Anna, the Mother of Mary, Tells the Story of the Birth of Jesus

(From the book "Jesus the Son of Man" by the late Gibran Khalil Gibran)

Jesus, my grandson, was born here in Nazareth in the month of January. And on the night Jesus was born we were visited by men from the East. They were Persians who had come to Esdraelon with the caravans of the Midianites on their way to Egypt. And finding no room at the inn, they sought shelter in our house.

And I welcomed them and said to them: "My daughter has given birth to a boy this night. Surely you will pardon my shortcoming if I do not do the duties of hospitality as befits you."

And they thanked me for receiving them into my house. And after supper they said to me: "We would see the newborn child."

Now the son of Mary was beautiful of face, and she too was beautiful.

And when the Persians beheld Mary and her babe, they took gold and silver out of their bags, and myrrh and frankincense, and laid them all at the feet of the child. Then they prostrated themselves and prayed in a strange tongue which we did not understand.

And when I led them to the sleeping chamber I had made ready for them, they walked as though filled with reverence at what they had seen and beheld.

And at morning they left us and went on their way to Egypt.

But before their departure they said to me: "This child, though he be but a day old, yet we have seen the light of our God in his eyes and the smile of our God upon his lips.

"We pray you guard him with your care, that he may guard you all with his care."

And so saying, they mounted their camels, and we saw them no more.

As for Mary, her joy in her firstborn could not equal the intensity of her wonder and her bewilderment before him. She would gaze at him long, then turn her face to the window and contemplate the far sky, dazed, as though she saw heavenly visions.

And between her heart and my heart there were valleys of great depth.

And the boy grew in body and in spirit, and he differed altogether from all the children of his age. He loved solitude, and it was hard to pass judgment upon him, and I could never lay my hand upon him.

Yet he was beloved of all the people of Nazareth, and in the depths of my heart I knew the reason.

Oftentimes he would take our food and give it to those passing on the road. And whenever I gave him a sweet, he would give it to the children, his companions, before he had tasted it with his own mouth.

And he would climb the trees of the orchard and pick their fruits to carry them to others who had no fruit in their orchards.

And many a time I saw with my own eyes how, racing with the boys, when he found himself swifter of "pace" than they, he would slacken his running so that they might reach the road-mark before him.

And on some nights, when I led him to his bed, he would say to me: "Tell my mother and the others that only my body sleeps. But my mind will remain their companion until their mind comes to my morning."

And many other wondrous sayings he spoke to me in his boyhood; but the weakness of my memory in my old age keeps me from recalling them.

And today they tell me that I shall see him no more. But how can I believe what they say?

I still hear his laughter, and the sound of his footsteps upon the floor of the house never leaves my ear. And whenever I kiss my daughter's cheek I feel the fragrance of his kisses wafting into my heart, and I feel his beautiful body swaying between my arms.

But is it not passing strange that my daughter never speaks of her firstborn before me?

And often it occurs to me that my longing for him is greater than hers. For she stands fixed before the light of day like a statue of silent bronze, while my heart melts within my breast and runs pouring forth like the streams.

And who knows — perhaps she knows what I do not know. Would that she would tell me the mysterious secrets that are hidden from me.