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.