Christmas Days in the Morning: The Life Events of Jesus and His Wife to Age Ten Years Old

By Anne M. Dudley and Lou Hammond

This first historical fiction novel of the life events of Jesus and his wife includes information about these two individuals from their situations of conception, birth, and up to the age of ten years old. All of the information in telling their stories has been carefully researched from religious writings, the Bible, other ancient accurate sources from anthropology, historical writing from their contemporary time, and ancient new writing discoveries about these two remarkable people and their life. It follows a guided rabbinic principle known as the halakic principle, which sews their stories together with imagination and careful research by the author doing so in a consecutive, cohesive, and conceptual way for the twenty-first-century reader. The stories incorporate accurate human behavior and progression of their development, which has not changed for us from the time in which they lived. If you desire a more accurate, realistic account of the man whom we know as Jesus, and his wife whom we know as Miriam, or Mary Magdalene, you shall attain greater understanding of them and our own post-modern selves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Resource Publications
• Release date: May 6, 2024
• ISBN: 9798385209743

Anne M. Dudley

Anne M. Dudley was born in Nigeria, West Africa, to missionary parents. She received a BA in education from Concordia College, New York. She taught elementary school for five years and was employed by two large Lutheran parishes as a youth minister for eight years. She completed her master’s degree in education and human development at the University of Maryland and served as a counselor/therapist for individuals, couples, and families for thirty-seven years. Today, she is retired, has been married for forty-two years, and has two children and five grandchildren.

Book preview

Christmas Days in the Morning

The Life Events of Jesus and His Wife to Age Ten Years Old

The Dawn from on High BOOK I

By Anne M. Dudley

Foreword by Lou Hammann

Christmas Days in the Morning

The Life Events of Jesus and His Wife to Age Ten Years Old

Copyright ©

2024

Anne M. Dudley. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers,

199

W.

8

th Ave., Suite

3

, Eugene, OR

97401

.

Resource Publications

An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers

199

W.

8

th Ave., Suite

3

Eugene, OR

97401

www.wipfandstock.com

paperback isbn: 979-8-3852-0972-9

hardcover isbn: 979-8-3852-0973-6

ebook isbn: 979-8-3852-0974-3

04/12/24

All photos taken by the author in April

2009

.

All diagrams and maps created by the author.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Foreword

My Father’s Endorsement

Preface

The Qumran Settlement

Eleazar’s home in Bethany and the Birth of Mary (Miriam)

The Qumran Settlement

Bethany and Jerusalem

The Qumran Settlement

Bethany

Joseph's Home in the Qumran Settlement

The Home of Benjamin and Rachael in Bethany

Joseph's Home in the Qumran Settlement

Eleazer Visits Nejamin and Rachael in Bethany

Rome

The Qumran Settlement

Bethany

Rome

The Qumran Settlement

Bethany

Judea

The Qumran Settlement

The Second Temple in Jerusalem

Judea

The Qumran Settlement

The Hills of Bethlehem

Bethlehem

Bethany

Bethlehem and the First Marriage Ceremony

Jerusalem

Bethlehem

Jerusalem

Bethlehem to Jerusalem

Jerusalem

The Jerusalem Exodus of the Holy Family

Joppa and the Mediterranean Sea

Alexandria, Egypt

Love, Life, and Work in Alexandria

The Passing of Time

Redemption in Alexandria

The Judean Desert

Bethany

Judea and Masada

Byzantium

The Qumran Settlement

Byzantium and the Cities of Judah

The Roman Tent Camp in Judea

Alexandria, Egypt

From Ethiopia

The Qumran Settlement

Preparation for the Essene Second Marriage Ceremony for Mary and Joseph

The Second Marriage Ceremony

Longing for Home

The Birth of Salome

The Tent Camp and Jerusalem

The Egyptian Delta

Learning in Alexandria

Learning in Jerusalem

School in Alexandria

The Sea of Reeds

The Birth of James

Bethany

Going Home

Glossary of identical Names in Novel I

Foreword

It is clear from reading the (first) novel by Anne M. Dudley that she can be trusted with reliable familiarity with the New Testament text. Her use of biblical quotations is always appropriate and contextual. Her self-confidence, in what I prefer to call expertise in literature and history, is impressive. It gives her an authority in reenvisioning the argument of a book in which many people often depend for personal guidance in matters I dare call spiritual.

I venture to appreciate how well she has accomplished what above I referred to as reenvisioning. This is true, notably of the text but also of the argument that has rendered the book indispensable for many who would understand a highly specialized history. Her quite systematic interpretation of some of the more obscure and demanding of the texts as revelation is more than just clever. She helps her readers translate the personal value of this or that aspect of the story as a whole. The Bible as a record of ordinary history as well as spiritual education has given its readers insight that might otherwise elude casual attention.

Perhaps one episode in the biblical New Testament story of Jesus prompted her skill at reenvisioning in effect that surprising venture may have been off-putting for some readers and a virtual revelation for others. Simply read that aspect of Dudley’s novels and judge for yourself its effect on your consciousness.

Somehow this first episode in the Jesus story is engaging and even puzzling. How historically true is it? Surely the author cannot claim it as an authentic episode in Jesus’ life that deserves unhesitating acceptance. Still, it is an aspect of what may have been authentic history. But why not? There are still aspects of his personal history that are at least imaginable. I leave it up to the readers to cope with what seems at least almost a paradox: believability wrestling with uncertainty.

It seems to me that we may trust the author’s decision to include the above in her story/history. Much of this novel reminds its readers of Anne’s professional role in marriage counseling and, of course an alert reader cannot miss her aptitude in biblical studies. Indeed, the novel itself is virtually dependent on a commitment to biblical studies. And her autobiography and her scholarship should prompt the reader to recognize a story that is at least consistent in its believability; there is little reason to see this episode as less than a reliable possibility.

Please understand that giving credibility to this aspect of the Jesus story does not come to us without a sense of ambiguity. Many aspects of this amazing biblical story may or may not bear the mark of being true or authentic. I say again, I trust this author’s integrity as a writer, given her learning, sincerity, and open devotion as a person.

Dr. Louis Hammann

Professor of Religion, Gettysburg College

(1957-2008)

My Father’s Endorsement

4/20/07—Comments upon reading the first forty-four pages of this narrative . . .

•It’s pleasantly interesting and instructive to experience the natural realities and relationships that surround the people and events mentioned in early writings of the New Testament Gospels.

•The very natural and human unfolding of events in people’s lives reveal God’s plan, God’s will, and God’s presence in the interplay of human feelings and emotions of these created people of God.

•God’s miraculous power and God’s loving plan for his creation is revealed in the everyday events and lives of human beings. . . . This, in fact, is why God came to people . . . This is why God could not possibly expect people to come to him . . . and God came in the understandable terms of human realities, not divine mysteries.

•This is good writing, alive with imagination but never presumptuous in terms of human emotions and events.

•I would encourage you to continue pursuing this writing.

Dad

Rev. Theodore Pelikan

Lutheran pastor for fifty-six years

Preface

In 2003, I embarked on a journey of study, research, and reflection to satisfy my personal desire to better understand the life of Jesus as the son of man. I wanted to know what Jesus’ childhood was like; what kind of relationships did he have with his parents, his relatives, his friends? What made him laugh; what made him sad and angry? What kind of games did he play as a child and as a teenager with his friends, cousins, and siblings? Did he fall in love with one special woman? How was he able to become such a great teacher, one whom we think we know today, though more than two thousand years have passed since he lived on the earth? And among other things, what meaning does his brief and remarkable ministry have for me and others in the twenty-first century who are also seekers?

I’m not a theological scholar or seminary-trained minister, although the men in my family of origin were, as the women in my family were biblical scholars in their own right. However, I’ve always been drawn to follow Christ, and I have loved people in my life and work as a teacher, youth minister, and counselor therapist for individuals, couples, and families. I am also an avid seeker and wanted to know and understand the life events of Jesus more closely and accurately than what I learned in Sunday School and church. My most prominent question began at age four and stayed with me until I could accurately answer this question: Was Jesus married, and if so, who was his wife and from where did she come? I was always encouraged and inspired by Jesus’ words as recorded in the Gospel of Matthew: Ask and it shall be given you; seek and you shall find; knock and it shall be opened to you. So, at the age of forty years I began a formal personal study, researching and seeking to find the accurate, definitive answers to my questions in 2003. In my seeking I encountered and applied a remarkable, guiding force from an ancient rabbinic discipline known as the halakic principle. This principle guided my study and searching, requiring me to accept all points of view—not an either/or approach to the world and the life of Jesus, but a both/and state of coexistence of thought, faith, and reason. Naturally, accepting opposing and challenging points of view often resulted in personal tension and confoundedness—but it was in this very state of contemplative tension that I experienced a deeper, transcending understanding of Jesus, his life, and his being. I gained revelatory insights, different from what I had been taught and had casually accepted. It was difficult, but surprisingly, all turned into a great blessing for me and my faith, and, more importantly, I found answers.

While my seeking and researching spanned twenty years, I wrote an autobiographical book recording my search, research, and the process and sources of information. I entitled the book Another Way. But it was not enough. Simultaneously, I was compelled to write the story of Jesus’ life events with his wife (yes, spoiler alert: Jesus was married, though traditional Christendom and Christianity subtly subdued this fact to the extent that most Christians don’t know or care about this fact). I intertwined his and his wife’s life events closely with the reporting of the Gospels in the Bible and research. Writing their story ended with eight historical novels! All the novels have been completed, owning their own titles but included together under the main entitlement of The Dawn from on High. Book 1, which you hold, is entitled Christmas Days in the Morning, published and released for your reading.

I think it is important for you to know that I have considered myself a dedicated Christian, attending church for most of my life until recently, having had trouble remaining part of a religious Evangelical Christian title; but I have read and studied the Bible, implementing meditative personal discipline on Christian teachings and principles. I have come to accept what Jesus taught and hold a genuine love for him and our God. Of course, my faith and discipline have been shaped and influenced by my life experience, of which my family has been one of those greatest influences. My father, my grandfather, and great-grandfather were all dedicated Lutheran pastors. My only paternal uncle was also a Lutheran minister/historian, but his brilliance landed him in Yale Divinity School as a graduate professor and writer of Christian history and theology. I feel blessed to be a part of these great men in my life and hold close to them and my maiden’s name of Pelikan.

But then I unexpectedly reached the place where I could no longer accept the concept that seemed to grip most religious institutions that one either believed the Gospels fully, and in their entirety, as presented in the Bible’s New Testament, or else . . . one was not a Christian, nor a worthy child of God or a creditable recipient of redemption. My father, grandfather and uncle always portrayed the power of grace alone for all and encouraged me to ask, seek and knock. Fortunately, they impressed upon me that there were, and continue to be valuable ideas beyond the lessons from both the Christian Bible, the teaching of the Christian church, and the many Christian denominations. But they also impressed upon me that all religious disciplines of the world and other historical sources, recent archeological discoveries, other writings, other points of view, even one’s own imagination were just as valuable in any faith journey.

So, what you are about to read may in many ways be very different from what you may have learned in church or Sunday School, different from where your own faith has come to rest. You may be shocked and offended by parts of the long, comprehensive story about the life of Jesus and his wife. Your faith may well be challenged at the very onset! But I believe this story is informative and valuable, and had to be told. Therefore, I encourage you to accept my challenge. So much more information is included in the books I’ve written, and it will give you a broader perspective of this incredible, remarkable man named Jesus who lived more than two thousand years ago. Fortunately, if you keep your heart and mind opened, the Spirit of God shall carry you through to see and understand beyond your expectation. I think you will benefit from incorporating both your current understanding or faith and the story I present, as you continue on your own faith journey of asking, seeking, and knocking.

In conclusion, my work is based upon disciplined research and study, and information never before included in the consideration of the canonical Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. If you can’t accept some of the information presented, don’t give up! I hope my series of books telling the story of Jesus’ life with his wife will provide an understanding from another enriching perspective. You may note how closely my story parallels the Bible, and I hope you will enjoy how I have written of the missing years of our Lord Jesus’ life. It may bring completeness of understanding, knowledge, and blessing into your life.

Thank you, and may God bless your faith journey.

Sincerely, Anne M. Dudley

Palestine at the Time of Jesus’s Ministry

The Qumran Settlement

Elizabeth was concerned. There sat Mary, gazing out the window again. Looking to the west, she occasionally rested her head on the windowsill. Otherwise, she assumed her role as sentinel. This was the third sunset she had watched from her hours of the early mornings. She didn’t move her gaze except for the bits of time she spent resting her head on the sill, eyes closed for brief moments.

Elizabeth paused at the doorway, wondering if she ought to disturb what seemed to be one of those brief moments of Mary’s rest. Finally, she placed the basket she had been holding down on the dusty floor and walked silently into the room and stood close to her niece. She reached out and placed her hand gently on Mary’s shoulder. Mary remained unresponsive.

Elizabeth spoke softly, Mary. You must eat this. She pulled Mary’s hand from the windowsill and placed a ripe fig within her palm. She closed her niece’s fingers around the fig and waited for a response.

Mary’s hand let the fig drop to her lap. Elizabeth turned and walked back to her basket of figs and bent down with the awkward motion of a pregnant woman at full term. She raised the basket to her hip, paused, and glanced back at Mary, a motionless shadow.

I have known you as a child and now as a young woman. Mary, how I see you here is not God’s purpose for you. What happened to you was devastating, and traumatic . . . but now you hold a child within your womb. We are all waiting for your son to be born.

Mary looked up from resting on the windowsill and spoke with despairing anger reflected in her voice, saying, And what if my child is a girl? What then? Will she share my fate? What then of our hopes and dreams? Her head fell to the sill again. I wish I had been stoned to death. I can’t bear this child.

At these words, Elizabeth purposefully dropped the basket, scattering the figs. "Yes! You can bear this child! I believe you are pregnant with your first son, but if you birth a girl we will still rejoice! With determination she stepped up to Mary, lifted her by the shoulders, and guided her to stand. Open your eyes! Something awesome is going on here! Great events are happening right before us!? Mary, she took a step back, look at me . . . look at me! I’m an old woman and I’m pregnant! Your uncle is in the next room and can’t talk! He’s a rabbi. He loves to talk. He never shuts up. He’s dumb! Why would God allow a rabbi to be struck dumb and make him a father in his old age!? Don’t you see! Something is happening! Something great is happening!"

Mary fell into the arms of her aunt and wept. Her voice shook as she asked, And why would God allow me to be raped!? Did God allow the soldier to strike me to the ground and tear my garment? Why was no one there to help me? . . . Elizabeth, he hurt me! I felt like he was tearing at my insides like he tore my garment. And now I am bringing a child into the world with no husband, no father. What good can come for the baby . . . or me . . . or our future? And you talk of something going on, as if enough hasn’t happened already.

Elizabeth turned toward the window and the western horizon. We will love you and the child. We will not abandon you. She looked down and stroked Mary’s head and whispered, God will not abandon you or any of us . . . God loves us. As Mary began to cry, Elizabeth looked up and once again gazed out the window. The birds were flapping and flying around the tree. They chirped and sang with an excitement that did not seem appropriate to the humans’ circumstance. I don’t understand everything, but I know God loves us.

Elizabeth didn’t know how long she held her niece in her arms, or how long she gazed out the window, but when her conscious focus returned, Mary was sitting on the chair by the window eating the fig.

Pounding could be heard from the other room. Elizabeth’s husband, Zechariah, was calling for her. He would pound his staff against the wall, or a pot, or the wooden leg of a table to get Elizabeth’s attention. Elizabeth gathered up the figs and responded to her husband’s bidding, leaving Mary sitting alone in the room.

Mary ate the fig with ravenous appetite. She wondered when she had eaten last and realized that this was not good for her unborn child, or for herself.

While still chewing on the last bit of the fig, a gentle but distinct movement of air brushed against her cheek. She looked up and around the room expecting to see someone, but the room was still. It must have been her imagination. But no, again a warm wind, like the breath from a living fire, brushed passed her face and body. She sat still and waited. This had happened before. The warm breeze stirred her memory. It was when she had been home, harvesting figs from the trees in a grove near her father’s house. She couldn’t recall if it happened before or after she had been ravaged by the horrific crime of rape three months earlier and had told no one, but she was still scared. At that time, she had sat on the flat boulder by the path that ran through the fig grove on the east side of the settlement. How many generations had used the same flat boulder as a sort of bench, she wondered? How many had contemplated the tragic madness and harshness of life? She had been raped by a Roman soldier. She wondered when the frightening images that replayed in her mind would end.

A sudden wind had jolted her then, and she had turned left to see the trees on that edge of the grove waving wildly. The wind moved in a strange way, blowing the trees in an unnatural swirl of motion. It was odd then. It was odd now, sitting in the quiet of the room. While in the fig grove at home, she had turned to her right, shifting her position on the boulder, and was startled to see a man on the path, not ten paces from her, at least she thought it was a man; what else could it be? He was leading a laden donkey on the track toward the cluster of homes toward her village.

To be alone again, and with a stranger approaching, might have produced a reaction of dread. Instead, and somewhat remarkably, her feeling was of irritation and challenge.

As the stranger drew closer, Mary stood. The stranger, yes, it was a man, stopped, and looked kindly upon her.

Greetings, favored one, he spoke. My name is Gabriel, and I give you greetings from the city of God.

You are from Jerusalem then, she had replied.

Ah, you have heard of Jerusalem?

Mary remembered thinking, Why the jesting? but instead she had said, Yes, of course, even here, in the Qumran Settlement, we know of all the cities of Judah.

He smiled, I am not often at home though, he stated, I am a traveler. My trade is honing and repair. I carry my stones on my friend’s back here, and sharpen tools and knives, traveling from village to village. And because I travel, I am also something of . . . a messenger, some would say even a teller of fortunes.

He paused for a response, but Mary stood silent at that time.

It’s funny about the sharpening trade, you know, he continued. My stones are abrasive, and they remove small pieces of the blade, and the process is noisy, but when the edge is smooth and sharp, the tool is ready for any job, and the user of the tool is safer than with a dull blade.

And what message might you have for me, Gabriel the sharpener and fortune teller? Mary asked challengingly.

He stepped closer, looked her full in the face, and with a quieter voice said, The Lord is with you.

It might as well have been a slap. Her reaction was such.

What could you possibly know about me or the Lord, stranger? her voice rising.

Do not be afraid, child. You are right, of course. I do not really know you. However, I do know that sometimes the Lord uses the strangest things to fulfill his will. Doubt, disobedience, captivity, even violence . . .

Mary stood unmoving, her mind waving like the branches of the trees.

Do not be afraid, young woman, Mary, is it? You have found favor with God. Well, I’ve got more sharpening to do. Perhaps you’ll walk with me to your village?

She remembered she had acted against her better judgment and walked beside him. He hummed an old shepherd’s tune and told her things she felt she just dreamed. However, she remembered that as she walked with him, somehow, her step seemed lighter. She also remembered feeling that something had been revealed to her and that, in essence, she had accepted a message. At the time she had not told anyone, but she felt she was going to become pregnant even though she and her betrothed husband, Joseph, had not celebrated their first wedding ceremony. But the message didn’t seem upsetting to her then.

Now, her reality was different. It seemed as if her life was over. So, it wasn’t surprising to her that this time she initially felt uneasy about feeling the warm breath of something she couldn’t comprehend.

It was a mystery. Mary stayed still and waited. Suddenly, she felt incredible peace. She felt something was going to happen to her again, and she felt it would be good. After a while—she didn’t know how long—the warm presence departed, but her sense of peace lingered. She looked out the window. The sun had sunk below the Judean hills. Mary stood and walked to the room where she, her aunt, and uncle ate. Both Zechariah and Elizabeth were sitting at the table eating in silence. Mary stepped forward, bowed her head in prayer, and sat at the table. Elizabeth reached out to take Mary’s hand in a strong grip that somehow conveyed a sense of hope and joy. Mary reached for the bread and began to eat.

After the first bite she felt a terrible hunger. Without speaking, Elizabeth placed a platter of meat and fruit before her. Then she poured a brimming cup of wine that Mary had to delicately balance as she raised the cup to her lips. She ate and drank her fill. For the first time in a long time, she felt sated, and didn’t experience the anxious nausea that had become common.

Uncle Zechariah looked over to Mary with an approving eye. He reached out and patted her hand and smiled. With that he rose from his chair and walked to the other end of the table where Elizabeth sat. He bent down and kissed his wife on the top of her head as she reached for his arm and drew it over her shoulder and to her chest. Zechariah’s hand moved to the roundness of her belly, and he grinned as he felt the certain movement from the child within.

You know what is strange? Elizabeth asked. I don’t wish to disrespect, but in the past, there were many times I longed to hear your voice silenced or that your talking would be still. Oh, Zechariah, now I long to hear your voice again. I long to know what happened to you the day you entered the holy of holies room in the temple, and for you to tell me what you heard or witnessed.

Zechariah reached over and picked up a crude slab of slate and a dried piece of clay. He wrote: We will all understand in God’s time. He returned the slate board to the table and walked out of the room with a smile upon his face and in his eyes.

Yes, Elizabeth thought. We will all know in God’s time. She stood up and began carrying pots, plates, and other implements from the table to the large carved-out wooden bowl that held precious water. There was not much water in the Qumran Settlement. To the east, three or four miles from their modest home, lay the shimmering Dead Sea. It was well named because there was no life in this sea. The salt content was too great, too toxic to sustain life. As a child, Elizabeth remembered going on trips with her family to the Dead Sea. There was one trip she never forgot. She had been about Mary’s age then. It was then when she and her little brother Micah were playing on one of the cliffs rising up from the water like the pinnacles of the Jerusalem temple. Closing her eyes and remembering the event still filled her soul with fear. Micah was to stay close to her if she were to allow him to climb to the top of the cliff, but instead, the thrill of the climb led him out of her reach, and in terror she watched him tumble down the dusty cliff and disappear into the blue-green water below.

"Miiiccaah! No, Micah." His body hit the water and disappeared below the surface so quickly. Horror gripped her as she thought for sure he would drown. There was no way to traverse the descent down the cliff and pull him out before he drowned. There were no pieces of wood or fallen branches to throw out to him to grasp and grab if he bobbed to the surface. There were no trees in this place, only red-brown crusts of shriveled earth. In a flash, Elizabeth had remembered feeling anger toward her parents for bringing them to this godforsaken place to live, but it had not overshadowed her terror as her brother resurfaced from the water’s grip. Her little brother Micah was going to drown if she did not do something fast!

Elizabeth’s mind snapped back, and she found herself standing at the wooden bowl filled with fresh water and pottery to clean. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She kept her eyes closed and continued remembering when Micah popped above the surface of the water. She felt she had to reach him before he went under again but, unbelievably, he had not sunk under the surface of the water again. He floated above, coughing and spitting out the salty water.

Micah! Can you swim?

No! he had cried out with childlike delight and surprise at the realization that he wasn’t going to go under the water again and drown.

How are you doing that?

I don’t know! as he laughed and giggled with glee.

Push your way to the shallow shore, right now!

Elizabeth, come on in. It’s fun! he had yelled in childhood pleasure.

Remembering the event with her brother, Elizabeth opened her eyes to find herself in the kitchen, and she felt the presence of her mother, standing next to her in that moment as she had stood next to her on the shore that day Micah fell into the Dead Sea. Elizabeth remembered stumbling down the cliff in desperation and panic as Micah splashed and kicked, playing in the water. She ran to the side of her mother, who was already peacefully waiting for Micah to step to the shore, and she was still visibly shaken with the terror of possibly losing her brother.

Micah. Listen to your sister. Come to the shore and get out of the water. Her mother’s arm wrapped around Elizabeth’s shoulders, and for the first time Elizabeth noticed that she was as tall as her mother. Elizabeth, you are a good sister. You will be a good mother someday. Always remember that you cannot save or control any life. You can only remain faithful to your God, yourself, and other people placed in your life to love.

Micah had stepped onto the shore. His flowing garment was drenched. That was fun! I want to do it again.

No, Micah, their mother had said. This has been enough excitement for one day. Go back to our campsite and hang out your garment to dry.

Elizabeth found herself standing by the wooden sink again. She turned around and saw only Mary sitting at the table. I feel the presence of my mother here . . . I was just remembering something that happened many years ago when my brother Micah fell down a steep cliff and into the Dead Sea.

Mary sat quietly and listened to her aunt as Elizabeth placed the pots and plates in the water and returned to the table to sit across from Mary. "When that happened, my mother told me that I would be a good mother. Here I am. An old woman who has mourned many years because I was barren . . . and now the child in my womb will be born soon . . . I remember being shocked that day when my brother didn’t drown. My mother seemed to appear out of nowhere on the shore. It was if she knew I needed her. She said something I will never forget . . . She said, ‘God always provides’ . . . And she went on to explain that because the Dead Sea is so salty, a living body remains buoyant and cannot sink . . . One couldn’t sink even if they wanted to . . . I asked her, ‘Why do we live here? Why can’t we live in Bethlehem, or Bethany, or Jerusalem?’ She told me that we had accepted God’s calling to be set apart. ‘Elizabeth,’ she had said, ‘we are Essenes, and we cannot forget our calling to faithfully live in this place.’ Elizabeth was silent for a moment and added, I often still wonder why I live here." Elizabeth sighed with a heaviness that often presents in the last months of pregnancy.

Mary rose from the table and began to finish the cleaning of the plates and pottery used for their dinner. Just sit, Aunt Elizabeth. I’ll get these finished. Mary worked in silence and finished the cleanup. She returned to sit across from Elizabeth.

I’m young, and I don’t understand a lot of things. I admit that I am most puzzled by my parents’ choice to remain in this settlement. Nothing about living here has seemed worth the trouble. Not until I learned that Joseph wanted me for his wife did I begin to think about life in a different way. Now even that is not to be. Mary looked intently at the grain in the wood of the table before she looked up and continued by asking, Aunt Elizabeth, did you think Joseph was too old to be my husband? Maybe that is why this has happened to me. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be the almah of such an older man.

Elizabeth chuckled. To me, Joseph is a young man. He is no older than thirty years, and you are asking this question of a woman who is pregnant for the first time and looking at an age nearing seventy-five years.

Mary and Elizabeth looked at each other and began to laugh hysterically. They laughed until their laughter tapered into short breaths and soft whimpers. Lastly, Elizabeth looked at Mary, reached for her hands across the table and said, It is late. Go and receive a restful sleep. May the Lord’s countenance shine upon you and give you peace.

Mary stood up, feeling the sadness of her situation rudely creep back into her soul. She tried to hide her sad emotion and walked around the table to hug Elizabeth. She walked to the opposite doorframe where she knew her uncle was sitting somewhere in the darkness, listening to everything she and her aunt spoke. Good night, Uncle Zechariah, she called out. Three taps of his staff against the stone wall expressed his evening salutation to Mary.

Mary walked into the darkness of her room and lowered her body to her sleeping mat. She thought of Joseph and began to cry. She prayed and asked God why she was not given the opportunity to fall in love with this man . . . Joseph. She could easily picture his face. She could see his dark eyes, and his dark curls, falling over his handsome face. His beard could not hide his beauty. His stature was formidable, but his gentle way was engaging. Through her tears, Mary thought she could have truly loved him. She wondered if he truly could love her, even now. Her sadness enveloped her like a cold dark cloud. Enough! No matter what, Mary knew her pregnancy was shrouded in inexplicable reality. She had come here to live with her aunt and uncle in the Judean Hills until the baby was born. She had left her mother and father’s home and took with her the shame of her circumstances. Maybe, she thought, her first child could be born in the safety of her relatives’ home. There would be so many more decisions to make upon the baby’s arrival but she was determined to be the mother to the child beneath her heart. She would do it without a husband . . . without love . . . without Joseph. Each night always seemed an eternity. She cried for the hopelessness of her future, and cried for the suffering her child was sure to endure. She thought of Joseph. She knew they would not be married. They would not have children together. They would not see years together. They would not be a family. No.

Then, in the silence of the night, she heard the voice of a man. It was a low, soft, comforting voice. Someone was here! Here, in the dwelling. He was in the next room beyond her door. How strange. It was not her uncle’s voice. He was struck dumb upon her aunt’s conception. Oh, God, am I hearing things? she wondered. It sounds like a familiar voice. I know this voice. But I know it is a voice I will not hear again.

Mary, she heard the voice say. She ran from the mat to her door. She flung the door open. Light blazed in, and all she saw was the silhouette of a man she immediately recognized.

Joseph!

I had a dream, Mary. He opened his arms and drew her close. I don’t understand everything, but I do know that I love you. I’m here to take you home, home to live our lives together. God will help us.

Mary sank her face into his mantle, turning her head to listen to his heart beating rapidly in his chest. She began to cry softly. She thought she could cry no more, and yet tears came, saying, But the rules . . . What about the rules? What will happen to us, Joseph? What will happen to this child?

We will continue to live in faith. He gently took her head into his hands and turned her tearstained face to his own. God is greater than anything. He is greater than rules. Love is greater than rules. This is out of our control now. I dreamed that I was supposed to love you and the unborn child . . . I have faith that God lays no rules against love. Mary, we are more important to God than rules. My love for you is greater than rules. He drew her close again. I’m taking you home with me.

Joseph led her back to her sleeping mat and removed the blanket, cloak, and mantle from his shoulders and spread them out on her mat. He helped Mary down to lie upon them. They were soft. She lay down, and Joseph lay next to her and pressed his warm body closely against her. Tonight, we shall sleep together, he said.

Zechariah stood at the doorway to Mary’s room and watched as they fell asleep. He smiled and turned, returning to Elizabeth who was also asleep. What a day, he thought.

Peace encircled Mary. Joy filled her and Joseph as they slept. At one point Mary woke up in the darkness of the night. But through the window from where she was lying, she saw a bright morning star in the west. She thought she was dreaming when she saw Joseph asleep by her side, and then remembered. She moved closer to Joseph and whispered, I will love this man and now shall love this child.

Eleazar’s home in Bethany and the Birth of Mary (Miriam)

Little Martha huddled in the corner of the room next to her big brother, Lazarus. Their mother was screaming, and both she and Lazarus were terrified. They felt invisible as women they didn’t recognize rushed about their dwelling carrying rags and clay pots filled with steaming water. Sometimes the rags they held in their hands were stained with fresh red blood. Every now and again her brother would release a terrified whimper that frightened Martha even more. Even at the young age of four years, Martha knew something was terribly wrong, and her terror caused her own crying and whimpering.

Finally, she tugged on her brother’s arm, and through her fear she asked, What’s wrong with Mommy? Why is she screaming? Where’s Daddy . . . I want my mommy!

Lazarus was young himself but at the age of seven years he understood more. He wrapped his arms around his sister, and they clung to each other. Mommy’s having a baby, he whispered. That is all he said while he continued to hold his sister. He understood something was terribly wrong. He remembered when his sister Martha was born and recognized there was a great difference in the behavior of the other women who were here to help his mother have this baby. He remembered his mother had screamed out then too, but the talking of the other women had been filled with expressions of anticipation and joy. Today his mother’s cries were different. She was screaming in desperation and pain. Something was wrong. He hung his head and began to cry. He thought his mother must be dying, and he wanted to see her. He wanted to be next to her and hold her but he knew he dare not move from the room where he and his sister were told to stay. His body shook violently at the next horrible shriek. Then there was silence, which seemed worse.

Martha jumped to her feet and ran toward the room that housed their mother’s bed, crying, Mommy . . . Mommy! Lazarus grabbed her hand and drew her back into their space by the corner of the room.

No, Martha! No. Stay here with me. Dad said for us to stay here!

Martha allowed her brother to take her back to the corner of the room and cried on his shoulder. "I want my mommy . . . I want my mommy.