Читать книгу Boy of Nazareth - Mary Esther Miller MacGregor - Страница 5

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THE BRIEF MEAL was soon over, and Joseph and Jesus went to work again. The long, hot afternoon moved slowly, filled with ceaseless toil. When the great heat of summer came down upon the scorched valley, everyone in Nazareth took a noonday rest. But it was still late springtime, and those who had a large family to support and little to do it with kept hard at work from sunrise till sunset.

Jesus finished his table leg and started on another. He was tired and his legs were cramped, but he chatted cheerfully as he worked.

At last the shadows of the hills began to stretch across the valley. His mother’s little grinding mill had been working again for an hour, but now its song stopped. Jesus, glancing out, saw his mother and sister go through the gate with water jars on their shoulders. He could see James, the oldest of the small brothers, taking care of baby Simon. Across the gateway of the courtyard other women and girls passed with their flowing veils and gleaming jars. The scraping and patter of sandaled feet sounded on the flagstones. Voices rose and died away.

Joseph’s plane moved more slowly. He glanced down at the boy, stooping wearily over his work.

“You are growing tall, son,” Joseph said, looking at the slim, brown legs stretched out on the stone floor.

Jesus looked up with a smile. “I should be tall!” he cried. “Do you remember that I will be eleven the next season of rains? In my twelfth year!”

“Indeed, well I remember. And a cold night it was on Bethlehem’s hills nearly eleven years ago.” Joseph was silent for a little, thinking of that time. “Yes,” he continued, “you will enter your twelfth year. I had hoped to take you to the Passover in Jerusalem. But now—I know not.”

The boy looked up, startled. “Shall we not be able to go to the Passover, Father?”

“We must do our best,” Joseph said, “for the law requires it. But I cannot see just yet how I can leave my work.”

“Is it because of the usurer?” Jesus asked.

Joseph nodded. “You are too young to understand—” he hesitated—“but I was in great need one time. Your mother was ill, and I borrowed money from Simeon. It has never been quite paid, and it grows with the years like the mustard on the hillside.” He sighed heavily.

Illustration - In the carpenter shop

Jesus and Joseph working together in the carpentry shop.

There was silence for a time. Jesus looked at Joseph in puzzled silence. His father and mother were always teaching their children that they must trust in Jehovah, that he was their heavenly Father and that those who trusted him would never come to want. Yet grownups seemed always full of fears and worries!

“But our Father will not let the usurer harm us, will he?” Jesus asked. “If he wants us to go to the Passover, he will see that we go.”

“Yes, child,” Joseph said, “we shall surely go if it be Jehovah’s holy will.” But the shadow did not clear from his face, and he drove his plane with more vigor, as if to wear down the mountain of debt that was standing in his way.

The mother and sister returned, the heavy water jars on their heads, the younger children with them. A cool breath came down over the hills, very grateful after the heat of the long day. The shadows of old Asa’s palm trees, which grew in the next courtyard, stretched across to the door of the shop. Joseph rose and laid aside his plane.

“Come, son,” he said. “The shadows lengthen, and your mother will be calling.”

Jesus sprang up with relief. Though he was strong and had never known a day’s illness in all his ten and a half years, the long hours of stooping over close work were hard on young, active muscles. He ran about, putting the tools into their places. “It surely is time to stop,” he cried gaily. “See, King Solomon is putting on his crown!”

Jesus had named each of the fourteen lofty hills that surrounded the Nazareth valley. He had given them the names of his favorite heroes: Gideon, Samson, Joshua, and others. The mighty western mountain, the highest of all, he had named for his ancestor, King David. King Solomon was the hill that guarded the eastern entrance to the valley. Always, when the sun sank into the Mediterranean, the top of King Solomon glowed like a golden crown. In the morning, when the sun arose above the rim of the desert away beyond the River Jordan, it was King David who wore a diadem.

Joseph generally responded to Jesus’ gay chatter, but today he was too greatly worried. Simeon of Capernaum had been putting a heavier burden upon him each year, and this time it had become almost unbearable. Joseph had plenty of friends and relatives who would be willing to help a little, but many of them were even poorer than he was. Indeed he did not know which way to look for earthly help, and his little home was in grave danger. He shook the shavings from his robe and laid aside his leather apron slowly and thoughtfully.

Like every other house in Nazareth, the carpenter’s was festooned with sparrows’ nests, stuck along the edge of the flat roof. As Jesus carried in a bundle of staves that were lying beside the door, he noticed a baby sparrow on the ground. There was the nest from which the tiny thing had fallen, right above the lintel of the door. The parent birds circled about with cries of distress. Tenderly Jesus picked up the birdling, talking soothingly to the alarmed parent birds.

When Joseph came out of the shop, thinking sadly over his debt, he found Jesus scrambling up the stone wall to put the fledgling back into its nest. He slid down, his face glowing. “I was afraid Asa’s dogs might get it,” he explained. He helped place the heavy bar across the door. “Our Father cares for the sparrows, doesn’t he?” he asked.

“Yes, child,” Joseph replied absently. “He cares.”

“But he cares more about us, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, no doubt he does,” Joseph answered.

“Oh, he must care ever and ever so much more about us,” persisted Jesus. “He must think I’m worth dozens and dozens of sparrows. And you—” he looked up at the man, his eyes shining—“I am sure he must think you are worth hundreds and hundreds of sparrows.”

Joseph looked down at the bright face, and the burden seemed to lift from his heart. His bent shoulders straightened. Surely he could not show less faith than this child’s! He looked up at the shining top of the mountain. “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills,” he murmured, and with his hand on Jesus’ shoulder, he turned toward the house.

Mary came to the door to welcome them. Her eyes were like her eldest son’s, blue and shining and very kind. She pushed back the curls from his warm forehead.

“You have been a great worker today, beloved,” she said.

“And you too, Mother. I played awhile, but I saw you working hard all day. Are you tired?”

“Not with work,” she whispered. “But ... the usurer! I liked not his coming again.”

“But he can do us no harm,” the boy said. “Our Father knows about him.” He caught up his baby brother from the floor, and danced about with him till the little fellow screamed with delight. Then he ran to help Ruth pour water from the water jars into the stone basin in the corner for the washing of hands. James, Judas, and little Joseph ran after him, clamoring for attention.

Father Joseph washed his hands first and seated himself on the ground under the wide branches of the mulberry tree. Mary’s hand touched his shoulder lovingly. “Simeon was here again,” she whispered.

“Yes,” Joseph answered. “He was here again. But he has promised to wait until after the olives are harvested.”

Mary looked at her husband in relief and surprise. She knew too well what misfortunes followed debt. Joseph did not seem as worried as she had feared.

“The Lord will provide a way of escape,” he said. “We must trust him and not be afraid.”

Mary’s anxious face cleared. Her eyes brightened. “Come, daughter,” she called happily to Ruth. “Come, and we will serve the food.”

The boys seated themselves in a circle with their father. When all were ready, Joseph turned toward the east, facing Jerusalem and the holy Temple. He raised his hands and the children followed his example. Their voices rose in prayer.

The supper was simple—a pot of lentils and meat, hot and savory. It was placed in the center of the circle and each was given a flat cake to dip into it. The mother and daughter served, as was the custom, eating their portion afterward. Through the doorway a breath of cool air blew softly from the darkening hills.

Suddenly the father spoke sternly. Little Joseph had come to his meal with unclean hands. He was bidden to leave at once and wash them.

When he was seated again, Jesus whispered to Joseph. “Was it very bad for little Joseph to eat with his hands unwashed?” he asked.

“It was indeed,” Father Joseph said. “Every Jew is forbidden to eat with unwashed hands, as you know. So says the Law.”

The boy sat for a moment and thought deeply. Joseph knew from experience that another question was coming.

“I can understand that it is good to have the hands clean so that our food will not be soiled,” said Jesus at last. “But it wasn’t as if Joseph had been unkind or dishonest, was it?”

Little Joseph was sitting in disgrace, his small hands clean once more, his big brown eyes filled with tears. Father Joseph put a comforting hand upon the child’s head. “No, no,” he said, “Jesus is right. It is not well to forget to make the hands clean before eating, but it is not a sin like lying or unjust anger.”

Jesus and little Joseph each drew a sigh of relief. They finished their meal and the big brother, taking little Joseph between his knees, played a funny game with the tiny brown fingers.

Night was coming down swiftly—a cool, pleasant night. The mother and daughter sat in the doorway. Behind them glowed a brazier of coals like a warm, watching eye. Slowly a great golden moon came up over the Galilean hills, and the courtyard turned white.

This was storytelling time. It was also the hour when Joseph taught his family about their religion. He had a copy of the Scriptures and from it he daily brought forth a lesson for the children. Indeed many texts were engraved on the stone doorposts, and the children were taught to read them even before they went to the rabbi’s school. Tonight there was a psalm to be recited, and it happened to be one to bring comfort to those in anxiety.

“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills.... My help cometh from the Lord who made heaven and earth.”

“And what shall the story be?” the father asked.

“Tell us about the ravens feeding Elijah,” begged Jesus.

Sitting out under the white moonlight, with the leaves of the mulberry tree making a lacy pattern over the ground and the sounds of the village growing softer and fainter, the father told his children the lovely old story of God’s care for his servant.

“And the ravens brought him bread and flesh in the morning and bread and flesh in the evening.”

It was bedtime, and sleepy heads were nodding. Mary called softly from the doorway, and the little boys went to her. Jesus lifted the sleeping baby from the father’s arms and carried him into the house. In the warmer days of summer the family slept in the open air upon the flat roof. But as yet the nights were cool and they slept indoors. The boys lay in a row on the raised part of the floor and were covered with their cloaks.

While the younger children were being put to bed, there was another member of the family, a very important one, to be fed and cared for. This was Timna, the little goat that helped provide milk and cheese and butter for the family, and besides was a great pet. Timna was brought in from the yard at night and bedded in a far corner of the house. Jesus loved the little goat, and Timna did not like to have anyone else tend her. He led her in with much petting and many endearing names, and she was soon asleep on her bundle of grass in her corner.

When everything was ready for the night, Joseph went out and stood in the middle of the moon-flooded courtyard, looking up at the silvered tops of the hills. He repeated the psalm of the evening, anchoring his sorely tried faith to it: “My help cometh from the Lord.”

If the olive harvest were plentiful, he and his family would escape the clutches of Simeon the usurer. If not—he dared not think of what might happen. But surely the Lord Jehovah would spare them. “ ‘He will not suffer thy foot to be moved,’ ” Joseph said aloud.

A warm hand was slipped into his. Jesus pressed close to him and softly added the next line of the psalm: “ ‘Behold, he that keepeth Joseph shall neither slumber nor sleep.’ ”

The man looked down in surprise. “It is ‘He that keepeth Israel,’ son,” he corrected.

“Yes, I know,” said the boy. “But is it not the same? Our Father means you, of course, doesn’t he?”

With a sudden lift of faith Joseph again felt his burden grow light.

“Yes,” he replied, “surely Jehovah means me.”