The Child Madonna - Chapter 22 'The Annunciation'

Chapter 22 The Annunciation

Now. It has to be now. No doubt about it. I cannot wait any longer.

Joseph has come and gone. At the very time when Mari needs his company to talk things through and test her feelings, Eli has arranged a contract for him in Capernaum, which he was obliged to take up within two days of the completion of his work in Sepphoris. They didn’t have much time to themselves. If they had had longer, perhaps Mari would have mentioned….. In the event, she heeded her mother’s advice. She was careful in what she said, objective, practical. Joseph sensed that she was behaving differently, but could not put his finger on it. And now he would not be home until after midwinter day.

A week later Mari has dropped into her old natural rhythm. She is busier than ever; in addition to minding the animals during the day, fetching water, helping around the house, and cherishing the children, she has her wedding garment to make and embroider. She has already been up early on this baking autumn day to turn the flock loose on safe pastures just outside the village; perhaps later they will need leading to a source of water. The boys are at school, Salome and Rebecca have taken Mo and Benjamin down to the market. Mari is patiently stitching her wedding garment, sitting at the doorway of her home, whilst her mother is baking, indoors.

Her mother’s voice reaches her:

“Mari, we’re running low on water. I think I shall need some before this evening. Perhaps you’d go and fetch some before it gets too hot, there’s no particular hurry though, I don’t need it this minute.”

“Right, mother, I’m just finishing this coloured thread. I’ll fetch the water now.”

At last. My cue.

She searches for the large water jar, pours the little remaining into a smaller pot and lifts the empty vessel easily onto her shoulder. Despite the lateness of the season, she is quite warm in just her tunic. She glances at the sky, sees clouds lazily forming and dispersing and thinks no more of it. By the time she has reached the well, she is quite hot so she lowers the vessel to the ground, and sits on the earth leaning against the rim to rest before drawing water. For a few moments she allows her mind to wander. How much longer will she be able to maintain the pattern of her day, the freedom to achieve this liberty, this privacy? Will Joseph allow her to be alone, to watch the birds soar and the flowers waft in the breeze, or will he insist she stays veiled closely inside the tiny confines of his home?

She is daydreaming in the warm sunshine, when a lone figure appears on the track leading to the well. Am I in her dream? It is not the normal hour for the women to come, so Mari is surprised and just a little disappointed to be interrupted in her reverie, for she has intended to share once more the matters churning through her mind with her God. As I come closer, Mari is astonished, and not a little alarmed, to see it is the figure of a man, travelling light, with no baggage of any description. She lifts herself onto the wall of the well and smoothes her skirt, to restore her modesty, and waits to see what I will do. My head is covered so she does not recognise me at first, but my height is unusual and I appear very different to the local people, so she knows it is the stranger who is lodging with Althaeus. She becomes nervous and excited because she senses at once that this is no chance meeting; I have come searching for her. She glances round on all sides, fearful that she will be seen alone with me. What should she do? If she runs from me, I would catch her in no time; and she would display her fear. She cannot escape. She sits still and waits; she knows this is going to be important.

I stand in front of the beautiful dark-haired maiden, and lift the cloth from my golden sun-flecked curls. I smile down at her and after a long pause, after I have drunk in every aspect of her, I ask:

“Please lower your water jar and let me have a drink!”

It is a strange, even significant request; but Mariam does not stop to question or demur. She leans over the parapet, lets her jar splash in the water below, and lifts it up, straining with all her might, her left leg wedged against the wall for leverage. She pours a little into the metal cup chained to the well and offers it to me.

“Drink, sir.”

I lift the cup to my lips and drain it in one draught. Mari has sat down again and waits for my next move, her heart pounding within her. She reaches out to the water jar and bumps against it, knocking it over and spilling the water she has just drawn, watching it trickling in rivulets through the dusty ground, wasted.

“Mari, do not be afraid. I’m the same messenger as before. All that you do still pleases God.”

I smile at her and look for her response. A flicker of doubt is traced across her face, she hesitates. I sit beside her on the well assuming an intimacy which troubles her.

“What is the matter, Mari? I can see something is worrying you….. Tell me, I shall not put any pressure on you.”

I know Mari wants to explain that her family have given her the strictest instructions not to be with any man alone, except her betrothed, accompanied by the most fearsome threats, but she is embarrassed to tell me; she does not want, in some ways, to repel me, because she longs to hear my message. But it is creating turmoil within. So she tells me about Rachel and her confused emotions, her guilt, her pity, her pain at the girl’s suffering contrasted with the judgment of her own family, her obstinacy in the wake of the others’ views who are more learned than she is in these matters.

“She hurt me when she said awful things about my father, but surely God does not destroy in such a vengeful way? After all God was her maker. He wouldn’t rejoice to see her suffer, would he? And yet the priests said they were only carrying out God’s law.

“Mari, the scripture says that when the Israelites fled from the Egyptians out of slavery, and Pharaoh’s army was swept away in the flood, the angels round God’s throne began to sing in praise; but God rebuked them, saying ‘It is my creations who are drowning. How dare you sing!”

Mari turned her head to look me with questions in her eyes, my answer is still rolling round her head.

“Mari, let me tell you a story from our history. Are you acquainted with your ancestor, Tamar?”

“No, sir, I’ve not been told about her.”

“Jacob’s son, Judah, married his eldest son to a girl from Canaan. Before long he died and, as was the custom in those days, the next son inherited his brother’s widow. Before long he too was dead, and Judah feared to arrange a marriage between Tamar, the young widow, and his last remaining son, unless he should die also. When she saw that Judah did not intend to honour the tradition, but abandon her, childless, to her fate, she cast off her widow’s weeds and adorned herself and waylaid Judah, masquerading as a prostitute. The man was snared and had his way with her, the outcome of which was that she became pregnant. In disgrace she was brought before her father-in-law who condemned her to be burned; then she produced the seal from his girdle, and his staff, given her in lieu of payment, and he recognised his guilt and had mercy on the girl. And God was pleased to have her bear two sons.”

“Sir, I think I know what you are saying, but help me to interpret.”

“Despite her sinful act, God did not condemn Tamar, for her guilt was instigated by another; moreover God used the act as part of his plan, as is seen by the blessing of twin sons, from whom, dear child, you are descended.”

“How is this relevant to Rachel’s death?”

“Despite her behaviour, was Rachel responsible for her upbringing? Might not God have brought good from evil? Is it God’s will that Joshua’s children will be destitute, abused and exploited in turn and thus exposed in due time to like temptation? Yet the pride and self-righteousness of human intervention constrains God’s actions.”

“Perhaps God will protect and call Joshua’s children through their suffering, like Tamar?”

“Mari, I stand corrected! For you have wisdom beyond your years!”

“Sir, do not make fun of me. It is a serious and tragic business.”

“I did not mean you to interpret my words this way. I accepted your rebuke as if from God’s lips himself, for you were right – or at least, one must own the possibility.”

“You astonish me., sir, for I am a mere girl and am lacking in experience and wisdom.”

“On the contrary, my dear, you are honoured and chosen by God because the wisdom you have complements your natural gifts, enabling God to communicate with you, call you to his service knowing you will listen and obey.”

“You talk to me of God’s call. I am ready, that I have already indicated. When will I know what I have to do?”

“Very soon, Mari, very soon indeed.”

“Sir, I am overcome with curiosity!”

“I admire your spirit, girl; but it is no wonder that you disturb the orthodox among your relatives. You know the Messianic texts from the prophets?”

“I believe so, sir. I have listened to my uncle and the rabbis. Eli and my mother are both from King David’s line, which is a source of much pride to them; they have acquainted me with the prophecies. My father died in the hope that he could help fulfill them.”

“Then you expect a King of Kings from David’s lineage who will defeat the weapons of war itself and establish a kingdom of justice and peace? Mari, that time is coming now!”

“Sir!”

“But it will not be all joy, Mari; sometimes the way for those involved will be very painful. The scriptures say as such. Can you share that pain, Mari?”

There is a long pause. “This is a real question to me now, sir?”

“Yes, Mariam, I am asking you that question.”

“I don’t know what I can bear until I am tested, sir. I know this, if God needs me to suffer before his plan can work, then he will help me bear it. I have to trust that, so even if I don’t know really what I’m saying, I tell you now that I am ready to share the pain, as well as the joy.”

“You have wisdom, child. Love wisdom and she will make you great. Embrace her and she will bring you honour. Wisdom is better than jewels, nothing you can ever want will compare with her!”

“They are beautiful words, sir.”

“You appreciate them because you too are a poet. Don’t look so surprised, Mari, Salome, Rebecca and the other children have confided to me that you are a great teller of stories, and that you sometimes make up little rhymes to help them understand the mysteries of beauty.”

“You take notice of what the children say?”

“Of course, Mari, they tell the truth without considering the consequences. They are not dissemblers! Children are the true poets, questioning everything except the love about them. A poet remains a child until he dies. God wants you as you are, Mari, a true child of his. Others will try to age you. Let your eyes remain those of a child; vulnerable, sensitive, idealistic, great pools of pain.”

Mari turns slowly, draping herself across the rim of the well, and stares at the black still water which contains her reflection. She locates her eyes, and in staring, begins to feel dizzy, endangered, she may fall.

“It is risky!”

“How well you strike intuitively to the heart of the matter! Yes, lovely child, it is risky. You are very vulnerable. But God cannot bring about his promise unless you dare to act. If you want a shield from life’s dangers you will be sterile, deprived of power and inspiration. God calls you, of your own free will, to expose yourself to risk, to danger, so that you may be consort in his creation!”

“What you say, sir, fills me with fear. How can I be worthy of such honour? What if I should fail?”

“There are many Jewish girls, Mari, whose heads are full of dreams that they will be chosen to bear Israel’s hope. They yearn to impress, they seek the right marriage contract, they seek priestly guidance. Let me tell you another story. In the beginning the letters of the alphabet vied with each other to be the first within God’s holy word, the Torah. The letter ‘B’ made its claim with ‘blessed’ and ‘beginning’, but the letter ‘A’ was humble and did not press its claim, so God rewarded her by naming the first human ‘Adam’, just as he now chooses you to bear a second Adam.”

“Sir, you seem to know so much. Who are you?”

“I am the messenger, Mariam.”

“Yes, you said that before. But you must have a name?”

“I am the one of whom it was said ‘before the great and terrible day of the Lord comes, I will be sent.’ I am the messenger of the presence. I am the voice that calls you, the one bidden to carry out the will of the Lord upon you. More you need not know.”

“How do I know you are all the things you say? My uncle thinks you are an evil man come to spy on us.”

“I cannot prove to you otherwise, Mariam. That is one of the risks you have to take. Listen to your own conscience, ask yourself, ‘If God is calling me, what are the risks of disobedience?’ ”

“You make it impossible to say no.”

“For you, perhaps, Mari. Many would refuse.”

“What is going to happen?”

“Give me your hands, Mariam.”

The girl seems to draw in breath, and with great deliberation, as if this were the most momentous decision of her life, offers me her open palms. I take the proffered fingers, fold them and enclose them in my own.

“Listen carefully, Mariam, to what I tell you and hear me through until the end.”

Mari nods in submission, swallowing in her nervousness. The sun bursts from behind a cloud bathing her in light. She had not realised that it had been obscured for a while, but she is conscious of its renewed presence as she screws up her eyes and sees my silhouette delineated in the golden glow.

“Innocent child, beloved of the Lord God Almighty, I greet you and bring you wonderful news.”

Mari is bold. She senses my sudden formality and earnestness and looks me directly in the eye.

“Do not be afraid, Mari, God has chosen you.”

I pause and smile at the girl.

“Mari, you will shortly be pregnant and give birth to a son. He will grow to greatness and will be the Messiah the whole nation has been expecting.”

Despite her preparation, the moment when it comes is nigh too much for her. The certainty and confidence drains from her face, bewilderment takes hold. She does not want to challenge, she has been told to wait, but she cannot contain her questions.

“Sir, when will this be? I am still a virgin and my betrothed is in Capernaum at least until midwinter. And our marriage is not due to be celebrated until my fourteenth birthday, nearly nine months away. Are these arrangements to be changed?”

“Mari, God will cause the seed to be implanted in you. He does not need the human agency of your betrothed. God’s power, his spirit, brought here by me, his messenger, will cover you. Your innocence, your purity, will not be defiled if you submit in meek obedience to God’s will. Your consent is all that’s required; before we part today the child shall be within you.”

She hesitates a moment. Is she suspecting my intentions?

“But my family, sir, how shall I explain my condition? I shall be disgraced and condemned. I shall be shamed and die!”

“Listen, Mari, once more to the words of the scriptures that I’m sure the rabbis have taught you in the synagogue. Did they not show you all the prophecies about Israel’s expected saviour?

‘Do not be afraid; you will not suffer shame.
Do not fear disgrace; you will not be humiliated,
For your maker is your husband –
The Lord Almighty is his name –
The Holy One of Israel is your redeemer.’

Take these words to your heart, God means you to apply them to yourself; he will protect you.”

I watch the battle raging inside Mariam’s mind, her struggle to believe. She needs further encouragement.

“Your mother’s cousin, Elizabeth, from Ein-Karem, has been visited by God’s spirit also. You will know that she has been barren for many years and has born the heartbreak of her childlessness. She too is now pregnant several months and is to bear a son who will prepare the way for your own child. Did you not know this?”

“I knew my aunt could not travel to my betrothal celebration because she had been afflicted in some way, but I didn’t know the true cause of her absence.”

“You will find it as I say. The lady, who thought she was well beyond child-bearing age, is overjoyed, and your news will be confirmation of her own experience.”

Mari sits on the well rim, pensively. Her hands are still enclosed in mine. She senses the implications and significance of the next few words. How can she choose? She cannot postpone the decision, hesitation is to deny. Now is the risk that must be taken.

“I am the Lord’s servant. I accept what you have said. Let it happen!”

For a few moments the two of us remain seated, locked by our hands, warmed by the sun. Gradually the shadow of a cloud creeps across the hillside and, edging up on us, engulfs the well and claims the pathway towards the village. I relax my grip on the girl’s hands and stand before her.

“What do I do now?” she whisper.

“Go before me, Mariam, down to the Tabor stream where you sometimes water your flocks, and you will know there what you have to do.”

She too stands and turns toward the east and moves slowly, as if in a trance, directed by my voice. Her mind is so full that she sees nothing but her inner world. Grass and sky and earth and trees live on another plane.

A mile or so she walks, until she is adjacent to the hillside upon which the lonely fig-tree stands where she so frequently shelters from the heat. Automatically, unthinkingly, her eyes sweep the bare stubble and brown vegetation; a movement focuses her eyes, and she walks fascinated as a tiny whirlwind swirls around a spot just a few yards from the tree. It does not seem to move, yet straw and dead grass and dust is spiralling upwards, nearly to the height of the tree before it disperses in the air.

She looks behind her to point it out to the stranger, then she turns right back in surprise. There is no sign of him. He has vanished into thin air! Is this all there is? Has he no more to tell her? How will she know what she has to perform when she reaches the stream? Has he taken the short cut over the hill and will she find him waiting to greet her when she arrives at the waterside?

The sun is still behind the cloud and she shivers a little, tightening the girdle of her flimsy tunic as if in nervous gesture. I can read her mind with clarity. In my absence, she is fighting blind panic to turn around and run home to her mother. Without my soothing words entangling her in arguments she cannot gainsay, the doubts and foolishness of her predicament crowd in upon her. She can read through others’ eyes the accusations that will be made against her. Some will impugn deliberate wickedness; at best naivety to the point of foolhardiness, credulity strained beyond belief.

She has so many questions.

Could this man be cruelly tricking her, having established her night and day dreams? Despite his fair angelic face, is some evil lustful stark reality masked behind his open manner intended to seduce her trust? If he is an angel of darkness plotting to deprive her of her innocence, will she be protected by the Lord God who sees and knows her motives? She would like to seek advice from her mother, even Joseph, yet she knows instinctively what they would say, whilst rejecting that implied counsel. She is presuming what is going to happen; assuming she still has the power to refuse the act itself. Yet perhaps it has already happened? Did he not say that she would conceive by the very act of her consent, which she has already given? It might be too late, the seed might be growing even now within her womb.

The image of Rachel’s bleeding unconscious form imprints itself upon her imagination. Inevitably she identifies herself with the sin that brought her there, feels herself bound and stretched, exposed to ridicule and shame, waiting for the first mortal wound. Yet strangely her mind moves on from this centred image to the background of the girl; the tales she told of ritual couplings with the gods to bring fertility and new life to the earth, the myths of virgin births, temple acolytes who became mothers of gods. It is disturbing her, pagan excitement fills her with horror and fascination simultaneously. She sees herself as sacrificial victim, laid out, exposed upon the altar awaiting the glinting dagger; her mind somersaults to the oft told story of the boy Isaac offered thus by Abraham and his last moment rescue enabled by the ram caught in the thicket. Will she be spared at the last resort, once she has proved her obedience to God’s call? Is it all a further test to check her loyalty and faith?

All the time her mind is racing onwards, her frail body is trudging reluctantly towards the appointed place. She sees the silver glint of the distant water, the green lushness of the vegetation despite the lateness of the season, the brooding barren hills encircling this oasis. She knows now, despite all her valid and logical misgivings that she is going to obey; to take the risk. Why should the stranger fill her mind with such exotic messages, incredible claims, if all he wants is her seduction? She is only small, if he just raped her, she could not resist. Why the façade?

I feel her scrutiny and blanch at the intensity of her suspicions. Am I guiltless or am I tainted too with temptations tearing at the edges of my mission?

Her mind moves on. If she has discerned rightly, why the need for fear? If God has performed this miracle, will it not be easier for him to protect his child and his chosen vessel from the wrath of man? Logic then is to take the risk; obey. But the decision is not taken lightly, the emotional turmoil is not dulled.

“Take a deep breath”, she says to herself, “take your courage in both hands. Let me trust you, God; help me to banish disbelief.”

She is standing at the water’s edge, staring vacantly as if lost; as if the place were unfamiliar. She is just beginning to wonder if the stranger is spying on her here, whether or how she will be instructed.

Indeed, I am still watching.

Then suddenly she seems to know. She dips her hands into the cool stream and lays her clothes, folding them carefully, beside the frothing water. She wades into the centre of the stream, naked, and stands, ready to do what comes naturally, next….