Hidden Years

By James Exparza

The life of Jesus is intertwined with biblical characters. Portrayed as fully human, Jesus, with the help of Mary and John the Baptist, must go through a difficult discernment process before he begins his public ministry. Both Mary and Jesus reminisce about their lives and how each faced significant crises in their lives. John the Baptist becomes a catalyst who helps Jesus discover his unique call to preach the Kingdom of God. Living in Capernaum, Jesus forms unique relationships with Peter, James, John, and Andrew, which serve as the basis for them to leave all and follow him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481724319

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© 2013 by James Exparza. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/25/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-2433-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-2432-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-2431-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013903947

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

1

REVELATIONS

2

CONFRONTATION

3

THE WEDDING

4

TO JERUSALEM

5

TO BETHANY

6

BETHANY TO JERICHO

7

FINDING JOHN

8

CALL TO SERVICE

9

TEMPTATIONS

10

RETURN HOME

11

MINISTRY BEGINS

12

TO THE CROSS

1

REVELATIONS

Surely that is not him. He is coming home.

Mary dropped the window curtain and ran to the front door, her heart throbbing with anticipation. She waited with her hands clasped over her mouth, hoping with each step the man made, that it was Jesus. It is! My son! Mary openly cried out as she ran to embrace him. Jesus caught her as she leapt into his arms. He kissed her on the cheek as he held his mother tightly in an embrace. He whispered, It is so good to be home again. I regret having to be away from you since my father died. Mary ignored his comment and forced herself from his embrace, but took his hand and led him home, chatting with him and allowing her heart to fill with the pleasure of his unexpected presence. She cherished his presence. My only and dearest son is with me again, she thought to herself as they entered the house. What brings you home so unexpectedly, Jesus? motioning him to sit at the table.

He hesitated but a moment in silence, Mother, I am beginning to be bothered by thoughts of the Lord calling me to service, but I do not understand what is going on. I was always able to talk with you and my father and come to an understanding of what to do whenever I was troubled in the past. I was thinking that I needed to come home and sit and talk with you.

Noticing the deep concern in his voice and the disturbed look on his face, Mary only listened. What he attempted to explain was not making sense to her. Abruptly interrupting, Perhaps I can ease your pain if we have something to eat first, rising from her chair and going to prepare something to eat. I have some left over lamb and vegetables. Will that be enough? I know you must be hungry from the long walk from Capernaum. Sometimes I regret that you moved to Capernaum. But tell me, how are things going for you there? You must have plenty of work, and I am most grateful that you are so generous with the money you send. You know, Reuben still gets some work but we are barely able to get by.

Mother, I too sometimes have regrets leaving, but I had to get away from this little village. The idle chatter was becoming too much to take.

Jesus, the townspeople had good reason to talk about you. You would wonder off and stay out some nights until dawn. People saw you sitting in silence and wondered if something was seriously wrong with you. What were you doing anyway?

I had already begun to hear in my heart God’s call. I would sit in silent prayer trying to figure out what it is that He wants. I merely begin my prayer with one simple word—Father. With that one word I can recall all the wonderful times with my father. I know that he loved us both deeply. He was always concerned with his responsibilities. He knew what we needed and he kept his focus on his duties as a father. I can call upon the Lord with that one simple word, and it is as He fills me with His presence. I know then that He is as concerned about me as my father was. He gives me comfort but yet He stirs my soul to challenges. He wants something of me and that is what is confusing me.

Jesus, why didn’t you say something then? I never questioned you, because I thought that you were grieving your father’s death. I thought it best to leave you alone and allow you to work it out in your own way. I know I had to do the same thing. It was painful for me and I could only imagine the pain you were going through. You and Joseph were not only father and son, you were best friends. The last two times you were home, I also worried about you when I found your bed empty and you were not in the shop. Even Reuben expressed concern about you. Here, have something to eat and then we can talk.

Mary could see the troublesome looks on his face, while he was eating. She felt his anguish as she watched silently. There was no doubt she thought, ‘I have never seen such pained expressions on his face—even while he eats. Surely, he is deeply disturbed.’ She felt his pain so deeply that she allowed her hands to fall from the table and grab her stomach. The pangs were so deep that it felt like she was in labor. Yet, she could not allow her feelings to show. Taking a deep breath and then relaxing, Mary asked, Can you give me any hint of what troubles you the most?

Although he heard the question, Jesus refused to respond. He only stared at her with an antagonistic expression and continued eating.

Jesus, you said that you came home with the expectation that maybe we could talk this out. I can’t help you, nor can you help yourself if you refuse to talk about it.

Mother, I need a little more time to gather my thoughts. Can you not show some patience? he snapped back.

Rising from the table, she retreated to a chair beside her loom. Her feelings were shattered as she hung her head. He has never been angry with me like this. As darkness came, Mary arose and lit two lamps. She placed one on the table in front of Jesus and the other on the mantle. Jesus finished his meal and placed his bowl on the counter next to the hearth. Without saying a word, he returned to the table. What seemed like hours passed. Finally, he spoke, Come, Mother, let us talk. I am sorry for being so abrupt with you.

She noticed that now he was talking in hushed tones almost as if he wished not to disturb their neighbors. His voice was so quiet that she could still hear the sounds of the insects chirping outside. She grew tired of his almost monotonous tone, but she also noted hints of impatience in his voice. Every word he spoke was reflective and slowly spoken, as if he needed to analyze every syllable. Slowly she began to gain insight into his concerns. Although he began to openly share with her the troublesome thoughts he was having, she noticed again that it was difficult for him to express all the details. It seemed to her that he was trying to protect himself. Either that or he didn’t want to expose himself to criticism. Finally, he expressed what really was troubling him, The Lord is calling me to do something special.

Stunned by this new and surprising disclosure, Mary had no immediate reply. As a child and young man he had never shared with her such a calling. However, she listened intently to every word he spoke, careful not to interrupt his train of thought. She also realized that she was trembling inside, not sure how to feel about what Jesus was saying. As he talked, Mary slowly began to understand that indeed he was being called by the Lord. Then, as abruptly as he began the conversation, he stopped. I have no choice but to wait, she silently whispered in her mind. Silence filled the room, and she realized that their moods had become reflective. Only the flickering shadows added any activity to the room. How can I help this man? He is no longer the little boy that I can take in my arms and comfort. Nor can I really judge what it is that the Lord may be calling him to do. It pains me that I can’t help him. Finally in desperation, though softly spoken, she pierced the silence, Have you ever discussed this with John?"

It was as if thunder had rolled through the room and it caught him off guard. He shook his head from the shock of the broken silence. He began talking slowly and deliberately, I mentioned it to John on one occasion. His consideration was that I should allow the thoughts to permeate my being and to try not to deny them, Jesus answered, recalling his conversation with John. He respected John’s advice as he had always guided him well before. He continued, John shared with me that he too has had disturbing thoughts about some of the same things. He has discussed them with the Rabbi at the Temple who advised him to pray and fast for enlightenment. You know, of course, that John has been going into the desert occasionally. He believes that going into the desert helps him to keep focus and to trust in God’s messages.

If John has been troubled by some of the same thoughts, you need to visit with him further. I know that God will guide you both.

They talked late into the night until fatigue took its toll. There was no more activity on the path in front of the house. Surely, most in the town were bedded down for the night. Finally, they both agreed that Jesus would visit with John to seek advice and perhaps more enlightenment. Each went to their pallets to sleep, hopefully, the few hours that were left of the night. They fluffed their pallets of lambs’ wool vigorously and reclined.

Jesus?

Yes, Mother?

When do you plan to visit with John?

I was just thinking about that. I know that I have just arrived, but I think I would like to leave in the morning—at first light. Is that alright with you?

Her reply was hesitant and revealed her disappointment, Must you leave so soon? I was hoping that you could spend more time with me. There are things to be done here. Reuben just does not have the time to tend to the small chores around the house.

Let’s talk about it in the morning.

Mary was not happy with his reply but realized that he wished to sleep. She was at least satisfied and comfortable with his decision to seek out John and discuss their mutual doubts. Even though she was not troubled when she reclined, she began to reminisce about her own life and all the wonderful experiences as a family with Joseph and Jesus. Lying perfectly still, she could feel and recall the warmth, the joy, and the comfort of her parents, Joachim and Anne, from the earliest of her childhood memories. She thought to herself, I was an only child—something good and bad—bestowed with all the love of my parents but stuck with all the chores. Born of modest means, their home was small and comfortable but never lacking for the necessities of life. Her parents worked hard to provide the essentials of life.

Her father, Joachim, had a small herd of sheep and was often away from the home. He had to tend to the needs of the flock, especially from spring to fall, when he would move the small herd to graze in the hills north of Nazareth. Before taking the sheep to pasture, they had to be sheared. Her mother and she would carefully gather the wool while Joachim and the other men sheared the sheep. She always felt badly for the sheep when some of the nights would still be quite cool. Wasn’t it just a bit cruel to shave the sheep clean when they still needed their wool blankets? It was a dirty and tiring task, a chore that she did not particularly like. Lint and debris from the wool clung to their clothing and dust filled their nostrils. The wool not only had to be gathered and sorted by length, purity, and color, but it also had to be washed and thoroughly dried to avoid as much shrinkage as possible. Washing the wool left a lot to be desired. By the day’s end, she would be exhausted and racked with pain in the small of her back. She remembered that in order to relieve the pain, she would lay on the dirt floor and stretch her back muscles as hard as possible, trying desperately to get them relaxed. Finally, she would feel comfortable and roll over on her pallet and fall asleep.

In early spring vegetables had to be planted, a task that fell to mother and her, an only child. It was not easy for just the two of them. She often wished she had a brother or sister with whom to share the chores. However, the daily chores of feeding the chickens, gathering eggs, grinding wheat and barley, and helping mother bake bread each day were hard and sometimes almost overwhelming. Her arms and shoulders would ache by the end of each day. She so wished she had siblings with whom to share. Yes, even the soreness, like the other children of rural Galilee. Sometimes, she would wonder idly what it would be like to have a brother or a sister. She witnessed and shamefully envied somewhat the banter between other children who had siblings with whom to share hard work. It seemed that just having someone else with whom to work would ease her daily tasks.

As figs, dates, and pomegranates ripened, they had to be gathered. It was no simple task to dry figs and dates. They had to be turned occasionally to ensure that they dried evenly and without mold. Ripened pomegranates that were not eaten right away were peeled and squeezed so the juice could be extracted and stored for medicinal purposes. Skins from the pomegranates also were dried and later used to cleanse their teeth after soaking them in water and rubbing them against their teeth and gums. It seemed to her that everything had a purpose, and nothing was wasted or thrown away without careful consideration of having a practical use for daily living.

Cleanliness was one commandment to be kept. Their home did not have water readily available to them. What little water the cistern caught from meager rains was carefully guarded. This meant that when she was old enough and strong enough to carry a load, she had to go to the town water well and haul water home. She had to do this daily and occasionally more often. A shoulder yoke, with a bucket on each side, certainly made it easier for her to carry the water. Her father bought this from Joseph, the carpenter in town. Before that, she used to struggle with the bucket, swinging it between her legs for a while or switching it from side to side, clutching on for dear life with both hands. As a result, the bucket often would arrive at the house half empty. When this happened, she was always sent by her mother to make another trip to the water well.

Even though it was exhausting, she actually enjoyed this chore more than all the rest. It afforded her the chance to visit with the other girls in the village. It was also an opportunity to pick up bits of information about the other people in the village that otherwise she would not have known. The best information was always garnered from the older women who had a gift for, say, a little gossip. Carrying water from the well home also gave her the opportunity to sit and visit for a while with her mother, who was always eager to hear the latest news and demanded that Mary relay it to her in detail.

When the wheat fields ripened, her mother would send Mary with her father to gather wheat from the small patch of ground prepared by him. She especially enjoyed this work since she could work side by side with her father whom she dearly loved and revered. One of her favorite memories was holding her father’s hand. In spite of being heavily calloused, his hands communicated a warmth and kindness to her, but above all the security that she felt in his firm grip of her hand. Her father and she walked to and from the fields talking about nothing special, but always holding hands.

But tonight she remembered and missed the tender touch of his hand. Lying still in the quiet of night she could almost feel her father’s rough and callused hands grasping hers. If her father’s field did not produce enough wheat or barley, Mary’s mother always made arrangements for her to gather grain from the nearby fields of her relatives. The harvesters would leave small stakes of ripened wheat or barley for the less fortunate. While her family was not considered poor, her relatives always allowed them to share in what had been left by the harvesters. This courtesy was also extended to less fortunate families. She loved doing this. It meant she could spend several nights away from home visiting with her cousins. After gathering wheat, in the evening and into the night, she had the opportunity to visit and play with her cousins, sometimes pretending to be their sister. On these occasions, she also rode her father’s donkey to her cousins’ small farm to carry sacks of wheat home. She felt very mature when given the responsibility of taking care of the family’s work animal.

Her father had never named the animal. He had a strong conviction that work animals ought never to be named. He felt this lessened one’s demands of the animal. However, in spite of this, she named the donkey Adonai. This irritated her father. Adonai was a divine word, which was used as a substitute for YHVH—yud-hei-vav-hei. When he asked why she addressed the animal Adonai, she responded playfully that whenever she rode Adonai, she felt that she was being carried in the hands of the Lord because he walked so slowly and gently. She dared not mention that she also talked to YHWH. When she was doing her chores, playing, and really most of the time, she thought about YHVH and talked to Him… it was her way of praying.

She fondly remembered that she also often talked to Adonai, her beloved donkey, about her likes and dislikes, even her dreams and disappointments. However, as she lay trying to go to sleep, she remembered that Adonai never responded-he seemed to listen with his ears perked as if he understood every word. She felt the comfort, that simply by talking out her problems and dreams to that gentle donkey, always left her with the right answers that came from deep within her own soul and the lessons that her mother and father had been teaching her. As she grew older and began to understand the love of the Lord, she began to think that perhaps the name of the donkey never was incorrect. As her love for and her understanding of the Lord grew stronger with age, she discovered that in prayer she could talk to YHVH as easily as with Adonai.

She was now growing very tired but memories kept flooding her mind. When she was fifteen, she went to spend the day with her cousins. Mary had walked that day, and her steps were hurried. She recalled that even though her heart was light, she still was puzzled. Her father and mother had made arrangements for Joseph, the carpenter, son of Heli and Judith to visit with them in the evening three days earlier. Although she was somewhat suspicious, she did not know for sure that Joseph had expressed an interest in her or was coming to the house to seek her father’s permission to marry. She recalled that after dinner one evening, Joseph and Joachim withdrew to chairs near the door of the house. They spoke in hushed tones. There seemed to be tension in the air, but she was unsure why. When they finished talking, they embraced and called Anne to join them. Her mother seemed delighted as they talked, and she clasped her mouth with her hands in glee. Her mother and father approached her; each grasping one of her hands, they led her toward Joseph. Although she was familiar with the marriage customs, her father explained that he and Joseph had agreed upon a very generous mohar (dowry). In fact, the mohar was such a generous offering, it exceeded her father’s expectations. She not only could still feel the embarrassment of the moment, but also how elated she was at the same time. She felt shy looking into Joseph’s eyes, but his eyes were so kind she could not turn away from him. She detected that he was so gentle and accepting that she immediately settled herself. She also knew that Joseph was a successful carpenter in the village. Mary felt flattered and honored that he had asked for her hand in marriage.

She and Joseph visited briefly. It was more than a bit disquieting to her as she did not know him, and this was their first personal contact. But, when Joseph grasped her hand and held it firmly, she felt the same warmth and comfort in his touch as she experienced with her father. Joachim poured wine into a cup, pronounced the betrothal benediction, and offered the cup to Joseph. After Joseph drank from the cup, he handed it to Mary, from which she drank. It was sweet and soothing as she swallowed. She was overwhelmed with the comfort that she felt, gazing deeply into Joseph’s eyes. The sharing of the cup of wine established and sealed their covenant relationship. From that day forward, they were considered husband and wife, and they would be married twelve months later. Her mother placed the traditional veil on her head, which she would wear whenever she was outside her home, signifying proudly that she was betrothed to Joseph. The veil was light and airy, and her face was clearly visible.

Before he left, Joseph gave her several small gifts, two small wood carvings, over which he had labored to perfection and a rather large piece of silk. She was especially thankful for the cloth. It was a beautiful azure, the color as magnificent as any sky she had ever seen. And, as if that was not enough, he handed her a simply folded linen cloth. When she unfolded it, she was awestruck to see a brilliant gold chain from which hung a small opal. He asked her if he could place it around her neck. When she nodded yes, he did so with gentle hands. She recalled that she reached around her head to help him by raising her veil and hair. When their hands touched, it was the first time that she noticed his rough and calloused skin. She had not noticed this in the moment of excitement when he first held her hand earlier. She recalled how she imagined Joseph would come to her, preceded by the sounding of the Sofar, the night of their wedding to take her as his wife. She would never forget the day that this had occurred. It was the fifth day of Tishri (September-October), the week before Pesach (Passover). These memories were deeply embedded in her heart and she reminisced with those thoughts often.

Having wandered from her thoughts about her cousins, she remembered why she went to visit. Three days earlier, she had been betrothed to Joseph, and she was anxious to share the excitement and to ask these two girls to be part of her wedding party. After sharing the news with them, they all giggled and shouted in glee. They both rushed to her and smothered her with hugs and kisses. But, of course,