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It was almost dawn. Mary sat curled up in the corner of a small room. She was gently rocking herself back and forth in a steady motion as the first shadows of a new day peeked through the small window that served as her pillow. As the morning light dispersed the darkness of night from the room, a quiet glow spilled onto her bare feet. Her dirty, cracked feet, caked with dried blood and throbing from the stones she had tripped over. As she stared at her feet, the tears began to stream down her already dusty face. She closed her eyes tightly as a single picture shot through her mind; Jesus’ feet, hanging lifeless, a large nail pierced into them. Droplets of blood fall like perfect scarlet diamonds on the mound of dirt and rock that encased the base of the wooden cross. These two beautiful feet that had walked many miles and saved many lives, including her own. How could it be the same feet that hung on a tree meant for common criminals? She rocked herself harder and gritted her teeth, trying to control the deep moanings that were inside of her, desperatly trying to break free from her frail frame. She fought to comfort herself by remembering His words, but doubt kept creeping into her mind, causing her thoughts to betray her and bringing more questions to her already unwraveling heart. In a fit of grief, she grabbed her head with both her hands and rubbed her fingers deep against her scalp, trying to stop the myraid of voices in her head. She let the cries break free once more and ave into the pain that wrenched at her soul. When she epended her trapped emotions, she fell back onto the mat, limp, eyes blurred and staring at the wood ceiling. She didn't even know where she was. The small house was unfamiliar. Her heartbeat slowed as she allowed her thoughts to wander back to her last concious moment.
An old woman picked her up from the ground in front of the stone. Mary had been there for hours, face to the dirt, wailing the most horendous cries capable of a human being. She didn’t care who heard her. She just wanted him back. She cried so bitterly that she became violently sick. The old woman came to her, hands shaking. She was holding a dingy rag that was drenched in some sort of liquid. Mary saw no fear in the womans eyes, and allowed her to wipe her face of the vomit and dirt that seemed to be imbedded in her skin. Mary had never seen this woman before and could not get out the simplest of words to thank her for her kindness. When Mary stood up to brace herself against the large rock that had become her support, she became dizzy and fell unconcious to the ground.
How could one small old woman carry her. And why? As Mary’s eyes darted back and forth she couldn’t remember the woman saying anything to her. When Mary woke from her state, she found herself in this little room. As the sun began to brighten her surroundings, she studied the little room from her pallett. No, she had never been here before. She was sure of it. The room was similar to most little houses in Jerusalum, but even the view out of the window, gave her no clue as to where she might be. She rolled to her side and glanced down at the dirt floor to see a bowl of food and a cup of water. She couldn’t remember what day it was. As the words, three days echoed across her mind, she was struck with a flash of hope. She jerked her body up and looked desperately around the room, calling, “Master, Master!”. As the sun rose higher into the sky, it streamed through the open window, forcing light into her eyes. Why does the sun bother to come out at all today? she thought to herself. She, once again, closed her eyes and lay back on her pallet, or as she had come to believe, her death bed, as her heart felt faint within her. Yesterday’s events ravaged her mind with the intensity of the morning sun.
The day had begun like any other. The morning clouds released their hold on the eastern sky to portray the typical season of sun and heat. Mary loved both. The dawning of each day gave her a sense of hope over the past two years that preceeded many days of sorrow and pain. But this day had been different. Voices on the street, people clammering about the events leading up to this day. Rumors of riots, of secret trials in the dead of night. Debates, whispers and physical confrontations about the nature and person of her beloved teacher, Jesus, were central to recent days. She and many others that followed him, moved from circle to circle and house to house, trying to gain new information on the un-parralled and un-ethical decisions of the high counsel.
But as the day grew, the sky submitted to dark and threatening clouds. Loud claps of thunder rolled across the horizon as if heaven itself were groaning. And there Mary sat at the foot of the cross. She didn’t care about the guards that mocked her, spit on her and tried to pry her from her place. They had done worse to her Rabboni. What could they possibly do to her that would compare? She crained her neck to keep her face looking straight up into his as she fought the pain growing in the back of her neck. She turned her eyes away, and clasped her hands on her ears only in the moments when his cries of agony were so intense, she could not bear to see or hear him scream. Her heart wretched at the memory. The tears streaked her face, and she cried out. “Why? Why?”, Her question, lingered on and on, growing softer until it was just a whisper. She began rocking herself again, then laid down, as if to die. Voices ran through her mind, one after another, sometimes one upon another. The voice of Peter, James, and Suzanna ran over and over in her mind. When the voice she had grown to love so dearly, that of Jesus, invaded her thoughts, she felt her body relax. His was a voice full of peace and comfort, like a soft blanket wrapped about her with warmth attached to every syllable that made its’ home in her mind. A single tear fell from the bridge of her nose onto the already soaked cover that lay over the pile of hay that she lied upon. She drifted to the beginning, what she thought was the end of her life. Until she met a man named Jesus. A carpenter. A Nazarine. The Son of God.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Chapter 2
Mary grew up in Magdala. A city seated on the western shores of Gailee. There Mary would watch the daily exports of materials come and go. It was where her father first began his business as a shipbuilder. A business that created great wealth for his family. Mary was an only child. A miracle of God as her mother would say. Mary looked at it not as a miracle, but as acurse. She wanted brothers and sisters and would beg her mother to have another baby, but her mother would gently remind her that she was the only miracle God wanted. In reality, Mary’s mother had suffered long and almost lost her life to bring Mary into the world. Her mother never told her, but she heard stories from the servants in her home. She knew the suffering her mother went through, but being an only child didn’t seem fair to Mary. She secretly resented a god who would not give her siblings, especially a brother to take over the family business. Instead she was left with the burden of having to marry and stay in Magdala to run a business that would tie her down. Mary knew the ways of the world, and the small place that women held in it. Her father’s business would someday bear her name, but the fact remained, her husband would have all control. She did not want to submit to anyone, especially a husband who only wanted he r money, or rather, her father’s money.
Even though she was Jewish and grew up in a traditional home, her father cared little about religion and Mary followed in his footsteps. Mary’s mother, on the other hand, was a very religious woman and even though she was not allowed in the temple with the men, she listened intently to the men’s conversations on matters of the scriptures and tried to teach her daughter. Mary resisted. She lived with constant reminders of the faith but secretly wanted nothing to do with her mother’s beliefs. It was her father’s lifestyle that she wanted to emulate. He was a free thinker. Money, power, and self sufficiency were his gods. Mary’s devotion was divided when it came to her parents. She loved her mother, her gentle ways and peaceful contenence, but it was her father’s freedom that she longed for. There are no rules to follow when you are god.
The one thing she and her father disagreed upon was marriage. Mary knew the time would come when she would have to get married but her fathers absence with the business and Mary’s head strong attitude toward tradition bought her time. She wanted to experience the world. To taste the adventures that money and freedom from responsibility could give her. She wanted to be different from other women. Only later, would she learn the consquences of her desires.
When Mary was eighteen, her mother and father died. They had been on a voyage with her father’s business and on their return trip from Alexandrium, bad weather had developed and all lives and goods were lost onboard the ship; Mary had been at home without her parents for the first time in her life. She was surrounded by maidservants and guardians who kept a watchful eye on her but Mary would elude them to wander the streets of Magdala, daring to venture outside the city gates. She loved adventure so much, she had a hard time focuing on the daily tasks of learning to run a house and a business. She received the news that her father and mother had died while she was on one such adventure. It was such an enormous shock to her that she thought it was a cruel joke made up by the servants that disliked her for her unorthodox ways. As the weeks wore on she began to realize that her parents were never coming home.
After the confirmation of the horrible accident, Mary went into a deep depression. Anger and fear gripped her. She would burst into rages and curse the only God she ever knew, the God her mother had taught her about. How could a loving God take away the only two people she cared for? And what was she to do now? There was a house to care for and a business to run. If only she had listened more intently when her father brought her to sit in with his business associates. Mary knew she had no choice but to fulfill the wishes of her parents; she would marry and help run the business with a husband.
Finding a husband was not a problem for Mary. As soon as word got out that she was intending to marry, men came from everywhere. Rich and handsome, poor and old, charming and rotten. What Mary didn’t realize, was she was beautiful. Men always stared at her. But all she saw was the money that accompanied the flesh. And because of that, Mary didn’t make it easy on any man that came to call on her. She was purposely rude and seemed uninterested in even the most suitable of men. She simply didn’t trust men and she resented that she had been forced into the dredges of finding a husband. because of either the bad luck that had been thrown on her, or the God who had cursed her. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry, she wanted to experience life and freedom from caring for others first. The fear of being wanted for something other than love hardend her heart to any man who might sincerely want to marry her. And who could she talk to when all this happened? She confided in no one. Even her father and mother couldn’t pull information out of her. Mary lived so much within herself, she never let anyone close enough to see that the beauty outside was not the only beauty she possessed.
Her father’s business associates and overseer’s came to visit her often to report on what needed to be done to maintain the business and keep it lucritive. They were men who had been good to her father and men that he had trusted. She would listen to their words but could not concentrate on the meaning. The longer she listenend, the more their voices seemed to grate on her and the sounds became like a foreign language. Something was taking up residence in her but she couldn’t explain what it was. She would question herself and mistrust would build with those around her. Even her most faithful maidservants were more cautious as her moods became darker and more volitale.
Mary began to hide herself more and more in her room. She wouldn’t eat and elegible men stopped coming by. It was no secret to anyone in town that she was a free thinker, but lately she had become more and more unstable. She was seen in the middle of the night, wandering the streets. Her once beautiful wavy dark hair became matted and patches missing, as if they had been torn from the scalp. Her colorful clothes, which signified her family’s wealth, were ripped and muddy from sitting in the dirt as the rain fell around her. Her servants would take shifts during the night and try to keep her safe from herself and others, but she would always find a way to escape. She had bruses on her arms and legs from the manservants trying to keep her in the house or trying to bring her home from the streets. She didn’t care about anything. Her depression started slow, then built as one responsibility piled on another and fear of failure thrust her into a world she couldn’t control. There were moments of lucidity, times of clarity of and purpose, but then something like a cloud would cover her eyes and drown her in its vicious thoughts and random acts of self destruction. Fear, mistrust, abandonment, unworthiness, loneliness, guilt and hopelessness were her seven demons.
Even though she was Jewish and grew up in a traditional home, her father cared little about religion and Mary followed in his footsteps. Mary’s mother, on the other hand, was a very religious woman and even though she was not allowed in the temple with the men, she listened intently to the men’s conversations on matters of the scriptures and tried to teach her daughter. Mary resisted. She lived with constant reminders of the faith but secretly wanted nothing to do with her mother’s beliefs. It was her father’s lifestyle that she wanted to emulate. He was a free thinker. Money, power, and self sufficiency were his gods. Mary’s devotion was divided when it came to her parents. She loved her mother, her gentle ways and peaceful contenence, but it was her father’s freedom that she longed for. There are no rules to follow when you are god.
The one thing she and her father disagreed upon was marriage. Mary knew the time would come when she would have to get married but her fathers absence with the business and Mary’s head strong attitude toward tradition bought her time. She wanted to experience the world. To taste the adventures that money and freedom from responsibility could give her. She wanted to be different from other women. Only later, would she learn the consquences of her desires.
When Mary was eighteen, her mother and father died. They had been on a voyage with her father’s business and on their return trip from Alexandrium, bad weather had developed and all lives and goods were lost onboard the ship; Mary had been at home without her parents for the first time in her life. She was surrounded by maidservants and guardians who kept a watchful eye on her but Mary would elude them to wander the streets of Magdala, daring to venture outside the city gates. She loved adventure so much, she had a hard time focuing on the daily tasks of learning to run a house and a business. She received the news that her father and mother had died while she was on one such adventure. It was such an enormous shock to her that she thought it was a cruel joke made up by the servants that disliked her for her unorthodox ways. As the weeks wore on she began to realize that her parents were never coming home.
After the confirmation of the horrible accident, Mary went into a deep depression. Anger and fear gripped her. She would burst into rages and curse the only God she ever knew, the God her mother had taught her about. How could a loving God take away the only two people she cared for? And what was she to do now? There was a house to care for and a business to run. If only she had listened more intently when her father brought her to sit in with his business associates. Mary knew she had no choice but to fulfill the wishes of her parents; she would marry and help run the business with a husband.
Finding a husband was not a problem for Mary. As soon as word got out that she was intending to marry, men came from everywhere. Rich and handsome, poor and old, charming and rotten. What Mary didn’t realize, was she was beautiful. Men always stared at her. But all she saw was the money that accompanied the flesh. And because of that, Mary didn’t make it easy on any man that came to call on her. She was purposely rude and seemed uninterested in even the most suitable of men. She simply didn’t trust men and she resented that she had been forced into the dredges of finding a husband. because of either the bad luck that had been thrown on her, or the God who had cursed her. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry, she wanted to experience life and freedom from caring for others first. The fear of being wanted for something other than love hardend her heart to any man who might sincerely want to marry her. And who could she talk to when all this happened? She confided in no one. Even her father and mother couldn’t pull information out of her. Mary lived so much within herself, she never let anyone close enough to see that the beauty outside was not the only beauty she possessed.
Her father’s business associates and overseer’s came to visit her often to report on what needed to be done to maintain the business and keep it lucritive. They were men who had been good to her father and men that he had trusted. She would listen to their words but could not concentrate on the meaning. The longer she listenend, the more their voices seemed to grate on her and the sounds became like a foreign language. Something was taking up residence in her but she couldn’t explain what it was. She would question herself and mistrust would build with those around her. Even her most faithful maidservants were more cautious as her moods became darker and more volitale.
Mary began to hide herself more and more in her room. She wouldn’t eat and elegible men stopped coming by. It was no secret to anyone in town that she was a free thinker, but lately she had become more and more unstable. She was seen in the middle of the night, wandering the streets. Her once beautiful wavy dark hair became matted and patches missing, as if they had been torn from the scalp. Her colorful clothes, which signified her family’s wealth, were ripped and muddy from sitting in the dirt as the rain fell around her. Her servants would take shifts during the night and try to keep her safe from herself and others, but she would always find a way to escape. She had bruses on her arms and legs from the manservants trying to keep her in the house or trying to bring her home from the streets. She didn’t care about anything. Her depression started slow, then built as one responsibility piled on another and fear of failure thrust her into a world she couldn’t control. There were moments of lucidity, times of clarity of and purpose, but then something like a cloud would cover her eyes and drown her in its vicious thoughts and random acts of self destruction. Fear, mistrust, abandonment, unworthiness, loneliness, guilt and hopelessness were her seven demons.
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