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enough money for a lamb.”
    Touched deeply by her husband’s humility, Mary smiled up at him. “It was a dove who bore the message to Noah that God had stayed his hand of judgment.”
    Joseph’s face softened as he put his arm around her. As they went up the steps together, she stared in awe at the immensity of the temple Herod had built. The deep beckoning sound of the shofar pulled her attention upward, where she saw the priests standing on their platforms holding the long rams’ horns to their lips. Mary trembled as she heard the sound. Her throat closed. Masses of pilgrims moved in and out of the courts, filling the corridor with the rumble of a thousand voices. Lambs bleated; cattle lowed. Money changers vied for business, coins clinking into trays as men argued over percentages of exchange.
    “Do you think the Lord does not see how you’re robbing me?” someone cried out angrily.
    “If you don’t like it, see if you can do better!”
    “May the Lord judge between you and me!”
    Joseph hastened Mary past the disturbance and escorted her along the corridor to the entrance to the women’s court, where other women and children waited. He left her there with Jesus and went to present the turtledoves to a priest for sacrifice.
    An old man wandered among the women holding babies, pausing to peer down into each infant’s face and give a soft blessing to the proud mother before moving on to another. Mary heard an older woman address him. “Simeon . . .” They spoke briefly before he turned away again. She felt his gaze fix upon her.
    “What child is this?” he said in the quavering voice of advanced age.
    “His name is Jesus.” Mary tipped her son proudly, drawing the blanket down enough so the old man could admire him. Could anyone guess she held the Messiah in her arms? She, a mere peasant girl from Nazareth?
    “Jesus,” Simeon repeated softly. “‘The Lord saves.’ A common name in Israel, for it is the desire of every devout girl to bear the one who will save his people from their sins.”
    Mary’s heart fluttered strangely as she looked into the venerable man’s opaque eyes. Though he was almost blind, he seemed to be looking for something with great longing. She felt impelled to say more. “I did not give him the name. It is his name.”
    Frowning slightly, the old man fixed his gaze upon her son again. He leaned closer that he might see him better. Mary smiled as Jesus made a soft mewling sound and awakened. The old man’s face flushed. “May I hold him?” He held out trembling hands.
    Mary hesitated only briefly before relinquishing Jesus. She studied Simeon’s face while he held her son, gratified by the man’s increasing excitement. Jesus reached up, his tiny fingers grasping the long white curl at Simeon’s temple. Simeon drew in his breath sharply and uttered a sob.
    Alarmed, Mary stood closer lest the old man drop her baby. Simeon raised his head, and Mary held her breath. She saw immediately the change in him. Simeon’s eyes were no longer milky, but dark brown and alight with joy. Her heart raced wildly. When Jesus let go of the curl at Simeon’s temple, the old man cupped Jesus’ tiny hand and kissed his palm.
    “Lord,” Simeon said in a trembling voice, “now I can die in peace! As you promised me, I have seen the Savior you have given to all people. He is a light to reveal God to the nations, and he is the glory of your people Israel!” Smiling, he wept, staring and staring at Jesus as though he could not get his fill of seeing him. “Lord, Lord . . .”
    “Mary?” Joseph said softly, standing at her elbow.
    “It’s all right,” she said, unaware until then of the tears pouring down her own cheeks. Here was a devout man who resided in the Temple, and he recognized her son as the Messiah.
    Simeon raised his head and looked at each of them. “May the Lord watch over and protect you as you rear up this child in the ways of his Father. This child will be rejected by