Not many would remember the mother of the bridegroom’s friend, but she was a remarkable woman.
Elderly descendant of Aaron, she had passed her prime and – although she still prayed the prayer of a woman who longed to hear the pitter-patter of little feet under her roof – medical wisdom suggested that prayer was pointless.
Elizabeth lived with her beloved Zacharias in a city of Judaea, in the hills away from the hubbub of city life, and I often wonder if she was safe – even there – from the insensitivity of inquisitive church folk. The ones who would have the temerity to ask how long it was going to take them to have a little one. The well-meaning temple crowd who would eventually wonder aloud if her miracle child would be the only one, because “bird nuh fly pon one wing” (No bird flies on one wing).
Dare I hope she enjoyed a reprieve over there in the hill country?