Disclaimer: I do not own The Nativity Story (Movie), the Bible, or any of the associated characters. No profit is being made.
Summary: Mary, on becoming the mother of god, and what lies ahead.
A/N: Dedicated, as always, to my twin, Sally, who died December 26, 2005. I miss you, my soul.
Full of Grace
Through all of my faith, there is one thing that I have always questioned: Why did God choose me?Why did God think me worthy to bear His son, when I could not even promise him a good life? Nazareth was a tiny, impoverished village, and my family was not even among the prosperous, barely managing to pay taxes year to year.
I had performed no great deeds or worthy acts, nor had the Lord seen fit to bless me for my husband's virtue, as he had my cousin Elizabeth. Sometimes I wonder if our sons will even meet, if they will be a rock for each other as Elizabeth and I were.
Why would the Lord choose me, newly married to a good and honest man, but still with my parents and a virgin? God would protect me from losing my child or miscarrying, but how to stop my own village stoning me as an adultress? How was I to care for my son if I was divorced by my husband and cast out by my family, as was often the case for women who bore a child out of wedlock.
Joseph cared for me, I knew, and had cared long before he asked me to wife. Even knowing that I did not yet love him, he cared for and protected me still.
Knowing this, could I ask him to raise a son not his own? The son of God, yes, a divine blessing rather than the proof of betrayal, but not his.
I could have claimed that I was attacked by Roman soldiers, whose thirst for blood was matched only by their thirst for gold and flesh. No-one would have faulted me for a pregnancy in that case, but if they did not encourage me to get rid of it, the lie would have followed my child all of his life. It would taint him in the eyes of those he meant to save, just as many villagers did not look at Alia the same way, after the soldiers who came with the tax collectors brought her back.
My Jesus would be the son of God, the saviour of our people. His life would not be easy, and I would not make it harder with a lie to ease my own path. I trusted God to guide and protect me, and spoke only the truth.
Joseph was upset when I returned from Elizabeth's home visibly pregnant, and I could not blame him, but proved himself an even better man than I had already known. To protect me from a trial, he would risk his good name, knowing that people would talk. For the first time, I felt a flicker of love, not merely gratitude for his selfless acts.
What would happen after I gave birth no-one had decided. Joseph did not claim responsibility for my condition, but neither would he make any accusation, and as my husband, he was the only one with the right to demand a trial.
When he sought me out days later, I knew that there had been more to his dream than merely the appearence of an angel, but I did not press. If he did not tell me, it was doubtless for a good reason. We talked more, coming to know each other and finding strength together in the face of the village's silent disdain.
As my time grew closer, I started to dream of a star, guiding me to a different place. When the census was announced, and Joseph said that he could not register in Nazareth, it made sense: the star would guide us to the place where my child would be born.
Even if I had not dreamed of it, there was only one reply I could give my parents, "I am going with my husband."
If what I felt for Joseph was love, I could not say, but my place was at his side, and I knew that he would keep me safe.
The journey was long, and dangerous, and somehow I knew that it would be many years before I saw Nazareth or my family again, but I did not fear. When at last we came to Bethlehem, when I went into labour even as we passed the city gates, I trusted in God and in Joseph, and was not afraid.
A stable was not the ideal place to give birth, but it was the only room there was, when other doors were closed to us. Surrounded by animals rather than midwives, resting on a rough blanket with only a trough of straw to serve as a cradle and Joseph's Yarmulke to serve as a pillow, I brought my son into the world.
We had only a few minutes to ourselves, Joseph, Jesus and I, but in those moments I was happier than I thought possible. The shepherds came, warned by the angel, bringing what food and blankets they could. The Wise Men followed, bringing kingly gifts and lofty declarations.
It took longer than perhaps it should have before Joseph managed to send them away, so that Jesus and I could rest, only to be woken again when the angel sent a warning, telling us to flee to Egypt.
I will not presume to know His will, but perhaps the very reasons I felt unworthy were the reasons I was honoured. For all that the rich have, a sense of charity is rarely among it. The powerful and influential seek first their own advancement, rarely sparing thought for those who are powerless.
For God's son, my son, to be a leader of all men, he must know all men, not merely those who have power. To be a helper of men, he must witness what help they need, and know how to talk to them.
From a refugee seeking shelter, seen as the lowest of the low, Jesus would see the evils of the world, and learn to look past it to the good beneath.
Well, whatever the future holds, Jesus is my son, and Joseph the best of husbands. They are my family, and whatever else we may be, I will love and cherish them.
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A/N: Because 'tis the season.
Work has been kicking my backside recently (60 hours, all on my feet, not counting sleepover shifts), and I lost the notebook I usually write in, along with a bunch of research notes for Chillon's Prisoner, so writing has fallen by the wayside. I'll have a few days off between Christmas and New Year, though, so I'll try to finish off some of the chapters I have waiting.
I may do a follow-up/side-story about Joseph's point of view, since he tends to be ignored in these things. What do you think?
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and all the rest,
Nat