Luke sighed as he ran his hands through his hair. It was a day that was becoming progressively worse. He had watched Mary’s eldest son grow up from the impish toddler until today. He couldn’t watch today. Not with the crucifixion of Jesus...
Luke had been there through skinned knees and chickenpox alike. He always had found the young Jesus curious about everything. Luke had expected to gain an apprentice when Jesus became old enough; the child had always shown a knack for helping patients and learning. Instead, Jesus chose to follow in his father’s footsteps and working with his hands.
Mary was in hysterics—but what mother wouldn’t be after watching her eldest son die like that? John was silently trying to comfort her as he led her away from the foot of the cross. Something had to be done—for two reasons. One, Mary was going to pass out if she didn’t calm down, and two, John looked like he was about to leave Mary and go find the other eleven of Jesus’ disciples.
One thing was clear; Luke’s house was considered safe. They all needed a safe place to rest, especially Mary. John let out a sigh of relief when he saw Luke and nodded his thanks as Luke extended his arm for Mary.
“Mary, you should go--”
“Go where, Luke? My home is several day’s away and I still need to bury my son,” Mary exclaimed, trying to pull away.
“I wasn’t going to say home, Mary. Abigail and I have a home here, in Jerusalem. You can stay with us. You need to rest...”
“But, what about--”
“John knows where we live, he’ll meet us there.”
She didn’t argue, and Luke silently praised God. She was tired. It had been a stressful Passover week for everyone, especially since Jesus’ entry into the city a week ago. Threats were whispered throughout the city on the young man’s life. Luke had tried to talk sense into the religious leaders, to maybe get them to leave Jesus alone. Sadly, it didn’t work.
Luke eased Mary into his home and into bed. It didn’t take much urging, and Mary settled into a sedated sleep. Luke sat next to her, holding onto a callused hand. He had to wonder, how she handled the impish young Jesus, plus his other siblings.
“Master Luke, why do you stay here where there are healthy people?”
Luke grinned as he knelt down next to Jesus, “Cause, I’m a doctor...and I’m suppose to help keep people healthy.”
“But what ‘bout the sick people?”
“It’s my job to help them get better then.”
“But, what ‘bout the people that can’t come to you, like those who have leopard see?”
Jesus nodded, his brown eyes serious, and Luke sighed as he settled down on the dirt next to Jesus. A girl had been driven out after being declared unclean two weeks ago—and Luke was just waiting for that question.
“I...I just can’t, Jesus. Now, go on, you’ve got to work with your father today remember?”
Luke closed his eyes wearily. Jesus had always managed to ask the hard questions, the ones that he could never answer. Even in the week leading up to his death. Abigail knelt next to him, brushing her hand against his other arm.
Luke shook his head, “No…I can’t eat right now, maybe in a few hours.”
She nodded faintly. “It has been a long day for all of us...is he?”
Luke nodded again. “The soldier pierced his side, and blood and water flowed out of it. And I need to do something.” He impulsively stood and began to pace the floor, “We’re opening our home to the others, Abigail. They are all going to need some place to rest...to hide for a while.”
“We’ve got the money, the room...why not?”
“It’s dangerous, the Romans will look here...”
“Abigail, I have to do this...something tells me that this isn’t done yet—and all of Jesus’ disciples should stay around.”
She sighed but nodded. “I’ll get everything ready for them. But, you sir, will eat something in two hours.” Abigail paused and smirked, “Doctor’s orders.”
Luke chuckled. “I’ll go and find those guys…and bring them back for Sabbath. Let Mary rest; she’ll be down for a while.”
He dropped a kiss on Abigail’s forehead before heading back out into the streets of Jerusalem. Twelve people needed healing.
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