Hadassah set a bowl of stew on the table beside the bed. She helped her mother sit up, propping cushions behind her back and laid a hand on the old woman’s forehead. She felt hot; her cheeks were flushed.

"You should not let that man stay so long. He tires you out."

"Just breathing tires me out. I like it when Luke visits. He is not often in Jerusalem anymore."

Hadassah sat on a stool and offered spoonfuls of stew to her mother. After a few bites, Mary pushed the bowl away. "That is all, daughter."

"Mother, you must eat more. You are wasting away." Mary shook her head. She laid back and closed her eyes.

"What did Luke say when he was here?" Hadassah asked. "Has he found something to ease your pain?"

"He does not come as my physician, Hadassah. He comes as my friend. We talk. About the early days. Do you know that he is writing it all down?"

"All what down?" Hadassah asked dully, though she already knew the answer. The early days meant the days when her oldest brother still lived.

"He told me today that he had actually gone to Bethlehem and found some of the shepherds who came to us. They must be very old now." The old woman closed her eyes again with a dreamy smile upon her lips. "The things I have seen."

Suddenly a fit of coughing convulsed her. Hadassah put her arm around the thin shoulders. When the coughing ceased, Hadassah hurried to pour water from a vessel standing on a table nearby. She held a cup to her mother’s lips.

"Thank you, my dear," Mary whispered. "You are such a blessing to me."

Hadassah helped her mother lie down and covered her with a blanket. In spite of a fever the old woman complained of being cold. When she saw her mother was comfortable, Hadassah took the bowl and cup to the kitchen to wash. She looked around the room glumly. Everything was tidy. When you had so little, it was not hard to keep it in order.

To think that I was once the wife of a promising man, Hadassah thought. Now I am nothing. No husband, no children. Just a daughter who gets to watch her mother die.

The shadow of death pressed in around her. Everyone she had ever loved had been taken from her. Her son. Her husband. Now her mother.

She sat down heavily and buried her face in her hands. Why? Why? Why? The question buzzed around inside her like a wasp trapped in a jar.

What would happen to her when her mother died? John would surely not keep her any longer. The only reason he stayed in Jerusalem was because Jesus had asked him to care for Mary. Hadassah would have to go begging to the home of one of her brothers. James might take her. She could help Miriam with the children.

Hadassah began to weep. To be constantly reminded of everything that had been stolen from her; the thought of it was more than she could bear.

"Why are you crying?" She sat up and dried her eyes. A tall, thin man was standing in the doorway.

"Why have you returned?" she snapped at him. "My mother is resting."

"Good. She needs to rest peacefully."

"Soon she will be resting in a tomb!" Hadassah hissed. "And there is nothing you can do for her. You will not even give her something for her pain."

"I am a doctor. I am not God."

"No, my brother is supposed to be God." Hadassah stood up and faced the doctor defiantly.

"You don’t believe him to be the Son of God?" All those years, Hadassah had been a silent presence at Mary’s side. She escorted her mother to the assembly. She heard the teaching of the apostles. Luke suddenly realized how wrong he had been to assume she was a believer.

"I don’t know what he was. A madman most likely. That is what James used to think, and my mother, too. She was with my brothers when they went to fetch Jesus home. He was an embarrassment!"

"James does not think that anymore. Neither does Jude. Or your mother."

"No. Now they’ve gone mad, too. The Son of God," she sneered. "They dishonour the memory of my father and say the Holy Spirit conceived the child in a virgin’s womb." Hadassah said, disgusted.

"What about the miracles?"

"I never saw any miracles. When I needed miracle, he did nothing."

Hadassah remembered her infant son crying weakly in her arms. Let Jesus touch him, her neighbour pleaded. Let him heal your son. But Hadassah looked at her brother and saw only a carpenter with delusions of grandeur.

Her husband Nathan had been one of many men who forced her brother up on to the crest of the hill outside Nazareth and tried to throw him off. Jesus walked away from that mob and from that town. He had not looked back.

The next day, her son was dead.

"A prophet has no honour in his hometown," Luke said softly. "Nor in his own house."

"Humph," she snorted.

"Hadassah, your brother is not just man. He is God in the flesh come to earth."

"He is dead."

"He rose from the dead." Luke paused, remembering how his friend Paul explained this mystery. "When he died, he took upon himself all our sinfulness. Now that he is risen, he gives eternal life to all who believe."

"Then why is my mother dying?" Hadassah shouted. "Stephen died. John’s brother died. All around is the shadow of death, and he cannot stop it from taking anyone, not even those who love him."

At the sound of violent coughing, both of them turned their heads. "Now look what you have made me do!" Hadassah cried. She ran to her mother’s side while Luke filled another cup of water from the pitcher and brought it to the bed.

When the fit passed, Mary lay back in Hadassah’s arms. Tears streamed from her eyes. Her cheeks were bright red. Every breath was a painful wheeze. Luke took her hand in his and she smiled weakly at him.

"It won’t be long now, my friend."

"No. Not long," he agreed.

"My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant," Mary whispered.

"What is that, Mother?" Hadassah asked. Mary looked up at Luke.

"Do you remember, Luke? You wrote it down."

"I remember. It’s your song. ‘From now on all generations will call me blessed, for the Mighty One has done great things for me," Luke sang quietly.

"The Mighty One has done great things for you?" Hadassah blurted. "If he is so mighty why doesn’t he heal you now? Why didn’t he heal my baby? Why did he let Nathan get killed in that horrible accident?"

Mary shook her head sadly. "There are many things we will not know until we see him on the other side of the valley of the shadow of death." She paused, gasping for breath. "I am ready to cross that valley. I fear no evil for the Lord is with me. I go to see the One I love most."

"Mother, don’t leave me," Hadassah demanded, sobbing. She wrapped her arms tightly around her mother’s frail frame. Luke gently but firmly grasped her wrists and made her release her grip.

"You are hurting her." Hadassah stood hastily and turned away while Luke rearranged the cushions behind Mary’s back.

"Do you remember my cousin, Zechariah? John’s father?" Mary asked. Luke nodded.

"He doubted the messenger’s words and he was struck dumb. But you should have seen the look on his face when he spoke, Luke. Doubt was gone."

Hadassah spun around. She pointed a shaking finger at her mother. "You doubted him, too, Mother. When the village women taunted and gossiped, I heard you deny him."

"That was a dark time," Mary nodded. "I looked at those around me instead of the One I knew to be true. Jesus forgave me for doubting, Hadassah. He will forgive you, too. That is why he came."

"The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor," Luke quoted.

Jesus said that he fulfilled that prophecy, Hadassah remembered.

"There are all kinds of prisons, daughter. But the doors have all been opened," said Mary.

"You make it sound so easy," Hadassah sniffed.

"The people living in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the shadow of death, a light has dawned," Luke said. "The Light shines still for those who believe."