There was another knock at the door. John’s wife, Sarah, put
down the dough she had been kneading to watch Joseph, her house servant, walk
over to greet and wash the feet of whoever it was. She was sure he was getting
tired. Many visitors had arrived that day. Sarah scanned to main living area of
her home, now providing comfort for nearly 20 visitors. She wondered how many
others could fit into the normal hosting spaces. She smiled to herself knowing
that she had also prepared some of their normally private areas for guests.
Mary had become quite the person to visit over the last year since Jesus’ death
and resurrection. What an honor to have Mary living in her house! She was once
again overwhelmed with thankfulness that her John had given up the family business
to follow the master.
It was John who had thought that this celebration, the
anniversary of Jesus birth in Bethlehem 34 years ago, would be a good idea. Her
children’s laughter brought her back to the present. The new arrival was Yoshi,
a shepherd, who had been just a boy tagging along with his father that special
night. Yeshua (Yoshi’s real name) had been carried along on his father’s
shoulders from those fields to the stable cave where the baby, also named
Yeshua, was lying asleep. Yoshi’s father, Abram, had brought a lamb that night.
Yoshi had brought one tonight and her children and the others gathered,
skipping and dancing around it,and laughing at the lamb’s attempts to put
strength to its legs after being carried so long. Sarah glanced at Tanta Mary,
as she was regularly called, sitting close and holding her hands out so that no
one would fall over on her by accident. Her eyes sparkled brightly watching the
lamb, most likely being whisked away in her mind to that night long ago. It
seemed that the light of that special star had been captured within Mary’s eyes
and was once again shining through her to light this night.
Sarah glanced down at the dough in her hands as she pulled
it apart. For a moment she was lost in the action. Other hands held the dough
which was now bread. Wounds would soon mar those hands, that now passed the
bread to one, and then another. “This is my body, broken for you.” she heard so
clearly. Tears escaped her eyes and fell to the table below making clay of the
excess flour scattered there. “This is my blood, poured out for you.” She had
been there, serving the master and the others that night.
“Mother,” she heard as if from a great distance. She tried
to focus. “Mother! Are you crying?” her oldest asked. “No my dearest,” she lied.
“Just some flour in my eyes.” She smiled at her son, tousled his hair and
remembered…this was not a night for sadness but for celebration. How did John
like to put it? “The Light has come into the world!”
No comments:
Post a Comment