The Swaddling - Making of the Magi

Mary’s Story (Part One)

It was a strange feeling for Mary to be home after two years away. She considered the incredible turn of events that had taken place during that period and regarded this as the lowest she’d felt during any stage of her life. It had started with such a sense of expectation, tinged with a drop of trepidation. Looking back, it had begun like any normal day. She remembered playing with her friends and coming home because she was hungry, hoping to find her mother baking bread. She hadn’t had a care in the world.

Her mother and father asked her to sit down as they had something to discuss with her; they sounded serious, and this unsettled her. ‘We’d like you to consider your betrothal that may take place in a couple of years,’ her father began matter-of-factly.

To Mary, it felt like a blow to the head. Her friends had sometimes discussed marriage, and they had even giggled together, naming suitable partners. They were, of course, all too young; boys had to finish their apprenticeships and would, therefore, have to be at least twenty years old. But she had never regarded it seriously, despite it being the custom for a girl’s marriage to be arranged; but why so soon, she thought, suddenly feeling panic-stricken.

Her father was speaking again. ‘We will not force you to marry anyone that you do not approve of. I have secured a position for you in the household of a widower, with a view to betrothal after two years, dependent on you being satisfied that he is suitable.’

Her mother now picked up the story. ‘He is a kind man, like your father, hardworking and well thought of. He has some grown-up children and some younger ones, and, for the first few months, you can come home for the Sabbath.’

‘You mean I’ll have to live there?’ Mary asked in disbelief.

Her mother looked at Joachim for the answer. ‘Only if you’re happy and treated well,’ he said persuasively. ‘Give it a few months, pray about it, and if it’s not working out, we’ll reconsider. However, I think this will suit you. We wouldn’t suggest it if we thought you’d be unhappy; we want what’s best for you.’

With this statement, he stood up. The conversation was over, and she crept up to her tiny mezzanine loft room, overlooking the kitchen, lay down on her straw mattress and sobbed. Eventually exhausted, she fell asleep.

The following day, her mother woke her by stroking her long, jet-black hair. ‘How did you sleep, dear?’ she had asked.

‘Okay, I suppose. What’s his name?’

‘His name is Joseph. He’s a carpenter, and he has six children. The boys are Judas, Justus, James and Simon, whilst the girls are Asia and Lydia. Along with Simon, they are the youngest. He lives nearby in Nazareth, and his wife died about five years ago. Since then, he’s been struggling to run the house, work and educate the younger children, especially in scriptures and customs. Joseph isn’t a very devout man, and your father spoke so highly of your knowledge that he jumped at the prospect of you running the household.’ She paused for a moment and stroked her arm. ‘Your father is so proud of you, you know; we both are and only want what is best for you. Will you try it?’

‘Okay,’ she replied, looking down at the floor, adding, ‘Can we look at the house without them knowing?’

‘Of course we can. We’ll leave after we break fast.’

Mary spent her devotional time praying about the situation and afterwards felt a genuine sense of peace about it and God’s presence with her.

(Unknown to and unseen by her, her Guardian Angel left her presence to report to Gabriel.)

She remembered standing in the hot, dusty street in Nazareth and, from a distance, watching some children playing in a small yard with a low wall, before an older boy appeared, calling them in. The house was larger than she’d expected, certainly larger than her own. She remembered thinking that it looked like a cheerful house and told her mother she’d like to meet them the following day.

A week later, she moved in with her pitiful bundle of belongings. Joseph had made her a small wooden chest to store them in and had carved her name on it. She traced her hand over the engraving. It was just the right size to slide under her bed; she’d never slept in a bed before, only on a straw-filled mattress on the floor. Opening her bundle, she meticulously stored her belongings in what she had named her ‘sacred box’. There was a hard leather ball for playing catch; a clay doll her father had made, dressed in clothes she had made with her mother and, although she didn’t play with it now, it was a treasured possession, along with two silk ribbons given to her by her much older cousin, Elizabeth, a small oil lamp from her father; two changes of clothes and a pair of sandals.

Her room had a sheet hung in the doorway, and when she asked Joseph if she could have a wooden door with a lock for privacy, it was duly fitted two days later by Justus, who was training to be a carpenter. His older brother, Judas, had always shown a keen interest in livestock and had joined his uncle, a sheep farmer in the North, as an apprentice.

The first couple of months were awkward whilst the family got used to her presence, and she got to know their routine and, as agreed, she would return home in time for the Sabbath each week. She would discuss with her mother how differently the household ran and how little the children knew about their faith and the scriptures. At first, she would cry at leaving, but this subsided, and ultimately, her mother instructed her to leave and fully devote herself to her new family. She had been careful not to make changes sound like a criticism, and the phrases she used most commonly to suggest something new were ‘Would it suit you better if?’ or ‘I know you’ve been concerned about…’ Joseph always agreed to her suggestions.

Having been told, frequently, that she had a talent for storytelling, she used this gift to give the children a better understanding of the Torah (The first five books of the Hebrew Scriptures) and would spend hours planning games, drama and stories to help bring the events and teachings to life. She had built their enthusiasm using the main festivals, and although Joseph was a reluctant participant at first, he gradually rose to the challenge, and it surprised her to find him more devout than her father had implied, noting that her father had made some veiled comment about Joseph not being a leading member of the synagogue.

She focused her attention on maintaining a well-organised household. At first, she knew very few people in the town, always focusing foremost on the family, until one day, whilst returning from the market, she bumped into a woman stumbling out of a doorway. She chatted with the woman after asking her if she was hurt, and then she discovered it wasn’t her house. Instead, she was visiting a widow named Ruth, who was in poor health and confined to bed. She explained that, unfortunately, she could only help every other day. Mary asked to meet Ruth and, as they entered the house, she felt genuine compassion towards this poor, lonely woman, lying helpless on a filthy mattress on the floor. She asked Joseph if he would permit her to visit on alternate days, taking her a meal.

It pleasantly surprised her how quickly he had agreed. ‘It would be good for the younger children to be involved also,’ he had said, adding, ‘Can we get her a new mattress? Better still, Justus can make her a simple bed to get her off the floor.’

A week later, a new bed and mattress were delivered, and she heard the Rabbi even mentioned it at the synagogue, as an illustration of a good deed. Ruth had cried when they delivered the bed, and Mary felt proud to be associated with a kindly and generous man like Joseph.

Within a few months, she and the children were visiting four widows, taking along simple meals for each of them. They always blessed the food before leaving and would sit and chat with them whilst they ate or as they carried out simple housekeeping duties for them. The widows loved the visits; the children were like a breath of fresh air in their lives, chattering away about what they had learned and telling them bits of news and, according to the widows, most conversations started with ‘Mary did this, or Mary said that.’

When Joseph eventually discussed their engagement with her parents, she accepted the proposal enthusiastically. She had grown to love this kind, hardworking man, and there was much excitement and celebration in both families. And although she was living in his house, he was careful to ensure that he maintained the privacy of her room and that he did nothing to damage her reputation, especially as he was becoming increasingly devoted to her.

She remembered the evening when her world turned upside down, like it was yesterday. It had begun like most days. As the sun rose, she started her time of devotion, praying for each member of the family. On that day, she had paid special attention to Assia and Lydia, who were becoming increasingly important in the visiting program. She had prepared breakfast and, as soon as Joseph left for work with Justus, she had shown the girls how to patch torn clothing, and also how to stitch a few shekels into the hem of their dresses. ‘This will help to protect your modesty when the wind blows and ensure you always have money in an emergency,’ she told them. Although they couldn’t imagine what kind of emergency would cause them to need a few shekels, they liked the idea anyway. She had then taken them to the market before preparing the evening meal and visiting an elderly lady whose hands had become increasingly crippled and needed help with her washing. It was just an ordinary day until she went to her room for her ‘quiet time’.

Joseph’s Story (Part One)

It was cool inside Joseph’s carpenter’s shop, a small, single-storey, whitewashed building, which he had built himself many years before. Outside, the midday sun beat down on the airless streets. He began his working life as a carpenter, but over the years, he developed further skills, and now, towards the end of his working life, he was recognised as a builder, which also included producing detailed drawings and carrying out the designs. Over the years, he had trained several apprentices for larger projects. He had an excellent reputation in the town, though the Rabbi said that he seemed only to attend the synagogue during festivals. However, most people regarded him as an honest family man who was careful with his money, worked hard, and always completed the job on time.

He inhaled deeply through his nostrils; he loved the smell of wood shavings and glue. This was the place he went to contemplate life; it was the place where he found peace. Many of the big decisions he’d contemplated were made in this place. He looked around the workshop at the neatly arranged tools. The wood chisels had belonged to his father, whom he still missed even though he had died a long time ago. He had yet to meet anyone who measured up to his high standards, and several times, he had considered what advice his father would have offered regarding the delicate situation in which he had found himself.

His mind wandered back over the last couple of years to the strange events that had unfolded following the death of his beloved wife. He had struggled to cope with bringing up four boys and two girls on his own and, in particular, his youngest son, James, who was a troublesome boy. Joachim, a close family friend, suggested that his daughter, Mary, could help him, conditional upon a betrothal to her when she became of age two years later. He had readily agreed. Although it was customary to arrange marriages in this way, later that day, he had considered the implications. He’d settled into a life of singleness. What if the arrangement didn’t work out? What if the children didn’t like her, especially the older ones? How would he handle the situation if she were moody or lazy or, worse still, what if she didn’t like him? He’d comforted himself by considering the benefits - his ad hoc cooking and cleaning would improve, and rearing the younger children on his own had taken a toll on his work; he’d even had to turn down building projects, and he had to admit he felt lonely. On balance, he decided it was the right decision, and he’d just have to ensure that he did everything in his power to make it work, starting with a frank discussion with all the children regarding what he expected of them.

The children had mixed emotions about Mary’s arrival. The girls, in particular, missed having a mother that they could talk to, and although their father loved them dearly, he was a man and didn’t understand them in the same way a woman would; he couldn’t even brush their hair without it hurting! They learned not to complain too loudly, as he’d once threatened to have it cut short to make it easier to manage. The other side of the coin was that they got their own way more often than they would with Mum. Dad, they considered, was a soft touch who always sided with them, expecting the boys to behave like men.

Within weeks of her arrival, the younger children were treating her like an older sister and calling her Mary. While the older brothers were initially cautious about someone taking the place of their mother but, the food she cooked ensured they swiftly accepted her as one of the family.

Joseph felt that, considering the circumstances, they had run the household well and that the younger children were progressing satisfactorily with their education. He soon realised that, although Mary was young, she wanted to continue with the current regime he had in place. He also noted with some pride that when he asked her to implement changes, usually something that he believed suited the family better, or when he was concerned about a particular aspect of the household, she would implement the change without fuss.

What had surprised him most was her knowledge of the scriptures. He would often hear her quoting wisdom texts to them: ‘Intelligent children make their parents proud,’ she would say, ‘Lazy students embarrass their parents,’ or ‘Buy the truth and do not sell it; listen to your father, who gave you life; also get wisdom, discipline, and moral judgment.’ His favourite was, ‘The father of godly children has cause for joy. What a pleasure to have wise children, so give your father joy.’

She was easily the most devout and prayerful person he’d met and had settled in immediately, even stopping her visits home sooner than he’d expected. She was a splendid example of how a Jewish girl should live, especially for someone so young, and it even prompted him to pray more and attend the synagogue a little more often.

Her zeal for the annual festivals that they celebrated was infectious. Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year festival commemorating the creation of the world, was her favourite. It is a time when God balances a person’s good deeds of the previous year against their wicked deeds. Her focus, however, was always on getting everyone to think about their priorities in life and to reflect upon what they had achieved in the past year. She would ask the same four questions of everyone. The children loved it, even the grown-up ones, and it allowed Joseph to affirm them all.

‘What’s the most meaningful thing in your life?’

‘Who in your life means the most to you, and how often do you let them know this?’ ‘What are the most significant things you’ve achieved in the past year?’

‘What do you hope to achieve next year and in your life?’

The first year, he had just gone along with it, but in the second year, he was reflecting upon the question. Who in your life means the most to you, and how often do you let them know this? He realised suddenly that it was Mary. An overwhelming love for her swept over him, and he realised, probably for the first time, that he didn’t want to live his life without her now; it was as if the feelings had sneaked up on him - a beautiful ambush - his eyes had filled up, and eventually, she had to break into his thoughts.

‘Are you alright, Joseph?’ she had asked, with her eyes widening, blissfully unaware that she was the cause. ‘We’re waiting for you to bless the food.’ They were all staring at him now.

‘Yes, of course,’ he said, returning to reality. There was a small tear running down his face. ‘Let’s hold hands whilst I ask God to bless the food; they’ll be too sticky afterwards.’

The children loved the special meal that was laid out before them, and they tucked in straight away - apples dipped in honey, to symbolise the sweet New Year that each hopes for, a sweet carrot stew called a tzimmes, along with challah bread that was baked in a round loaf, rather than the plaited loaf served on the Sabbath. He loved the way she explained to the young ones the meaning of this custom, of how it illustrated the circle of life in a year. Finally, there was a pomegranate on the table. ‘Tradition has it,’ she whispered. This made the children listen harder—that a pomegranate has 613 seeds, one for each of the commandments that a Jewish child must keep. One day, we will count them to check if it’s correct.

Following the meal, they went outside to listen to the blowing of the ram’s horn at the synagogue, marking the start of the ten days known as the Days of Awe. This would end with the solemn festival of Yom Kippur, when Mary would insist that everyone follow tradition and wear white as a sign of purity and not wear leather footwear.

The younger children also liked the festival of Hanukkah, the Jewish Festival of Lights. She would tell them the story of how the festival began; they would sit enchanted at the way she told it.

‘A long time ago, there lived a Syrian king called Antiochus, who was a very vain man. He had a colossal statue of himself erected in the temple. The king ordered the Jewish people to bow down before it and, as she said, looking very stern, ‘The Ten Commandments forbid Jews to worship statues or idols and so they refused. Now, there was a small group of brave men, just like your father, who rebelled.’

They would roar, banging on the table, chanting, ‘Abba, Abba, Abba’ (meaning daddy) until he stood and, laughing, flexed his arms to show off his muscles.

‘They were called the Maccabees and, after a war that lasted three years, they recaptured Jerusalem. Unfortunately, though, the temple was all but destroyed.’

Now the children were booing and banging their hands on the table.

‘They had to clean and repair the Temple and, when they were finished, they rededicated it to God and did this by lighting the lamp (menorah), which was a symbol of God’s presence.’ She lowered her voice for the ending: ‘They only found one small jar of oil, enough for one day, but miraculously, the lamp stayed alight for eight days; therefore, tonight we will leave a lamp shining in your bedroom to remind you of God’s presence.’

The children, Joseph had noticed, always slept soundly on that night of the year.

The most important festival for many, including Joseph, was the Passover (Pesach in Hebrew). Mary suggested that the entire family re-enact the story. Naturally, the younger children loved the idea. Somehow, her suggestions were very difficult to refuse. To do so seemed somehow churlish, and afterwards, everyone always felt better for having joined in, and often, she somehow made them feel it was their idea. Joseph would be Moses, and Justus would be the Pharaoh. They would act it out in the most dramatic fashion as she told the story of the Passover Meal.

She knew the story off by heart and, as she went through the plagues, the youngest children would hop around imitating frogs, buzz around for the gnats and flies, make noises like cattle and pretend to have boils all over their bodies; cover their heads for hail, before zooming around the house as locusts and eventually, the part that brought most laughter, staggering around with their eyes closed and arms outstretched, bumping into each other as though it was pitch black. It was so funny watching them laugh and enjoy themselves. Nobody, Joseph considered, but Mary could make religion such fun to learn and still be able to impart serious teaching.

‘The penultimate chapter of this fascinating story,’ she would explain, ‘was the final plague. This was to be the death of the firstborn in every household in the land, and yet Pharaoh still refused to listen. God told Moses that the Israelites should mark their doorposts with lamb’s blood so that the ‘Angel of Death’ could ‘pass over’ their houses and spare them from this plague, which is the reason the festival was called Passover. Eventually, Pharaoh gave in and told Moses and the Israelites to go at once. They left in such a rush that their bread did not have time to rise. Therefore, during Passover, Jewish people eat unleavened bread called Matzah to remember leaving Egypt in a hurry.’

Joseph loved her storytelling, but also considered that Mary had a beautiful and serene disposition; her presence in the household had brought a peace that had been missing. She and the children had also become active in the community, visiting and taking meals to the elderly and infirm, and this had brought great honour to him. People would often stop him to say what a credit they were. His rabbi even mentioned him and the work. During those two years, as she grew in stature, he had become more and more captivated by her. He also loved her cooking and noticed that he’d put on a little weight, though he reasoned that it was more dignified, just like all the wealthy merchants, to be a little portly.

He proudly announced the engagement, sparking genuine excitement and celebration in both families. Despite her living in his house, he took care to maintain the privacy of her room and not do anything that would damage her reputation, as his devotion to her grew stronger.