An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife
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MARY Faces Her Father
“Father, I must talk to you.”
“What is it, daughter?” He searched my face carefully, alert to my uneasiness. “Is something wrong?”
“No, Father, nothing is wrong, although probably you will think so. You have taught me well, as a daughter in Israel, that one day the Messiah will come, born into this world as a baby,” I paused before adding, “to a virgin mother.”
He nodded. “True, true.”
“Father, an angel has come to me with a message from God. He told me that I—I am that mother.”
My father frowned and shook his head. “No,” he said slowly, “no, Mary, you are but a child with fanciful dreams—” He stopped abruptly and his face clouded. “Oh! Oh, now I see. What a convenient story! I would have thought you might just come to me with the truth!”
“Oh Father, Joseph and I have not—“
He could not hear me, he was so upset—far more than I had imagined he would be. He went on and on, and I could only listen, hoping he would after awhile run out of angry words to say. At last he quieted.
“Well,” he said with resignation, “I don’t approve, of course; I’m sure you know that. But what’s done is done. Joseph will marry you very soon then?”
“No, Father, that will have to wait.” Oh, how was I going to tell him this? “At least, we won’t be living together—as husband and wife—until it’s time for the baby to be born. Because the baby isn’t—Joseph isn’t—“
“Speak up, girl,” my father ordered impatiently. “What are you trying to say?”
“The angel told me the baby is a Holy Child,” I explained. “I am to bring forth the Son of the Highest. I cannot marry yet, just to give the baby Joseph’s name.”
My father’s earlier anger was nothing compared to what I saw now. Ignoring the explanation I had tried to give, he fairly exploded. “Are you telling me that Joseph is not the father of this child?”
I nodded, not daring to look up at his darkened countenance. O God, please let him understand.
My father roared on. “I can’t believe this! Do you realize what this means? Joseph will not want you! No man will want you! Joseph will put you away, and I don’t blame him. You’re going to be a divorced woman before you’re even out of your teens, before you were even really married. This is a disgraceful situation, Mary. I’m absolutely mortified!”
“Joseph will do what is right,” I said stubbornly, though I felt my heart was breaking. “You know that he is a just man.”
My father’s face was grim. “Mary, your marriage to one of the finest men in the village was already arranged. You were only days away from announcing your betrothal. It’s beyond my understanding how you could throw all of that away. I cannot say how disappointed I am.” He sighed deeply. “Of course, your mother and I will care for you, and we will do the best we can to protect you from the harshness of the community. But I must tell you, this is terribly humiliating. Please don’t make it worse by trying to excuse it with fanciful talk of a miracle conception or some such thing.”
I was stunned. “You don’t believe me, do you?” I cried. “You don’t believe that the angel spoke to me. You don’t believe this baby is the Promised One!” In my anguish, I was shrieking the words. “My own father thinks I’m nothing but—but a whore!”
“Now Mary, listen to me,” he began, trying to calm me. “You’re becoming overwrought and that’s not wise—well, in your condition—that is, just in case . . . We won’t talk about it any more right now. We’ll try to think this through, do what is best for everybody.”
(To be continued)
MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)
Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com
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