M is for MARY

I would love to have interviewed the mother of Jesus. This is what I think she might have said if she had been alive today:

'Look I didn't ask to be famous. After all I was only a young girl of sixteen, barely the age to leave school when the whole thing started. Yes I had some idea that Joseph's ancestors were in the line of King David but I never gave it much thought. Until the day when that angel appeared and told me that I was going to have a baby. Me! A teenager, not even married yet and not particularly ready to settle down to all the things that would involve. How would I break it to mum and dad? How could I expect them to believe me that Joseph wasn't the father and that I am still a virgin? This sort of thing just doesn't happen, it's not logical, you can't explain it. Anyway, when the angel makes it clear that this is no ordinary baby, but a King, well I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Then I'm told to call him Jesus, a fairly common name around our parts and informed that His kingdom will never end. Listen, Nazareth is a small village and news travels fast so it's not easy to hide it when you're expecting a baby. So I headed off to my relative Elizabeth, up in one of the mountain villages, for I'd heard a few strange things had been happening there too. And sure enough, Elizabeth, who's quite an elderly lady, you understand, is over six months pregnant and when she sees me she tells me how privileged she is to be visited by the mother of her Lord. I feel the baby starting to kick and I begin to realise that this is no everyday occurrence and that I have been chosen from all women, by God, to carry His Son and mother Him on earth.

Well, time passes and Joseph has to go to Bethlehem to sort out some census stuff but because I'm heavily pregnant myself now, he refuses to leave me behind in Nazareth and, quite honestly, I'm pretty glad to be going south for a while, if only to get away from the constant gossip and rumours that nobody will actually say to your face. I know Joseph is concerned for my safety and welfare but I think he secretly doesn't want to miss the birth of 'his' son. It takes quite a few days to reach Bethlehem and we stop in several towns along the way. I'd only even seen Jerusalem in paintings and sketches but what a wonderful place. Still, we couldn't stay for long, just passed through in fact, but I promised myself that some day, I would come back and see it properly. I didn't think that it would be my own son who would cause me to come back.

Anyway, Bethlehem was total chaos. There were people everywhere and far too few hotel rooms so that many just camped out in the fields or slept on back streets. It was a real busy place with all sorts of characters selling stuff and quite a few others had travelled down from our village as well. I would have slept anywhere but Joseph, kind hearted soul that He was, insisted that we needed somewhere safer and with a little bit of comfort, just in case the baby arrived. We found an old stable and made it our home during our stay and to be honest, I'm glad that we did for not long afterwards, I gave birth, and we were able to wrap the baby up in some old clothes and use the manger as a makeshift cot. I was overjoyed and so was Joseph. Could this really be God lying in front of me? Could I have been given such responsibility with so little experience of life?

Anyway, a few hours later, while I was still very tired but very contented, a few strangers arrived at the door. I thought they were in town for the census but they said they had wandered in from the hillside. They looked a bit shaken to be honest and my first thought was for the safety of Jesus, for they seemed very interested in my son. Then they explained that, while looking after their sheep, through a vision of angels they had been told that the Saviour of the world had just been born in a manger, in Bethlehem, so they decided they must investigate. Well, considering all that had happened to me, it wasn't hard to believe them. When they left, I could hear them singing and praying and telling people along the street what they had just seen. I don't think they were ever the same again and I'm sure shepherding was never as exciting for the rest of their lives.

Anyway, that was all a long time ago, but the details are still as vivid as the day they happened. Later on, Joseph and I had several other children and reared the whole family back in Nazareth, but you've got to remember that I lived my whole life, knowing that if my first son was to be the Saviour, he would die a cruel death early in his life. Any of you mothers who have lost a child know exactly what I'm talking about, but it's worse when you live every day, knowing that it will happen and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. And it doesn't matter what age they are, they're still your children. I suppose I should be thankful that I had Him for over thirty years, that He learned how to be a carpenter from His dad and we brought Him up in a way that I hope pleased God. And I'll aways remember the miracles, the way He knew the scriptures better than anyone else, even the High Priests, the time He had for people, the good things He did. Yes it made me so proud, not just being His mother but also watching the guys who followed Him everywhere for the last two or three years of His life and who still came to see me long after He died and kept telling everyone about Him. And I remember His death, so cruel and nothing ever prepares you for that. Yet, I know it wasn't the end, because Peter and John and most of his friends saw him alive again, though the nail holes were still there and they weren't the only ones. Because I know these guys like my own children, I have no reason to doubt when they tell me that He is alive and because I now believe that He has the power over death, some day my son will come back for me just as He has promised. But listen, I'm no different to you. I'm only remembered as special because God chose me to carry His own Son and you know there is nothing greater than doing God's will. Just ask my Son. My name's Mary, but it's really Jesus that you should be talking to.'