An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife
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JOSEPH Shares a Dream
“Come, sit out here in the arbor,” I urged when she met me at the doorway. I sat beside her on the bench, taking her hands in mine. “I’m so sorry for the grief I’ve caused you,” I began. “Wait now, don’t cry. Let me tell you something. I had a dream last night. An angel of the Lord came to me—yes, to me too, Mary—and he told me, ‘Don’t be afraid to take Mary as your wife. The child who is conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit. She will bring forth a son, and you are to call him Jesus because He will be the Savior who redeems your people from their sins.’ “
She stared at me. “You should call him Jesus? The angel told you that? Oh Joseph, that’s what the angel told me too! I never told you. Oh, it’s true! It’s true! You believe now, don’t you! And we will be married after all?” I could see in her face the joy that was welling up in the place that sorrow had carved out.
“Yes, we will be married,” I assured her. “But we do face an awkward dilemma, Mary. If we hope to convince others of what we know to be the truth, that this child is indeed the Son of God, we must wait for the right time.”
“I already know what you are going to say, Joseph. You are not the father, and we cannot pretend that you are. If we rush into our marriage just now, it will seem to acknowledge that we are hurrying to give the baby a legitimate heritage, will it not?”
“Can you stand it, Mary? It’s asking a great deal of you to bear the stigma of what folks here will view as an illegitimate birth.”
She hesitated only a heartbeat before she turned shining eyes to me again. “I can do it, Joseph. It is hard, but if you alone believe in me, I can do it.”
In the months that followed, we both had many occasions to remember those words. Few besides me did believe in Mary. Seldom anyone went out of their way to be considerate of a teenage girl, heavy with a child that was not easily accounted for. Mary was self-conscious, and often tired and uncomfortable. Finally, she was spending most of her time in seclusion. I was self-conscious too, the object of many angry looks. The baby was due within the month.
GABRIEL Asks a Question
How can I explain there being sorrow in the presence of God? Something was missing . . . no, Someone was gone.
“Where is He?” I asked the Holy One. “Where is the wonderful light He gave? Where is the comfort we knew when He was here with us?”
“He’s waiting,” God replied. “He’s going to born, remember?”
“But He’s not saying anything,” I protested. “He’s not been in touch with any of us for months. It almost looks like He’s forgotten us.”
“Yes,” the Father said slowly. “Yes, He has indeed forgotten us. For awhile now, He has no memory of the glories of heaven, no awareness of your readiness to bring Him aid, no consciousness at all that I await His return to My side. That’s part of what I meant when I told you that He would empty Himself.”
I buried my face in His robes and wept.
(To be continued)
MaryMartha
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Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com
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