A Lineage of Grace by Francine Rivers
Will they recognize him when his time comes to proclaim himself to the nations?
Even as the question reared up in Joseph’s mind, Isaiah’s words came rushing in. “He was despised and rejected—a man of sorrows, acquainted with bitterest grief. . . .Yet it was our weaknesses he carried; it was our sorrows that weighed him down . . . a punishment from God. . . . Yet the Lord laid on him the guilt and sins of us all.”
No.
“It was the Lord’s good plan to crush him and fill him with grief. . . . His life is made an offering for sin.”
Joseph groaned, clutching at his chest.
“What is it, Joseph?” Mary said, suddenly at his side. “Joseph!” He felt her arms around him, but he could only look at Jesus and weep.
* * *
Joseph felt Jesus lift him while the others were all talking at once, shaken by fear and confusion. “Hush, now,” Mary said firmly. “Don’t be afraid. Your brother is going to help.”
As Jesus lowered him to the pallet, Joseph sensed the struggle going on inside the boy. Had there ever been a time in Jesus’ life when he’d not come face-to-face with temptation and had to battle his human nature and crush it? Joseph saw the sweat bead on Jesus’ brow now. “Oh,” Joseph groaned, filled with anguish. Would Jesus fight and overcome evil only to be killed in the end? How could this be?
The pain in his chest increased, along with his conviction that he was dying. “Come close, my children. Come!” As they knelt beside him, he drew each down, kissing them and blessing them. “Listen to your brother, Jesus. Obey your mother. Trust in the Lord. . . .”
“You’ll be all right, Joseph,” Mary said, receiving his blessing, her eyes tear-filled but fierce. “I know you will. Jesus has only to—”
“Hush,” Joseph said, putting his fingertips over her lips. Should they presume a miracle would be performed just because they wanted it? Should they expect Jesus, God the Son, the great I Am, to do their bidding? “God decides,” he whispered. “We mustn’t burden Jesus more.”
Mary looked up at her son, her face pale and strained. Joseph saw how she pleaded with her eyes. “Mary, I must speak with Jesus.”
“Yes, Joseph.” Mary rose quickly.
Every breath he drew was painful. The fingers of his hand were numb and sweat soaked through his tunic. Mary quickly gathered the children and urged them from the room. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at her eldest son. “I know you can help him. Do so. Please. Do so.” She left the room.
Jesus sat close beside Joseph when the room was empty. Joseph smiled at him. Fighting the pain in his chest, he took Jesus’ hand and placed it over his heart. “We don’t make it easy for you.”
“You weren’t meant to.”
Anguish clenched Joseph’s throat. “Soften their hearts, Jesus. The children . . . oh, please. Soften their hearts so they will understand and be saved.”
“Each must choose.”
“Even faith comes from God.”
“Each must choose.”
“But will they choose to believe you are the Messiah? Will they . . . ?”
“Do you trust me?”
Joseph looked into his eyes. “Yes.” He drew a sobbing breath. “I was thinking of Isaiah as you were speaking to the children.” His eyes blurred with tears. “‘As a lamb,’ the Scriptures say. ‘He was led as a lamb to the slaughter.’”
He searched Jesus’ eyes and saw in them infinite love and compassion. The boy Jesus was only fifteen years old, but Joseph saw in him the Son of Man of whom the prophet Daniel had spoken. Joseph had seen the strength in him from birth and sensed the unending battle that went on around him. Not once in all his days had Jesus weakened and given in to sin. Not once had Joseph seen a sword in Jesus’ hand, even when other boys his age played Zealot or King David. Not once had Jesus given in to the human desires that plagued everyone who entered the world. Who but God could withstand the onslaught of constant temptation?
“He was led as a lamb to the slaughter.”
Weeping, Joseph closed his eyes. “You will take our guilt and sin upon you and be the offering. That’s why you’ve been given to us, isn’t it?” Joseph was overwhelmed with love for this boy he had reared from birth but never dared call his own. And he was torn by grief for what he feared would happen to Jesus. “They’ll reject you.”
Jesus said nothing. He merely laid his hand gently on Joseph’s brow as Joseph held the other over his heart.
“I love you, Jesus. Save my children. And your mother. She doesn’t understand.” How could she, and still be in such a hurry to press him on?
“Don’t worry,” Jesus said. “I’m with them.”
“I am so weak.” Should he doubt God now?
“Rest,” Jesus said softly. Joseph closed his eyes again and thought he heard Jesus whisper, “You have been a good and faithful servant.”
The pain lifted as his children entered the room and gathered around him again. Mary knelt beside him and took his hand tightly in hers. Joseph smiled, but he had no strength to speak. He wanted to tell her she had been a good wife, a good mother, but he’d said those things to her many times before. She knew he loved her. Still, he saw the confusion in her eyes, the fear, the appeal when she looked at Jesus.
Joseph tried to speak. She leaned down, putting her ear near his lips. “Trust. Obey.” When she laid her head upon his chest and wept, he looked up at Jesus. The only one they needed stood silent near the door, tears running down his cheeks as he obeyed the will of his Father, and did nothing to keep death away. Strangely, Joseph was no longer afraid. He sighed, relieved.
Closing his eyes, he entered his reward.
* * *
“Joseph!” Mary cried out when he stopped breathing. “Joseph!” She pulled Joseph’s shoulders up and held him in her arms. How could this be? She looked up at Jesus. He was weeping. “Why?” she sobbed. “Why?” She knew he could have healed Joseph! She knew he had the power. Hadn’t he healed Anne with a brush of his hand? Hadn’t he multiplied their loaves of bread, filled their cruses with oil? Why had he allowed Joseph whom he loved to die?
Because he doesn’t care. Because it serves his purpose.
No. She refused to believe it. She could see the sorrow in Jesus’ eyes. She knew he loved Joseph. How many times had she seen them laugh together as they worked side by side in the shop? or seen them with their heads close together as they read Scripture?
And now your son just stands there and watches him die. He does nothing. And now you’re alone—a widow with seven children to feed and no man to provide for you. Is this the way God takes care of you?
No! She would not think such evil thoughts! She would not allow doubt to slither into her mind and sink its fangs into her, spreading poison.
“Jesus.” She moaned. “Jesus!”
He was beside her at once, his hands upon her shoulders. “I am here, Mother.”
She wept as she eased Joseph’s body back onto the pallet and touched his face tenderly. How would she go on without Joseph’s strength, his wisdom, his encouragement and love? Hadn’t God spoken through him and guided them to Egypt, then back to Israel, and then here to Nazareth? And Joseph had been faithful, quick to obey when God spoke.
The children were all crying, confused, frightened, grieving. She understood how they felt, for she was caught in the same feelings, drowning in them. She tried to think what to do. Reaching up, she gripped Jesus’ hand resting on her shoulder. As firstborn, he was now head of the family.
* * *
“I have no money to buy spices,” Mary told her sister. How would she prepare Joseph’s body for burial?
“We have spices, Mother.” Jesus rose and went to the box Joseph had packed in Bethlehem that night so long ago when they had fled after the angel warned them Herod would try to kill Jesus. He opened it and took out the alabaster jar.
“What is that?” Mary’s sister said.
“We can’t use that,” Mary said.
“Use it
“But it was a gift to you, my son.”
“A gift?” Her sister looked between them. “Such a jar? Who would give such a gift?”
“It is mine,” Jesus said, “and I can give it to whom I choose.” He placed it in her hands and left Mary alone in the room with her sister and the body of her husband, Joseph.
Weeping, Mary held the jar reverently. Removing the seal, she opened it and the room was filled with the sweet scent of myrrh as she obeyed her son.
* * *
In the months following the death of her beloved Joseph, Mary was torn by confusion and anger. Sometimes she felt she was surrounded by attackers, whispering doubts and accusations. It was all she could do to cover her head and pray.
Oh, Lord God, I don’t know why you’ve taken Joseph from us, and why life must be so hard. I don’t understand why your Son must labor like every other man, putting bread on our table by the blood and sweat of his brow. I don’t know why so many years have passed and he still hides himself away.
But I dwell in your promises, Lord. . . . You said Jesus will be very great and will be called the Son of the Most High. You said you will give him the throne of his ancestor David. You said his kingdom will never end. I remember it as if it happened yesterday. I remember. But, O Lord my God, it is so hard to wait to see the fulfillment of your promises.
* * *
Jesus worked hard to provide for the family, dealing with recalcitrant patrons who dragged their feet about paying their bills, or those who complained for no other reason than to hear the sound of their own voices. Mary never saw Jesus lose his temper.
When the time was right, Jesus arranged marriages for his sisters, finding for them young men who sought to please God above all others. Jesus continued to work with his brothers in their father’s shop, teaching them the skills Joseph had taught him. Along the way, Jesus tried to teach them the ways of God. James was often difficult, and young Joseph followed his example, but Jesus remained patient, loving, firm.
“What use is studying the Torah when Rome crushes our people? I should be learning how to use a sword!” James cried out passionately, contending with Jesus yet again.
Jesus answered quietly. “Your work is to remain faithful to God.”
James’s face reddened. “I am faithful! How am I not faithful? I study. I recite.”
“You study, but you don’t understand. Your heart is given over to wrath.”
“My heart is filled with righteous anger!”
“Where is the righteousness in following after those who would spill innocent blood?”
“Show me a Roman who’s innocent!”
“James!” Mary tried to calm herself. “Listen to your brother.”
James turned on her. “You always take his side. Just because Jesus is older doesn’t mean he knows everything.”
Angry, Mary rose. “You will show your brother the respect he’s due as head of this family. Listen to what he says.”
“I won’t listen.” James covered his face and wept in frustration. “I already know what he’ll say, and I’m sick of hearing it.”
Mary looked at Jesus, beseeching him to say something to turn the boy from living in resentment and anger. Jesus rose and went out to take another of his long walks in the hills.
Sitting with her boys, she pleaded with them. “You must listen to Jesus, my sons. You must allow him to train you as he desires, for one day you will see that he is more than your brother.”
Joseph looked at her. “The rabbi told us every Jewish mother looks upon her firstborn son as the Messiah.”
“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.
SIX
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.