A Father's Dream

by beth-is-rainpaint

Jesus would indeed save Israel - in fact, He would save the world. But God's method was not what most people wanted or expected."

A Father's Dream

Verses are from the NIV. The dream segments are taken from Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John; the specific passages are from Isaiah 9.

/waves excitedly/ I'm alive! I survived my first semester of school. Actually, it went extremely well. But now I'm on break until mid-January and I plan to do some major fanfiction writing!

I'd actually started this story last December but didn't finish in time to post it before Christmas. In no way am I claiming that this is how this night, or the events portrayed in the story, happened. I know that some people take issue with trying to elaborate on Bible stories. But I don't think it's wrong to try to imagine how things might have gone.

Luke 2:10b-11 - "I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; He is Christ the Lord."

"Joseph."

Squinting and blinking in the flickering light, Joseph drew in a deep breath - and immediately wished he hadn't. The unmistakable scent of sheep, cows, and camels cooperated with icy drafts of air to jerk Joseph fully awake.

"Mmm?" he yawned, raking a hand through his curly dark hair.

Tentative brown eyes peered at him from behind raven-black hair. "I'm sorry - did I wake you?"

Joseph managed a warm, if tired, smile. "It's all right. I shouldn't have been sleeping anyway. What did you say?"

Mary's gaze flickered from the sleeping Newborn in her arms to her fiancée's hazel eyes. Finally, the young woman asked, "Would you like to hold Him?"

Joseph cast an apprehensive glance at his rough, calloused palms; then he lifted his gaze to Mary. "Are you sure?"

She gave a breath of laughter, too exhausted to manage a real chuckle. "He won't break, I promise." Shifting the Baby in her arms, she held Him out to Joseph.

Gingerly, he accepted the Boy from Mary's outstretched hands. "That's it," Mary coached in a hoarse whisper as Joseph settled the Newborn in his work-toughened hands.

Jesus stirred, and the new parents held their breaths, wishing Him back to sleep. His eyelashes fluttered open for half a second before He let out a sigh and fell back to sleep.

His parents exchanged brief, relieved smiles. Joseph offered, "You should sleep. I'll hold Him."

Mary nodded gratefully, and Joseph watched her breathing grow deep and even with sleep. A silence descended on the drafty stable, punctuated only by the plaintive bleat of a sheep and the sleepy snort of a camel.

Joseph's gaze traveled down to the slumbering Baby, whose fist was tightly curled beneath His chin. A smile tugged at the corner of Joseph's mouth. He brushed the fine black hair off Jesus' forehead and tenderly rubbed a knuckle on the Baby's cheek.

Joseph whispered the passage he'd heard since he was a child. "'For to us a Child is born, to us a Son is given, and the government will be on His shoulders. And He will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the increase of His government and peace there will be no end. He will reign on David's throne and over His kingdom, establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness from that time on and forever.'"

Thinking about all that this Child would do filled him with amazement and pride. Someday Jesus would set all of Israel free, overthrowing the Romans and restoring peace and prosperity to the land. Someday a true Israeli would once again sit on David's throne, and His rule would last forever.

Joseph was no zealot, but he longed for the day when his precious country would be liberated from Rome's heathen, tyrannical rule. His long-held dream for his Son replayed in his mind.

Mounted on a magnificent white horse, Jesus galloped down the street. He held His gleaming sword high and called His fellow Israelis to battle. Cheering soldiers, weapons held aloft, poured out of houses and thundered after Him. Above the mighty army - God's army - a heavenly beam of light broke through the clouds and lit the way to Rome.

Holding the Baby close, Joseph drifted off to sleep. Some would call what he saw a dream; others would declare it a vision.

The Jordan River was gentle and shallow here. Afternoon sunlight dazzled the water. A wild-looking man with long, ragged hair and coarse clothes waded toward the shore. The man cupped rough hands around his mouth and called, "I need to be baptized by You, and do You come to me?"

Another Man walked down the rocky shoreline to the river's edge. "Let it be so now; it is proper for us to do this to fulfill all righteousness."

Jesus stepped into the water, which stained his tan robe a deep brown. John gripped Jesus' shoulder and submerged Him under the murky water.

The instant Jesus rose from the river, a Dove flew down to Him. Dark hair dripping with water, He looked up as a Voice called, "You are My Son, Whom I love; with You I am well pleased."

A hooded man crept through the shadows and, with a furtive glance around, knocked on the door. Jesus opened the door and a shaft of light spilled into the dark street. He smiled at the hooded man and gestured for him to come inside.

The visitor sat at a homemade table and pulled off his cloak, revealing the garb of a Pharisee. His eyes darted around the room, as if he were afraid he'd been followed.

"Why are you here, Nicodemus?" the Man asked as he set a piece of bread and a bowl of water on the table before the Pharisee.

Nicodemus busied himself with washing his hands. Finally, he said, "Rabbi, we know You are a Teacher Who has come from God. For no one could perform the miraculous signs You are doing if God were not with him."

Jesus sat down at the table, His face half-obscured by shadows. The other half of His face was illuminated with dancing light from a fire. "I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again."

Nicodemus stared at Jesus, a puzzled expression creasing his face. "How can a man be born when he is old? Surely he cannot enter a second time into his mother's womb to be born!"

"I tell you the truth, no one can enter the kingdom of God unless he is born of water and the Spirit. Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit. You should not be surprised at my saying, 'You must be born again.'"

Jesus glanced up as a light breeze drifted in through the window, playing with the flames. He continued, "The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit."

The confusion remained on Nicodemus' face, but it was joined by genuine curiosity. "How can this be?"

"You are Israel's teacher, and do you not understand these things?" The Man didn't sound astonished -- mildly scolding perhaps, maybe slightly amused, but not surprised. "I tell you the truth, We speak of what We know, and We testify to what We have seen, but still you people do not accept Our testimony. I have spoken to you of earthly things and you do not believe; how then will you believe if I speak of heavenly things?

"No one has ever gone into heaven except the One Who came from heaven -- the Son of Man.

"Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the desert" - recognition flickered in Nicodemus's eyes - "so the Son of Man must be lifted up, that everyone who believes in Him may have eternal life."

Nicodemus leaned forward, listening in earnest. Equally ardent, Jesus looked straight at the Pharisee and continued. "For God so loved the world, that He gave His One and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through Him."

At this, the Man stood. Nicodemus raised his eyebrows in surprise but he said nothing. Jesus continued, "Whoever believes in Him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already because he has not believed in the Name of God's one and only Son. This is the verdict."

He stepped fully into the flickering light emanating from the fire. "Light has come into the world," He explained, then gestured toward the shadows, "but men loved darkness instead of the light because their deeds were evil. Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that his deeds will be exposed. But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what he has done has been done through God."

Nicodemus looked at the Man expectantly. But Jesus said nothing, simply taking the Pharisee's empty plate and the bowl of water. The Pharisee pulled his hood over his head and stood to leave. The shadow of the hood masked the agitation in his eyes, which reflected the war waging in his heart. "Good night, Rabbi." And with that, Nicodemus disappeared into the night.

Hundreds of people clambered up the hillside, chattering excitedly. Families and friends grouped together, eager anticipation written on their faces. When everyone finally settled down on the grassy knoll, Jesus began to speak.

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."

Enormous black clouds unleashed a furious rain, and a howling wind churned up angry waves. The water frothed at the edge of a teetering boat, then splashed up and slapped the panicked men in the faltering ship.

Fear stirred the men into a cooperative frenzy. Three or four of them scooped up bucket after bucket of water. One slipped in the three inches of water that filled the boat and smacked his chin on a wooden bench. Another, who appeared to be his older brother, reached down to help him up, only to be knocked over by a wave that reached over the side and smacked him. The other half of the group struggled with the sails as the wind battered the fabric and seized the ropes from their hands, tearing flesh.

"It's no good!" one of the men yelled over the pounding waves and shrieking wind. Two of the drenched men went over to a sleeping form at the head of the ship. They shook the Man awake. Jesus blinked, undisturbed, and looked up at them expectantly.

"Lord," one of them cried, "save us! We're going to drown."

He rose, the water covering his feet and seeping into his robe. He looked at the two men, who stared impatiently at Him. "You of little faith, why are you so afraid?"

He gazed at the angry sky. Rain plastered his hair to his head and rolled down his temples. His shout rang out over the cacophony of the storm. "Peace! Be still!"

In an instant, the wind ceased its shrieking, the waves withdrew into the lake, and the rain stopped hammering the boat. Above, black clouds dissolved and sunlight streamed down.

Stunned, the group of men looked as one at Jesus. "What kind of man is this?" the first to have fallen questioned, his voice hollow with shock. He gestured to the tranquil scene before them. "Even the winds and the waves obey Him!"

Melodramatic weeping rang throughthe air. Their heads littered with ashes, a group of men tore their black sackcloth and sobbed. One of them knelt by a bed where a limp girl lay and, clutching the blanket, let out a loud wail.

A strong voice rose over the affected cries. "Why all this commotion and wailing?"

Startled, the mourners ceased their moaning and stared at the Man Who strode into the room. A few of them shot Him annoyed glances.

The dead girl's father and mother came in behind Him. Jesus stopped by the bed and looked down at the girl, then placed a reassuring hand on the kneeling man's shoulder. "The child is not dead but asleep."

Two of the mourners exchanged smirks and snorts of laughter. The kneeling wailer made a scoffing noise, and another mourner laughed derisively.

Unperturbed, Jesus looked around and commanded, "Everyone but her mother and father, leave."

The mourners shot glances at the girl's father, but he simply looked at Jesus. Muttering to themselves, the hired mourners trudged outside.

The Man knelt beside the bed and enveloped the girl's thin, white hand in His own calloused hand. "My child," Jesus said, softly but firmly, "get up."

Clutching each other, hope etched on their faces, the girl's parents watched. The mother gasped as the girl's eyes fluttered open. The girl sat, then stood up and stretched. Her parents rushed over and embraced her, tears of joy streaming down their faces.

A noisy crowd milled along the dusty path to Jerusalem. People craned their necks, peering down the path, each desiring to be the first one to see Him. "Is that Him?" somebody questioned, squinting in the morning sunlight.

"It's Him!" shouted someone from further up the path. The noise level increased as the people chattered excitedly. A tiny speck in the distance gradually came into clearer view, revealing Jesus sitting on a young donkey. As He drew closer, cheers erupted from the crowd. First one man, then another, laid his cloak on the dusty trail to Jerusalem. A group of young women tore palm fronds from nearby trees and passed them out. As the Man rode past them, the people shouted waved the palm fronds and shouted, "Hosanna! Blessed is He Who comes in the Name of the Lord! Blessed is the King of Israel!"

A lone cricked chirped in the garden. Above, wispy clouds enshrouded the moon. A light breeze whispered through the trees. And the Man stumbled into the grove, His face weary, His eyes anguished.

He fell to His knees, palms on the ground. He prayed haltingly, His voice hoarse with anguish. "Abba...Father...everything is possible for You. Take this cup from Me. Yet not what I will, but what You will."

He stayed there for a moment, His head hanging, His breathing harsh. Finally, wearily, He picked Himself up and disappeared into the shadows.

After several moments, He returned and sank down beneath a tree. His desperate eyes glanced up at the cloudy sky. "My Father!" He cried, His ragged voice piercing the night. "if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may Your will be done."

He clenched His eyes shut, His strong frame trembling. Clenching His jaw, He stood again and walked through the trees.

Once again, He stumbled back into the grove of trees and knelt, His head hanging. "Abba," He whispered, clenching His trembling hands together. "Father."

His breathing accelerated as blood-red sweat dripped from His temple onto the ground. He spoke slowly, forcing each word out between labored breaths. "If it is possible...may this cup...be taken from Me....Yet not as I will, but as You will."

The glaring light of a dozen torches eerily lit the irate High Priest's face. His shrill voice rang out in the room of chief priests and Sanhedrin. "I charge You under oath by the living God: Tell us if You are the Christ, the Son of God."

Jesus looked the priest right in the eyes. "Yes, it is as you say."

A gasp went up from the priests, and murmuring ensued. "But I say to all of you," the Man continued, raising His voice above the buzz of the council, "in the future you will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of the Mighty One and coming on the clouds of heaven."

Caiaphas's face turned blazing scarlet and his eyes bulged. The high priest clenched his jaw and tore his robe. "Blasphemy!" he hissed, spittle flying from clenched teeth. "He has spoken blasphemy," he shouted, turning to address his cohorts. "Why do we need any more witnesses? Look, now you have heard the blasphemy." His voice lowered menacingly. "What do you think?"

"He is worthy of death!" the council chorused.

Jesus simply stood there, His face calm. His expression betrayed no emotion except for a lingering sadness in His eyes.

Caiaphas tore a shred of fabric from his robe and tied it around Jesus' face, jerking the knot unnecessarily tight. His hands behind his back, he paced around the Man, malicious glee gleaming in his eyes. He spat on Jesus' face, but the Man didn't even flinch.

His sheer lack of reaction enraged the high priest, and with a cry of anger he struck the Man's face. "Blasphemer," he hissed into Jesus' ear before striking His face. "Blasphemer!" he shouted, and the rest of the council rushed forward, punching the Man and spitting on Him. But He just stood there, silently taking the blows.

Bruised, hands tied behind His back, Jesus gazed at the ground. The council murmured ominously among themselves, malevolent faces weirdly lit by torchlight. Faint glimmers of dawn flickered on the horizon.

Finally, the governor emerged from his palace. The man walked with ramrod straight posture, shoulders back, head held high. But his eyes were weary, and a yawn spoiled his stately presence. "What charges are you bringing against this man?" Pilate asked, bored and annoyed.

"If he were not a criminal," one of the priests snapped condescendingly, "we would not have handed him over to you."

The governor turned to head back inside, waving a dismissive hand. "Take Him yourselves and judge Him by your own law."

"But we have no right to execute anyone!" a man sharply reminded Pilate.

With a sigh, Pilate gestured for the Man to follow him inside. The door banged shut behind them, the noise echoing in Pilate's expansive home. The governor slumped into a chair. Sighing through his nose, Pilate looked Jesus over. "Are you the King of the Jews?"

"Is that your own idea, or did others talk to you about Me?"

"Am I a Jew?" Pilate asked scornfully. "It was Your people and Your chief priests who handed You over to me. What is it You have done?"

"My kingdom is not of this world," Jesus replied. "If it were, My servants would fight to prevent My arrest by the Jews. But now My kingdom is from another place."

Pilate raised his eyebrows dramatically. "You are a king, then?"

The Man gave a single nod. "You are right in saying I am a King. In fact, for this reason I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone on the side of truth listens to me."

Heaving a weary sigh, Pilate stood. "What is truth?" He nodded at a muscular servant, who opened the palace door. With a jerk of his head, the governor motioned for the Man to follow him outside.

"I find no basis for a charge against Him," Pilate shouted over the din of the crowd. "But it is your custom for me to release to you one prisoner at the time of the Passover. Do you want me to release the 'King of the Jews'?"

An uneasy hush fell over the crowd. There was stirring at the back of the crowd, and whispers traveled among the people. Finally one man shouted, "No, not him! Give us Barabbas!"

"Barabbas! Barabbas!" The crowd took up the chant.

"What shall I do, then, with Jesus Who is called Christ?" Pilate shouted over the mantra.

The crowd spoke as one. "Crucify Him!"

"Why? What crime has He committed?" Pilate asked in astonishment.

"Crucify Him! Crucify Him!" was the deafening roar from the crowd. Agitated, the people surged forward.

Fear flashed into Pilate's eyes. He motioned to one of his servants and whispered in the young man's ear. The servant scurried off and returned a moment later with a bowl of water. The Roman governor made a great show of washing his hands and held them up, dripping with water. "I am innocent of this Man's blood!" Pilate cried. "It is your responsibility."

"Let his blood be on us and on our children," a woman in the crowd shrieked. The rest of the sanguinary mob cheered their assent.

The brutal soldier, his face void of emotion, ripped off the Man's robe. With a swift blow to His knees, the Roman sent Jesus sprawling over the whipping block. The soldier flicked the whip at the ground once, and metal and glass clinked against the ground.

With his full strength, he drew back, then whipped Jesus' broad back. The Man arched His back as the whip dragged its claws of broken glass and jagged metal across His skin.

WHACK! This time the leather, metal, and glass ripped skin. Jesus flinched, His face clenching with pain.

SNAP! The whip dug deeper into the Man's back, and the flogger had to pull a little harder to get the whip out. Rivers of blood coursed down the Man's sides and spilled onto the bloodstained ground.

CRACK! The glass and metal tore through skin, shredded muscle, and bruised bone.

THWACK! The Man's back, torso, and legs were lanced to ribbons of bloody flesh.

WHACK! CRACK! SNAP! THWACK!

But He never cried out. He never moaned; He never screamed. Jesus just closed His eyes and flinched as the whip cut into His back and tore His legs.

A jeering crowd of Roman soldiers in full armor shoved the bleeding Man ahead of them. One of the soldiers took off his own purple robe and threw it onto Jesus' back. The fabric stuck to what little flesh He had left, quickly soaking through with blood.

One of the soldiers stepped forward, carrying a crown. But this was no ordinary crown, made of gold and adorned with precious stones. The Roman carried it gingerly, avoiding the evil three-inch thorns that stuck out from the crown.

Struggling to stand, Jesus looked up as the soldier drew near, but He said nothing as the man set the crown onto His brow. He barely flinched as the soldier drove the crown into His head, sending rivulets of blood trickling down His forehead and onto His face. Wearily, He blinked scarlet liquid out of His eyes.

One of the soldiers thrust a stick at His hand. Trembling, He rested His weight on the piece of wood. There was the clank of armor and the scrape of metal on stone as the soldiers bowed before the Man. "Hail, King of the Jews!" was their spiteful chorus, scorn written on their faces.

First one, then another, spat upon Jesus. Yet He said not a word; He just stood there, struggling to stay upright, as blood mingled with spit on His torn face.

One of the soldiers dashed forward and grabbed the staff. He struck Jesus, first on the temple, then on the cheek, then on the back of His battered skull. Once the soldier hit the cruel crown, driving the thorns further into the Man's skull.

"That's enough," the tallest soldier called. The broad-shouldered man stepped forward and in one swift motion ripped the purple robe off of Jesus. A shudder of agony rippled through the Man. Yet still He did not cry out in pain.

Jesus crawledalong the ground, dragging His cross behind Him. A trail of dried blood stained the ground behind Him, evidencing where He'd stumbled along. The rough wood tore his already raw hands and rubbed what little flesh He had left off of His shoulder. His own labored breathing filled the air, along with the ruckus of the crowd. Some jeered, others laughed, and still others wept loudly.

He forced one knee, then the other, to move forward. The cobblestone path ripped cruelly at His knees. Finally, He stopped, the cross clattering loudly to the ground.

A soldier scrambled forward and knelt beside Him. "Get up!" the Roman demanded, shoving the Man. But Jesus could not move.

Cursing, the soldier stood up and furiously glanced around. "You there!" He pointed to a man in the crowd. "Carry the cross."

A wide-eyed man scurried forward and picked up the cross. He dragged the wood forward, and his eyes met Jesus'. Horrified, the man glanced away.

Relieved of His burden, Jesus was able to stumble forward, blood trickling down His body. Each motion ripped barely formed scabs from his wounds and blood dripped anew.

A soldier dragged the Man over to the cross, placing His hands and arms in the right position. Jesus watched as one Roman passed another the hammer and nails. He closed His eyes and braced Himself. His entire body shuddered as the hammer rang and the nail pierced flesh, embedding itself through His wrist into the wood. Once more for the other hand, and then a few more blows for His feet.

The soldiers dragged the cross over to the hole in the ground. Jesus' body jerked as the cross shuddered into the ground.

And there He hung for six hours. Jesus struggled to push Himself up to draw gasping breaths. Each time He sank back down, the rugged wood of His cross bit at His scalp, His back, His arms, and His heels. What little blood He had left dripped down His body, staining the cross. He was torn and bruised beyond recognition.

"You Who are going to destroy the temple and build it in three days, save Yourself! Come down from the cross, if You are the Son of God," someone shrieked.

"He saved others, but He can't save Himself. He's the King of Israel! Let Him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in Him. He trusts in God. Let God rescue Him now if He wants Him, for He said, 'I am the Son of God.'"

With a great effort, He heaved Himself up and sucked in a breath. "Father," He rasped, "forgive them for they do not know what they are doing."

At the foot of the cross, a group of women huddled together and cried. Mary, her face streaked with tears, gazed up at her Son. A young man, his face etched with grief, clung to her even as tears pooled in his bloodshot eyes.

Again, the Man winced against the pain of the nail digging deeper into His feet and pushed up to get a breath. "Dear woman," Jesus choked, "here is your son. Here is your mother." And He sank back down, closing His eyes.

A scornful, rasping shout came from one of the other crosses. "Aren't you the Christ? Save yourself and us!"

"Don't you fear God," the other thief called in the gargled voice of a drowning man, "since you are under the same sentence? We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this Man has done nothing wrong." Shuddering, the thief drew in a breath and looked at the Man. "Jesus, remember me when You come into Your kingdom."

The Man blinked blood out of His eyes, pushed Himself up, and said, "I tell you the truth, today you will be with Me in paradise."

Then the world went black. Shouts of panic went up from the crowds until someone found a torch. Spots of orange light dotted the bleak landscape.

A single, anguished, ragged voice pierced the darkness. "My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me?"

A little while later, as His breathing grew shallower, He cried out, "I'm thirsty." Someone brought Him an anesthetic drink, but He refused.

Finally, He opened His eyes. Gritting His teeth against the pain, Jesus pushed Himself up and gasped one last breath.

"Father, into Your hands I commit my spirit. It is finished." And then the breath escaped Him and He went limp, His tortured body sagging against the wood.

Joseph jerked awake to a galloping heart and gasping breaths. Sweat trickled down his brow as, disoriented, he blinked and glanced around. His gaze fell on the sleeping Newborn in his arms, and his heart nearly stopped.

Vivid flashbacks of his dream assaulted Joseph's mind. Tears trickled down his face faster than his rough hand could brush them away. He traced a trembling finger down Jesus' perfect brow, and shaking hands guarded the Baby's wrists. Joseph quaked with noiseless sobs as he held the Baby close.

Mary stirred, and Joseph struggled to calm himself as his fiancé awakened. "Is everything all right?" she asked sleepily, taking in his wide eyes.

Unable to find his voice, Joseph stood and carried Jesus over to Mary. Joseph swallowed hard and asked shakily, "Can you hold Him? I need some fresh air."

"Of course." Mary settled the Baby in her arms, but her concerned eyes never left Joseph's ashen face.

An image flashed into Joseph's mind - those eyes that were now anxiously peering at him were filled with the deepest anguish and grief. Mary, his Mary, trembled beneath a blood-stained cross where her Son hung dying. His heart breaking, Joseph pressed a gentle kiss to the young woman's forehead.

Mary glanced at Joseph in surprise, but a pleased smile flickered at the corners of her lips. The worry, however, remained in her eyes.

Drawing his cloak around him, Joseph stepped outside. Innumerable stars shimmered in a black sky. The cold seeped through Joseph's cloak and into his bones. The only sound was his own quavering breath.

"Why?" he whispered. Scenes, horrifying in their clarity, flooded his mind. The crack of the whip. The sickening thud of a smacked fist on flesh. Scarlet blood spilling from Jesus' horribly torn body.

It didn't make sense; he didn't understand; he couldn't wrap his mind around what he'd seen. A single thought roared in Joseph's mind. Why? Why? WHY?

Suddenly, a deep voice stilled his raging thoughts just as it would calm a furious storm. "For God so loved the world, that He gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life."

Joseph recoiled as if he'd been struck. Slowly, he sank down to the rocky ground. Jesus' words echoed in his mind, and peace seeped into his heart. For God so loved the world...For God so loved the world.

Joseph closed his eyes and tilted his head, drinking in all of the revelations of the evening. Jesus would indeed save Israel - in fact, He would save the world. But God's method was not what most people wanted or expected.

Finally, Joseph crept back into the stable. As Joseph settled down, he gazed at the Baby Who slumbered, calm and trusting, in His sleeping mother's arms. Joseph managed a tired smile before a deep sleep claimed him.

A group of women gaped at the empty tomb and cowered before the brilliant angel. The radiant being's joyous message rang out in the garden. "Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, Who was crucified. He is not here; He has risen, just as He said."