I Knew Him-Mary, His Mother

[Cloudwalker]

This is the first in a series of monologs of people who knew Christ.  Currently I am thinking about posting 1 each week.  I thought about posting 1 a month, but that would stretch the posting to a year and a half.  And I'm not sure I want to stretch it out that long.  At 1 a week it will run about 4 and a half months.

Mary, his mother


The first time I heard about Jesus was when the angel announced his coming.  I couldn’t believe my ears when he told me I would be the mother of the Messiah.  Me, a poor peasant girl.  Nobody special.  The mother of God.  How?  Why?  Why was I chosen for this honor?  How could it be, I was a virgin?  I had a million questions.  But in the end all I could say was “I am the Lord's servant.  His will be done.” 

Nine months later, in a stable in Bethlehem, Jesus was born.  I will never forget that night.  No mother ever forgets the birth of her child, especially her first born, but this one was special.  After all, what child’s birth is heralded by Angels and a star, or is welcomed by shepherds, or worshiped by Wise men from the east.  And how can I forget Anna and Simeon who greeted him when we went to the temple to present him. 

No, this child was special.  It soon became obvious how special when we took him to Jerusalem when he was twelve.  On the trip back we had traveled all day when we missed him.  We assumed that he was with friends and relatives among the group traveling.  It wasn’t until we stopped for the night that we realized he wasn’t with the group.  Three days later, when we finally found him, he was in the temple talking with the elders and astonishing them with his wisdom.  When we confronted him his answer was “Didn’t you know I must be in my Fathers house and about my Fathers business?” 

Standing there at the foot of the cross, watching him die, I finally realized what Simeon had meant when he said that a sword would pierce my soul.  It isn’t easy for any parent to watch their child die but to watch one that had never done anything wrong, and had done so many wonderful things for so many people, dying, and hear him praying for those who were killing him was especially agonizing. 

Over the years of his ministry his brothers and sisters never did quite accept that he was actually God in the flesh.  And, I suppose, neither did I.  That is, until that Sunday morning three days after he had died.  I mean, after you have stood at the foot of his cross and seen him die.  You’ve watched as the soldier plunged his spear into his side and seen the water and blood flow from his side, and you know he is dead.  You’ve accompanied the men to the tomb and watched as they wrap his body, place it in the tomb and seal it.  And then, three days later see him alive again.  After that it’s hard not to accept that he really is God, just as he claimed. 

[Sojourner]

While we have the Gospels and other NT writings about the life and ministry of Jesus, chronicles written from the perspective of key individuals who knew Him personally is an intriguing concept. Good start, and I'm looking forward to reading the rest of the series.