Nazareth of Galilee, Palestine
St. Anne's perspective
There had to be a great reason for Mary to gather us together in the bedroom at the very back of the house. The house belonged to my husband, Joachim’s, older brother. A dozen or so of us relatives lived there. The men were out shepherding their sheep and the women and children were in the courtyard or beneath the awning on the rooftop weaving, spinning wool, preparing supper, or taking care of their babes.
Winter was passing us, and it would soon be spring. Each day, the coolness dropped, and the sun warmed our cheeks like a soft wool blanket.
Joachim, Joseph, Mary, and myself. The four of us stood in the small bedroom. The pallets that we slept on were rolled up during the day to give us more space. The noontime sun pushed through a square window, shining down on Mary’s head covered with a cream-colored veil. This was where Joachim, Mary, and I slept. There was just enough room for a jug of water encrusted on the compacted ground, and a wicker basket containing the short amount of clothing we owned. It was the warmest room in the house, closest to the stable, and a small opening in the back wall led to the storage cisterns. The bedroom was more like a hallway in which the women hurried to and from the storage cisterns to gather food and wine for meals.
We stood in a small circle, our elbows occasionally brushing. My daughter Mary’s face had a slight glow from the light, her forehead plastered with sweat from her hard work taking our goat’s milk and churning it into cheese. She was always a hard worker. On her right, stood Joachim. The bony man leaned all of his weight on his shepherd’s staff in his hand. He had left his flock in the care of one of his nephews so that he could meet us here in the bedroom at Mary’s request. On the other side of Mary stood her betrothed, Joseph. He was a man with shiny ink-black hair, large rough hands from years of carpentry, and shoulders that could stretch the length of an ox’s yoke. He looked down at Mary expectantly and ardently. In a few months, my Mary would leave this home and enter Joseph’s house as his wife.
I pressed my wrinkled hands together. Mary was my one and only child. When she was a young girl, she vowed herself to perpetual virginity and was presented in the Temple in Jerusalem.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem. That is where our little family used to live when Joachim worked at the Temple, providing sheep for the sacrifices. With Mary’s special dedication as issued in the fourth book of Moses, Joachim and I knew that we would never have grandchildren. But praise Elohim, he graced us with this daughter, even if our one child would never have a child of her own.
As for Joseph of Nazareth, he too asserted his virginity, and his marriage to my daughter would be one of chastity and purity. It would be a marriage of Elohim; totally holy and without sexual relations. Many in Nazareth marveled at Joseph and Mary’s relationship. Very few couples since the days of Moses had chosen to afflict themselves by pledging virginity. But many Nazarenes admired and acclaimed their choice and dedication to the Holy One.
Shortly after we moved from Jerusalem back to Joachim’s hometown of Nazareth, we chose Joseph; a righteous carpenter who appeared to follow the Mosaic law to perfection. His family was from the same city of my birth: Bethlehem, the City of David, south in Judea. His family migrated to Nazareth to work their trade in the Galilee that was just blossoming with new cities under King Herod the Great. Cities like Sepphoris and Tiberius and Caesarea. Galilee needed artisans like Joseph’s family of builders, masons, and carpenters to build these new cities.
“Anne, there is no greater man for our daughter,” Joachim had told me. “Joseph of Nazareth is a son of Jacob. He comes from the line of David himself. And I am certain he will honor both his and Mary’s vow to virginity.”
Stay tuned for Part 2!