Categories: a-pause-in-advent
Date: 27 November 2011 12:53:05
(You might want to read the previous post before this one. Or maybe not...) ("The previous post before this one": isn't that tautology? Or just bad English...?!)
I am older now, but I can still remember that day as though it were yesterday; the memory stands out in my mind, clear and sharp, thrilling me every time I think of it. Imagine, I say to myself, that your niece was chosen to nurture the Holy One of God, and that you were honoured to be the first to know this, the first to hear the amazing news that God was becoming man.
Already, before that day, my life had been shifted on its axis. Already I knew that things were to change forever, for I hugged to myself the knowledge that I was carrying a child.
For years I had borne the disgrace of barrenness, I had turned away when women whispered and pointed me out as cursed before God, for I bore no children for my husband. It didn’t seem to matter that I followed the commandments or that Zacharias and I prayed every day for a child, nothing made a difference: I was childless. I was cursed.
And then, one morning some months before, Zacharias, who was a priest in the Temple, came rushing in, waving his arms in a wild dumb show.
“What is it?” I cried, fearful of some accident. He refused to answer, but instead gestured madly; he pointed to my stomach, and then rocked his arms as though nursing a child. I could not imagine what he was doing, nor understand why he was not talking to me, so I began to shout at him to calm down, to tell me what as going on.
Eventually he sat down, exhausted by his movements ~ after all, he was not a young man, and whatever had happened to him was obviously distressing him. He gestured to our maidservant to bring a piece of broken pot, and a sharp stick, and there he scratched out his astonishing story.
He had been in the Temple as usual, going about his daily tasks, when he saw a bright light gathering to the side of the altar. It seemed to grow in intensity, until it appeared to form the nebulous figure of a human; my dear husband was terrified and fell trembling to his knees, fearful of what this could be. And then, he claimed, the figure spoke to him in a voice as thrilling as the deep ringing of the Temple bell, with a sound as resonant as thunder rolling over the distant Hebron hills.
“Do not fear,” said the figure, “For I am a messenger from God. Our loving God has heard your prayers, and has heeded your weeping; your wife will bear a son, and you will call him John. He is to be the forerunner of the Messiah, and he will lead many to faith in the Holy One of God. He will be blessed, and filled with the Spirit. Rejoice, Zacharias, for God has heard your prayer.”
And my dear, beloved husband, always the pedant, despite his enduring trust in God, had to question what was said! Even in the face of the true messenger from Heaven, he wondered aloud:
“But how can this be?” he said. “For I am old, and my wife is barren, and past her child-bearing days. How can what you say come to pass?”
And there was a gentle roaring, like the beating of waves on the shore, a sound that might have been anger, but could have been laughter.
“I am Gabriel”, came the reply. “ I stand in the presence of God; I come as his messenger, to give you these good tidings. But you, you do not trust, and you say foolish things. Behold, I will stop your mouth, until the day when these things come to pass, because you did not believe my words.”
With that, the figure stretched out one blazing, burning hand and touched Zacharias’s lips. Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, the light faded until my husband was left, disorientated and hardly able to believe what had happened, save for one indisputable truth ~ he could not speak!
As soon as he was able he came rushing back to our home to tell me the news ~ or rather, to impart the news, for he was unable to talk to me. To my shame, I have to admit that my initial reaction was the same as his: this is impossible; how can this be? But sure enough, a few days later the signs were there; despite my monthly courses having ceased some years before, I could feel, unmistakably, a change in my body, a softness and tenderness that I had yearned so much to experience, and yet had believed to be an impossibility. I was pregnant; I was with child.
The morning when I went to Zacharias and told him was one of the most joyous of my life. He was sitting in a patch of early morning sunshine in the garden, nodding gently, enjoying the warmth soaking into his bones. I went to him, and gently took his hand; I could not speak, my eyes were brimming with tears. He looked at me, with one burning question in his eyes, so I brought his gnarled hand, and laid it there, on my womb, where already new life was sparking into being. Our eyes locked, and I nodded: our prayers, so long held dear, were answered. The Lord was good indeed, and blessed was his name!
For weeks afterwards Zacharias would not let me lift a finger around the house; whenever his Temple duties would allow, he would be there, sweeping, dusting, and cooking. His rather clumsy efforts made me smile, and when he turned to me, he was like a small boy wanting approval for what he had done. I would murmur my thanks, and he would stride off to the Temple to worship. And I would sigh, heave myself from my seat, and do the chores all over again!
One thing he would never let me do was fetch the water from the well; I was grateful for this, for although my neighbours were pleased for us, there were many giggles and smothered comments from the villagers, especially the young girls gathered at the well. Zacharias said afterwards that he had had to put up with a lot of good-natured joshing, particularly along the lines of “There’s life in the old dog yet!”
I would have found this unbearable; I could not flaunt my pregnancy, even to prove that I was not cursed by God, and so was thankful for Zacharias being willing to run the gauntlet of these thoughtless women every morning.
And so, life took on a gentle, measured pace; we spent time together, just sitting, and quietly discussing the momentous changes that were going to take over our lives, and what the vision had meant about our child being the forerunner of the Messiah. It seemed almost too much to take in, that we were living in times when God would come to earth, and bring his reign of justice, as the prophets had long foretold. It seemed even more incredible that we, Elizabeth and Zacharias, simple people, should be called to play a major part in this salvation history.
Then, some six months into my pregnancy, I had a message that Mary, my young niece, my brother’s child, was coming to stay for a while. I had already heard that she was in some trouble, that she was pregnant by a man not her fiancé; a shame, I thought, Joseph was a good man, despite his age, and he would make her a kind husband. He showed his generosity of spirit by standing by Mary, through her disgrace, and, by being willing to marry her even in her condition, he saved her from an adulterer’s death. A generous man, as I say.
Well, I thought it would do Mary good to escape from the inevitable tittle-tattle that would be going on around Nazareth, and I was looking forward to her company. She was a lively girl, with a sharp sense of humour, and a quick wit. She and I would laugh together whenever we were together. She would do me good too, I thought; I was becoming too insular, by staying in the house all the time. Perhaps she would be able to allay my fears also: I was big with child, even at six months, and although I felt well, I was concerned, for the baby had not yet moved in my womb. I was sure that by now I should have felt movements, but there was nothing. While I tried not to worry, I couldn’t help wondering if all was well. I hoped Mary would be able to reassure me.
I prepared a room for her, and cleaned up after Zacharias had swept the house. What a dear man he was ~ but what a terrible housewife! And then, having gathered the makings of a simple meal, I sat in the garden and waited for my niece.
As the sun was overhead, I heard her voice calling me.
“Aunt Elizabeth? Are you there?” I rose ponderously to my feet, and went to greet her. I entered the room, and there she stood, back against the light, halo-ed by the noontime sunshine.
“Mary, my child.” I said, taking her hands, “How good it is to see you.”
“Aunt Elizabeth?” she replied, shocked, “You’re pregnant!”
And at the same moment as I realised what a surprise this must be to the poor child, it was as though the baby in my womb recognised her voice, for he gave a great leap of life, and I knew. I knew that there, standing before me in her patched cloak and battered sandals was the mother of the Messiah. My baby had recognised her holiness, and had responded.
“It’s you,” I said. “You are carrying God’s son.”
She gazed at me incredulously, and then whispered, “How did you know? I have told no-one…”
“You didn’t need to; my own child recognised the link between us. For the first time he has moved within me, to greet the mother of our Lord.”
For a few moments we stood, there in the dimness of the room, our eyes holding and a feeling of intense peace flooded over me. It was as though I knew that we were truly blessed and that God held the whole of destiny in the palm of his hand.