Chapter 17

Mary stopped talking, seemingly lost in her memory. Her countenance seemed to fall and Miriam noticed. Mary lay on the mat, the last few days of grief and chaos catching up to her physical body. She sighed and began to weep.
Miriam brushed a few stray strands of hair from Mary’s eyes and gently wiped away her tears. “I heard a story of a woman named Mary, who washed Jesus’ feet with expensive oil and her own tears and then dried them with her hair. Do you know that story, Mary?”
“Yes”, Mary replied, listlessly, “I was there.”
“Why do you think a woman would do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“I know. Only love would cause a woman to make a fool of herself and to give up her most precious possession. And she would do that for one reason alone. Because she knew that no other man could offer her what she truly needed, forgiveness. Men can’t give it, priest can’t give it. Only God can give forgiveness. Isn’t that why she went to Jesus? Isn’t that why she walked away whole? Isn’t that why you went to Jesus?”
“What do I do now? Where do I go? Who do I go too? Everyone ran when Jesus was arrested. We all scattered like frightened children. And there were only a few of us at His death.” Mary felt a deep pain as she recalled what the other women told her about Judas’ part in Jesus’ arrest. They all betrayed Him in some way that night. Was Judas trying to push Jesus on to revolution or was simple greed his motivator? No one would ever know. He hung himself shortly after Jesus was arrested. Mary vowed she wouldn’t tell Miriam this dark part of her story.
“I believe He is coming back,” Miriam said. “I believe death cannot hold Him. What do you believe?”
“I believe He is who He says He is, the Son of God, but I want things the way they were. I want Him back. I want to be able to touch Him, to walk with Him, to hear His voice.”
“Tomorrow is a new day,” Miriam said with strength. “You will wake up early and go to the tomb. Now, let me tell you a story.”