One night at supper, Mary turned to Joe and said, "Why don't we go on a picnic?" Joe felt a sudden surge of hope. It was the first time Mary had suggested any social event since they had been living under the same roof.
"Sure." He smiled broadly, then dimmed it a bit. "What do you want to take?"
"I'll make some sandwiches and potato salad."
"Fine. We'll need some iced tea and potato chips."
Mary wrinkled her nose. "Potato salad AND potato chips?"
"Oh yeah. Wasn't thinking."
Mary smiled. "It'll be fun."
"We can go Sunday," Joe said. "-- after church."
Mary was surprised. "You want to go to church?"
"Yes."
"Why now?"
"I just have a feeling. Something to tell you."
Mary had never been inside a church in her life, not counting the chapel at Brother Glubwart's home for the homeless. She felt a little intimidated and yet comforted at the same time -- comforted that Joe wanted to go. He had always gone with his family. Maybe this would lead him back to familiar foundations and them both to something more solid.
The church was big and imposing. Granite columns seemed to reach to the sky. Mary and Joe entered. A large, red-faced man greeted them warmly. "Welcome to our place of worship," he said. "We hope you will make this your new home. We want you to consider us your friends."
Joe and Mary entered the cavernous sanctuary. A friendly usher helped them find a place in a pew, and handed them guest cards to fill out.
Mary marveled at the towering pipes of the organ, the brightly varnished choir loft and pulpits. To Joe, it was nothing new.
She jumped when the organ burst into life, thundering, "A Mighty Fortress is Our God." The congregation rose to its feet and began singing. Mary looked left and right. Joe started getting to his feet, so she followed. She looked around helplessly. Joe handed her a hymnal and pointed to the page number listed in the church bulletin. Mary read and listened,
"The prince of darkness grim,
We tremble not for him.
His rage we can endure,
For lo, his doom is sure.
One little word shall fell him."
After the hymn, a tall, broad-shouldered man with graying temples and wearing a large black robe stepped to the pulpit.
“Mary!” he said.
Mary jumped. He was looking straight at her. She opened her mouth, but then he looked away. “Mary had a problem. A problem not unlike that facing many young women in our day. She was pregnant, and she didn’t know who the father was. That is, she knew, but no one believed her. She had never been with a man, you see. Tell me, what would people say today, to a girl with child, who said she had never been with a man? You know what they would say. And they would probably be right. But in Mary’s case, they were not right.
“What about Mary’s fiance? How do you think he felt? Betrayed? Embarrassed? Humiliated? What do you think his friends said to him? But God sent an angel to Joseph in a dream. The angel told Joseph, ‘Don’t be afraid. Take her home with you as your wife.’ How many men, do you think, would believe a dream like that? But Joseph did.
“Now, what do you suppose a young couple would be advised to do today, if they found themselves in the situation that Joseph and Mary were in? ‘Get rid of it! Don’t be insane! Do it quietly. You are poor. You can’t afford to raise a child. It’s your own body. You can choose.’”
The minister paused and raised himself even more erect. He looked into the eyes of everyone in the congregation, but Mary felt as if he were looking only at her. He stretched out his arm and pointed. “If Mary had listened to that advice, there would be no Jesus. There would be no salvation. You and I would be damned -- DAMNED for our sins, and no one to save us! How many potential saviors have we murdered in this age? How many healers, physicians, inventors -- peacemakers? How many diseases could they have cured? How many inventions to benefit mankind could they have created? How many wars might they have stopped? Lord, we need peacemakers now, more than ever!”
The minister’s tone changed. Quietly, he said, “King Herod was smart -- terribly, horribly, wickedly smart. He didn’t want a rival to his throne. He ordered all the male children under two years of age to be murdered.” The minister sighed and hung his head for a long moment. There were audible sobs in the congregation. Then he raised his tear-stained face and shouted, “But Herod was a piker! Compared to our generation, he was merciful! He ONLY killed a few thousand innocent babies. We have murdered MILLIONS! And the slaughter goes on, relentlessly, unstoppable! More are being murdered even as I speak!" The minister lowered his voice. "‘It’s just a blob of cells,’ they say.” The minister turned his head. His lips were grim and tight, his eyes glared. “I defy anyone to look at an ultrasound of a six-week-old infant and tell me it’s not a baby. ‘It’s my own body,’ they say. ‘My choice. It’s all about ME and MY wants.’ God forgive their cynical self-centeredness. But how CAN God forgive US, as we allow the slaughter to go on and on and on?
“Please turn your hymnals to page 463 and join me in singing, ‘Amazing Grace.’ -- Amazing grace -- that saved a wretch like ME.”
On the way home, they were silent. Joe and Mary carried the twins between them, hugging them close. It was Joe who finally broke the silence. "He was talking about us." Mary just nodded. "We did the right thing." Mary nodded.
They walked on for a long time. Then Joe said, "I was going to wait until the picnic. But I want to tell you now: The reason I went away -- actually I didn't go -- I was arrested." Mary gasped and looked at him. "It's true. My parents had reported me to the police. They took me back home. They were watching me every minute. To be honest -- I want to always be honest from now on -- I didn't make a serious effort to come back to you. But then, one day I was sitting on the porch when a funny little black man with a scrawny goatee strolled up. He looked me right in the eye and said, "What are you doing here? Go to her; she needs you."
Mary was stunned. "A skinny, funny black man?"
"Yes. Why?"
"I saw him too. He told me to protect him."
"Him?"
"Yes. I don't know how he knew I was pregnant. And if he knew I was pregnant, why didn't he know there were two?"
Joe and Mary pondered mysteries of their lives as they walked on home. Mary packed their picnic in a cooler. For once, Jerry and Joey slept soundly throughout the warm summer afternoon.
Joe took a bite of sandwich and watched Mary watching the twins. He felt a strange stirring; a feeling he had never felt before. He wanted to protect this family. Coming back had not been a choice, it had been a necessity. The power of the little black man's message had been impossible to ignore. But now, Joe was beginning to feel that he belonged to this family. What had been a necessity was becoming a desire. Mary caught his gaze and smiled.
On the way home, Mary pushed her twins in a stroller. Joe put his arm around her waist. She leaned into him.
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