Tears of Blood Book One: The Five Scrolls

A Thought

If you say or write the four names of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John together, people the world over will know exactly what they mean. For these are the four men chosen by God to document the life of Jesus, the Christ or Messiah or Son of God. They are by far the most read, most quoted, most famous authors in the total history of this world. And I predict that nothing will ever change their popularity.

Now, ask yourself what you know about these four men. I suspect the answer is very little. And that’s a fairly good assessment even from experts in the field of theology. All four men seemed to have led secret lives in comparison to their major contributions in the fields of religion and literature. I have often wondered about this mystery.

Let’s look at the qualifications of the four men, beginning with Matthew. He was a Galilean tax collector whom Jesus selected late in His ministry to train as an apostle. His past occupation made him an outcast with the Jews, and yet his gospel was written specifically to the Jews. Experts say that the Gospel attributed to Matthew was, in fact, carefully compiled from at least three sources. And contrary to popular opinion, this was not the first written gospel but the third. Various translations record his martyrdom in Ethiopia, in Persia, or in Pontus on the Black Sea.

Mark was a Judean, raised in Jerusalem by his widowed mother and his uncle Barnabas. The Last Supper probably took place at his uncle’s house, and Mark probably witnessed the capture of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. As a teenager, he would have known the other apostles and leaders of the early church. As a young man, he traveled with Paul and Barnabas on their first missionary journey in Asia Minor, and later he traveled with Barnabas in other lands. In his later years, he traveled to Rome to work again with Paul and Peter. His gospel is the shortest and the first written of the four. Of the 660 verses in Mark’s gospel, 600 are to be found in Matthew’s gospel, and 350 in Luke’s gospel, and only 60 in neither. He died many years later in Egypt.

Luke was a Gentile converted to Christianity. He was a physician who joined Paul on his second missionary journey and remained his companion until Paul’s death in Rome. His gospel and its companion, the Book of Acts, comprise more pages of the New Testament than even Paul’s writings. His total manuscript was written while Paul was in prison in Caesarea and Rome. Luke probably interviewed many of the early church leaders such as James, Jude, Peter, Barnabas, and even Mary, the mother of Jesus. The earliest known drawings of Mary are ascribed to Luke. Most legends have him dying of old age at 84.

John was a Galilean fisherman and the youngest member of the apostles. He and Andrew were the first followers of Jesus. Later, his brother James, and his mother Salome became followers with him. After the death of Jesus on the cross, the mother, Mary, was cared for by John, even though Mary had other sons and daughters. In his later years, John moved to Ephesus, the new headquarters of the Christian movement. A few years before his death on the Isle of Patmos, John began to write. First he wrote three rather short epistles. Then, he wrote his gospel. Then, he wrote the Book of Revelation of Jesus Christ. These five books would complete what would eventually become the 27 books of the New Testament. Little is known of the 50 or more years of his life between the death of Jesus and his writing in Ephesus.

On the surface, these four men appear to have little in common except their faith. But a closer examination reveals that all four men were probably well-educated scholars with access to family wealth. Of all the earlier followers of Jesus, none were better qualified to document the gospel message. These four men would have been naturally drawn together for this common purpose. They would see this as the only way to save the struggling church. And during a short span of years, three of the four would write their own version of the Messiah’s life. These three versions, as did John’s later one, all compliment each other. It is as if they shared the same common database. And I believe this secret database had been in existence for many years. And now the time was ripe for its use by skilled minds.

The decade of 50-60 A.D. was a most crucial one in the life of the early church. The Jerusalem headquarters church was dying a slow death. Many of the earlier Christian leaders had died or been killed. Firsthand knowledge of the person Jesus was practically non-existent in the missionary churches of Asia, Africa, and Europe. Already, James and Paul had written letters to mission churches in an attempt to defeat the false teachings that were polluting the original truths. A miracle was needed to save the church. And I believe it came in the form of the divinely inspired written Word.

Did this all just happen by accident or was it part of the Master’s plan? It seems to me impossible that the Son of God had not foreseen this future problem. And I have concluded He must have planned ahead for this day. And I am also convinced His plan was probably set in motion during the forty-day resurrection period. Jesus appeared to his followers on only five separate days during that period. I believe He was also very busy during the other thirty five days.

Using this as a premise, I have written a novel about the secret mission of Jesus during the forty-day resurrection period. It is a story about the five persons who shared in the original writing of His story. Hence, the title – The Five Scrolls. It is the story of Jesus as seen through the eyes of those who best knew Him. Listed below is a summary of the five scrolls and their authors:

Scroll One – The life of Jesus was quite short by our standards – only 33 years. And all but three of those years were spent in the home of His parents, Mary and Joseph. At age 30, Jesus left Nazareth to start a new life in the larger towns on the big lake. He took His mother and brothers with Him. Then for three short years, Jesus traveled the surrounding lands as a preacher with a radical and new message. He trained others in His ministry and sent them out as missionaries. Because of His great popularity with the common people, the Jewish leadership sought to kill Him. And with the help of Jesus, they eventually did take His life. And His mother, Mary, was with Him through it all. This part of the story is told by the one who knew Him best – His mother.

Scroll Two – On His last day, Jesus was chained, mocked, tortured, whipped, stripped naked, nailed to a cross, stabbed through the heart, and buried in a borrowed tomb. A steady parade of people passed by during these 24 hours, but none witnessed it all. None, that is, but the victim. So, this part of the story is revealed through His eyes, those of Jesus.

Scroll Three – From 3 p.m. Friday until 7 a.m. Sunday, the followers of Jesus regrouped and waited for the holy holiday to end. Then, they planned to pay their respects to the dead, finish the embalming of His body and escape back to the safety of their towns and villages. Only one remained faithful to the resurrection promise. This 40-hour period is told through the eyes of the first to see Him raised from the dead, Mary Magdala, from whom Jesus had cast out seven devils.

Scroll Four – Something strange, terrifying, wonderful, and powerful started that Sunday morning. It would continue for the next 40 days. Any number of witnesses could document this period. There were thousands who saw this dead man who now lived, but none understood it at the time. But there was one who had a great love and powerful faith in his master. He had little wisdom or maturity to guide him, but his youthful courage gave him the strength to carry on. His name was John, the apostle. This part of the story is told through his eyes.

Scroll Five – Peter was left in charge that day when Jesus disappeared in the clouds. His orders were simple and to the point: follow me, feed my sheep, and wait for power. Peter didn’t understand the instructions any more than he understood why he was now in charge. Others could do it better. All were more deserving. What if a crisis occurred and he ran away again? Why me, Lord? was the big question that burdened his heart. The 10 days until Pentecost are told through the eyes of Peter, the new head of the church.

And sandwiched in between the five scrolls are the adventures of John Mark. He had been personally selected by Jesus to one day retrieve the five secret scrolls and compile them into a gospel for the Christian churches. Much danger lay in his path from enemies of the church. But his life had prepared him for the challenge, and help along the way had been promised by the Master. In addition to the five authors of the scrolls, John Mark seeks help from: Julius Marcus, the centurion who crucified Jesus; from Luke, the physician; from Matthew, the apostle; from the family of Zaccheus, the tax collector; and from Malchus, servant to the High Priest.

Actual names, as they appear in the New Testament, are used whenever possible. Names given by me are: Julius Marcus, the centurion, and his servant, Silas; the two sons of Mary Magdalene, Jesus and Joseph; Anne and Elizabeth, sisters of Jesus; Elizabeth’s family, Jacob, Sarah and Rebecca; Zaccheus’ family, Reba and Leah.

The adventures of John Mark are presented in the present verb tense, and the five scrolls are presented in the past verb tense. I utilized this unusual method for the sake of clarity and ease of transition between the two divisions of the book.

This book is a work of fiction, but much of it is based on the actual events as described in the New Testament. Therefore, I have included a Table of Contents for those choosing to use my narrative as a Bible Study reference.

Now that you’ve seen the menu, are you still hungry?

Bon Appetite

Frederick B. Downs

28 May 2001

Memorial Day

— I —

A Secret – The Tears of Blood

Are you Mary, the mother of Jesus? asks the tall stranger at the door.

My name is Mary. I had a son named Jesus, but he’s been dead now for 22 years! I’m sorry, but I don’t like to talk about Him anymore. Good day, stranger, she says with an air of finality.

Madame, I was sent here by friends of your son. The merchant Barnabas, also my uncle, and the missionary named Paul both insisted that I pay you a visit. It is my hope to document the life of your son and publish His story to all the churches, continues the man.

Others have tried before, but all of them have failed. What makes you think you can do it now after all these years have passed? the old woman chuckles.

If you will just give me an hour of your time, I will try to explain my mission to you, pleads the stranger.

The old woman reluctantly agrees, because the stranger had mentioned the names of two old friends – Paul and Barnabas. After the man washes away the road dust, he enters the house and sits down at a large table in the kitchen area. First of all, what is your name and what work can you do? asks the woman as she places a drink on the table and sits down herself.

My name is John Mark. My home is in Jerusalem, but for many years now I have worked for my uncle Barnabas on the Island of Cyprus. Before that, I traveled in the western country of Galatia with the missionary known by the name of Paul. I am a merchant by trade, like my uncle Barnabas. But I’m told that my talent is that of a scribe. It seems I have a great memory for details, laughs the man as he drinks heavily from the water jar.

Why do you think I still have anything to contribute to my son’s legend? There are now hundred out there to choose from. You can even get different versions of the same stories, laughs the woman.

The truth has become lost, says the man. A complete story needs to be told by someone who lived it. The church needs a factual story in chronological order told by persons of unquestionable knowledge. I have spoken to many who knew your son personally. They have all agreed to describe the facts as they know them. But you are the only one who can provide the solid foundation for a complete story. Will you help? asks the stranger.

The old woman sits in silence for a long while before she speaks. I must first ask you some questions about yourself. If you answer them correctly, I will consider helping you. If you answer them incorrectly, then I will not help you.

The stranger is taken aback by the mysterious response from the old woman. But in an attempt to humor her, he says, You have me at your mercy, Madame. I pray that you will be fair in your questions.

When you were growing up in Jerusalem, did you ever meet my son? she asks.

The stranger ponders carefully before answering. Your son was a guest in our home during two separate Passovers. The first time as a guest of John, son of Zebedee, who is a distant cousin of mine. This is the time that Jesus forced the vendors to leave the temple. I have no personal recollection of meeting your son then.

And the second time my son stayed at your home? she asks as her voice cracked.

That was three years later. He and His twelve apostles ate the Passover in our large upper room. It was late when they left by way of the back stairs that night, but I was still awake. I was fourteen at the time, and already in my nightclothes. I could hear the men singing as they departed. The man stops talking for a moment as he reflects on that memory. Then he continues, What I’m about to tell you next is a small secret I have never revealed to anyone before. That night, I crept from my bed and followed the men outside the city gates to a place called Gethsemane.

The old woman touches her heart as if to faint. Then she takes a long slow drink of water before she asks, You were there when the soldiers came and took my son away?

Yes, replies the man. I witnessed everything that happened in the garden. I was hiding behind a large rock a short distance from where the apostles were resting. It was then that your son came to that very rock and began to pray. I could hear him crying as he prayed. Two times he came to the same place and prayed while the others slept. I finally dozed off myself. The man pauses, drinks from the water jar and continues.

I awoke to men screaming and fighting. Half asleep, I was frightened and disoriented. I jumped up on the large rock to see what the noise was, and the scene before me scared me to death. Your son was being chained by Roman soldiers. The tall fisherman, Peter, was swinging a sword in every direction. The other apostles were running around trying to escape. One man lay bleeding on the ground holding his ear. It was complete chaos. The man hesitates to let the effect of his story sink in.

It was then that I noticed another terrible thing, says the man. I looked down and saw that I was naked. My nightclothes had snagged on the rock that I jumped on. In all the excitement, I had not noticed that my clothes were lying across the rock. I yelled in surprise as I reached and pulled the clothes back over me. When I looked up, your son was staring right at me with a smile on his face. I turned and ran away before anyone else even realized I was there. And that, Madame, is a story known only to you and me. So, in answer to your question, I guess you could say I had a very brief encounter with your son.

Well, exclaims the woman, That is an amazing story. But have you left out anything, anything at all?

The man rubs his forehead for a moment. He stands up and paces the floor as he speaks, No, I think I covered everything.

Was your night clothes soiled in any way? the old woman asks in a raised voice.

The stranger looks shocked as he answers, Why, yes, it was. But how would you know that?

Never mind how I would know. Just give me all the details. Don’t leave anything out, she orders.

The man nods and continues slowly, I ran all the way home in the dark. I was exhausted and still very frightened by what I had just experienced. Plus, I was too afraid to tell my mother for fear of punishment. I was supposed to be asleep in my bed and not running through the town at midnight. I awoke early with only one thought. I must wash my dirty nightclothes to hide my secret from my mother. It was then I noticed the blood in several places on the clothing.

The old woman now becomes excited as she stands up and begins to pace the floor. The blood was not yours, was it? she states it more as a fact than as a question.

No replies the man; I never found any cuts on my body at all. And even stranger was the bloodstains. Nothing I tried would ever wash them out. They are just as blood red today as they were twenty-two years ago.

Do you still have the garment? she asks.

Why, yes, I have carried it with me all these years as a remembrance of your son. I have it with my other things on my pack animal now. Would you like to see it?

When the man returns with the garment, the old woman has a small towel in her hand. Now both pieces of cloth are laid out on the large table beside each other. Both contain large dark red blotches of what appears to be fresh blood. Both pieces of cloth are very old from years of washing. The man and woman look with wonder at the table and at each other. The old woman speaks first. The material never wears out and the blood stain never fades. Do you know what you have here? she asks.

Not any more I don’t, says the stranger.

Both of these pieces of cloth contain blood from my son. My piece contains his blood I washed from his body when he was crucified that Friday. Your piece contains his tears of blood shed as he prayed to God that Thursday night. You have brought me the sign I have waited for 22 years to receive.

Now, I’m really confused, says the man.

Come with me she smiles. It will all be clear to you soon.

She takes the stranger up the hill behind her house to an old tomb. They break away the small stones covering the opening and enter into the hole. This is the tomb of my husband and my youngest son, she says matter-of-factly while retrieving two large sealed vases.

They close the tomb and return to the house with the vases. Back at the table, the woman begins, Now I will reveal a secret to you that began one day earlier than yours. For the next hour, she reveals the plan put together by her son before his death on the cross. Provisions had been made for the safety of her family and the family of Lazarus. She was to return to Nazareth and await the return of Jesus. She was to tell no one of her return, but to obtain two large scrolls and writing material. She did exactly as her son instructed. Ten days after his death, Jesus awoke her from sleep, and she cooked him a meal. Then for the next twelve days they wrote together their parts of the story. Mary Magdalene would also be writing part three at the same time. John and Peter would complete their parts a few months later.

Before my son left to join his disciples at the big lake, we buried the vases with my two Josephs. I was to wait for the stranger with the cloth containing the tears of blood. His role would be to combine the five parts together. Mary Magdalene, John, and Peter have all kept this same secret as they await the sign of the tears of blood. Their stories are sealed in vases and hidden away, just waiting for you to come.

They are both silent for a long time. For the old woman, a great burden has been lifted. But for the stranger, a great burden has been given unto him. Finally he speaks, Your son knew all this would happen just as it has. He even placed me in the garden that night 22 years ago. And all my experiences from then to now appear to be preparation for this great task.

The old woman smiles and says, Now you understand some of what I have lived with all these years. My son understood that a written documentary would one day have to be made of his life and ministry. It wasn’t needed at the time because all the apostles had first hand knowledge of his message. But now the ministry is spreading into other lands, and so is the leadership of the church. My son, James, has published a recent letter to all the churches, and I’m told that the missionary Paul is circulating letters to his churches also. The time is ripe for the five vases to be opened and shared with the world.

So, I’m to combine these scrolls with the three written by Peter, John, and Mary Magdalene. Together, they will certainly provide the churches with a complete and accurate record of his life, says the man.

The old woman cracks the wax seal on a vase and removed that scroll as she speaks, John Mark, please begin by reading my story. I know my son, Jesus, will be pleased to hear his plan come to life.

— II —

A Life – 33 Years

(Scroll 1)

The Gift

My name is Mary. I have lived in the little village of Nazareth most of my life. When I first married, we moved to Egypt for four years. Thirty years later, when my husband died, I moved to the big lake with my four sons. Three years later, I moved back to Nazareth at my oldest son’s request.

I have lost two of my sons; one to the grave and one to his Father in Heaven. Two other sons live in Jerusalem, one son lives on the big lake, and my two daughters live close to Nazareth with their own families. None of my sons are married, at this time, but I’m sure that one day they will be. James and Jude are busy carrying on the ministry started by my oldest boy. My youngest, Simon, still opposes their work and stays away from all of us because of it. But I often see my oldest daughter, Anne, and my two grandchildren. The youngest daughter, Elizabeth, is expecting her first one soon. I hope to be there when the baby comes.

I am writing all this at the request of my oldest son, Jesus. It is really meant to be his story and not mine. But I guess you could say that it’s both our stories together. Our story began 34 years ago, when I was only 14 years old. They say I was very mature for my age. My parents had just signed my betrothal contact with Joseph’s parents. And my Joseph had begun work on the place where we would one day live. I guess, looking back, that it was just a tiny place by the standards today. But it looked like a palace to me. Our engagement period was a joyous time for both of us. Each afternoon, I would take food to Joseph, and we would work together on our future home. What wonderful plans we made for our new home. What wonderful plans we made for our new life together. But all this would soon change. Soon, nothing would ever be the same again.

That night, as I prepared for bed, something happened that would change all our lives forever. I was alone that night in my room, when I felt a cool easterly wind through the window. Then a blue-like glow filled the room as if someone had lit the oil lamp. But no one was there except me. It was then that a voice spoke. The sound came from every direction but was soft and comforting. I was afraid but at the same time not really wanting to run away. I felt myself falling into a trance-like state. It was as if a part of me separated from my body. Then I could hear a voice speaking to me, and I could hear my own voice speaking back. The words spoken were so strange to me. Blessed among women, a child will be born, Elizabeth is with child, all things are possible, and the Holy Spirit will come. I remember saying things too, but the words were not my own. They came from me, but the source was deep within me. I yielded to the voice, to the light, to the presence. We became one for a period of time. I have never before or since felt so at peace, so secure, so warm, so loved.

When next I opened my eyes, it was morning. I was still in my own room, in my own bed, hearing noises from the window, and smelling my mother’s cooking from the kitchen. Then all the memories of the previous night came flooding back. My head began to spin. I felt pain and shock and grief, and guilt all at the same time. I became physically sick at my stomach and spent the day in bed. I finally decided it must have been a dream. I remember my mother’s special concerns too. I didn’t know enough about those things then, not like now, but my mother did. She thought maybe I was pregnant and wanted to discuss moving up the marriage plans. Of course, I became angry with my mother and assured her that she was wrong in thinking that Joseph and I had already consummated the marriage. Joseph and I both wanted to remain pure until the betrothal period was over. Our first time together would be in our new home.

That same day a strange message was received by my parents from our close kin to the South. Uncle Zach was asking that I come to visit. Aunt Elie was asking for me. It seemed that, after many years of trying to have children, their prayers had been answered. I couldn’t believe it. Elizabeth and Zachariah were much older than my own parents. They should be grand parents, not parents. Elie was naturally having a hard time with the pregnancy and had to spend much of the time in bed. Zach had also become sick and could not return to work in the priesthood. For some ridiculous reason, they both insisted that I must make the long journey there to care for them.

Of course, I refused to leave. I would not be cheated out of my engagement period. Joseph needed me to make sure our house had all the right things completed before moving in. But it was a losing battle I waged with my parents. Even Joseph took their side saying we both needed a break from each other. And so, a few weeks after my visitation in the night, I left home for an extended visit south to rescue Elie and Zach from their troubles. I had no idea what purpose a 14 year-old girl could serve in their life. But I would soon find out.

After a week’s journey south with a caravan, I arrived at the home of Elizabeth and Zachariah. Uncle Zach was so pleased to see me that he kissed me on the cheek. This was quite a concession for him, since he was an important man in the temple priesthood. At least, he had been, before his voice left him. It was so strange to see this articulate, learned man acting like a mute. He would open his mouth, but not a sound would come out. I had been warned by the servants of his condition, so I wouldn’t laugh in his presence. It was very comical though, and I had to use all my self-control to keep from laughing.

Many theories were given for his condition. Some said he suffered a stroke brought on by the shock of Elie’s pregnancy. Others said he suffered an accidental injury while administering the incense offering in the temple. My thoughts were old age and over work, which caused a mental breakdown. But with the exception of his silence, I saw no evidence of further disability.

And Aunt Elie was like a teenager again. This grand old lady was six months along, showing more, and loving every minute of it. She certainly didn’t appear to need my help. And our first encounter was quite strange. As we approached each other, she suddenly drew away and grasped her swollen stomach area. When I asked what was wrong, she exclaimed that her son jumped in her womb. Then when we embraced, she jumped back exclaiming that he did it again. This same reaction would continue to occur each time we touched. It would become a game that we played together right up until the birth of her son.

So what was the real reason I was sent to Elie. Well, here it is. Aunt Elie said that God had a special plan for both of us. Her son was to be a messenger announcing the coming of another. Now brace yourself. The another was to be my son who was already growing in my womb. I explained to Elie that I was still a virgin even though I was engaged to my Joseph. She would just smile and say wait and see.

When I missed my first period, I was still not convinced. Then the morning sickness started. Instead of me tending to Elie, she was tending to me. Together we would attend to each other’s needs. I would manage the household duties during her final months, and she would give me the motherly care and understanding I so desperately needed. Only she understood what was happening in my womb. No one else would ever fully understand. What should have been a joyous time in my life was the most miserable, at the time. I spent most of that three months crying. How was I going to explain this to my parents and to Joseph? Was there going to be a marriage between us at all? Could I still live in Nazareth or would I have to leave? All these questions laid unanswered on my mind and heart.

Elie carried her baby to full term. I helped deliver him. Uncle Zach would receive as much attention as the baby, because his voice returned when the baby was placed in his arms. Babies always make miracles my Joseph used to say. The first words Uncle Zack spoke were, His name is John.

When it was time for me to return home, Aunt Elie and I devised a plan. If things didn’t work out with Joseph, then I was to return to her. If things did somehow work between us, then I was to let her know when my delivery time approached. She would come to Nazareth to help care for me and the baby. She said our two sons were destined to do great things together. She somehow knew I would have a son too. As I departed north with the caravan, my heart was very sad. I would miss them all very much. I would miss our walks along the slopes of Mount Orah. I would miss our shopping trips in nearby Bethlehem. I would wonder if I would ever return to that magical place.

Within days of returning home, my mother noticed the tell-tell changes in my body and diet. When she wrenched the truth from me, I could see the shock and shame and fear in her eyes. The laws of that time were stricter than now. And, as always, the laws favored the man, not the woman. Therefore, the final decision on my fate would come from Joseph and my father.

Joseph was sick at heart over my condition, since he certainly knew that he was not the father of my child. He and my father decided the only just thing to do was end the marriage contract. A bill of divorcement would be initiated by Joseph and given to my father. The legal procedure would be completed in seven days.

I too was heart broken over losing my Joseph. So much so, that I became very sick. When it looked like I might lose the baby, a doctor was called from the next town. After examining me and prescribing medications, we talked about my pregnancy. I asked him how this could be, since I was still a virgin. He answered that he did not know. His examination did show that I appeared to still be a virgin, but I was indeed now about four months pregnant. Never in his medical experience had he seen this condition. His solution to this mystery was to be based on my youth. The sexual act must have occurred at that special time in my cycle. And it must have occurred only once and been of very short duration. I finally stopped proclaiming my innocence since no one believed me anyway.

Then my Joseph proved his love for me! On the day when the bill of divorcement was to be presented to my father, Joseph arrived at our home. But rather than present it, he burned it in my mother’s oven. Then he asked permission to renew the engagement. My father suggested that we go ahead with the wedding contract instead, but Joseph said no. To proceed with the wedding ahead of schedule would cause too much gossip. His suggestion was that I remain in my parents’ home, except after nightfall. And when the pregnancy could no longer be hidden, to send me to visit my relatives in the nearby town of Cana.

All the things my Joseph suggested, I did gladly. And every afternoon, Joseph would visit me at my parents’ house. And later, when I moved to my relatives in Cana, Joseph would come at least once a week. At first, he and I both avoided the subject of my pregnancy. But as that precious life continued to grow within me, so our relationship continued to be restored. Not the same as before, but still one based on a deep abiding love and respect for each other.

One night when both of us were joking with each other, I asked him why he changed his mind about making an honest woman out of me. He jokingly responded that God told him to do it. When he saw that I was slightly hurt by his remark, he changed his story. He said he discovered that a life with me was so much better than a life without me. Removing me physically could not remove me emotionally from his heart. He went on to say that after deciding that he couldn’t live without me, he had a dream about the baby. In that dream, it was revealed to him this baby was special. That God had special plans for the three of us. That we were both chosen to be together to care for this child. It was then I revealed to Joseph all the mysterious things that had occurred to me. I don’t think Joseph ever truly believed all the wondrous things I told him, but he never questioned that I believed it. And I loved him even more for that trust. If Joseph had asked that we consummate the marriage, I would have willingly agreed. He never did, and so we never did until after the baby was born. This was a special time for both of us. A time to gather strength from each other for the journey ahead.

It was during my last month of pregnancy that the mandate arrived about the Roman tax. Every household, according to his family name, must report the number of persons in his family. Both Joseph and I were of the house of Judah. The reporting place for us was designated as Bethlehem. But rather than every person having to leave home, each district would select delegates to represent them. They would make the journey to their reporting place with the names and members of each kinsman’s family. Of course, each family paid a small fee to cover the traveling expenses of their delegate. Our area covered Nain to the South, Cana to the North, Nazareth in the middle, and villages in between. The delegate for the house of Judah would collect the information from all over his district and deliver it to Bethlehem.

My Joseph was selected as our delegate. Mostly, the positions were granted to physically strong men without families. But they also had to be honest, dependable, and hard working. Otherwise, the reports would not be accurate. My Joseph had all these qualities, and he was very good at collecting the information; especially from those who wanted to avoid the tax or reduce it through false reporting. The law required all family members to be reported, and Joseph made sure they were.

After all the reports were in, Joseph started to prepare for his departure to Bethlehem. Both of us were afraid the baby might come before he returned. Neither of us wanted that to happen, but there didn’t seem to be a solution. Then the solution presented itself. The documents were too heavy for a man to carry and too bulky for a pack animal. It would require a wagon with a cover to protect the documents and a strong animal to pull it. And the narrow mountain passes would require two people to handle the wagon; one at the reins, and one to brake the wheels on the slopes. After much begging on my part, Joseph conceded that I could go with him on the journey for three reasons. My services as braker were only critical at the beginning and end of the coastal route we were taking. Then, Elizabeth and Zachariah would provide shelter for the delivery period. And he would be present when the baby arrived. I like the third reason the best.

After loading the wagon with the documents and the provisions for the journey, Joseph and I departed from Cana. We headed south, passing through Nazareth at night as planned. We spent several tearful hours with my parents before turning east for the coast road. As morning dawned, we began to navigate the narrow mountain passes leading down to the sea. On the steep downward slopes, I would walk near the front of the wagon. If Joseph called out, I would pull the rope that was attached to the front of the wagon. This would cause a log to hit the front wheels and slow the wagon down. If I pulled a second time, the log would rotate with the front wheels until it hit the ground. This would cause the wagon to completely stop. On the steep upward slopes, I would walk near the back of the wagon holding the braking rope for the back wheels. Other than these conditions, I could ride in the wagon. Joseph had made the wagon as comfortable as possible for the eighty-mile journey. And we would stop and rest often in the safety and comfort of the many villages and towns along the coast.

The trip would normally take about one week depending on the weather. In our case, it took over two weeks, because of my condition. On the sixteenth day of our journey, we approached the last climb up the mountain to Bethlehem. As we climbed, we watched the shepherds tending their flocks in the valley below. Little did we know our very lives would soon be in the hands of a shepherd.

I was walking at the rear of the wagon as we neared the top of a steep incline. At the top, the trail would level out until reaching the entrance to Bethlehem. We could deliver the documents, spend a restful night, and proceed on to the house of Elizabeth. There we could enjoy all the comforts of home as we waited for the baby to come. I was daydreaming about this when Joseph screamed to apply the back brake. Apparently, the animal had wandered too close to the edge and stumbled partly over the side. The wagon had slowed to a stop and then started rolling backwards. Unless stopped immediately, the downward pull of the wagon would force the animal over the cliff’s edge taking the wagon with it. I pulled the rope to apply the brake to the back wheels, but nothing seemed to happen. Experience warned me that the slight tilt of the wagon, caused by the animals’ struggle, had jammed the log in the locking device. I pulled again and again, but the brake refused to release. The wagon slowly moved down the hill and the animal slowly slipped over the edge. Both Joseph and I watched helplessly in horror as this tragedy unfolded. Joseph yelled to block the wheels with stones. I looked around hurriedly but saw none of any size. What about the remaining sacks of grain in the wagon, I thought. These would work, if I could reach them. Without hesitation, I moved behind the wagon and reached into it for a handhold to lift myself up. Finding none, I tried to back away, but found myself losing my balance. Helplessly, I fell to the ground as the downward movement of the wagon pulled me under it towards the back wheels. I screamed for Joseph just as the back left wheel penned me against it. I heard Joseph scream my name as he ran towards me. Without hesitation, Joseph crawled under the wagon next to me, throwing his own body under the right wheel. The wagon stopped its downward movement, but both of us were now under the wagon penned against the wheels. We could hear the animal struggling in front of the wagon. Both of us knew that if the animal went over the cliff, we could be pulled over also. Joseph was in much more danger than me, because he was penned against the wheel on the cliff’s edge. If the wagon went over the edge, it would roll over his body, crushing his chest as it pulled him down the side. He looked at me and smiled confidently. He asked if the baby and me were okay. It seemed such a ridiculous question at the time that I began to giggle. Then Joseph began to laugh also as he remarked that we need to get serious about this. I extended my hand towards him, and he grasped it in his. Quickly realizing this action placed me in more danger, Joseph tried to release his grip. I refused and held on even tighter. Without speaking a word, I told him we were together in this no matter what happened.

It was then we heard the voice of the young shepherd racing towards us down the hill. He was returning to his brothers in the valley below from a shopping trip in Bethlehem. From his viewpoint, he could see the mortal danger we were in. And his experience with animals told him the logical way to save us was to rescue the animal from the cliff. With his staff, he caught the animal under its front leg and began to pull him from the edge. At first, the animal struggled, but the young shepherd spoke quietly to it as he pulled on the staff. Then the animal ceased to struggle and started working with the shepherd to regain balance in its hind legs. Almost immediately we could feel the weight releasing from upon us as the animal regained its full footing on the trail. Joseph jumped up and immediately unjammed the braking mechanism on the back wheels. The wagon was now secure, and all of us had been saved by the quick thinking of a young shepherd named John.

The pain in my left arm and shoulder was bad. Nothing was broken, but the muscles were very bruised. But the worst came when the men tried to lift me onto the wagon. It was then my water burst. The delivery had begun here on the mountain in a wagon a few miles from Bethlehem. There would be no time to journey to the safety of Elizabeth’s house or even to prepare for a midwife delivery. This