“The Cross and the Creche, John Lawson Park” phone photo, DS
This is the end of my Novel wanderings, for now. After all of the stories I feel strengthened to walk forward in my life. Perhaps you do also. I have thickened my calendar with arts and culture events, although I still wear a mask while singing at church.
Wiley, Mary Lee. Ancient Rage. 1995.
894 words
*** Reaching a hermitage set against the hillside, the two old mothers sat on low stools beside the door, untied their sandals, and washed their feet and hands. *** When the shofar sounded the evening, the two old women walked the half mile to Eleazer’s home. *** When people noticed Mary’s entrance, silence fell. *** Elizabeth remembered being that age: the end of childhood, the first monthly bleeding newly started, the isolation of womanhood already underway. *** Whatever happened; Mary said quietly, it’s alright. Let it be. *** Do you know there is no name for what I am? I’m a widow, yes, but there’s no word for a parent bereft of all children. *** #MeToo*** We can’t know. All we know is that we had them . . . *** Elizabeth, don’t blame God for the actions of men. *** I hold my anger because I cannot hold my child. *** Elizabeth knew that a man bound ten years in a barren marriage could divorce his wife or take another, but Zachariah said nothing . . . *** She recited psalms of lamentation she’d learned as a child . . . *** She studied Hannah’s ancient fertility prayer . . . *** If his seed is indeed sterile, why can’t I take another husband as easily as a man can take a second wife? *** Rome bestowed the ultimate honor on Zachariah by naming him High Priest. *** Elizabeth felt vindicated . . . *** Broken pieces of apples and currants speckled the bowls of honey as lamplight shone across the table. *** Elizabeth shuddered involuntarily wondering if her pride in Zachariah’s priesthood . . . *** Her soul was stitched into each priestly garment. She watched the men leaving and felt familiar longing to go with them. *** The afternoon sun slanted westward as the extended families feasted. *** I’m going to the roof to wait for evening. *** The six nights alone had not been peaceful. Dormant thoughts, old angers, new fears unfolded inside her. *** Elizabeth cleaned her teeth with the clean paste and prepared herself for sleep. She sought familiar comfort in the psalms . . . *** She couldn’t miss Zachariah’s performance as High Priest today. The other women were capable enough, she had decided, they could oversee the preparations in her absence. *** Birds began to call to one another as Elizabeth and her servants neared Jerusalem. *** No wonder the men pray every morning, thank God I am not a woman . . . , is that true? Her mother nodded. *** Zachariah was the master here, and she was his wife. *** The morning shofar blasts announced the first service of the day. The bells Elizabeth had sewn on the hem of his robe rang out in the silence. *** Three times he spoke the ineffable name, spoken only one day a year. *** Zachariah stood at the altar and filled a golden fire-pan with burning coals. *** She saw how deeply she still loved Zachariah. *** The angel spoke to Zachariah . . . It was so long ago. *** The angel was clear. *** The servants brought willow branches and myrtle, young shoots of palm trees, citron. *** Though she had thought she was facing only age and death, God now promised a child. *** Zachariah laid his hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder and indicated that she was to recite the benediction for him. *** The dancing light of the distant flames cast wild shadows into the sukkah where they lay that night, and the angel’s promise was fulfilled. *** She thought of the rocky hillside where the blue flowers grew. *** Elizabeth sensed herself as part of the rhythm of life itself . . . *** Maybe the men needed the angel for reassurance, but you didn’t. *** I’m a practical old woman, she remembered telling Mary. *** Fields still lay green in the warm air and figs and pomegranates were plentiful. *** The tangible reality of her baby usurped all other thoughts. *** No, his name is John. *** Elizabeth had a sudden urge to flee, to hide her child . . . *** It’s a very special job that only the youngest can do . . . *** John’s attention was caught by a small bird landing on a nearby rock . . . *** This is a hyacinth she told him. *** The woman’s white garments and jewelry glittered in the lamplight and the family reclined around a huge table. *** John was only twelve now; how could he sound so sure . . . *** He refused the watered wine with meals. *** The temple is not where I belong. *** Elizabeth carried John’s decision like a hair-shirt. *** Elizabeth saw that poppies dotted the hillside like drops of blood. *** Mary responded wistfully; I remember so many leave-takings. *** Elizabeth breathed deeply, trying to stay in control, trying to weave together the threads of John’s short life into a pattern she could understand. *** The locusts hummed in the distance. *** During her childless years she had sustained a constant ache, the pain she felt after John’s death was acute, devastating, sometimes incapacitating, like a newly broken bone. *** His immortality will not come through children but through God. *** Below was the Salt Sea, blue-gray and sullen. ***
. . .
This novel is in the form of midrash; a filling in of the lines behind or to further the story. The imagined meeting between Elizabeth, mother of John the Baptist, and Mary, mother of Jesus, takes place, according to the author, about seven years after the death of both sons. While many Bible studies attribute Elizabeth with an accepting attitude to losing her son, author Wiley imagines her to be bitter. In this already and not yet time between the Resurrection and the Second Coming, our attitudes too are not always settled and full of faith. Perhaps it is different for the peaceful Mary, her son Jesus, is with her in the Spirit. Elizabeth, even more ancient than when she had John, is still unsettled, but may see him soon when she dies, or if Jesus had returned then, her hope may have been to see John too. Her peace did not need to be in the future.
In this holy time, sometimes our Christmas is blue; not what we had expected, and we lack resources to live with it. Turmoil and trauma are all around us. We ask for the grace to be at peace in waiting until God makes all things well. As feelings and thoughts rage within, peace be with you, not as the world gives, but a peace that passes all understanding, as Jesus promises his followers, a deep peace, even now today. This peace comes from the love that arrives in our midst. We can ask for it too.
ShellseekerReflections 