One On One: 100 Days With Jesus--ADVENTMinta

Mary, Interviewed:  The Mom who Treasured Jesus 

[Imagine the gospel writer, Luke’s interview with Mary, part 1] 

Thank you, Mary, for sharing your story with us. No one can tell us about Jesus better than you, the one God chose to be His mother. Recently, some have taught that Jesus was human, but not God. And some would say the opposite—that He was God, but not human. What would you say to that? 

Mary: [laughing] Well, as the one who bore Him, burped Him, and changed His soiled diapers, and...and sat across from Him at the evening meal for almost 30 years, I can tell you for certain that He is human. 

And also [softly], I will tell you that He is God. I know better than anyone that Jesus was conceived by the Holy Spirit. But I also followed Jesus as Rabbi. I saw His miracles, heard Him teach. I stood with Him at that wretched cross and I saw Him again, alive, days later. I know better than anyone that He is God Himself. 

Yes, He is both. Now I’m old and can see my life better, I remember things He said and did—moments that stole my heart long before He captured anyone else’s. I hold every memory—even those things I don’t understand. Like the old man in temple, what he said. For years I had night terrors as Jesus slept safely under our roof. My heart was pierced already. I think I see more clearly now, though not yet how I will see someday. 

Yes, Jesus certainly is a man. By day, He worked hard—in the shop, or in Sephoris or Tiberius—both were booming with work when we lived in Nazareth. Of course, Jesus was Nazareth’s most eligible bachelor. How many mothers asked me, “So, isn’t it time for Jesus to pick a wife?” (Laughs.) 

Dinner was always fun for us with nieces and nephews competing for Jesus’ attention or His brothers picking His brain on some problem. Often the men from synagogue dropped by to talk to Jesus and they would sit under the stars and debate some line from Torah. And while the girls and I finished the chores, I would eavesdrop and smile when Jesus’ calm questions would settle their nerves . . . or sometimes stir up new questions. 

What’s a favorite memory from that time? 

Sabbat. Every Friday night. I’d light the Sabbat candles and work would stop. We would linger at the meal, warmed with good things to eat and each other’s company. And we’d talk of God’s goodness. The candles glowed on my children’s faces and the grandchildren would cuddle. Someone would retell a family story and we would laugh. Or remember something about Joseph, and our eyes would moisten. 

Jesus was the patriarch for those years. That is, until it was time for Him to go. Somehow He knew when. 

If I sit especially quiet, sometimes I think I still hear His voice, Mommy, help me lace my sandals? Mom, what’s for dinner? Woman, don’t you know my time is not yet come? Dear Mother, behold your son . . . Mom, I’ll be back.

Tomorrow: One on one with Mary—on the day they lost Him