In the Manger ~ Part 5: Mary (Continued)

A dozen other parents stood around them, waiting to present their sacrifice to the Temple priest, and, therefore, their children to the Lord. Babes squalled, apparently growing as impatient with the wait as some of their parents. Jesus cuddled against Mary’s chest, quiet as a lamb and unbothered by the surrounding noise, His tiny fist curled against one precious cheek. She’d quickly found those cheeks were her favorite place to kiss her sweet baby boy.

The amount of love filling her being astounded her. From the moment her eyes met His face, it had overtaken her, all-consuming and relentless. Every memory of her painful labor had faded from her mind, a distant, hazy dream of little consequence. All that mattered was her love for Jesus.

She would give her life for His if it meant keeping Him safe from harm.

There were times she could hardly believe He was here, at last. All the months of fear, worry, and the scorn from their friends and family had been worth it. None of it even mattered anymore, in her eyes. Those people in Nazareth did not know or understand who Jesus was, but she and Joseph did. And so did at least a few others.

Nearly every day over the last month since Jesus’ birth, she’d replayed in her mind the moment the group of ragged, sweaty shepherds stormed into the stable. They knew. A choir of angels had told them a Savior had been born in Bethlehem, sent them to behold His face. They had bowed to the dirty stable floor and worshipped her son. Worshipped Him…

Then little Eli, the precious boy who felt compelled to give Jesus the very best gift he could offer. What was it about children that seemed to make them more sensitive to the things of Yahweh? She knew Eli could not have realized to whom he’d given that beloved toy, but she felt something not of this earth had propelled the child to that selfless moment. Something deep within him knew the importance of his actions, even if his present mind did not.

Every night when she rocked Jesus to sleep, she placed the carved wooden lamb into his hands and said a little prayer for Eli.

She and Joseph moved forward in the line of waiting parents. Mary shifted Jesus in her arms, her muscles still adapting to the frequent weight of a child. The pair of turtledoves marked for their sacrifice flapped within their cage. The poor dears… But the Law demanded their blood be shed and she and Joseph must honor that, no matter how much she hated to see the beautiful creatures die.

A loud gasp turned Mary’s head. An old man stumbled towards them, his eyes wide and arm outstretched. “It is Him!”

Startled, Mary’s heart leapt and she turned to Joseph. His brows rose at the man’s exclamation, but he said nothing.

The man reached them, his glassy eyes trained on Jesus. A light seemed to shine from his age-worn face. “May I hold your son, please?”

Confused and shocked by the request, Mary’s mouth opened and closed then opened again. “Uh… Yes. You may. For a moment.” Anxiety twisted her stomach as she relinquished Jesus into the stranger’s arms.

But it faded only seconds later.

The man held Jesus suspended in the air and lifted his face heavenward, tears trailing down his temples into frizzled gray hair. He uttered blessings to Yahweh then cried, “Lord, now let Your servant depart in peace, according to Your word. For my eyes have seen Your salvation, which you have prepared before the face of all people; a light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of Your people Israel.”

Mary reached for Joseph’s arm, keenly aware of the pointed looks from the other parents waiting for their children to be dedicated to Yahweh. A chill raced over her and she fought the urge to rub at the goosebumps. The old man’s strange and powerful words echoed in her heart and she locked them away for remembrance. “My eyes have seen Your salvation…” Once again, it was confirmed… her son was the Savior for which generations of their people had longed.

The man lowered Jesus and offered Him back to Mary. One of his wrinkled hands rested on her shoulder, the other on Joseph’s. “The One True God bless you both and your babe.” Then his watery eyes fixed on Mary and his voice dropped lower. “Behold, this child is set for the fall and rising again of many in Israel; and for a sign which shall be spoken against—yes, a sword shall pierce through your own soul also—that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.”

An unsettling weight settled in the pit of her stomach. The wonder over the man’s first words turned to fear at his last. Those final few sentences were foreboding, chilling even. What did they mean? A sword would pierce her soul? A sharp prick seized her now pondering the old man’s proclamation.

“Who are you, sir?”

The man smiled at her. “Forgive me if I have startled you. My name is Simeon. And I have waited many years for this day. The Lord promised me I would not die until I beheld the Messiah. And now I have… and I may die in peace.”

Unable to find the words to respond to that, Mary simply nodded. Joseph spoke up for her, offering quick introductions. “You have honored us this day, elder. May Yahweh be with you.”

With a final close-lipped smile and a loving look at Jesus, the man turned and walked away, his steps slow and uneven. Mary watched him go, trying to absorb yet another unexpected event related to the birth of her son.

As they continued to wait for their turn to present their sacrifice, Mary turned the words over in her mind, looking at them one way and then the other. She knew Jesus was their Savior. The shepherds’ visit, Simeon’s emotional and prophetic proclamations, even Eli’s kind, selfless gesture confirmed it. But it remained to be seen how He would be their Savior. Like most of their people, she’d always believed the Messiah would be a valiant king, overthrowing their oppressors, ridding them of foreign rule with the shedding of blood. He would be like a Judge of old, charging in to deliver them, except this time not for just a season but forever.

However, Jesus’ arrival as a lowly babe in a filthy stable… That did not reconcile with the image she’d always held of the Messiah. Everything about His birth was contrary to her people’s long-held grand visions of their eternal deliverance. At this point, she wasn’t sure what to believe. Would Jesus grow to be a powerful warrior that would overthrow Rome in the way most people thought? She could barely imagine the sweet, cuddly baby in her arms as a violent soldier.

Perhaps He would save them in a different way. But what way could that be? How else could they be saved except by being freed from the pagan domination they had suffered for generations?

Jesus whimpered, growing hungry, she knew, though it was impossible for her to feed him in this moment. He would have to wait until she could find a private space. Mary moved Him to her shoulder, patting His back with her hand and bouncing up and down.

If the last ten months of her life had taught her anything, it was that she could not begin to understand the ways of Yahweh, and she dared not try. So, there remained only one thing to do… She would raise her son the best she could, and trust Yahweh’s plan. She would wait and see how their salvation would come.