Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt

I saw the babies. I saw them dashed on the stones. I saw the throats slit. I saw the throats of the lambs slit in the Temple at Passover. I saw the blood. I saw the mothers screaming. I couldn’t stop crying.

Around me, people whispered. Hands lifted me.

I was put down on a bed. I felt a cool rag against my forehead. I was choking in my sobs. I couldn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t stop seeing the babies dying, I couldn’t stop seeing the lambs slaughtered, the blood on the altar, the blood of the babies. I saw the man, our man, in the Temple with the spear through his chest. I saw him turn over. I saw Baby Esther, Baby Esther bleeding. Babies on the stones. Lord in Heaven, no. Not because of me. No.

“No, no…” I said this word over and over if I said any word.

“Sit up, I want you to drink this!”

I was lifted.

“Open your mouth, drink this!”

I choked on the liquid, the honey, the wine. I tried to swallow. “But they’re dead, they’re dead, they’re dead!”

I don’t know how long it went on until it became an easy crying, a full-throated crying, and I said, “I don’t want to sleep. I’ll see them when I dream.”

Chapter 25

I was sick. I was thirsty. The voices and hands were so kind. I was given the wine and the honey to drink. I slept, and the cold rags on my head felt good. If there were dreams, I didn’t remember them. I heard music—the deep smooth voices of the Levites. I drifted. Only now and then did I see the babies, the murdered i

I have to wake up, I thought, but I couldn’t wake up. And once when I did, it was dark, and the old Rabbi was asleep in his chair. It was like a dream, this, and I slid back into sleep without being able to stop it.

Finally, there came a moment when I opened my eyes, and I knew I was well.

I thought at once of the murdered children, but I could see it without crying. I sat up and looked about. The old Rabbi was there and at once got up from his table. Another man was there and he came to me as well.

The younger man felt of my forehead and looked into my eyes.

“Ah, it’s over,” he said. “Little nameless one. You’re yourself again. I want to hear you speak.”

“I thank you,” I said. My throat hurt but I knew it was only from not talking. “I thank you for tending to me. I didn’t want to be sick.”

“Come, I have fresh clothes for you,” said the younger man. “I’ll help you.”

I saw as I got up that I was in a new tunic and that kindness touched my heart.

When I’d returned from the bath, much refreshed and dressed, the old Rabbi dismissed the man and told me to sit down opposite him.

There was a stool there. I don’t think I’d ever sat on a stool before. I did as I was told.

“You’re a little boy,” he said, “and I forgot that you were a little boy. A little boy with a heart.”

“I wanted to know the answers to my questions, Rabbi. I had to know the answers. I would never have stopped asking.”

“But why?” he asked. “The child born in Bethlehem has been dead for eight years, as you said yourself. Now don’t begin to cry again.”

“No, I won’t.”

“And the virgin mother, who could believe such a thing.”

“I believe it, Rabbi,” I said. “And the child’s not dead. The child escaped.”

For a long moment, he looked at me.

And in that moment, I felt all my sadness, all my separation from those around me. I felt it so bitterly.

I felt that he was about to dismiss what I had said, about to say that even if the child had somehow escaped Bethlehem, it was all just a story, and Herod’s butchery was all the more a horrid thing.

Before he could speak, however, I heard voices that I knew very close by.

My mother and Joseph were there.

My mother called my name.

I stood at once and turned to greet them as they came in, quickly saying to the scribe that yes, I was their son.

My mother put her arms around me.

Joseph kissed the hands of the old Rabbi.

Much was said quickly. I couldn’t follow all of it. Joseph and my mother had been looking for me for three days.

The Rabbi praised my answers to his questions, when I had been with the other boys. As far as I could tell, he was saying nothing about our talk of Bethlehem, and nothing about my being ill.

I went to him and I kissed his hands and thanked him for all the time he had spent with me, and he said,

“You go now with your mother and father.”

Joseph wanted to pay for my keep, but the Rabbi refused this.

When we were out in the bright light of the Great Court, my mother took me by the shoulders:

“Why have you done this?” she asked. “We’ve been in misery searching for you!”

“Mother, I must know things now,” I said. “Things I’m forbidden to ask you or Joseph. I must be about what it is that I have to do!”

It was a blow to her. I could hardly bear to see it in her face.

“I’m sorry for it,” I said. “I’m so sorry for it. But it’s the truth.”

She looked at Joseph and he nodded.

We went together out of the Temple and down into the old city, and through the narrow streets until we came to the Synagogue of the Nazarenes, and there up to a small room. It was there that they had been staying as they looked for me.

There was a window in the room, covered by a lattice and the light was good. The room was clean.

My mother sat against the wall, with her legs crossed. And Joseph quietly went out.

I waited, but he didn’t come back.

“Sit here and listen to me,” my mother said.

I sat down across from her.

The light was full on her face.

“I’ve never told this story,” she said. “I want to tell it one time.”

I nodded.

“Don’t say anything to me as I tell it.”

I nodded.

She looked away as she spoke.

“I was thirteen years old,” she said. “I was betrothed to Joseph, my kinsman, as was always the custom with us, distantly related, yet part of the same tribe. Old Sarah had given her approval to my mother and father of him even before I came down from Jerusalem where I’d worked on the Temple veils. I hardly remembered him. I met him. He was a good man.

“I was strictly brought up. I never went out of the house. The servants went to the well. Cleopas taught me what little I know of reading. What little I know of the world. I was to be married in Nazareth, as my parents had come there from Sepphoris to live with Old Sarah. And it was the big house in which you live now.

“Now one morning, I’d awakened early and I didn’t know why. It wasn’t light yet. I was up and standing in the room. My first thought was that my mother needed me. But I went in to her and she was asleep and well.

“I came back into my room. The room completely filled with light. It happened instantly. It happened silently. The light was everywhere. Everything that was in the room was still there but it was filled with the light. It was a light that didn’t hurt my eyes but it was absolutely bright. If you can imagine looking at the sun and the sun not hurting your eyes, you can imagine this light.

“I wasn’t afraid. I stood there and I saw a figure in the light, the figure of a man only it was much bigger than a man and it didn’t move. I knew it wasn’t a man.

“It spoke to me. It said that I had found favor with the Lord. It said that I was blessed among women. And that from my womb would come a son named Jesus, that he would be great and he would be the Son of the Most High. It said that the Lord God would give him the throne of his father David and that he would reign over the House of Jacob forever. I spoke to the voice. I said I’d never been with a man. The voice said the Holy Spirit would come over me. It said the Holy Child born from me would be the Son of God.”

My mother looked at me for the first time.