As newscasters would say: we interrupt this previous scheduled program for the following. Since this is December, I will switch to the topic of Christmas and then complete our discussion on dimensions in January.
There will be five posts about the Heroes of Christmas. I hope you enjoy.
It was just another ordinary day, but something made me restless inside. I sit up. The bright yellow of the sun now chases away the beautiful orange and pink colors of the sunrise. Chores and duties of life come early in our small town of Nazareth. Today is butter day, so I find a somewhat secluded spot to do the churning and be in my own thoughts and what-if scenarios. Other women usually churn with others as they socialize, or as some call it: gossip. Nazareth is not a very large village and almost everyone knows everyone. Invariably, Ima would learn of some slight transgression I made long before I ever reached home to try and explain the circumstance. “Mary,” Ima would say, “whatever possessed you to do such a thing?” At that point, I could only confess and not explain. Explaining had to come before preconceived notions had been made. I love all my neighbors, but sometimes . . . sometimes my mind chooses another word for my feelings about them. I keep that to myself, of course. Yet, life here in Nazareth is nearly impossible without such a close nit community. Quick to help and support, but just as quick to gossip and reach unfounded conclusions.
Afterwards, I sit with Ima to add herbs to the butter I just made and talk with her about all that is on my mind. I am in my mid-teens and just became betrothed last week to a man named Joseph. Now I’m considered married even though it will be a whole year before we are officially together. It feels somewhat surreal. I mean, it occurred so abruptly—at least for me. Ima tells me that Abba had been talking to Joseph’s family about my potential marriage for some time. Apparently, Joseph had talked to his father about me, so Joseph’s father approached my Abba. I’m not sure how I really feel. I mean, I barely know him. I’ve seen him periodically and he would smile at me as we passed, but that was about it. Apparently, he felt that was a good enough impression to ask for me. Ima tells me I’m blessed because not all marriages occur on such good terms. I have heard stories, so I know I should feel blessed, but that is not how I’m feeling right now. I know all of this is quite common. It’s been this way for centuries. Ima says Abba has ensured Joseph is a good man with a good reputation. Many people know him because he is a carpenter and has built things for many in this village and elsewhere. Joseph is already several years older than me. Yet I’m not sure how I feel about marrying someone who is a practical stranger. But Ima says that was true for her as well when she and Abba married and that it didn’t take long for her to start to love him. She pats my arm telling me it will be the same for me. Still . . . hearing about such things and experiencing them are two different things. So, you can see, I have a lot to think about.
In the afternoon, Ima asked me to pick some olives for something she wanted to make for dinner. The grove is just outside the village, so this will give me more time to myself. I try to look determined in my gait until I reach the outskirts of the village so no inappropriate gossip gets back to Ima even though I would be innocent of whatever gossip happened to be imagined in the minds of the women in the village. I sometimes think they need more chores to occupy their time.
I pick a large basket full and then decide to take a break and eat a couple of them. The air suddenly turns. What occurred is hard to describe. The air temperature didn’t change. It just felt . . . different. I see a flash out of the corner of my eye. Turning, I see nothing. Then from around one of the trees comes a man. I say “man”, but I know it isn’t a man. I’m not sure how, but I’m not frightened at all. He seems to exude peace. I have never heard of anyone possessing such a presence about them. But this one did. I kneel, waiting to hear what he has to say.
“Greetings, Mary. I am Gabriel sent by El Elyon. I am to tell you that you are highly favored by Yahweh for he is with you.”
I wasn’t sure what I expected this one to say to me, but this certainly wasn’t it. His words, while praiseworthy, puzzled me. I’m just a young girl, with humble aspirations, in a village of no consequence. Maybe he has the wrong village, the wrong girl. His words make no sense, or no sense to be spoken to someone like me.
“Don’t be afraid or let your thoughts betray you, Mary. You, yes you indeed, have found favor with Yahweh. You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Yashua. He will be great and will be called the Son of El Elyon. Yahweh Elohim will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over Jacob’s descendants forever; his kingdom will never end.”
Needless to say, my mind spun. Not only about me having a son who would somehow become a king of Israel, but that I would have any child at all. It is impossible. Although betrothed, my marriage to Joseph will not be consummated for quite some time. This I could not speed up. I did not understand how any of this could come about.
“I hear your words,” I said, “but how can any of this happen? I’m still a virgin.”
“The Holy Spirit will come on you,” Gabriel said. “The power of El Elyon will overshadow you. So, the holy one to be born will be called the Son of Yahweh. Even Elizabeth, your relative, is going to have a child in her old age, and she who was said to be unable to conceive is in her sixth month. For no word from Yahweh will ever fail.”
I had heard about Elizabeth, and many were saying her pregnancy was indeed a miracle. But I will become pregnant before being with my husband. Would anyone believe such a thing? But everyone in Israel is taught their entire life to expect a coming Messiah, and the prophet Isaiah did say he would be born of a virgin. What would those who gossip about trivial things say about this? Well, it is all about faith, isn’t it? I either believe in the prophecy or I don’t. And if I believe the prophecy, then I must believe that I can be part of this prophecy. So, I trusted and said something I never contemplated in any of my what-if scenarios.
“I am the Lord’s servant,” I said. “May your word to me be fulfilled.”
As quickly as Gabriel appeared, he disappeared. I glanced around. No one. Not even a gossip-ridden villager. I am alone. I must admit that I wondered if what had just occurred actually did occur. But this had been no daydream. I mean, I could never have dreamed such an event. There is dreaming and then there is the impossible. I had just entered the impossible.
I pick up my basket of olives and head back to the village. Who should I tell? I shake my head. No one. Not even Ima. Not yet anyway. Right now, it is a secret between me and Yahweh. Yet, I knew such a secret would not remain a secret indefinitely. I have some time. I’m not sure how or when what the angel said would happen will happen. I need to come up with an explanation before the village gossip comes up with their own explanation which could lead . . . I gasp. The realization hits me; I stumble, drop my basket, and fall to my knees once more. The punishment for someone in my condition is a public stoning! Surely someone will believe me. Will Joseph? My life will be in his hands. Prayers are needed; and lots of them.
And what about you today? Do you have a what or how that seems impossible? Do you, like Mary, feel overwhelmed by what is being asked of you? Perhaps the answer is to do as she did. She didn’t conquer the what or the how, but she did conquer the who for she knew he was far greater than her impossible assignment. Can you let your who be greater than your what or how? If you can, that’s good. Because that’s where the impossible possible lives.