car. 

'What shall I bring before the Lord?
And bow my knee before my God?
Extravagant sacrifice?'

(Andy Bromley, 'Love Mercy' 2004 Kingsway)

That sounded familiar. It's based on that bit from the minor prophet, isn't it? What's his name...

'Can I give you a thousand words
Or please you with ten thousand songs?
Extravagant sacrifice?'

Oh. This bit got my attention. I might not do songs (except when there's nobody else in the house, when I might turn it up loud), but I do words. Lots of them. I am full of words. When words fail me it's time to lie down. I love words. I always have something to say, and that's just it: I want to use them. For you! I want to write to you, about you, with you and through you. It's what I do. 

Can I please you with my words? 

'But you have shown us what is good
Through the message of your Son
Show justice, love mercy, walk humbly with your God.'

Micah. That's his name. He was saying that what you want is simple. You want us to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with you.  Burnt offerings? No, that day is done.  Extravagant sacrifice? Nope. You don't want that. It's simple. 

Be. 

This is good: do what is right. Be kind. Walk humbly with you. 

Maybe you have something bold and dramatic in store for each of me, now or some time in the future. Maybe you do and maybe you don't, but what comes first is the basic requirement. You have shown us what is good and this is it.  As the Message Bible puts it:

'It's quite simple: Do what is fair and just to your neighbour, be compassionate and loyal in your love, And don't take yourself too seriously - Take God seriously.'

Micah 6:8 MSG

What do you want me to do with my life, Father?  Ah. You've already told me. 

Yes, I have gifts that I want to use to the full.  I want to do everything that you want me to in order to realise all the potential I have. I don't want to bury my talents in the ground, I want to invest them and give you back abundant returns. I want to be trusted with much, and make it wonderful for your glory. I want to make you laugh with delight.

But maybe I do already. You love me just as I am, right now, right here. Sitting here with cold feet and cold coffee and an imperfect mind that tends to wander when I try to spend a little bit of time with the Almighty God. It's much simpler than finding my sweet spot, or my hidden talents to tell me what you would have me do with my life; you have already told me the most important thing, which is how to be.

' And what does the Lord require of you?To act justly and to love mercyand to walk humbly with your God.'

If I get this bit right I wonder how many other things might fall into place? Get the everyday attitude to living right and you might teach me how to fly. If I want the icing on the cake I need the sponge bit first, don't I? And these are the ingredients. 

Justice, mercy, humility, God. 

Father, forgive me when I try to run before I can walk. Forgive me that I want to get ahead and start the exciting things. I have dreams and plans and hopes and I know that you're in them... so I want to thank you for reminding me of the foundations to the whole thing. They need to be solid, and the only place to build is on the Rock.

Maybe I need to learn how to be before I can learn how to do. 

Two lines in a book of the Bible written by a minor prophet. I could miss Micah so easily as I flip past. He's only short (might have been a giant for all I knew, but he chose his words carefully) but he packs quite a punch. 

Help me not to start to think I've got it sorted. Help me with the justice thing and the mercy bit as well. As a mother of young children too often I'm called to adjudicate and all the time I'm critical and irritable. Help me to do what is right. Help me to be kind even when I feel like hitting back. Remind me of your amazing forgiveness of me when I'm tempted to withhold mine from someone who's upset me. Show me the world through your eyes so that I can see what you see. 

Andy Bromley's song again:

My love more than a thousand words  

My praise more that ten thousand songsExtravagant sacrifice.'

The way I live is more of an offering than anything I might achieve. It's what you've asked for. 

I can't do anything or create anything that could honour you more than to turn over to you all that I already am. 

You have shown me what is good: to act justly, love mercy, and to walk humbly with you. 

That'll do for me.