Chapter 1

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.

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.

Chapter 3

“Did you sleep well, child?” Mary jumped. She blinked her eyes several times and slowly looked around the room , trying to remember where she was. She fixed her eyes on a crippled old woman standing over her.
“Where am I?”
“You are in my home, dear one. I brought you cool water and some bread. You need to eat and regain your strength.” Her voice was soft and comforting. It didn’t match her physical frame. She was bent over from some ailment, a large knot on her back. Her hair was gray. It was braided and set over one shoulder. Her face, wrinkled and sun worn, however she carried the sweetest smile.
“Do I know you?”. Mary asked.
“No, dear. You don’t, but I know you. Eat, drink and then we will talk of what and who we know.” Mary’s hunger caught up with her as the smell of the warm bread crept up her nostrils. Her hands, trembling from the lack of nourishment, took the bread. As Mary ate, the old woman laborously pulled a small chair across the dirt floor and sat as comfortably as she could waiting silently while Mary ate and drank. So many thoughts ran through Mary’s mind.
“Tell me about you and the Master. How did you meet? What was it like to be among the brethen for so long?” Mary stared hard.
“How did you know I was with them?”
“I knew. Tell me Mary. Tell me everything. From the very beginning until now. And not just the facts, but your thoughts, your inner thoughts that you try so hard to hide. I’ll wait until you’re ready.” Mary began to cry. How does this woman know me? Why does she want me to remember when I’m so confused by all that happened? Can I tell her everything. My deepest thoughts? My deepest feelings? Will she judge me? Will she believe what I’ve seen? Will I be crucified too, for what I say?
“Trust me.” The old woman said. With that simple phrase, Mary lifted her eyes and looked intensly into the old woman’s and her story began.
“When I was eighteen, my parents died. I got everything I had ever wanted. I had money and freedom to choose my own lifestyle. I answered to no one, and did whatever I wanted. Some forms of freedom always come with chains. Loneliness and guilt became my companions for a while. Then wine and drug inducing herbs followed. Hopelessness drove me to insanity and that’s where I met Jesus. A few years ago, He was traveling through Magdala. I didn’t know or care, but a few of my servants had heard of Him and the miracles He did for others. They loved me enough to convince me to go with them and ask for help. If He had come three months earlier, I would have fought everything and everyone who tried to get me to Him but my anger and bitterness had dissolved into helplessness and I wanted to die. I would have killed myself, had it not been for the faithfulness of the servants who kept watch over me.
I don’t remember much about the first time I saw Him. It was when He touched me that I thought I had died. He cupped my face into His hands and spoke words I couldn’t understand or couldn’t hear, but in that moment, a rush of something unexplainable flowed through my body. I know now it was hope.
My eyes began to burn and the sound of voices pierced my ears. Had I been blind and deaf? I was suddenly aware of everything around me. The faces of my servants, the throngs of people staring at me, and the face of this man who touched me. I squinted my eyes, desperatly trying to focus on His. He still held my face in his strong hands and the warmth I felt was almost overpowering. But His eyes, the way He looked at me, as if He could see every part of me. Every past word, every deed, every evil. And He smiled, and said, “come”. I can’t explain why I followed. I just did. It went against every ideal I had. I even asked myself why I was following Him. It was because I saw something in his eyes that I wanted. Something that I had never seen in anyone else. Not my father, my mother or any man. I didn’t fully understand what I was doing, I was just following. You should have seen my servants. They were stunned beyond words. The girls were franticly trying to fix my matted hair as we walked and the menservants had run home to give the good news of my miracle to the others in the household and to gather some decent clothes for me to wear. I had never spent a lot of time on my appearance but I could only imagine how I looked at that moment.
“The crowd followed Jesus to the outskirts of town. That’s where I first heard Him speak. He always spoke in parables, in stories. Some I understood and some are still a mystery to me. The first story He told was of a farmer and his seeds. I listened intently while my servants still fussed over the care of my outer appearance. But inward, I felt whole. Beautiful.
“Over the past two years, I have heard Jesus tell this story of the farmer many times as we traveled, and each time, I would glean something new about who He is and who I am in Him. God’s kingdom. That’s what His stories were always about.

Chapter 4

“There was this farmer who went out and sowed seeds. Some fell on the road and were eaten by birds. Some fell on gravel and no roots could grow. Some fell among weeds and were strangled, and some fell on rich ground and produced an abundant crop.” I wondered which I was and what it all meant. I knew enough about farming to know that you want your seeds to fall on good ground and produce a bumper crop but I didn’t know at the time, what the seeds were. As night fell, the crowd dispersed to their homes but I didn’t want to leave. My servants urged me to go home and rest, but all I wanted to do was find out more about this man named Jesus. Who was he? What power did he have that he could heal me of my afflicitions? What is this Kingdom of God he keeps talking about and which seed am I?
I hung around the edge of the crowd as they left and saw some men starting a fire. They gathered sticks for the fire and moved rocks closer to the flame to use as seats. There were a few women huddled around another fire, cooking. The smell of coriander and cumin made my stomach ache with hunger. I didn’t know the last time I had eaten. I felt frozen. I didn’t want to leave but I didn’t know what to do. Do I walk up to the men and talk to them? Is that ok? Maybe I should go where the women are and offer to help. I started to weep. I had no cooking skills. How I wish I would have paid more attention to my mother in the kitchen. As I stood there, not knowing what to do and feeling helpless, I felt a hand rest on my shoulder and jumped. It was a woman. She introduced herself as Joanna, wife of Cuza. She invited me to come and help with the preparations for the evening meal. When I told her I didn’t know how to cook, she smiled and said. ‘We will teach you’.
There was this strange feeling bubbling up inside of me. One I had not encountered before, or admited to: Vulnability. I always prided myself with confidence in any and every situation, but something was changing in me. It wasn’t fear as much as maybe a conscience. I was introduced to many women but could only remember the names of those who shared my name, Mary. The ladies affectionaly called me Magdala so as not to confuse everyone. One of them told me that I share the same name as the mother of Jesus. This brought a sense of hope and I remember my mother saying that the Messiah would be brought forth by a woman named Mary. The Messiah? Again, I wished I would have paid more attention to my mother. I enjoyed listening to the conversation the women shared as they cooked. It reminded me of my early years before my father’s wealth moved us away from the small village we lived in. My mother would cook and clean with the other women in the courtyard as the children would play. The laughter and friendship of these women surrounding me gave me a sense of comfort and peace. Because I had no cooking skills, I was given the task of grinding the grain for the next mornings bread. Each woman made an effort to talk with me and include me in their conversations. And no one asked questions I didn’t want to answer. I had always regarded the daily tasks of women to be a type of bondage that men had conjured up. But I felt no chains and saw no men cracking whips as I listened to the rise and fall of female voices around me. I laughed at the obvious picture of myself, stooping to do “women’s” work. It didn’t feel the same drudgery I had always imagined.
I had been so lost in my thought that I didn’t realize I was grinding the grain to a fine powder. Reality broke through as I heard the voices of the men sitting at the fire, roasting fish on pieces of tree branches they had cleaned. Laughter was all around me. I began to wonder what I had gotten myself into. These people seemed too happy. Lost again in my thoughts, I hadn’t realized that Jesus had walked among the group of women and was helping with the seasoning of the vegtables. I watched as the women laughed and teased him about not knowing how to cook and which spices have a sweeter taste. He laughed with them and encouraged them in their work. I saw him look my way and I immediately put my head down and tried to concentrate on grinding what had not been crushed to dust in my bowl. As he walked my way, I felt a knot in my stomach and my hands began to shake. I don’t know if It was fear that was griping me or something else. Again, an emotion was rising up in me that I had never sensed before. He must have sensed that I was uncomfortable with his presence, but he approached me anyway and said. ‘You are welcome to stay with us, little one’. I couldn’t speak. All I knew to do was shake my head and lower my eyes back to my bowl of dust. I secretely chastened myself for the immaturity I was showing. Where was that strong will I used to horde over people, and the clever remarks that I was so famous for? I was not myself. My old self. Was I fearful of this man? And why did I become speechless everytime he looked at me or came my way? This was very odd indeed. Very uncomfortable. The thought of leaving began to enter my mind and I looked around for a way of escape. But hunger kept me there. I am now thankful for the simplest of human needs.
When the evening meal was prepared, the men gathered around and Jesus blessed it and we all sat by the fire, eating together. What an unusual sight. Men, women, all eating and talking together. It was like we were all equal. And the way Jesus treated the women was almost unheard of. In some ways, Jesus reminded me of my father. A free thinker. Unorthodox in the ways of men. After the meal was over and the cleaning was done ( by everyone), one of the men asked Jesus to explain the story of the farmer and the seeds. I think my heart must have skipped a beat as I desperatly wanted someone to ask that question since I couldn’t gather up the courage myself.
Jesus said, ‘You’ve been given insight into God’s kingdom, you know how it works. There are others who need stories. But even with stories some of them aren’t going to understand it; Their eyes are open but don’t see a thing. Their ears are open but don’t hear a thing. This story is about some of those people. The seed is the Word of God. The seeds on the road are those who hear the Word, but no sooner do they hear it than the Devil snatches it from them so they do not believe. The seeds in the gravel are those who hear with enthusiasm, but the enthusiasm doesn’t go very deep. The moment trouble arises, they go back to their old way of life. And the seed that fell in the weeds, these are the ones who hear, but then the seed is crowded out and nothing comes of it as they go about their lives worrying about tomorrow, making money and having fun. But the seed in the good earth, these are the good hearts who seize the Word and hold on no matter what, sticking with it until there’s a harvest.’
My heart sank. I was like the weeds. All I wanted was to have fun and to make money. But something was stiring inside me. Something entirely foreign, but beckening me forward. I wanted to be like the good earth! My mind was racing with thoughts of how to be like the good earth. How to seize the Word. It was as if a battle were raging in my mind. My old thoughts and my old life were waging war against this new idea. As crazy as it sounded, I wanted to know more. What is the Word? I was confusing myself with this story. In some ways, I wanted so much to be a part of this group, but I didn’t know how and I didn’t know how to ask how. Their eyes are open but they don’t see a thing. Their ears are open but they don’t hear a thing. I kept repeating those words, over and over, in my head. Or maybe I was whispering them, I don’t know, but I had my eyes closed and was concentrating so hard on those words, that I didn’t recognize the silence around me until I opened my eyes to see everyone staring at me. It was about me. Someone, maybe one of the men, maybe Jesus, said, ‘Your eyes and your ears have been opened, you can see and hear. Will you accept?’ I said yes before I could even think about what was being asked of me.
That night, that first night, I didn’t understand most of what I was answering to, but I knew I had to have and be a part of whatever this was. Betraying thoughts still flashed in my mind, as they do today, but it was as if something were calling me out of a pit that I hadn’t realized I was in, and whoever this Jesus was, he had given me something I never had. Hope. Life. Belonging. I decided then and there, that I would follow him where ever he went.

Chapter 5

Mary stopped speaking to take a sip of the water that she held tightly in her hand. She looked at her fingernails, caked with dirt. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and gently exhaled as she retraced her past to the old woman.
“ I awoke the next morning to hushed voices and the smell of bread baking. I was lying on the small mat trying to decide if all that had happened to me yesterday had been a dream or if I was truly here, in the company of the one they call the teacher, Jesus. I got up, washed my face, pulled my hair back and headed toward the voices of the other women. The women greeted me and one commented on the color of my face. Mary Gali, as she came to be known because of her hometown Galilee, asked me if I was feeling alright. She touched my face and suggested that I sit for a while and eat something. I wanted to help out, but Idid feel a bit quesy, so I obeyed and listened to their conversation. It seemed that the men, disciples as the women called them, and Jesus had gone early to another village and wouldn’t be back for a day or two. By mid morning, my quesiness had progressed into sharp stomach pains and my head ached. Susanna took me aside and asked where I lived so she could have someone send a message concerning my condition. I begged her not to send me back home. I was so afraid of going home and becoming who I had been only a few days earlier. But thoughts began to enter my mind as to why I was in such pain. I asked Suzanna why I was feeling this way if Jesus had healed me. She was so gentle in the questions she asked, that I knew I could not lie about the things I had done and the drugs I had used. Suzanna said that Jesus had healed my broken spirit and it was whole, but my body was reacting to the consequences of my choices. She was soft in her words and comfort. I told her my family name and she sent word of where I was. She promised to let my household know I was safe but wouldn’t send me home.
My maidservant, Taphitha, showed up a few hours after word had been sent to my home. I told her I wasn’t going home and surprisingly she asked to stay with me. Taphitha had been my personal servant for the last three years. She was a gift from my father. He said that every woman of worth had a personal mandmaiden. After he and my mother died, I began to hate Taphitha. She was a constant reminder of my father and his hopes for me. Her sweet demeaner and humble way of serving me started out as a comfort and reminder of my father’s love, but when I was left an orphan, she became a reminder of the abandonment of my parents. The attributes that my father would speak of in Taphitha became a bitter taste in my mouth. She endured my ridicule and absurd demands. I would send her to the market searching for items that I knew didn’t exist in our region. Then I scream at her for not carrying out the simplist of tasks. I could not imagine why she wanted to stay with me, but for the next few days, she never left my side. As my stomach and head would go from ease to violent reactions Taphitha would speak softly to me. I thought I was hearing my mother’s voice and feeling her comfort as Taphitha would place a cool rag upon my head and face with such grace. In the periods of violent expulsion from my body, it was as if the past year or even years of my life were being cast out. All the demoms I had been carrying around for so long were finally coming to their bitter end. It was painful, both physically and emotionally, but also cleansing. I wanted to get up and help the other women, to be part of this new way of life, but my old life kept calling me back to the purging. For three days my body and soul battled against each other. Taphitha must have thought I was delierious at times as cries and laughter would erupt from my lips. I was paying the price from the abuse I had put upon my own body. I would cry at the pain that seemed to permiate throughout my entire frame one moment, then laugh at the sense of freedom I was experiencing in the next. My body would shake uncontrobably as the poison from the drugs made its way through my organs. Fever brought visions of strange beast chasing me through the dark and cold sweats left me lying in a pool of chemical waste. By the third day color returned to my face and my appetite and energy slowly made it’s way back into my body. Taphitha was also relieved to see the change in me.
“By this time Jesus and the disciples had returned and were in high spirits. The women welcomed them back and quickly began meal preparations for the hungry men. Taphitha was a bit uneasy with the jubilent men and the way they seemed to converse with the women. She remarked on them having too much wine. Jesus made His way to the women and greeted each of them with a warm smile and a gentle word. He came to where Taphitha and I were, me resting against a rock and Taphitha sitting next to me. He welcomed her by name, which surprised both of us and then asked how I was feeling. I can’t remember my answer to Him, but I felt my heart leap at the sound of His voice.

Chapter 6

“It didn’t take long for the people in the nearby village to discover that Jesus had returned. They began pouring in, wanting to be healed and to hear his stories. Even now I wonder if some were looking for mere entertainment or to be healed and then to go on with their usual lives, never looking back at Jesus again. The Pharasees were the worst. They would parade themselves in their lavish robes and with an aire of nobility, they would mock Jesus or try and trip Him up with their ridiculous questions. Jesus always left them speechless by refusing to answer their questions or He would challenge their authority. It was as if He could read their thoughts. There were times when I enjoyed seeing the faces of the Pharasees’ as they were humiliated. We all did. But, then Jesus would remind us, sometimes gently, sometimes harshly that we all need correcting and like sheep, we have all gone astray.
“One day, Jesus gathered the twelve disciples and gave them authority and power to cast out demons and cure diseases. He sent them off saying. ’Preach the news of God’s kingdom and heal the sick. Don’t load yourselves up with equipment. Keep it simple; you are the equipment. And no luxury inns-get a modest place and be content there until you leave. If you’re not welcomed, leave town. Don’t make a scene. Shrug your shoulders and move on.’ This was the first time I had heard Jesus telling the disciples to heal people. I didn’t understand how they had power to heal and cure diseases. I grew up with servants in my household from many different cultures. Some claimed to be healers with their strange potions and chants. When I was about ten years old, my father began to develop internal ailments that would sometimes last only a few days and then other times, would cause him pain for months. When he could not will himself to overcome the pain, he would call on every servant in our household to burn incense to their god on behalf of his health. He would even allow my mother to pray to her Jewish God. A room was built in our house which held the idols that the servants prayed to. It was a room I visited with my father on the occasions when he was suffering and a room that my mother refused to go into. I wondered if Jesus was the same. Did He carry a pouch filled with exotic herbs? Did He follow the God that my mother faithfully followed or was this a new god that my father would have allowed in the house for the sake of healing?
“After they left, Joanna gathered the women and the few children and announced that we were moving on to Bethsaida where we would meet up with the twelve. By this time, I had gotten up the courage to ask Joanna a few questions as we were gathering cooking tools into packs.
“How do you pay for the food that is needed to feed so many people? And what about clothes and sandals that wear out from all the walking, and the houses you stay in, who is funding this? Is Jesus from a wealthy family?”
Joanna laughed a bit. “My dear, rest easy and let me explain. No, Jesus is not a wealthy man, He is a carpenter. The men among us work and help provide and some of the women here, myself included, have given of our own means to feed, clothe and house us all.” She must have seen the reaction on my face because she raised a hand as if to halt my next words, then continued on.
“We have given our money of our own free will and Jesus’ message to all here is one of purity, work and sharing the burden equally. Jesus, nor any other man has asked us to provide, but it was we women who generously offered. And there are no favors that are done in return. Jesus lives out what He speaks and insists that all in His company do the same. That means the men respect the women by helping them when needed and the men do not expect to be waited on.” Joanna’s words were straight forward and I sensed that she had been asked these same questions many times.
“Don’t worry, dear, there is always enough money to take care for a few more, if you and your companion want to stay with us.”
Her words caught me by surprise. This was not an exclusive group. There were people from all different backgrounds. Some wore old tatered clothes that spoke of poverty. Some wore bright colored garments that only the weathly could afford. Even though I possessed fine garments, when my servants had brought me clothes, I chose to wear only the simple ones and because of the similarity of Taphitha and I’s garments, no one seemed to suspect that she was my servant. Joanna and the others trusted in Jesus enough to give Him their money to further this adventure. And they welcomed all who wanted to be a part of it. With questions still looming over me but a deep desire to stay among these people, I did something so unexpected that for the first time in three years, Taphitha questioned my competency. Her beautiful brown eyes must have doubled in size when I asked her to return to my home with a letter I had given her, requesting a large amount of money from my fathers estate.
“Mistress, since you are better, I thought we would both return home together.”
“Taphitha, I can’t go home. There are too many memories of my parents there and too much temptation to go back to my old life. I want to be here. I want to be with these people. And I need you to go, give this letter to Claudius and convience him that I am fine. You have seen the change in me over the past fews days. I trust you, Taphitha, to plead my sanity. He will listen to you. You have always been a good and faithful servant and he knows that.”
“Thank you, mistress, for having such faith in me.” A smile grew on her face, but her eyes were still full and began to fill with tears.
“I wish you would come home with me, but I will do as you ask and go plead your case and will return as soon as I can.” With those words, she was gone.
During the time Taphitha was gone, I made myself useful in any way I could. I didn’t know what Claudius would do with my request for money but I knew whatever the outcome, I was going to follow this group.
Shortly after our simple mid day meal of left over bread and cheese, I saw Taphitha returning with a sack across her shoulder. She carried the biggest smile on her face and I knew she had accomplished the goal. Handing the sack to me, I opened it to find the money I had requested and we both looked at each other as if a present had been given to us. I believe that was the first time I had heard giggles come out of Taphitha’s mouth. I immediately went to Joanna and handed her the sack with simple words.
“I want to stay and help.”
“You still have to work and help out.” Joanna said with a wagging finger but a grin on her face.
“I understand.”
I went back to Taphitha and handed her one last instruction and letter.
“Go home, give this to Claudius, clear the house out, and be free.” I had handed her a letter granting her freedom. Those beautiful brown eyes widened again, then filled with tears.
I held both her hands in mine.
“Taphitha, I am so sorry for my past behavior towards you and I ask you to forgive me”.
“I thank you Mistress. I accept your forgiveness and freedom, but I want to stay with you.” I could not imagine why Taphitha wanted to stay with me, but as I held her hands in mine, I was grateful for her decision and I understood why my Father brought her to me. She was always obedient and kind. The very opposite of me. I knew I needed this Jesus and His message of hope, but in my eyes, Taphitha was alright. She didn’t need to be forgiven as I did. She hadn’t done the things I had done. Forgiveness was only for those of an extremely wicked heart.
“Since we are both women of freedom, I think you should call me Mary.”
“Mary.” Taphitha said with confidence.
My heart rejoiced as we walked arm in arm toward Bethsaida, not mistress and maidservant, but friend and friend.

Chapter 7

Mary paused and smiled as she remembered the joyous times of walking the roads to new places.
“The walk toward Bethsadia was filled with lively conversations. I heard the disciples talking about many things that had happened before I joined them. There were miracles they spoke of and parables that Jesus had told to each town or village that He would visit. The disciples talked of the size of the crowd and how it grew larger with each day.
“The day began with just a few people, but by the time our belly’s began to growl, you couldn’t tell where the crowd ended”. Peter’s voice was loud and gruff and his hands gestured with such enthusiasim as he spoke.
“Are you comparing the crowd to the size of the last fish you caught”, James shouted.
Everyone erupted with laughter because Peter was known for his tall tales of fish and his rough exterior, both physically and vocally.
Peter waved his hand at James as if to dismiss him like a child then went on with his own story.
“ People were being cured of diseases and demons and I saw a little girl that had been brought back to life.”
It was not unusual for Peter to excite the crowd with his stories but leave out a few details. We learned later that not only Peter, but John and James were also in the room when Jesus raised the little girl.
John’s version of the same events were softer in its re-telling. That’s how John is. Soft spoken and shy. Someone asked John for his account of the miracle.
“Jesus brought us three in the room as the cries of the women echoed in the small chamber where the beautiful little girl lay. She looked as if she were sleeping but her body made no movement towards life.” John’s voice became a whisper as we all leaned in to hear his next words.
“My dear child, get up.” With those few words, the girl’s breath drowned the mourning women out side and filled the room with the scent of life.”
“We all sighed deep as if we had been holding our own breath in unison with the little girl, anticipating Jesus’ words.
Who is this that He could bring someone back to life with just a touch of His hand. And could He also destroy a life with that same touch? There were moments along the road where I wondered if I had made the right decision in following this Jesus. But I was in awe of Him and the things He spoke of and the things He did.
The road to Bethsaida was important in my life. I didn’t understand anything about God. I didn’t know the prophets of old or scripture. And in some ways, I felt responsible for Taphitha being with me. What if this whole thing, this Kingdom business was a farce? And I had drug another human being along. As my thoughts tried to betray my heart and this path I had chosen, I rememberd my mother reading scriptures I could never will myself to memorize. I wanted to know what everyone else thought of Jesus. I wanted to know what the scriptures said about Him. Was He just another prophet? Was He a madman, leading us all to a disturbing death? It was an interesting array of opinions and firm beliefs. Most of the men thought that Jesus was some sort of revolutiary leader. That He was going to build up an army to fight the Roman’s strong hold on the Jewish people. But in all the time I was with them, I never saw a sword or heard Jesus speak of fighting in the literal sense. If we were planning to go to battle against Rome, it would have been an easy victory on Rome’s behalf. The women seemed to view Jesus in a different way. Most of the women in the company had been cured of diseases or demons. Some were prostitutes-former prostitutes. Some were just women that didn’t seem to belong to the world. They were different. Not the prettiest, not the most intelligent. We were a mixed group. Wealthy, poor, common, beautiful, slave, and free. Freedom! That is what every woman spoke of when talking about Jesus. He did something for these women that no man had done before. He liberated them. He liberated me. Just as the men looked to Jesus as a leader to set the nation free, we women looked to Him as a leader to set us free from a different form of captivity. In Jesus’ eyes and His manner, He treated us with such compassion. Such love and respect. In Him, we all saw our value. Jesus would walk with us, laugh and speak to us with dignity.
“You are the beauty of God, daughters of the most High King.” There would be tears in His eyes as he would speak.
“Don’t you know that your Abba sings over you while you sleep. He holds your tears in a bottle. You are valued, precious children.”
“ I longed for someone to care for me that much. Yes, my father, my earthly father loved me, but his eyes were still on the prize of money and fame. But a God who is so vast as to create a universe and so intimate as to hold my tears, even the ones I cried in a drunken state, that is a God, a King I wanted to serve. And this Jesus. My thoughts were confused as I spent more time with Him. Moments of jealousy would appear as I would see Him talking with other women, especially young ones. I felt I wasn’t the only one conflicted. Cutting eyes and muffled sounds from some of the women were obvious signs of jealousy.”

Chapter 8

“My past conversations with others while we traveled from town to town came back to mind as the intensity of Jesus’s mission became evident. I had asked many questions in those early days about who Jesus was. What was his background? Where did he come from? There were those among the company of belivers that were new to what I was witnessing and they too were hungry for information as to who this Jesus was. The humanity of us all wants to reason out our decisions with facts. There was this one man, advanced in years but so full of wisdom. His name was Levi. He was in the company of believers when I arrived and even though he was frail with age, he could outwalk any man, woman or child. He carried a staff and wore a long white beard that matched the coloring of his hair. He was affectiontaly known as Papa to many of us that came to love and respect him. He had studied the scriptures as a child and was well versed in all the words of the prophets and the Torah. He became our historical teacher and we, who longed to know every detail of Jesus, listened with avid ears to all he had to say. Papa Levi was the type of man that knew much but also listened much. He never interupted another when they were giving their opinion on matters of law or civil duty. He even listened as Peter would get worked up over an encounter with the religious leaders or the Roman guard. And no matter how off based Peter could get, Papa Levi would hold his tongue. Some thought that Jesus would spend more time with Papa Levi since he was among the most wise in the group, but instead, Papa Levi would walk with the young men or the new followers and give them the comfort and understanding of a father. And to watch how Papa Levi respected and admired Jesus was amazing. I guess in life, we think that the old have more wisdom or knowledge than the young, but not for Levi. He listened as attently to Jesus as anyone else, and maybe a bit more. Papa Levi said once that you are never too old to learn.
“Papa, Levi”, I asked one day, as we walked, “tell me about Jesus, his birth, his life.”
“Ahh, hungry ears will be satisfield”. Papa Levi always seemed to have a way of saying things.
“ Jesus was born in Bethlehem, to Joseph ancestor of King David and Mary. Both Joseph and Mary were God fearing, righteous young people. But before they came together in marriage and the marriage bed, Mary became pregnant. It was a scandelous situation in the small town of Narazeth, where both Joseph and Mary grew up. Joseph married Mary in spite of the sharp looks and shunned behavior by the town and they set off to Bethlehem, Joseph’s birthplace, to cooperate with the Roman census. That was where Jesus was born. Papa Levi would recite the prophet Isaiah’s words with a trembling, yet confident voice as we would strain to hear his aged raspy declaration. “Watch for this” Papa Levi said. “A girl who is presently a virgin will get pregnant. She’ll bear a son and name him Immanuel (God with us). By the time the child is twelve years old, able to make moral decisions, the threat of war will be over.” And from the prophet Micah, he said “But you, Bethlehem, David’s country, the runt of the litter – from you will come the leader who will shepherd –rule Israel. He’ll be no upstart, no pretender. His family tree is ancient and distinguished.” I have to admit that I questioned what Levi said, but the facts were remarkably accurate. Levi said that the Messiah would come through a virgin. That the spirit of God would impregnate the girl and the boy would be the Son of God. All human, all Divine. And that there would be no sin in this Messiah. I watched Jesus most carefully after hearing that from Levi. Did I see human sin in Jesus the way I saw it in everyone else? I heard Him get angry at times and rebuke those who so clearly took advantage of others, but to sin? No. I never saw that. Even though I heard frustration in His voice, even with His most loved disciples, I never saw sin rise up in Him that was obvious in the rest of us. Levi would quote many other words from the prophets. Some that disturbed me. Many, I didn’t understand. I think I chose to hear only those I wanted to hear. Levi told me that Jesus was in Nazareth, in the meeting place when he got up and opened the scripture of Isaiah and began to read from the text. “The Spirit of God, the Master, is on me because God annointed me. He sent me to preach good news to the poor, heal the heartbroken, announce freedom to all captives, pardon all prisoners. God sent me to announce the year of his grace..” Levi said that the text was about Jesus and that he was the one God had annointed. Jesus even said “You’ve just heard scripture make history. It came true just now in this place.” Needless to say, there was an uproar in the meeting place. Most of the people in the meeting place knew Jesus from a young age and were angry with the claim He had just made. According to Levi, Jesus was run out of town by the His own neighbors who then tried to throw Him over a mountain cliff. Peace follows Jesus but also scandals and fear. His birth seemed to spark a scandal and who he claimed to be, the Son of God, ignites another. And it’s funny how a scandal can turn into a holy event. Mary, Jesus’ mother, who was scorned for years and thought by some to be crazy because of the claim she had made with regard to her conception of Jesus, was now revered by many. I have come to know Mary and I am honored to share her name, but she is a woman just as I am. Yes, that God would choose her to be his instrument to bring about the Messiah is amazing, but she is human like the rest of us. She worries about Jesus like any mother would. I wonder if she sometimes wished He would stop teaching because she feared for His safety and heard the threats that surrounded Him. There was once a woman in a crowd that Jesus was speaking to. She blurted out, “Blessed the womb that carried you, and the breasts at which you nursed!” This world is fickle at times. One moment you are reviled and the next you are revered. I loved Jesus’ response. “Even more blessed are those who hear God’s word and guard it with their lives!” With that one statement, He validated the worthiness of His mother and her role in His life but moved the Glory of His purpose to His father, God. For me, Levi opened my eyes to the history of Israel and to the facts surrounding Jesus’ life. The words of the prophets left no wavering in my mind about the valitity of who Jesus claimed to be. And knowing that Jesus had come to heal my broken heart and to set me free from my own brand of captivity was overwhelming.”

Chapter 9

Mary stopped speaking, took a deep breath and stretched her back as she sat up more confidently on the mat. She noticed the posture of the old woman and wanting to give comfort, touched her wrinkled hand. “I can stop for a while, if you want to rest on the mat”, motioning to where she sat. “Let me sit in your chair and you sit here.” “Oh, no, dear, I’m quite comfortable here. In fact, this chair was made especially for my frame and infirmity. You continue on. I’m anxious to hear more.” Mary smiled and felt a trust for this woman, then continued on with her story.
“There were many nights that He slept little because of the people that would gather and want to hear Him speak or have Him touch them. And there were many times, that Jesus would come and sit with us women and we could see the weariness in His eyes and body. But He would still pour out more for us. To see His passion for people caused me to want to serve Him more. To follow Him anywhere.”
Mary paused, looked intently at the old woman as she began to bite on her thumb nail, not realizing how dirty it was, and dared to be brutaly honest. “Can I tell you something?” Mary said, with the shyness of a child. “Of course, dear, tell me anything. I will not judge you for your words, if that concerns you.”
“There were times that I thought I was in love with Jesus.” She paused, squinted her eyes, as if a shock of pain had run through her body, but then after the words were said, let out a deep breath as if a heavy load had been removed from her back.
“How could you not,” the old woman said in return. “I would imagine that there were many women who thought themselves in love with Jesus and possibly many who tried to act on that affection. Tell me”, the woman said, “have you reconcilled that emotion?”
“Yes, I believe I have. I don’t blame myself or any other woman for wanting to attach herself to Jesus, after all, He is the perfect man.” Mary said with slight humor. “And He did not dismiss a woman’s flirting. He was quick to remind us all of why He had come and what His purpose was. Some of the older women joked of His having ruined the image of a traditional husband with His compassion, His equality and the value He gave to women. And as time went on, and the men of the group began to emulate Jesus’ actions and sincere love for one another. The married women praised Jesus for the miracles that were happening “within” their men. We saw many people healed of diseses and afflictions, but to change a heart is a great miracle that we began to understand and to see men go from gruffness to gentleness was amazing to us women. Of course, Peter was always pointed out as being the exception, but even he had changed through the guidance and teaching of Jesus.”
“Thank you for letting me get that out in the open. I feel more confident in my genuine love for Jesus having talked that through”. Mary sighed, smiled and said. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes, along our travels, we would see Jesus feed thousands and thousands of people with just a few loaves of bread and a few fish. More people would want to join our company of believers (as we began to call ourselves). Some, to feed their hungry bellys and some, to fill their hungry lives. There were also those that wanted to be a part of something grand but when they didn’t get what they wanted out of it, they left. Those were sad moments. We would see Jesus weeping when one such person would come along with us and get tired of the way we lived in necessity or fail to get the fame they wanted, would leave. Women would do this too. They would hear about this Jesus who was becoming famous and they would follow trying to get close to Him. But Jesus would always say that He had come to do God’s will, not His own. (He seemed to have to repeat that one phrase often, when it came to the women) And God’s will was to bring the Kingdom of God to the people. I guess it is just humanity that leads us to want to be something greater than what we are. If only those who had left, had stayed long enough to understand that we were greater because of Jesus. I began to comprehend that these travels and this life meant something much more than the healing I had encountered. And every parable that Jesus taught, taught me something more about my growing relationship to God.”

Chapter 10

“There were times that we saw a different side to Jesus. He was not only compassionate with the people, but He was passionate about the lives and faith of people. As the crowds grew bigger, the religious leaders grew angrier. It seems that Jesus was taking their “flock” and turning them away from the laws and regulations of the leaders. There were many heated debates among Jesus and the religious leaders. And we could see the frustration rising in Jesus as He would very plainly admonish them. He didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, and when He spoke, there was such authority in His voice that it made the religious leaders sway a bit in their heavily garbed robes. It was as if the very sound of His voice set them off balance. It was a sight to see. I rejoiced in their discomfort for a while but then felt a surge of pity for them. They had been steeped so deeply in their religious laws and attitudes that they had no room for a relationship with God. Only duties. Jesus said that was why He was so hard on them. They knew better. They had all the knowledge of the holy scriptures, but no love. This experience along with the day we visited Martha, Mary and Lazarus taught me much about works and abiding.”
Mary relaxed, let out a giggle, then covered her mouth in rebuke to herself. “I’m sorry, this isn’t funny, it was a very important lesson for us all, but,” Mary thought a second, bobbed her head and continued, “we found it very ammusing in the end.”
“ We entered a village”, Mary began, as she jestered her hands and began with facts, “ as we continued to travel the region. A woman named Martha came directly to Jesus and invited him to her house. Taphitha and I thought this Martha was a very bold and..” Mary hesitated, pursed her lips and searched for words. “very bold and straight forward woman. Martha had a sister named Mary. Mary was quite the opposite of Martha. Now Martha was very busy handling the meal preparations for Jesus and those that accompanied Him, which was a fairly large group. Taphitha and I was privaledged to have been invited to help that day. Who would have ever believed that I would first, be invited to cook a meal for someone and second, that I would count it a privledge to do so. My, how my stubborn heart had changed. Now, Martha was a wonderfully, organized woman. On first stepping foot into her humble but VERY clean abode, I marveled at the skills this woman had for organizing an event. She was a little intense at times but only because she wanted everything to be perfect for Jesus. She had known Him for a while but was still overwhelmed to have Him in her house. Did I mention that she wanted everything to be perfect? Unfortunally, her sister, Mary, was not as organized or as helpful in the kitchen. Mary started out serving Jesus and the others some wine, but didn’t return to the kitchen after several minutes. This seemed to irrate Martha, but I sensed this was not an unusual happening. When Mary did finally return to the hot, crowded and noisy kitchen she immediately looked for something else to bring to the guest and eventually never returned. I have to say that the rest of us in the kitchen were somewhat annoyed. Martha had made plans for an elaborate dinner that needed everyone’s help and when we were shorthanded by the disappearing act of Mary, it put us all in an uproar. Martha tried to remain calm but as time went by and the kitchen grew hotter and the women’s tempers rose and the talk started becoming more and more unholy, Martha flew out of the kitchen, much like the herd of pigs that threw themselves over a cliff after Jesus commanded a legion of demons to inhabit them. I wasn’t around when that happened but the stories Peter told left an image in my mind that I thought might resemble the behavior of what was going on in Martha. She approached Jesus, cut Him off mid sentence and said; ‘Master, don’t you care that my sister has abandoned the kitchen to me? Tell her to lend me a hand.’ I froze. We could hear her voice loud and clear from where we were. Then something odd happened. It was as if my feet were being moved by unseeable forces. I found myself, along with the other helpers, peering into the room where Jesus, the honored guest, was being reprimanded by a red faced, sweaty browed woman, with her arms cocked tightly on her hips. “Martha, dear Martha”, He said. “you’re fussing far too much and getting yourself worked up over nothing. One thing only is essential, and Mary has chosen it. – it’s the main course, and won’t be taken from her.” The silence hung in that house for what seemed like an eternity. Martha marched back into the kitchen and completed the dinner in her own silence as the sound of Jesus’ voice again filled the room. I tried to keep out of the way, just in case retribution was on Martha’s mind. You could tell she was in deep thought and that her pride was brused. But as we finished our preparations, and all headed to the room to serve, we too sat and ate and listened to what Jesus said. Martha kept her head down much of the time but when she would look up at Jesus, He would smile directly at her, the warmest smile I had ever seen. And the tension in Martha seemed to visably fall away as if a veil was cascading down from her eyes to the floor beneath her. We all learned a valuable lesson that day. Work is good and even profitable. But to sit at Jesus’ feet is far better. To learn the ways of God, to learn to love others, to be kind to others. That is more important and will be rememberd far longer than what you ate for supper. None of us starved that night. There was more than enough food to fill our bellys and there was more than enough Jesus to fill our souls. I thought about the religious leaders as I sat and abided at the feet of the Master. Their hearts are as frustrated as Martha’s was because she was trying to work her way to being accepted by Jesus, as the leaders are trying to work their way to being accepted by God. The difference is that Martha took Jesus’ words to heart. She learned the essential thing. The main course.”

Chapter 11

“Thoughts of my parents and my old life would enter my mind as the company would travel on. Taphitha and I would recount the times we were all together. I had devloped a special love for Taphitha as she traveled with me among the company of believers. She too, knew nothing about God and his ways, prior to joining up with Jesus, but as time went on, she radiated a glow of love for the master. One sabbath Jesus was teaching in the meeting place. There were many people there to hear Him. Taphitha and I were there. And there was this woman. It was heart breaking to see her. She was suffering from some affiliction that caused the frame of her body to be twisted and bent over in such a painful way.” Mary stopped bluntly, realizing that the story she was about to tell this woman was in fact her story but with a much happier ending. She didn’t know if she should continue and how this woman would feel about the outcome. As Mary struggled to know what to do or say, the woman broke her concentration. “It’s ok, dear. Continue on.”
Mary continued but found that she was hesitating in her recounting. The old woman took Mary’s dirty hands into hers and motioned her head as if to say, “please continue”.
“The bent was so aggressive that she couldn’t look up. She was stooped over, not being able to see the face of Jesus. Her eyes were only able to see His feet but she could hear clearly the sound of His voice. It was amazing. She made her way to Him by following His voice. There was no other way for her to have known Jesus because of the condition of her body. But the way she looked at His feet and reacted to His voice, it was as if she were looking into His eyes. I have looked into the eyes of Jesus many times and even though many people would doubt the beauty I see in His face, it was astonishing to find the beauty this woman saw in the feet of Jesus. He laid his strong hands on her back and said; “Woman, you’re free!” With those simple words, she stood up straight. Her body perfectly alined. She looked up and saw His face for the first time and I have never before heard praises like the ones she offered up to God. Her hands were raised high above the crowds that pressed in and her voice was clear and full of joy. And the look on Jesus’ face was one of pure jublience. He lifted his own hands and joined her in her praises to God. That was the moment that I knew Jesus was not doing any of the things He had done for His own glory. He accepted no praise for Himself. It was all for God. It was a precious but short lived moment, when the meeting-place president became furious because Jesus had healed someone on the Sabbath. But Jesus shot back; “You frauds! Each Sabbath everyone of you regularly unties your cow or donkey from its stall, leads it out for water, and thinks nothing of it. So why isn’t it all right for me to untie this daughter of Abraham and lead her from the stall where Satan has had her tied these eighteen years?” The crowd cheered as they heard Jesus say these words. It’s that idea of freedom, again. Jesus had freed this woman from her twisted body and that was more important than following a law. She was more important than the law. He called her a “daughter of Abraham”. I looked over at Taphitha with an expression of victory on my face. Her face was a mirror of my own. What shocked me most was the audiacity of the meeting place president to not acknowledge the miracle that lay before his eyes. A woman was set free from a bondage and people are arguing about following rules! What has become of us that we would keep someone in chains for the sake of rules? All those there wittnessed a miracle and someone turned it into a debate. At that moment, I had to remember all the words that Jesus had taught us about loving our enemies and praying for their eyes to be opened. It was a hard walk back to the camp as I struggled with the anger that I was feeling. I am all about freedom. I always have been, even in my old life. Why couldn’t everyone else see what I so clearly saw. And heard what I so clearly heard. She was made free. But others wanted her kept bound.”
Mary had gotten herself worked up over the story that she didn’t notice the tears running down the cheek of the old woman. When Mary did pause from her memory and seeing the tears, she closed her eyes and apologized for telling the old woman the story. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you that. But why have you not come out to see Jesus. I know he could have healed you of your own affliction,” casting her eyes on the womans bent back. “I am not crying because I still carry my own affliction. I am crying over the love of my Savior. Dear Mary, my soul is whole, what does it matter what my body looks like. I too am free. Just like you, just like the woman in your story. Don’t feel pity for me, I am content in my circumstances. Now, go on.” The woman said with a bit of force and humor.
“As we walked back to the camp I was so caught up in the unfairness I saw at the meeting place, It took me quite some time to see that Taphitha was struggling with something of her own. I was assuming that she was just as angry with what had happened as I was. Until she asked a question. “Am I a daughter of Abraham, even though I was not born jewish?” I was stunned by her question and had to think a minute about where it came from. Jesus said something about being a daughter of Abraham to the crippled woman. I didn’t catch that. I was more concerned about the whole freedom issue. ‘Yes! I told her. Because, like the woman we just saw, Jesus healed us both. Me, with obvious afflictions, and you with the sweet passage of time spent listening to the Master’. It didn’t occur to me that when Jesus spoke, he spoke to all people. Taphitha heard what touched her heart the most as I did. I have wanted freedom all my life and in every situation, I find freedom a constant. As Taphitha and I walked the rest of the way home, she told me that she had always wanted to belong. She was an orphan before coming to our home to serve me. Being a daughter was what her heart desired most. And coming to know Jesus and the Heavenly Father He talks so much about filled a need in Her. But, she confided in me, she was not born Jewish, but Syrian. And how could she be a daughter of God, if she was not a daughter of Abraham. I assured her the best I could, but before I could seek counsel of other women in the group who were not Jewish, Jesus began to tell us all a story about God’s kingdom. He used a pine nut and a woman working yeast in a dough. Then a bystander asked if only a few would be saved. Jesus answered his question by stating that that wasn’t the point. He said, “Put your mind on your life with God. The way to life – to God!- is vigorous and requires your total attention. A lot of you are going to assume that you’ll sit down to God’s salvation banquet just because you’ve been hanging around the neighborhood all your lives. Well, one day you’re going to be banging on the door, wanting to get in, but you’ll find the door locked and the Master saying, ‘Sorry, you’re not on my guest list.’ “You’ll protest, ‘ But we’ve known you all our lives!’ only to be interrupted with his abrupt, ‘Your kind of knowing can hardly be called knowing. You don’t know the first thing about me.’ I knew Jesus was talking about the religious leaders and the Jews at this point, but when He continued, He spoke directly to Taphitha as evidence of the look of joy on her face.
“That’s when you’ll find yourselves out in the cold, strangers to grace. You’ll watch Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and all the prophets march into God’s kingdom. You’ll watch outsiders stream in from east, west, north and south and sit down at the table of God’s kingdom. And all the time you’ll be outside looking in – and wondering what happened. This is the Great Reversal: the last in line put at the head of the line, and the so-called first ending up last.”
“Wow, perfect timing! I looked at Taphitha with a silly grin and said, ‘I think He just answered your questions.’ As Taphitha found a home she never had, my thoughts of my father and mother flooded my mind. In all the time I had spent with them, I longed for the supposed freedom that I saw in my fathers lifestyle, while I secretly loathed my mothers submission to scripture. How truly blind I was. My mother was the one that was free while my father carried secret chains that bound him to it’s own brand of submission. While I grieved my fathers life, I was thankful for the freedom I found through Jesus, the Master and for a new kind of home to call my own.”

Chapter 12

The old woman stopped Mary before she could continue. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” Mary was a bit confused by the woman’s quick change from wanting her to continue with the story, to wanting to stop. But Mary agreeded, not wanting to be impolite. It then occurred to Mary that maybe the woman wanted her to leave. “Maybe I should go and look for the others. I don’t know where my brothers are. I’ve stayed long enough.” Mary stammered through her words. “Oh no, dear. You can’t leave yet, you’re not prepared. I’ll go get some water for you to wash with and then I’ll braid your hair.” Before Mary could protest, the old woman laboriously got up and went into another room. Mary wondered what the woman meant by not being prepared. She got up from the mat and stretched her aching limbs. She looked at her arms and legs and realized for the first time, how dirty she was. She began to try and rub the dirt off her body but found that only a good scrubing would work. The sun began to set outside the small window and Mary was astonished at the lateness of the day. Had she been talking for that long? Before she could manage another thought, the old woman walked back in the room with a large bowl of water and a cloth. Mary immediately went to help the woman as the bowl was large and water was sloshing over the edge of the bowl from the sharp movements of the woman. “Thank you dear.” The woman said. “Now you wash up while I go and fix us our evening meal.” She looked at Mary and saw a look of concern. “I insist!” As the woman began to walk away, Mary spoke up. “I don’t know your name.” The old woman never looked back or slowed her stride, she just raised a hand in wave and said, “What’s in a name?” “I’d like to know who to thank, Mary shot back with a bit of hesitation.” “Thank the God of heaven!” she shouted from out of sight. A sudden grip of fear struck Mary as she thought this all a trap of the Romans or the High Priest. The trust she had for the woman, just a few moments ago was wavering with the refusal of the womans name. As Mary stood, frozen, still holding the bowl of water, the woman came from around the corner and looked at her intently. “I am neither a friend of the Romans or the High Priest. I want to help you, not harm you. My name is Miriam. But if you don’t trust me, you are welcome to go.” Miriam moved closer into view of Mary and turned slightly to show her profile. “As you can see, I have little chance of chasing you down.” Miriam smiled and returned to her meal preparations. Mary sat hard on the mat, spilling water on her lap. She smiled at Miriams comment and began to wash her face.

Chapter 13

After the evening meal was eaten, Mary helped Miriam clean the simple earthenware. Miriam motioned for Mary to sit on the floor while Miriam sat on the mat behind her with a brush in hand. “Sit, let me see what I can do with your hair.” The gentle brushing of Mary’s hair brought back sweet memories of her mother doing the same. “Continue on with your story.” Miriam said after a few minutes.
“Because I didn’t grow up paying any attention to the ways of the jewish people, I dismissed things I had heard and seen over the years. Teachers of the jewish law were prevelent in our region and so called prophets would come and go just as the seasons would. You would hear of someone new going around preaching a message of peace while a secret revolt towards the government was being planned. Or some new prophet would arise with words that tickled the ears of the hearers while he emptied their pockets. But this message that Jesus had, it was different. A new rule, a new government was talked about and anticipated by many jews. But an earthly kingdom of kindness. Was it what everyone had thought it to be? Peter had a lot of fight in him and he and everyone else liked the healings, miracles and the confrontations with the Pharasees, but did we like the love too. When was the big fight? Where and how would the freedom come about? We all missed that one. Was it hidden from us or did we just not listen. We heard Jesus talk of stones being turned one upon another and then there were words of giving generously of your time, your love, your possessions and even your own life. Excitement was all around us. What we didn’t understand, we trusted to be made clear. A teacher, a prophet, a leader of a different kind, a Messiah? Which one was Jesus or was He all of them? And would He be like the teachers before Him. Would His message last. Would it stand the test of time and the government at hand. Was Jesus like so many others, would He tire and give up the freedom fight? The others, did they really want to fight for freedom, or did they want something for themselves. Fame, money. Whatever they had wanted, they didn’t get, because they didn’t perservere in their message. But this message of hope and change from Jesus ushered in a new season. “Be different in how you act, not just on the outside, but on the inside.” The Pharasees had mastered the outward appearances but the inward, where God saw everything, that is where the change begins. Repentence was shouted by John the Baptist. A new life, a new attitude. A new hope was shown by Jesus. The miracles were amazing, but the words of forgiveness and the love of people were where the real excitement held us all. To be physically healed was one thing, but to be made complete, inwardly, to experience hope in freedom from the bound up laws was overwhelming. It was as if our souls were alive for the first time. They had been in a deep trance as we walked through our ordinary days, but when we experienced life with Jesus, our hearts beat steady as if we had been born a new. Our inward souls seemed to leap within us and call out in joyous reaction at the name of Jesus. What our eyes couldn’t see, our hearts did. What our minds couldn’t understand, our souls knew well. And it was as though all of creation around us was trying to break forth in a song that only it knew. Jesus said that the stones would cry out if we didn’t and I believe they would have. The hope of a different world hovered over our seemingly mundane lives and we could not contain our joy in mere words. For me, this was a possession of a different kind. The God kind. And when doubt would try and sneak into my mind, my soul would drive it out. There was no room for anything false in me any longer. This new kingdom was where I wanted to be. And the evenings when we would gather around the fire and sing hyms. There were a few among us that were blessed with beautiful voices but it didn’t matter. We all joined in singing praises to God for His mercy, His provision, His protection and His chosen one, Jesus. There were those who would spill tears of joy as they sang words that reminded them of their heritage. There were some that didn’t sing at all. Maybe they were overwhelmed by the words and couldn’t will their voices to join in with what their heart was feeling, or maybe they didn’t understand yet what other had come to know about who Jesus was. There were a few times when I had to walk away from the voices and find a place alone. My tears were a mixture of sweet and bitter. I would begin to sing and feel as though I were the most beautiful woman in the world, the most adored girl that a father ever had. But no sooner did the joy of belonging to God come, did the accusing voice in my head also come. Bitter words would force themselves into my mind, reminding me of who I was and what I had done in my not so distant past. It was bad enough that there were always rumors circulating about why Jesus would surround himself with women of questionable character. And even within the company of believers, there was a sense of jelousy among some with how much time Jesus would spend with his disciples, individually, or with us women. But what brought the bitter tears to my eyes was that I wanted so much to be pleasing to God and to follow all of what Jesus taught, but I felt like such a failure at times. I had never wanted to hear about God. I laughed at the thought of judgement and I mocked all the holiness of a loving Father. And yet I found myself among the closest friends of Jesus, Son of Man. How did I get here? How did I ever deserve this position? How did any of us? Was it the weight of my past that drove me from the sweetness of praise or was it the condeming voice of Satan trying to bind me again”.
Mary paused, grabbed one of Miriams hands that had been gently brushing her hair, but had stopped with the concentration on Mary’s words. “Oh, Miriam,” Mary turned slightly and looked into Miriams face. “What happened next confirmed any doubt in my mind about who Jesus says He is.”
“ I found a place in the darkness and sat against a tree, purging my tears and trying not to let my doubts take full reign in my mind. I remembered Jesus teaching us how to pray. I recited the words; “Our Father in heaven, reveal who you are. Set the world right; do whats best – as above, so below. Keep us alive with three square meals. Keep us forgiven with you and forgiving others. Keep us safe from ourselves and the Devil. You’re in charge! You can do anything you want! You’re ablaze in beauty! Yes. Yes. Yes”; Keep us safe from ourselves and the Devil. I thought about that. I am my worst enemy at times. I can do more damage than the Devil can. I heard a noise behind me and started. It was Jesus. He didn’t say a word. He just sat down next to me and put His arm across my shoulder. My tears began to flow again as I leaned against Him and told Him of my struggle. I can’t put words together to explain those moments I sat being sheltered in the arms of Jesus. But He sang words over me that I had never heard before and in a language I have yet to hear. And I felt the warmth of His tears as they fell from His eyes onto the brow of my forhead. If there were ever drops of love that could be visable or hand felt, that is what was falling onto my head. Drops of love. And all my doubts and fears vanished as I sat and experienced the love of my Savior. He did not remind me of my past nor scold me for my struggles. He loved me right where I was, and when I got up and walked away, I rejoiced because it was then that I realized that I had been with the King of Kings.”

Chapter 14

Miriam began to speak in a language that was somewhat familiar to Mary but didn’t understand. Miriams hand released from Mary’s as she raised both as high as her bent body could allow and continued in what Mary believed to be her own Praises to God. After Miriam finished her praise, she looked at Mary. Mary’s eyes filled with tears as she sat staring at Miriam. She blinked and caught sight of Miriam, her eyes also glistening with tears as a smile mirrored her own. Mary wondered at her expression. It was as if she had been there with Mary and Jesus, watching and experiencing the same moment. Miriam breathed in deeply and let out her breath. Mary examined her for a moment. “Did you ever meet Jesus?” she asked. “No.” Miriam said. “I was among many who followed and listened, but never spoke to Him. There were so many others who seemed desperate for healings that stretched beyond their mortal bodies. They held an emptiness that I couldn’t fathom. I saw from a distance and believed in who He says He is.” Miriam pressed her wrinkled fist to her chest. “My heart was secure in His diety. So many people were lost. So many more than me, needed His touch. But to hear from you, who loves Him as much as I have loved Him. Mary, you have taken me to a place that my broken body couldn’t go but my mind and heart can soar to. Don’t be sorry for me. Freedom can be found in the most broken and painful of places.” Mary was surprised by the words of this woman. No thought for her own condiditon.
Miriam had sacrificed her physical health for the spiritual health of others. How Mary wished this precious woman had been in the company of believers.
Sacrifice! Marys thoughts brought her back to a time when she witnessed the cost of sacrifice. She gently pulled the old womans hand from her chest and held it between both her hands.
“Now that we’ve gotten your hair done, let’s see what we can do about your clothes. You want to be beautiful in the morning. I believe I have something you can change into.” Miriam said, as she got up, and left the room once again.
“Where am I going?”, Mary asked. “Tell me another story”, Miriam said, ignoring Mary’s question.
Mary, not wanting to be rude, got up and attemped to sit in Miriams chair so she could rest comfortably on the mat. The chair that had been made to accommodate the bend in Miriams back protruded and sunk in all the wrong places on Marys frame. Miriam came back in the room holding a folded garment in her hand and laughing at the twisted form of Mary as she tried to find a comfortable position in her chair. Mary jumped up, apologized and then broke out into a bit of laughter herself. As Miriam handed the garment to Mary and sat down in the chair, Mary was amazed at how well the chair fit her. It curved in the precise angle that her back bulged. To look at the chair, it seemed as if it were made by mistake, but to see Miriam in it, it was a perfection in craftsmanship.

Chapter 15

“Let’s hear a few more stories before it gets to late,” Miriam said as she leaned over to light a small oil lamp.
“We were somewhere, some town. I can’t remember all the places, but I remember the people. There was this man. A wealthy young man. He was dressed in the finest clothes I had seen in a while. He had several servants accompanying him and he rode on a beautiful Stallion. His manner spoke of position and fortune, and he was very handsome. So much so that some of the young women in our company wished him to stay and travel with us. Even in the midst of revolution, the basics of love and life carry on. I can’t deny how marvelous this young man was to look at, but past his dark smokey eyes, lay a saddness that spoke many words he didn’t need to say. I watched him as he purposely sought out Jesus. This young man had a mission. He had questions that he knew only the Master could answer and he pressed on as he caught sight of Jesus. He made no introductions of himself. He very pointedly asked “Good Teacher, what must I do to deserve eternal life?” Jesus said. “Why are you calling me good? No one is good – only God. You know the commandments, don’t you? No illicit sex, no killing, no stealling, no lying, honor your father and mother.” He said, “I’ve kept them all for as long as I can remember.” When Jesus heard that, he said. “Then there’s only one thing left to do; sell everything you own and give it away to the poor. You will have riches in heaven. Then come, follow me.” The young man became very sad as some of the young women became very hopeful. But he was quite rich and I assumed that that caused his countenance to fall. Seeing his reaction, Jesus said. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is for people who have it all to enter God’s kingdom? I’d say it’s easier to thread a camel through a needle’s eye than get a rich person into God’s kingdom.” I understood the young man’s struggle. To have everything yet to feel so alone. I guess the difference between us was that he had kept the commandments when I refused to believe they even existed. But just as bitterness held me where I was bound for so long, possessions seemed to hold this young man in chains. I wonder if this young man had thought that if you follow the rules, you could keep the bounty. It wasn’t that Jesus wanted the things he had or that the young man had to live completely poor. Others in our company had money. So what was it that made this man so sad. Was it his security in the fortune he had or was it in following the laws of God. He had all he wanted but didn’t understand that the best of it all was free. What Jesus offered him was something beyond wealth, intelligence or following the rules. That’s when I learned there was more to God’s kingdom than being kind to others, loving our neighbors, or following the laws. It requied sacrifice. Something this young man was not willing to do.”

Chapter 16

“It was sometime after that that Jesus would go off praying by himself, as He did so often, His disciples nearby. He asked them a question. “What are the crowds saying about me, about who I am?” One of the disciples said, “John the Baptizer. Other say Elijah. Still others say that one of the prophets from long ago has come back.” Then Jesus asked them. “And you-what are you saying about me? Who am I?” Peter, the most outspoken man I have ever met, proudly declares, “The Messiah of God.” I think he might have even surprised himself with his answer, but he said it and didn’t back down from it. Peter lived in the moment most of the time. His new passion for righteouness would often colide with his strong self-centered will and old ways. He had such zeal. If anyone of the disciples were carrying a sword, it would be Peter. There were a few times that Jesus had to admonish Peter for his unruly tongue but the boldness that Peter showed towards the things of God seemed to bring joy to Jesus. To speak and not care who hears or what judgement may come was a quality that I admired in Peter and I think Jesus did also. Peter was always ready for a battle. He did believe that Jesus was the Messiah. After Peter’s declaration, Jesus warned them to keep quiet about what was just said. Then He said that the Son of Man would suffer and die and be raised up alive. And that we should expect to suffer also. “Don’t run from suffering; embrace it” He said. “Follow me and I’ll show you how. Self-help is no help at all. Self-sacrifice is the way, my way, to finding yourself, your true self. What good would it do to get everything you want and lose you, the real you?” These words left us all baffled. I think everyone was afraid to ask what they meant, so we said nothing. But we all thought about it, a lot. You could see everyone moving through the camp, going about their duties, with a strange look on their face. Like a question mark hung over their heads. What does it mean? Is Jesus the Son of Man, the Messiah? Why would he die? How is revolution accomplished in death? And arise? But who will raise Jesus up from the dead if He is the one in the tomb? My life changed during those days. It was as if I had been walking down a road that was pleasant and comfortable. I felt so complete when I was around Jesus. My life having a purpose, which was to serve Him and to help others. But the same road was leading me down a narrow way that I was unsure of. I enjoyed seeing people healed and fed both physically and spiritually. I looked forward to the debates that Jesus would have with various people of high standings. I loved being a part of something bigger than myself. But suffering? Death? I had come to believe that Jesus was the Son of God, the Messiah, as Peter so boldly put it. I said I would follow Him anywhere and do anything that would bring Glory to God. But suffering and death? How would that bring freedom and peace to God’s people? There were so many questions in my mind. In all of our minds. Jesus went about doing what He had always done. He spent His energy and His love on helping others. As our hearts seemed to slow a bit with the confusing talk of death and suffering, Jesus’ passion seemed to drive Him harder and His words, stronger and more passionate than ever. His times of prayer were more intense and His parables more poinent.”

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.”

Chapter 18

Miriam began her own story. “Even though I maried young, it was many years before I was able to bear a child. And ten years ago I watched her marry and leave our village. Shortly after, my husband died and my body began to change rapidly. One day I felt a stiffness in my back, the next, a small lump and over the years, this.” Miriam twisted her body towards Mary. “I looked forward to the times that my daughter and her husband would visit but wept bitterly as they would exit the city gates.” Miriam paused, fought back tears and continued on.
“When my daughter came on her next visit she held such excitement in her voice. She was traveling through Nazareth and met a man named Joseph. He was a carpenter. She said his workmanship was the finest she had ever seen. She told this Joseph about my condition and asked if he could make a chair that would be comfortable for me to sit in. Joseph said that he and his eldest son would create something comfortable and beautiful. On her next visit, my daughter brought me this chair.” Miriam stopped to run her frail hands over the smooth texture of the wood. “You should have seen the looks they got as they carried this odd shapped fixture through the city on the back of a mule. People didn’t know what to think of it. But my daughter and her husband proudly unleashed the chair from its’ carrier and set it outside the house for all to see. They wisked me up and into the chair to test its strength and function. I was a little scepticle and nervous at first, but when I sat in this chair, everything changed. My body contured to the bends of the wood. And as time has gone by and my back has protruded, the chair has adapted. When I sit in it, the weight is lifted. Rest and comfort seems odd when you see me sit here, but this chair relieves and soothes all pain. A few years ago, as I began to notice how unique this chair was, I asked my daughter about the carpenter who made it. She confessed to me that the father, Joseph hadn’t made the chair, but his eldest son had. Even though my daughter seemed jublient when she presented me with the chair, she had praised the workings of Joseph so much that she didn’t want me to know that it wasn’t made by his hands but by the son. It seems that when my daughter was telling Joseph about my condition, the son was listening and asked his father if he could make the chair himself. Do you know the son’s name?” Miriam asked a sleepy Mary.
“Jesus,” Mary said with eyes closed and a soft smile.
“Yes.”

Chapter 19

Early the next morning, while it was still quite dark, Miriam woke Mary.
“Mary, dear, it’s time for you to go. Get dressed quickly and go to the tomb.”
Mary jumped up when Miriam said the word tomb. She quickly dressed in the dark room as she tried to remember what the other women had told her about where they were to lay Jesus’ body. Joseph of Arimathea had given up his own burial tomb for Jesus. A borrowed tomb, Mary thought. She remembered Jesus saying once that the birds of the air have nest and the fox’s have holes, but the Son of Man has no where to lay His head. Or His body. She made her way through the dark to a small lamp by the door where Miriam was waiting for her with bread.
“Go quickly my dear and don’t doubt. Go with rememberance.” With that, she opened the door and gently but firmly presssed Mary on.
The darkness hung like a heavy veil on Mary as she made her way through the streets and to the outskirts of the city where the tombs were. The night was quiet and peaceful. It seemed like the world had continued on as if nothing had happened just a few days ago. Mary wondered how people could forget so easily and return to the past rhythm of their lives. Would she ever feel at peace again.
As Mary found her way to the tomb, she noticed that the large stone that lay before it had been moved. She stood frozen for a moment, squinted her eyes against the darkness and looked around wondering if she was in the wright place. No, she knew this was the tomb. She backed away, frightenend, not knowing what to do. Had someone stolen Jesus’ body? And why would they do that? Who would do such a thing? She stood trying to think of what to do and where to go. Peter, John, the other disciples. They would know what to do. She ran as fast as she could back into the city and to where Simon Peter and the others were staying before all this began. She banged on the door as she panted and tried to let the morning air fill her lungs. She was shaking and her mind was racing from the myrid of thoughts that began to cloud her judgement and oppress her rememberance of Jesus. She tried to push away the doubts as she banged harder and harder on the door. ‘They’re probably sound asleep,’ she said outloud as she thought of an earlier time that they were reprimanded by Jesus for such an act. She could hear Peter’s rough voice from inside as he headed toward the door. He threw open the door and yelled words Mary hadn’t heard from him before. She jumped back thinking he might attempt a swing of his hand to go along with his language. When he saw her, he stopped short of his next word and pulled her inside the house.
“What are you doing here, Mary? It’s over, go home.” He turned and walked away from her.
“Peter, they’ve taken Jesus out of the tomb and I don’t know what they’ve done with Him.” Her voice was desperate and loud enough to create a stiring in the house. Peter turned back toward her, rubbed his bearded face a moment and yelled for John to get up, get a sword and follow him.
The three walked quickly and silently back to the tomb. Peter’s stride was one of waging a war, while John and Mary were more concerned about robbers and what they could have done with Jesus’ body. All three held their own brand of failure to the master as they walked the dark road to where death made its home. Peter was remembering his denial of Jesus, John, his inward demons and Mary, her doubts. Mary noticed that even though Peter commanded that John bring a sword, their hands were empty. It was typical of John to think more clearly than some of the other disciples. His age didn’t always match his wisdom.
John sprinted ahead as they got closer to the tomb. Mary was happy for a man to take the lead and Peter was busy lost in his own thoughts to venture a contest with John. John stopped at the entrance of the tomb and stooping down to look in, he saw the linen cloths that had been wrapped on Jesus’ body, lying there, as the first peeks of daylight were streaming into the cavern. But John didn’t go in. He stood and waited for Peter. Peter did not hesitate to walk right into the tomb. He also noticed the wrappings lying on the floor, but the handkerchief that had been around Jesus’ head was folded and laid aside. John then walked inside with Peter and they both examined what they saw with great intensity. The two men were silent as they each grappled with their own thoughts. John’s mind began to recall Jesus’ words of resurrection, but Peter, his pride and heart still brusied from his deniel, walked out of the tomb and went back to his home. John followed him. Neither men spoke with Mary as they walked past her. She stood in shock of their reactions to the empty tomb.
She stood outside the tomb, weeping, not knowing what to do. Where to go. She slowly kneeled down to look into the tomb, wanting to know what John and Peter saw. She drew in a quick breath as she gasped at the sight of two men in white. There was a stone table hewn out of the rock where a body would lay. One of the men was sitting where the head would be and the other where the feet would be. Then they spoke to her in unison.
“Woman, why do you weep?”
“They took my Master, and I don’t know where they put him.” Mary said with a trembling voice to match her shaking body. Her mind was a fury of thoughts. Why would these men take Jesus’ body and why were they so brilliant in their appearance. Could her mind be playing tricks on her. Was she hallucinating. She had seen visions before when she was in a drug induced state, but she had never seen anything like this. She turned her head and saw someone standing behind her. She assumed it was another man dressed in white. She began to cry more with the confussion surrounding her. She just wanted to know where Jesus was. She just wanted her master. The man behind her asked the same question the two men in the tomb asked.
“Woman, why do you weep? Who are you looking for?”
She stood up, turned and walked toward the man in a posture of desperation and plea.
“Mister, if you took Him, tell me where you put him so I can care for Him.” Her voice broke as the words fell from her mouth. She didn’t know how she could possibly carry the weight of his dead body on her own but she knew she needed to be with her Savior. She fell to the ground, weeping as she had when Jesus was hanging on the cross. Her life seemed over. Her master was gone, stolen by robbers. What could they possibly want from Jesus’s body. He had nothing, possessed nothing. She was mumbling as her face and hands were buried in the dirt.
“Please, please, Jesus. Please don’t leave me. Please come back. I want to see you, I want to hear you. I need you.”
“Mary!”
With the one word, all fear was gone, all hope was restored and Mary’s mind was clear again. The voice of her Savior was calling her name!