You know that knowing look that you get from brethren when a recently wedded (as in less than a year) couple announce the birth of their baby? Folks quickly do the mental arithmetic to calculate “how many months ago was it that we attended the wedding again?” The unsaid but clearly implied question of course is, “are you sure so and so wasn’t pregnant before the wedding?”
So imagine the sly exchange of winks and sneers as the women gathered at the public wells in the little town of Bethlehem days after news somehow filtered out that “Mary don born”. Trust me, even back then, they could do the math. They knew for certain that it wasn’t nine months since the hush-hush rush-rush wedding with Joe the carpenter “who didn’t seem to have any clue”.
To think of all the indignities that Jesus’ parents endured on account of being his parents. But again, to think of the wonderful privilege of being the mother of the man who turned water to wine at the wedding in Cana; for Mary to watch all those sneering women drop their wrinkly jaws, mouths agape as the servants pointed her out as the woman whose son saved the day.
As this season brings thoughts about Jesus’ parents, I as a parent am wondering if I have been anywhere as gracious as Joseph or stoic as Mary. Have you?