Joseph’s steps were unusually heavy as he made his way back to Nazareth after a long, exhausting day. Though nothing about the day itself had been different, his heart had felt burdened ever since he’d visited an old friend the night before.
He had met this friend two or three years earlier while working at the same job site. They were the same age, came from similar families, and both had grown up under strict parents, learning to live by the law. Joseph, who usually had trouble making friends, quickly bonded with him. They became even closer while sharing the same lodgings for several months. Back then, their biggest concern was marriage. Both were of age, but neither could afford to even consider it.
Among Jews, engagements usually lasted about a year and were almost as binding as marriage itself. At that time, the families would come together to draw up a marriage contract—the ketubah. This document set out the obligations of bride and groom, listed the bride’s dowry, specified the bride price the groom owed the bride’s family, and detailed the compensation owed in case of divorce. The dowry often included land and livestock, and it was customary for the groom to provide an equal or greater sum to the bride’s family. For a young man, raising that much money was nearly impossible, so the groom’s parents usually paid. But not everyone could rely on parental help. Some rabbis suggested just writing the amount in the contract and paying a larger sum if a divorce ever happened, making marriage more accessible while discouraging divorce. The bride’s parents chose which method to use, so men preparing for marriage had to find a way to raise the money somehow.
Joseph and his friend couldn’t count on their parents for support, so they worked themselves to exhaustion, saving every coin they could. But with so many rest days in Jewish tradition, there was a limit to how much they could earn. After covering living expenses, taxes, and the occasional treatment cost, they realized it would take years to save enough for marriage. One day, worn down by worry, Joseph’s friend couldn’t take it anymore and left for a Gentile-run workplace that paid better. He urged Joseph to join him, but Joseph refused, warning that they might not be able to keep their Jewish practices there. Eventually, the friend left, and the two drifted apart.
A few days ago, Joseph ran into him again and learned what had happened since. While Joseph’s life had barely changed, his friend had married, had a child, and seemed to be thriving. The friend invited Joseph to dinner to meet his family, and that was last night.
Joseph brought a gift and enjoyed a warm, generous meal. He sincerely congratulated his friend and thanked God for blessing his life, and his friend was grateful. Everything was fine until, after dinner, the friend once again urged Joseph to join him at the Gentile workplace. That’s when Joseph’s heart began to waver. The friend argued that living well didn’t mean you had to follow every law to the letter, and that you could still have faith in God while living as he did. It was the kind of talk that would scandalize the Pharisees, but in some ways, it was practical advice—many Jews living among Gentiles made compromises.
If Joseph had succeeded while keeping to his holy lifestyle, he could have confidently told his friend he was wrong and should return to true faith. But having achieved nothing himself, he had no grounds to argue. He could only repeat that living as God wanted would ultimately lead to a better life, though he didn’t fully believe it himself. After leaving his friend’s house, he stopped repeating answers he couldn’t accept. Still, the doubts in his heart wouldn’t go away. The uncertainty kept shaking his beliefs, bringing back old worries.
Like the psalmist, Joseph had once struggled to understand why God allowed the greedy and cruel to prosper. His parents, unable to settle in Galilee, had wandered in search of work and faced disrespect from both Gentiles and fellow Jews. Not all Jews feared God or kept the law, and seeing such people made Joseph angry. But his parents taught him to look at his own faults first and showed by example that living righteously was the most honorable way to live. Following their example, Joseph had learned to overlook these things.
But now, seeing his friend—who had once shared his struggles—prosper after compromising, Joseph was overwhelmed by doubt. He wondered if his values were truly right. Regrets about the choices he’d made added to his distress, and he even began to resent his parents—feelings he’d never had before.
He thought: If I’d had supportive parents, would my life have been different? Why did they leave Bethlehem for distant Galilee? And why, after arriving, hadn’t they settled properly, still keeping the family’s registration in Bethlehem, so that I ended up an outsider who belonged nowhere? Why did they insist on a holy life for me? If only they had taught me that it was alright to compromise—perhaps then I could have had a better life.
The deeper his thoughts went, the more frustrated he became. Of course, his parents had never meant for him to suffer.
In the thirteenth year of King Herod’s reign, a severe famine struck Judea and the surrounding regions, along with an epidemic that killed many. The famine lasted two years—food ran out before the first year was over, and seeds planted the next year withered. To address the crisis, Herod sold palace gold and silver, bought grain from Egypt, and distributed it to the people. He also provided clothing and seed, since livestock had been wiped out. Thanks to Herod’s efforts, people could resume their lives, but the aftermath made things hard for everyone. It was during this time that Joseph’s parents left their hometown with young Joseph to make a living. But life in Galilee was even harder. Already poor, they lost what little money they had to robbers on the way, leaving them unable to start over. Money borrowed for survival came back with high interest, and Joseph’s father had to work himself to the bone to protect his family.
Despite all this, Joseph’s parents strove to live righteously and raised their son well—they deserved praise, not resentment. Joseph knew this, and as he climbed toward Nazareth, he prayed for his sudden bitterness to fade. But the image of his friend doing well after leaving God kept testing his faith. The thought that all his problems could be solved with one compromise was a powerful temptation, shaking his values and his past. Joseph sank deeper into distress.
* * *
At the entrance to Nazareth stood a well. In the cool mornings and evenings, villagers would gather there to draw water, and as with any gathering place, news and gossip spread quickly. People shared stories, comforted each other, and found community. For Joseph, who had never really experienced such ordinary daily life, it was a scene both enviable and comforting. Since arriving in Nazareth, he often came to the well when he had time. He never joined the villagers, but sitting nearby helped him forget his loneliness for a while.
He couldn’t just walk past a place like this today. Weighed down by worry, he couldn’t bring himself to go home, so he sat beneath a willow tree near the well. He thought that if he just had someone to talk to, maybe he could ease these suffocating feelings. But he knew from experience that no one would approach a stranger who’d only recently arrived in town. If only there were just one person, just one... He repeated this prayer in his mind, but nothing changed. People sought out those they knew, chatting and laughing. Joseph suddenly felt so small he wanted to cry. Once again, he was alone in the world. He lacked the courage to face the reality of being left out. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back tears, and desperately wished for these hard times to pass.
How long had he been there? Joseph tried to escape reality by sleeping, but was awakened by a cool breeze. Startled to find his eyelids, sticky from dried tears, refusing to open, he realized that, unable to see, the sounds around him became even clearer: the wind rustling through the trees, insects chirping in the bushes, birds singing overhead, and people talking about everyday things. These sounds brought Joseph a strange sense of comfort, painting a vivid picture in his mind.
Now, the last piece of that picture depended on him. To join this peaceful world, he had to make a choice. Would he fill his days with complaints and desires, or live gratefully for the small joys of daily life? Getting married and having a family mattered, but so did the holy life he’d tried to maintain. He could solve his problems by compromising now, but if he started turning away from God in small things, he’d do the same with bigger things later. Eventually, he might convince himself he was faithful while actually living a life far from God. Did he really want that?
In his heart, Joseph answered no. But when he thought about how long this uncertain reality might last, he felt suffocated. No matter which way he looked, he saw only loss. He told himself, Is it just greed that makes me not want to suffer anymore? He knew he couldn’t have everything. Gaining one thing meant giving up another, but he still lacked the courage to accept hardship. Just as he was about to sink back into worry, a bright, lively voice broke through his thoughts.
“Hey, you’re here early.”
“Mary, what took you so long?”
“I had a lot to do today.”
“Aren’t you tired? You’ve seemed so worn out lately. I worry about you.”
“I am tired, but I’ll be okay.”
“I really think you’re overworking yourself.”
“Oh, come on, it’s not like I’m the only one working.”
“That’s what bothers me. I mean, I get your mom working, but your younger siblings? They’re just kids. What did they ever do to deserve this?”
“They didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just how things are for us.”
“If your father hadn’t been hurt so badly, you could have kept your land and wouldn’t have to struggle like this.”
“We can’t change what’s already happened.”
“But it was borrowing money for his treatment costs that made things so tough, right? Don’t you ever feel resentful?”
“It wasn’t Dad’s fault he got hurt. I’m just grateful he’s still alive.”
“You’re such a devoted daughter.”
“You’re only noticing that now?” She chuckled.
“At least you can joke about it! So, when do you think your father will recover?”
“I don’t know. He still can’t move well...”
“If only your family were rich, you wouldn’t have to go through all this. Mary, you should marry someone wealthy someday. That’s your way out.”
“Well, rich or not, I’ll probably marry whoever my parents approve of.”
“That’s the problem. Your parents care too much about faith.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Come on, who really has great faith? Someone who follows every law perfectly? Someone with a lot of Scripture knowledge? Someone who serves at the temple? Do you think they all have good faith?”
“Of course not. Everyone has their flaws.”
“That’s what I’m saying. If everyone has issues, wouldn’t it be better to at least be rich and live comfortably?”
“You could see it that way, but I can’t give up my faith for money.”
“Why not?”
“I think faith means standing with God, no matter what. In daily life, it might look like loving God and your neighbor, but at its core, it’s about following God’s will in our choices.”
“Go on.”
“But imagine you have to make a choice: if you choose God, you lose money, and if you choose money, you drift away from God. If someone chooses to distance themselves from God, even a little, just to make money, can you really say they have faith?”
“Hm...”
“I know that’s an extreme example. In real life, we probably end up somewhere in the middle. But at the very least, everyone can make an effort to keep their faith. I couldn’t marry someone who doesn’t even try, just because they’re rich.”
“So you’re saying it’s not about how much money someone has, but whether they have faith? That you wouldn’t give up faith even if you’re poor?”
“Yes, because I’m marrying a person, not their money.”
“But doesn’t the Scripture say not to be too righteous or too wicked? Can’t we compromise a little?”
“It’d be nice if we could find that ‘right amount,’ but I just can’t. My father always said greed is endless—once it starts, it leads to sin, and eventually to death.”
“That sounds just like your father.”
“So, rich or poor, I’ll end up marrying someone who lives by God’s will, someone with real faith who can love God and sacrifice for others.”
“But what if that person is not only poor, but has other problems? Like no parents, or no education? Marriage is about reality, you know.”
“I get that. But if that person is truly the one God has chosen for me, what can I do? In that case, I’ll have to pray for a love strong enough to overcome all those problems.”
“You’re so stubborn... Fine, I hope you meet someone like that. I’m going to marry someone with faith, who’s rich, handsome, and tall.”
“Sounds like your list just got longer.”
“That’s your imagination. Haha.”
“If you say so. Anyway, I need to go get dinner ready. See you tomorrow.”
“Alright, take care.”
“Bye.”
Hearing her cheerful voice—so bright and free of blame despite her hard life—Joseph suddenly felt ashamed. She accepted her life without complaint, while he was thinking of compromising his faith, bitter over not being able to marry because of his parents.
Unlike him, chasing after comfort and losing himself to greed, she was moving toward God—even in hardship. Joseph thought that if there was anyone in the world with real faith, it was her. He wanted to open his eyes and see her. But his eyelids, still tightly shut, wouldn’t open. Just as he was about to despair again at how nothing seemed to change, he heard soft footsteps approaching.
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