yeast, something that her nose was trained to search out in the darkness.
In the first rays of dawn, she saw the mess of wind-blown flour all over her hands and clothes. It was no matter; the breeze would soon carry it away.
Jesus smiled to see her covered in flour. “Good morning, Mother. What can I do to help?”
”The dough is already formed,” she said. “We have a respite to give the loaves a chance for the second rising.”
They needed to put little into words as they waited.
After the second rising, as they moved the loaves to the oven, Jesus managed to dust himself a bit, too. He was too old now to cradle in her arms, but the flour on his face gave her the excuse to touch him as she brushed it away, and then he returned the favor. Mary easily could have washed her face and hands with water from the cistern, but she would sooner have dusted them both even more.
The surrounding landscape emerged now in the gathering light. They saw the Jezreel Valley, the breadbasket of Galilee, and the highlands devoted to the raising of sheep and goats that ate from the tough grasses and shrubs that grew there. Nazareth was situated on the high part of the ridge, broken by the gullies and sharp ravines eroded away in seasonal flooding that left little moisture behind. The land even in the dry highland was good; the shepherds would have thrived, if not for the burden of taxation. As a woman, Mary knew little of politics, but she could not miss the sight of distended bellies among the villagers, and Jesus often told her how he blamed the Romans for the suffering of the people. Fortunately, Joseph earned enough as a skilled carpenter to provide well for their needs, and Mary had the good sense to husband every coin he earned.
Mary would have been content to stay on the rooftop with Jesus forever, but he always had the presence of mind to gently break her from her reverie.
“Mother? Time to finish the breakfast.”
Jesus’s thirteenth birthday came a few weeks after he and Joseph began working in Sepphoris. For the first time, they returned home early so they could spend part of the special evening quietly with Mary. She had a simple meal of fish and vegetables ready on the table.
“Is something troubling you, Mother?” asked Jesus, shortly after they started eating.
“No, dear.”
“Your mother looks fine to me, son,” said Joseph.
“Mother, I can tell when you are troubled.”
Mary sighed. “I was just thinking that you should be reading from the Torah on the next Sabbath. You will be welcomed at the synagogue as a man who can be counted toward the minyan .”
“If we say anything about Jesus’s birthday,” said Joseph, “it will bring up that old gossip about how you must have been immoral before our wedding. You and I know the truth about Jesus’s conception, but this will only stir that ugly pot again. Did we not go through all that enough during our betrothal?”
“But since he started working with you in Sepphoris, Jesus has neglected his studies. Soon, he will grow taller, his voice will change, and he will grow a beard. Everyone will know he is well beyond the age for reciting from the Torah. They will think he is a simpleton.”
“Oh, come on, woman.” Joseph guffawed. “I have heard many things said about Jesus, some of them not very nice, but his being simple is not one of them.”
“What do they say about me, Papa?”
“The rabbi says you drive him to distraction, bringing up every contradiction in Scripture.”
“I only seek the truth.”
“The rabbi gets weary when you challenge him, no matter how respectfully you do it.” Joseph turned to Mary. “It’s actually a good thing Jesus is away from the synagogue now except on Sabbath days. I don’t think there is anything more he can learn there, and it would soon cause no end of trouble.”
Jesus smiled. “Don’t worry if people start calling me a simpleton, Mother. Papa is teaching me an honest trade, and we do well with
In the first rays of dawn, she saw the mess of wind-blown flour all over her hands and clothes. It was no matter; the breeze would soon carry it away.
Jesus smiled to see her covered in flour. “Good morning, Mother. What can I do to help?”
”The dough is already formed,” she said. “We have a respite to give the loaves a chance for the second rising.”
They needed to put little into words as they waited.
After the second rising, as they moved the loaves to the oven, Jesus managed to dust himself a bit, too. He was too old now to cradle in her arms, but the flour on his face gave her the excuse to touch him as she brushed it away, and then he returned the favor. Mary easily could have washed her face and hands with water from the cistern, but she would sooner have dusted them both even more.
The surrounding landscape emerged now in the gathering light. They saw the Jezreel Valley, the breadbasket of Galilee, and the highlands devoted to the raising of sheep and goats that ate from the tough grasses and shrubs that grew there. Nazareth was situated on the high part of the ridge, broken by the gullies and sharp ravines eroded away in seasonal flooding that left little moisture behind. The land even in the dry highland was good; the shepherds would have thrived, if not for the burden of taxation. As a woman, Mary knew little of politics, but she could not miss the sight of distended bellies among the villagers, and Jesus often told her how he blamed the Romans for the suffering of the people. Fortunately, Joseph earned enough as a skilled carpenter to provide well for their needs, and Mary had the good sense to husband every coin he earned.
Mary would have been content to stay on the rooftop with Jesus forever, but he always had the presence of mind to gently break her from her reverie.
“Mother? Time to finish the breakfast.”
Jesus’s thirteenth birthday came a few weeks after he and Joseph began working in Sepphoris. For the first time, they returned home early so they could spend part of the special evening quietly with Mary. She had a simple meal of fish and vegetables ready on the table.
“Is something troubling you, Mother?” asked Jesus, shortly after they started eating.
“No, dear.”
“Your mother looks fine to me, son,” said Joseph.
“Mother, I can tell when you are troubled.”
Mary sighed. “I was just thinking that you should be reading from the Torah on the next Sabbath. You will be welcomed at the synagogue as a man who can be counted toward the minyan .”
“If we say anything about Jesus’s birthday,” said Joseph, “it will bring up that old gossip about how you must have been immoral before our wedding. You and I know the truth about Jesus’s conception, but this will only stir that ugly pot again. Did we not go through all that enough during our betrothal?”
“But since he started working with you in Sepphoris, Jesus has neglected his studies. Soon, he will grow taller, his voice will change, and he will grow a beard. Everyone will know he is well beyond the age for reciting from the Torah. They will think he is a simpleton.”
“Oh, come on, woman.” Joseph guffawed. “I have heard many things said about Jesus, some of them not very nice, but his being simple is not one of them.”
“What do they say about me, Papa?”
“The rabbi says you drive him to distraction, bringing up every contradiction in Scripture.”
“I only seek the truth.”
“The rabbi gets weary when you challenge him, no matter how respectfully you do it.” Joseph turned to Mary. “It’s actually a good thing Jesus is away from the synagogue now except on Sabbath days. I don’t think there is anything more he can learn there, and it would soon cause no end of trouble.”
Jesus smiled. “Don’t worry if people start calling me a simpleton, Mother. Papa is teaching me an honest trade, and we do well with
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