Jesus, the Christ, Son of the Living God, Savior, Light of the World. Jesus of Nazareth was called many names, but one is the dearest to me – Jesus, my brother. Yes, my name is Ana, the younger sister of Jesus. I am not so young now. I have a family of my own – a hard working, loving husband and children. Jesus has long since ascended into Heaven, but I still have so many memories.
Remembering Jesus as a boy, he was unfailingly kind and gentle. Whenever he touched or held me, I could feel warmth and strength flowing into my body. His voice seemed to me to vibrate with love and authority. I did not realize then who He was. All the times I ate with him, played with him, and talked with him I didn’t realize that he was special. To me, he was just my brother, my big brother that I loved so much and looked up to almost as a father. That was all I wanted him to be – my friend and brother. Only after years of tears, heartbreak, and finally joy did I accept and love Him as my Savior and Lord.
You would like me to tell you the story? I thought you might. I love to share my story. My children are always asking for more details. Thankfully, images of Jesus and my childhood have become clearer to me as I dream. Yes, on these warm summer nights I lie back and see Jesus and I swimming in the stream behind our home, running along the bank, sitting together as His words flowed through me like healing waters….
The bright sun beat down on me as I ran, my lungs pumping faster and faster. Oh, the heat was unbearable! I must reach the stream! Finally there it was, bordered with bushes, flowing with cool water. Suddenly, I received a splash in the face.
“Joseph!”
I heard suppressed laughter from behind a bush.
“James, then!”
“You guessed right the first time, Ana,” laughed Joseph as he swam into view with James beside him. Both boys grinned up at me, their teeth very white against their tan skin.
“So mother finally let you take a break?” asked James, flipping his curly mop of hair out of his eyes.
“Yes, because of the heat,” I answered flopping down on the bank so I could take my sandals off. “However, mother said that you two have been cooling off long enough and should head back home.”
“Already? It seems like we’ve only been here for a minute,” Joseph mused, easily hoisting himself out of the water with his strong arms.
“I’m sure mother wouldn’t want you to be out here by yourself, Ana,” James piped up looking at me innocently, “we’ll just take our time drying off.”
I grinned. “All right, I’ll hurry up.” Quickly I tucked the hem of my skirt into my leather belt and waded into the shallower water. My younger brothers noisily carried on their conversation, but I tuned out. Quietly, I waded a little further until the water lapped against my knees. I gazed down into the stream, slowly swirling the pebbles and sand under my feet. Acting on an impulse, I scooped up a handful of water, lifted my face, and thrust my hands toward the sky. The droplets shimmered like jewels against the sun and then dropped onto my face and outstretched arms. “Oh, Yahweh, my soul is content,” I whispered in my mind. My moment alone didn’t last though. My brothers’ voices had risen.
“You’ve met your match, evil Roman! Die, die!”
Apparently my brothers had found something productive to do – like fighting with sticks. I half waded, half ran to the bank. These violent games never ended well….
“Not this time! You will die!” James shouted at his big brother. But it wasn’t to be. With a grunt, Joseph pushed James to the ground with his stick. Tears started to form in James’ eyes.
“That’s enough,” I said, walking up to Joseph. “You know mother and father don’t like that game, and you always make James be the Roman.”
“I don’t understand why mother and father don’t like it,” Joseph argued, helping his brother off the ground, “they hate the Romans as much as we do.” James wiped his nose but nodded in agreement with his brother.
“Well, I don’t understand how thirteen and eleven year old boys can already be so bent on war and rebellion.” I could see another argument forming in Joseph’s mind so I hurried on. “Besides, mother and father aren’t alone – Jesus never plays those kinds of games either.” Obviously I’d said the wrong thing.
“Please, don’t bring Jesus into this,” Joseph’s face darkened. “Mother and father already think that everything he does is perfect.”
“I sometimes feel that way too,” said James slowly, “but Jesus is very good and he tells wonderful stories!”
Joseph wildly practiced swinging his stick again, scowling.
“Yes, he does,” I declared, “and He is a perfect example for –“
Wham! With terrific force, Joseph’s stick collided with my forehead.
“Oh, Ana, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!”
I tried to answer but blood was pouring into my mouth. I gently probed my head and winced. Joseph told James to walk with me back to the house, and he’d run ahead. I felt James’ small hand in mine. Tears started flowing as I got up and walked home.
“Joseph hit you on accident,” James said quietly, looking up at me. “He was twirling his stick and….”
“I know,” I interrupted, frustrated. Finally we were home. I immediately confronted my mother.
“Where is Joseph?”
“He’s gone to help your father,” she said.
“So now he’s trying to be helpful! Why can’t he learn to think before he acts?”
Mother smiled, knowingly. “As I recall, Joseph is not the only member of this family with that problem.” She washed my forehead gently with a wet cloth. “The cut is not deep. Head wounds just bleed a lot.”
There were footsteps at the doorway and mother looked up. “Jesus,” she said. I whirled around and there he stood, my brother and the light of my life. At first glance, there was nothing about Jesus’ appearance that would hold your gaze. He was not very tall or extraordinarily muscular. His face was not particularly handsome, as his skin was often sunburned, and he had a scar going across his right cheek. But his expressions were gentle. His arms and hands were strong from working as father’s apprentice. When he is happy, his smile fills your heart with joy. However, when he is angry or disappointed it is difficult for me to look him in the eye. Jesus’ eyes are filled with a penetrating light that seems to touch your soul and draw out your thoughts and secrets. He is slow to get angry, but his anger is always justified. I have never met anyone with such a presence of authority and above all – love. I looked into his eyes now and saw nothing but loving concern.
“Joseph told father and me that you cut your head and mother was seeing to you,” he said, coming toward me. He pulled me into a tight bear hug with my nose squashed against his chest. “I can do that if you like, mother,” offered Jesus, and he took the cloth and some bandages she handed him. Gently, Jesus started wrapping my wound.
“Did Joseph tell you how I got hurt?” I asked.
“Yes,” replied Jesus, his brow slightly furrowed, “I left father giving him a tongue lashing.”
I looked at him inquiringly. “You don’t like violence, do you, Jesus?”
“No, I do not like it. I refused to take part in any violent games when I was younger, and one of my fellow playmates decided that he did not approve of me. He threw a stone at my face and gave me this scar,” Jesus pointed to his cheek.
I pondered this for a moment. “But do you approve of rebellion?” Out of the corner of my eye I saw mother freeze. “Against Rome for example?”
“Men were not created to enslave and oppress one another,” he answered softly.
“But what about war?” I persisted.
“You ask a lot of questions,” Jesus teased. He paused and then continued, “If men were righteous and pure there would be no need for war. War leads to violence, death, and suffering as well.” For a moment his hands were still on my forehead, “Yahweh does not wish to see any of his people suffer.” His hands were warm against my skin. I couldn’t bear to see such sadness in his eyes.
Mother walked over. “You must lie down for a while and rest your head.”
“Yes, mother,” I said, taking the cup of water she offered me.
“Jesus,” I asked, “will you tell me a story?”
His face relaxed, and he mussed my hair. “We will begin with the beginning.”
I smiled, content as Jesus’ voice took me back to the beginning of time and the creation of the world. His voice rose and fell. I could feel myself drifting off. The goose bumps shivered up my arms as Jesus told of the creation of man. My cut was still tingling from when Jesus touched it. He walked closer and leaned over me. My last conscious thought was of relief as the pain and throbbing ceased.
~Brianna :-)
