The Redeemer by Linda Rios Brook Page B

She was thrilled. At least in their hometown there were kindred spirits for them. Mary’s aunt Elizabeth had also given birth to a son under unusual circumstances. The gossip about her gained traction in the rumor mill when she named him John, refusing to name her son after her husband, Zechariah. John and Jesus grew up together, sharing a bond beyond that of second cousins. They were both the objects of considerable speculation as to who their fathers were.
    When the boys were twelve years old, Elizabeth and Zechariah sent John to the desert to live with the Essenes, an extreme religious faction that ran what I would describe as a spiritual boot camp. Mary and Joseph joined a caravan and made their way to Jerusalem to celebrate the holy days. I went along with the caravan.
    There must have been fifty adults and a hundred children in that convoy, along with the animals for the sacrifice. It isn’t hard to imagine how one of the children could mix in with the crowd and not be missed for a couple of days. That’s what happened to Jesus. Neither Mary nor Joseph saw Him when He slipped away from the group and made His way to the temple, but I did. I followed right behind Him, anxious to see what He was up to.
    At first He stood in front of the East Gate and stared at it. I must tell you, it was magnificent. Herod may have been a megalomaniac of a king, but he was a brilliant architect. After a few minutes, Jesus took off running up the steps and toward the court of the Gentiles. He ran right through the middle of the traders and money exchangers, then through the women’s court, then through the outer court, which is as far as I hoped He would go. I thought He would be uncomfortable if He got into the inner court. Maybe it was me who would be uncomfortable. I don’t know how He got so far without being stopped by an adult. I was hoping someone would prevent us from going farther, because I was in as deep as I dared go.
    As Jesus neared a thick curtain that separated the priest’s quarters from the inner court, it was suddenly thrust open, revealing a priest, who blocked His way. I was so relieved. The holy man was old and frail, but his eyes were clear and sharp. He reached out with long, bony fingers and stopped Jesus from going in.
    “Halt there, boy. You are not allowed to come in here.”
    “I’ve been here before,” Jesus answered softly.
    “Is that right? Who do you belong to?”
    The old priest bent down and looked deep into Jesus’ eyes, trying to recollect if he’d seen Him before. I could have helped him remember, if only he could have heard me.
    It was right after Jesus was born. Joseph and Mary and I took Him to the temple to be dedicated. When we got there we saw an old man named Simeon, who was pretty much a fixture at the temple. He was there every morning before anyone arrived and was still there in the evening after everyone left. No one ever saw him come or go. Mary and Joseph didn’t pay any attention to him, and I wouldn’t have either except for the angel I saw standing behind him.
    “That’s Him,” the angel said softly in Simeon’s ear. Then the angel was gone before I had a chance to talk to him.
    “Wait a moment, please,” Simeon called out to Joseph and Mary. “I must see the baby.”
    Simeon was old, and it was hard for him to move quickly, so he motioned for them to come over. Cautiously they came nearer.
    “Let me see His face.”
    Mary adjusted the blanket, and Jesus looked right into the old man’s eyes.
    Simeon stepped back with tears streaming down his face.
    “All my life I’ve stood guard at this temple for the Lord. God told me I would not die until I had seen the face of the one who would deliver Israel.”
    Mary’s eyes filled with tears.
    “Would you like to hold Him?” she asked.
    Simeon nodded, and very gently Joseph took Jesus and placed Him in the old man’s arms.
    “Now I can die in peace,” Simeon said through his sobs, “because today these eyes of mind