Was Jesus Married? An Ancient Papyrus Raises Questions
(Headline published in the New York Times, September 20, 2012.)
Another long day. Dusty and hot. Supposedly He was a carpenter, but in reality He spent most of his time making things like yokes, carts, grape trellises, ploughshares, and building mud huts. There wasn’t a lot of wood around, and what there was was always grabbed quickly by the Romans.
As usual, He got to the house around five, dropping His work belt on the floor with a thud and shouting “Hi Mary, I’m home.” From the kitchen He heard her say “Jesus Christ.” This was always the problem these days, or one of them: was she welcoming Him home, or just taking His name in vain, as she seemed to do more and more often?
The truth was that the marriage wasn’t in great shape. So many little things had been allowed to fester that they’d become big things, too big to talk about, but impossible to ignore. Most evenings, He’d retreat for hours to his small study to practice His miracles, while she stayed in the kitchen, polishing and arranging relics to sell in the giant yard sale that she hoped to hold in a month or so. “Gee,” He reflected bitterly, “she won’t give Me the time of day, but she’s sure willing to sell My stuff for as much as she can get. Like I turn around and the hem of My garment is gone.”
And He couldn’t deny that the celibacy factor was getting to both of them, a gigantic elephant in the room.
But at the heart of all the troubles was the extended-family problem. He happened to like her family a lot. The Magdalenes were great, and had sort of adopted Him as the son they never had. They always seemed charmed, rather than bugged, by what even He described as His “weirdness.” The sisters were funny and cute, the mom was sweet and kind, and Mr. M. was a big, loud, fun-loving guy. Ran a donkey cart business. Always clapping Him on the back and saying “You’re not going anywhere with the carpentry thing. You should go into teaching. You’d be a natural.”
The real problem was on her end. She had what you could only describe as a world-class In-Law issue, which of course she refused to discuss, and which He was unwilling to raise because it always went so badly. So it festered.
But He kept trying. “Honey, do you want to have a drink before dinner?” Meaning it as a peace offering.
“Oh fine,” she said, coming into the room and placing a water pitcher on the table. “But you make the drinks. Red wine for me.” Just once, couldn’t she make cocktails like normal wives did, instead of expecting him to do his little trick? Last night, she’d tossed a half a loaf of bread and a can of tuna on the counter announcing that she wanted Him to turn it into salmon en croute. Salmon en croute! While He felt like he was living on a diet of hot tongue and cold shoulder!
After He’d transformed her water, they sat down for a talk, Him thinking “God, I hope this goes okay.”
“Sweetheart, I’ve been thinking about a career change. Like your dad always says, I think I’d make a pretty fair teacher. I wouldn’t mind giving up this carpentry thing to see if I can make a go of it as some kind of a teacher, or preacher.”
He knew she’d object, probably on the grounds that He was viewed as a raving lunatic in the community--He already knew this--and no one in their right mind would want to take a class from Him, even a night school class. Or else she’d be worried about finances. But He was surprised by the tack she took.
“What about the bird? What are you going to do with the bird if you’re teaching? You know they won’t let that thing into a classroom.”
She saw a problem in everything. Nothing ever good enough. What could go wrong would go wrong. But--though He hated to admit it--she was often partly right. One of the few clear instructions Father had given him was “Always keep the bird with you, and take good care of it. Feed it and whatnot, whatever a bird wants. Do you wash them? I don’t know, but don’t let it out of your sight.” Not a problem if He was out in the desert mending an axle, where it could spend hours pecking about for grain. But what if they wouldn’t let it in a temple? And He certainly didn’t want to end up preaching on a streetcorner, with the ghostly creature on His shoulder, looking like He was a pirate or something.
He had to face the truth. He needed out. He felt trapped and hopeless, all the more so because a “marriage that just didn’t work” was out of the question. Too much to lose, too many people let down.
But the germ of an idea had been growing for weeks now. He needed to find a way to make His escape in some miraculous fashion. Some astonishingly grandiose exit strategy that would allow Him to get out of this lousy marriage, without anyone guessing that that was really what He was doing. No shame, no blame, no lawyers. With everybody happy, everybody Redeemed. And He would be free, forever and ever!
As He gazed out the window at the crucifixes on the distant hillside, a plan began to take shape in His mind.