Sermons
by: Joy Versluis
Scene 1
“Here they come!” Leah cried out, pulling on her friend’s linen tunic. Both girls stood on their toes to peek over the shoulders of the women and children lining the side of the road awaiting the parade. They saw farmers with their carts pulled by oxen, the horns gilded with gold and garlands of flowers. Women shook timbrels and clapped their hands. Men’s voices sang vigorously as the farmers processed through the village to the temple.
“I’m so excited,” Leah yelled above the noise of the crowd. “Me too,” Elisabeth answered and clasped her hand in Leah’s. They looked around at all their neighbors. Some of the men were dancing, while others kept time with their hands, clapping louder for the men to swirl faster. Most of the women huddled near the town well but laughed and raised their tambourines above their heads.
This was the Feast of First Fruits, celebrating the giving of the Torah to Moses and their people centuries earlier. All of the people in the hill town of Judea looked forward to this annual festival. Farmers brought first fruits from their orchards and fields as an offering. Baskets woven with gold and silver threads spilled over with grapes, figs, pomegranates, olives and dates. Wheat and barley sheaves filled the carts.
The crowd followed the parade of country folk to the synagogue, its limestone columns glimmering in the sunshine. The priests in their finest vestments welcomed the people. Gold candle stands were polished to a sheen and the fragrant incense lingered over the people. While the women clustered in the outside porches, the men moved into the building.
“Who is your family celebrating the festival with?” inquired Leah. She sighed, “I’m forced to be with my mother’s cousins from the countryside. Those little girls like to touch all my clothes and their brothers smell like goats. Mother says they are guests, even if smelly ones. And to think I used to live that way. Village life is so much better, isn’t it?”
Elisabeth chuckled and answered her friend, “My family will gather with those from the house of Abijah. Both our grandfathers come from the priestly line, so our families have celebrated the Feast of Weeks for many years. We have a wonderful time. I try to stay awake and listen to the men reciting the Torah. ” Elisabeth noticed her mother gesturing her to come. “I need to go now, Leah.”
“You are so fortunate, Elisabeth. I’m stuck with reeking shepherds while you dine with the cultured.” Leah kicked at a stone. “Promise to tell me all about it.”
“I will, but we are quite ordinary,” Elisabeth said and gave Leah a smile as she turned to go. “You’ll have a good time too. As the Torah says, ‘We shall eat our fill and bless the Lord our God for the good land that he has given us.’ Shalom, Leah.”
Mother and daughter briskly walked home. They still had much to do to get ready for the late afternoon meal. The mother sent her two daughters to fetch water, and then they would set out the olive wood dishes, fill the clay lamps, and fetch more water. By the time the men arrived, the young women were glad to have help from the women in Abijah’s household who also brought baskets of food.
After all were fed, they listened to the old priest Reuben recount the story of Ruth. Although a foreigner, she was accepted by the Israelites and bore a son called Obed, the grandfather of King David. Elder Reuben looked around the room before speaking,
“Tradition says David, our beloved shepherd king, was born and died during the Feast of First Fruits. We should be so blessed.” The men lifted their cups of wine. They broke into song.
Elisabeth heard a deep strong voice and noticed it came from Zachariah who finally was fitting into his lanky height. Though the light was dim in the room, she detected a shadow of a beard growing on his chin. Their eyes met and the young woman quickly looked away, but not before detecting that her father also observed the furtive glances.
Over the last several weeks, she had heard her parents whispering, stopping abruptly when she came into the room. Elisabeth wasn’t surprised then when her father and mother called to her a little before sunset a few days after the feast. The light in the house was tinged with orange and pink as the final light of the day retreated into night. Mother sat on the wooden bench in the common room while father whittled at a branch of olive wood. He was carving a figure of a small bird. Sometimes he trimmed out a small hole in the top of the bird’s back and made another hole near the bird’s tail, turning it into a whistle. He was almost finished and tested the sound. The pitch was low but full.
“Here, this is for you,” said father and handed his daughter the carving. Her fingers traced the wood grain patterns. “Oh, father, it’s beautiful. One of your loveliest.” She made a quick bow to him and showed the carving to her mother Judith who motioned for her to sit down.
“Elisabeth, you are like this bird. Lovely and ready to fly. Your mother and I are very pleased with how you have become a fine young woman. You show responsibility in the family, you are kind to your brothers and sisters, and you follow the commandments of the Torah. And you are of marriageable age.” Her father stopped and turned aside.
“Elisabeth,” said her mother, “we are of the clan of Aaron, so it is fitting that you should marry someone who is also a descendant of a priest. We have sought God’s guidance to find you a husband who is also upright.”
Elisabeth’s heart quickened. Who had they chosen? She thought of all the priestly families who had young men whose marriages were not yet arranged. There was Daniel. He was kind but had a squeaky voice pitched too high. What if it were Ezra? He was handsome enough but his lame leg made him already seem like an old man as he hobbled around the village. Then she remembered her father talking with the priest Mordecai. Maybe the groom-to-be was his son Tobit. Elisabeth hesitated as she recalled Leah asking questions about Tobit and his family. She knew Leah liked Tobit. But what could she do? Parents decided marriage partners. There was still Zachariah, but she had heard talk amongst the women that his family had arranged a marriage with a cousin from a nearby village.
Her father cleared his throat. “We’ve been talking with the elders in Abijah’s household, and we agree that you and Zachariah will be engaged and marry soon. We find him to be blameless in his ways and devoted to the priesthood. Our families will be united, and the whole village will be stronger for the joining of our two families.”
Elisabeth let out a small gasp. She stood and faced her parents, clutching the wood carving. Her voice was calm. “I accept.” Her parents hugged her, touching her forehead with their lips. That night she barely slept and tried to remember every detail about Zachariah.
Elisabeth let out a small gasp. She stood and faced her parents, clutching the wood carving. Her voice was calm. “I accept.” Her parents hugged her, touching her forehead with their lips. That night she barely slept and tried to remember every detail about Zachariah.
As she went about her tasks the next days, Elisabeth wondered about the changes she would face. She recalled the stories her mother Judith told of her own betrothal. According to her mother, it had been a good match, but not without the usual adjustments. It had been difficult for Judith to leave her family, especially when the couple moved to the hill country, away from the familiarity and excitement of Jerusalem. Judith alluded to Micah’s seasons of silence and withdrawal, but she and Micah had been blessed with eight children and generally good health. The loss of three infants at childbirth never left her memory, Judith told Elisabeth, and the years where the crops didn’t grow or were destroyed by locusts made her grateful for their stores of food these last years.
Elisabeth waited a few days to tell Leah the news. “Oh, Elisabeth, are you happy? Are you fearful? Have you seen him since the feast?” Leah’s questions were boundless as they walked to the well, water jars tilted on their heads.
“No, except for a glimpse of him at prayers last Sabbath. His back was turned, so I only saw his red mantle. Our parents are arranging the date. It is soon, I think.”
Leah stopped and spoke seriously. “We can still see each other at the well. Let’s plan to meet there at first light each morning.” She looked expectantly at her friend. “Suddenly I’m glad I’m assigned to draw water for my family,” and Leah skipped toward the village well, pulling Elisabeth along with her.
The next few weeks were filled with anticipation and moments of uncertainty. The betrothed woman noticed how her father’s hand remained on his wife’s wrist when Judith handed him a plate of lentils. She watched her father patiently teach her younger brothers the rules for slaughtering animals, how to make the right incision and how to catch the blood. Although she had always helped bake the bread, Elisabeth paid closer attention to the daily grinding of the grain and shaping of the loaf.
Her life was full of expectancy. She remembered the words spoken when Boaz took Ruth for his wife. The elders and people at the gate said: “We are witnesses. May the Lord make the woman who is coming into your house like Rachel and Leah, who together built up the house of Israel. May you produce children in Ephrathah and bestow a name in Bethlehem; and, through the children that the Lord will give you by this young woman, may your house be like the house of Perez, whom Tamar bore to Judah.” This was her prayer as well.
Scene 2
Elisabeth heard Zachariah singing as he came into the courtyard. So much had changed through the years, but not his habit of singing. When she first moved into his family’s dwelling, she had blushed when Zachariah’s mother Naomi pointed out how her son sang only for certain females: Elisabeth, his bride, and for his ewe soon to birth twins. Elisabeth smiled as she recalled those early years. Zachariah’s family welcomed her and even added an extra room for the couple, hoping the home would get overcrowded with children. During the warm weather, Naomi kept her younger children in the main rooms while Zachariah and Elisabeth slept outside on the flat roof, cooled by the breezes, enjoying these brief moments away from Naomi’s and Samuel’s ever-expanding family.
Back then, Elisabeth woke each morning with gladness. Zachariah was attentive and spoke enthusiastically about all he was learning as an apprentice priest. Soon he would be added to the regular rotation of priests serving in the sanctuary. “Perhaps sometime I might even offer the incense,” he whispered to her in a solemn voice. She was pleased that he shared his hopes with her.
Each dawn Elisabeth picked up the brass water jug and hurried off to meet Leah on the way to the well. This twice-daily task was less onerous if one had a walking companion. They tried to have a little time together before the other village women also came to carry water back to the cisterns in the courtyard of each house. Elisabeth remembered the morning Leah was bursting with the news that she was betrothed to Tobit. “Ah,” said Elisabeth teasingly, “what will you pray for next?” They hid their glee when the older women coming to the well gave disapproving glances at their laughter.
And then there was the morning in spring when they both announced they were with child. They felt overwhelmed with excitement. “I know I should want a boy first,” said Leah, “but I hope God gives me a little girl with curly hair just like me.” Elisabeth said, “Well, my only request is to have one baby at a time.” The young women giggled, trying to imagine how their lives would change with sons and daughters.
But Elisabeth could not bring to fruition what her friend could. Leah and Tobit’s offspring multiplied like flowers blooming in the desert. Leah always came to the well with curly-haired children clinging to her skirts. She was gentle with Elisabeth and wept each time Elisabeth’s hopes were crushed.
Eventually Elisabeth left the house with her jars later and later. By then she and Zachariah lived in the home by themselves. All the brothers and sisters had moved away or joined other family groups. Naomi survived her husband for five years. As she lay on her cot dying, the old woman whispered to Elisabeth, “Remember our ancestor Hannah. May you too find favor in God’s sight.”
But a child never came and Elisabeth found it harder and harder to meet the women at the well or see them in the marketplace. Seared in her heart was the time she fled the marketplace stalls after hearing certain women gossip about the situation.
A plump neighbor remarked, “I tried to tell her to eat more pistachios and rub garlic on the bottom of her feet, but she snubbed my advice. A neighbor can only do so much.”
Another woman said, “Maybe her mother did not teach her well. And now with Naomi and Judith dead, who can speak of these things if not the mother or mother-in-law? Aye.”
“Well, I don’t want to speak harshly, but she always prided herself on walking in the commandments, so something must be amiss. Why hasn’t she had children if she’s so blameless?” The woman lowered her voice so Elisabeth could hear no more.
Elisabeth quickly bought the pomegranates she was examining and drew her mantle across her face. Tears blinded her sight as she fled home to safety.
Her thoughts returned to the present as her husband entered the courtyard, peering at the stove where Elisabeth was cooking lamb. His beard was thicker than the hair on his head and he walked with a slight limp, never fully recovering from a fall many years ago. Elisabeth’s face was wrinkled with age, but Zachariah still called her his comely dove. He never spoke of her shame, their shame, of not having children, but she was aware of the riving in her heart as the years passed.
Today she noticed he looked especially animated. “Elisabeth, I won the lot.” He took her hands and they circled around. “Yes, I am chosen to enter the sanctuary of the Lord and offer incense during tomorrow’s prayers.” He sat down on the stool, gazing at the sky. “Yes, something I have always hoped for. It’s such an honor, Elisabeth.”
She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Zachariah, I’m so happy that you have this privilege.” She paused before saying more, “I’ll join the assembly praying outside while you are inside keeping your temple service.”
Zachariah looked closely at his wife. “Are you sure you want to be there? Among the people?” He understood her reluctance to be in public places. He had watched as she gradually had withdrawn from village life, even her friendship with Leah. She often waited till midday, when the townsfolk usually rested, to retrieve water, and sometimes they hired a young woman to barter in the marketplace for onions and barley. Elisabeth had continued to pray and mediate on the scriptures, as was her practice. Devotion did not obliterate the barrenness, but it did deter the bitterness.
She smiled at her husband. “I want to share in this honor,” she said. “This is good for us.”
Scene 3
Elisabeth woke by dawn to grind the grain and bake the bread. She would let Zachariah sleep longer. She could feed the animals and milk the goat. She was surprised at her new found energy. “I wonder what they are saying about me now,” she mused. “I’ll stay secluded as long as I can.”
Everyday she relived the drama at the temple when Zachariah had won the lot to offer incense. Awaiting his return, the people began to shuffle their feet and wonder when the priest would reappear. He was taking so long. What was happening inside? What did this mean? Was he having a vision?
Their questions only multiplied when Zachariah reappeared, speechless. His eyes were radiant and his face was touched with expectancy. He motioned with his hands, as if his wild gestures would explain what had happened. His fellow priests guided him home, thinking he would recover with rest and quiet.
That had been six months ago and Zachariah still hadn’t recovered his speech. His duties at the temple were limited, his prayers muted by a useless tongue. At first they hoped his ability to speak would return, but as time passed, they began to accept the permanence of Zachariah’s silence. While adjusting to their hushed circumstances, Elisabeth was startled and amazed to find she was with child. Curiously, Zachariah was not. She began to believe that what was growing in her was connected to what ever happened that day in the temple. She pondered all these things as she went about her daily tasks. But something bothered her. She knew that she should be feeling movement within. Her belly was expanding. Her appetite was healthy. But no quickening in her womb.
Elisabeth turned from the stove as she heard a knock. Two neighbor boys stood at the door, eager to share their news. The younger one spoke first, “She’s coming to see you. She’s just outside the village and is looking for you.” Elisabeth tilted her head, wondering what they meant.” The taller one explained, “Your cousin from Nazareth is here. We ran ahead to tell you as she requested.” They scampered back up the road, shouting back, “We’ll bring her here.”
Elisabeth squinted into the brightening sunlight and saw a figure riding a donkey, surrounded by inquisitive villagers. “Ah, my dear cousin Mary,” Elisabeth thought. “I wonder why she comes.” As Mary descended from the donkey, the older woman moved to greet her. Suddenly Elisabeth gasped and clutched her belly. A fluttering and then another. The baby moved. The child was alive!
The burden of barrenness removed, Elisabeth burst with unleashed, holy joy, “Oh, Mary, blessed is the fruit of our wombs!”
The burden of barrenness removed, Elisabeth burst with unleashed, holy joy, “Oh, Mary, blessed is the fruit of our wombs!”
Joy Versluis Nov. 2011