What could it be? she wondered. Easa’s reputation as a great healer had grown across Israel these last three years. He was renowned and honored for it among the people. And lately it appeared effortless for him. The healing power of God poured through Easa with an ease that was joyous to behold.
Hadn’t Easa healed her own brother when the doctors of Bethany had declared him dead? The previous year, Mary and Easa had hurried from Galilee after receiving word from Martha that Lazarus was gravely ill. But the journey had taken longer than anticipated, and by the time they arrived, Lazarus was cloaked with the stench of death. It was too late, they had all feared. While Easa’s powers of healing were indeed astonishing, he had never raised anyone from the dead. It was too much to ask of any man, messiah or no.
But Easa entered Martha’s house with Mary and told both women to hold tight to their faith and pray with him. Then he entered the chamber of Lazarus alone and began to pray over the dead man.
Easa came out from the chamber and looked into the pale faces of Mary and Martha. He smiled reassurance at them before turning toward the room. “Lazarus, dear brother, arise from your bed and greet your wife and sister who have prayed with such love for you to return to us.”
Martha and Mary watched with astonishment as Lazarus emerged slowly through the door. He was pale and weak, but very much alive.
There was a celebration throughout Bethany that night as word spread of the miraculous raising of Lazarus from the dead. The ranks of Nazarene followers swelled as Easa’s good works became legendary throughout the land. He continued his path of healing, pausing at the Jordan River near Jericho to baptize new followers in the way that John had taught. The crowds that assembled for baptism were huge, causing the Nazarenes to stay longer than anticipated on the banks of the Jordan.
The fact that Easa had taken up John’s mantle was popular with many of the moderates who were praying he was truly their messiah. Herod Antipas, the tetrarch of Galilee, himself had proclaimed that in Easa he saw the spirit of the Baptizer living again. But not everyone was pleased by these developments. Herod’s endorsement of Easa was not well received by John’s more devoted followers as well as the most extreme of the Essene ascetics. They quietly cursed Easa for usurping John’s position. But their most deadly ire wasn’t directed at the Nazarene man; it was for the Nazarene woman.
The next day at the river, Mary Magdalene fell to the ground, clutching her stomach. She quickly became violently ill as her followers gathered around her. Easa ran to her side immediately upon hearing that his wife had fallen.
The Great Mary was present with them at this time, and she too attended to Mary Magdalene. She watched her daughter-in-law carefully, gauging her symptoms and nursing her gently. She turned to her son. “I have seen this before,” she said gravely. “This is not a natural illness.”
Easa nodded his understanding. “Poison.”
The Great Mary confirmed her son’s assessment and added, “Not just any poison. See how her legs are paralyzed? She cannot move her lower body at all, and her insides are set to come out with her retching. This is an Eastern poison, called the poison of the seven devils. It is named for the seven deadly ingredients that it contains. It kills, and it does so slowly and painfully. There is no antidote for it. You shall have to work with God to save your wife, my son.”
The Great Mary cleared the area to create peace and privacy for Easa to work the healing on his wife. Easa held her hands and prayed there, prayed until he felt the poison evaporating from her body and the flush of health returning to her. While Easa performed the work of God, his disciples set out to determine who had poisoned Mary Magdalene.
The culprit was never discovered. They assumed that a fanatic follower of John had arrived at the Jordan disguised as a convert and had slipped the deadly poison to a trusting Mary. From that day forward Mary Magdalene was very careful not to drink or eat in public unless she knew exactly where the food had come from. She spent the rest of her eventful life under attack from those who despised or envied her.
Easa’s healing of Mary Magdalene from the poison of the seven devils spread as one of the great legends of the Nazarene’s ministry. Like so many elements of Mary Magdalene’s history, this event, too, would be misconstrued and used against her.
Mary’s memories were interrupted by a cry in the courtyard. It was Judas, and he was desperately looking for Easa. Mary rushed out to him. “What is it?”
“My niece, the daughter of Jairus.” Judas was panting and out of breath. He ran all the way from within the eastern walls to get to Easa. “It may be too late, but I need him. Where is he?”
Mary led him to where the men were meeting in Joseph’s house. Easa saw the agitation on Judas’ face and rose immediately to greet him. Judas explained breathlessly that his niece had been struck with a fever that was afflicting the children of Jerusalem and its boundaries. Many were dying. By the time Judas heard the news and got to Jairus, the doctors were already saying it was too late. Because of his position in the Temple and his closeness to Pontius Pilate, Jairus had access to the finest doctors. Judas knew that if these physicians had given up then the girl would likely be dead by now. Still, he had to try.
Judas had more softness in his heart than he allowed others to see. And as a man who had rejected the path of family life for the way of a revolutionary, he had grown to adore his nieces and nephews. Twelve-year-old Smedia, the child who was ill, was his favorite.
Easa saw Judas’ fear and anguish over losing this child and looked over at Mary Magdalene. “Are you able to travel tonight?”
She nodded. Of course she would go. There would be a grieving mother in this house, and Mary would be there to support the woman in any way possible.
“We will go now,” Easa said simply. He never hesitated, as Mary knew he would not. It did not matter what the hour, it did not matter how tired Easa may have been. He would never refuse a person in true need of him.
Judas followed them out, giving Mary a long look of gratitude as they left. It warmed her to see it. Perhaps Judas will come around to The Way more completely in his heart this night, she thought, the hope very great in her spirit.
Jairus’ position in the community was a unique one. He was a Pharisee and a leader in the Temple, but he was also the special envoy to the procurator. As such he met weekly with Pontius Pilate to discuss the affairs of Rome as they related to a smooth and peaceful relationship with the Temple and the Jerusalem Jews.
Jairus had developed a bond with Pilate, and the two of them would argue politics for hours at a time. Rachel, the wife of Jairus, accompanied him to the Fortress Antonia and spent these hours with Pilate’s wife, Claudia Procula. The friendship between Rachel and Claudia grew despite their innate differences. Claudia was a Roman woman of immense stature in her own right. Not only was she the wife of the procurator of Palestine, she was the granddaughter of one Caesar and the favored foster daughter of another. In contrast, Rachel was a Jewish woman from one of Israel’s noble families. But these women of differing backgrounds came together in their commonality as wives of powerful men and, most of all, as mothers.
Rachel’s daugher Smedia came often to the Fortress Antonia with her mother. Smedia loved to play in the elegant rooms, and as the girl got older Claudia allowed her access to her lotions and cosmetics. At twelve, she was on the way to developing into a beautiful young woman.
Claudia held a special warmth for Smedia as the girl had been a kind playmate to her own child, Pilo. The seven-year-old son of Pontius Pilate and Claudia Procula, Pilo was a mystery to most of Jerusalem. There were few who were even aware that Pilate had a son. The deformity of Pilo’s twisted left leg limited his activity and he was confined to the fortress. Pilate did not announce his son to the world as he knew this boy would never grow into a soldier; he would never follow in his father’s footsteps as a procurator of Rome. A child born into such obvious displeasure of the gods was a bad omen.
But Claudia saw
a side of Pilate that others did not. She knew how he wept for the boy in those darkest hours when he thought no one could see or hear. Pilate had spent half of their fortune on expensive doctors from Greece, limb straighteners from India, and healers of every description. Each of these sessions ended with Pilo in tears of pain and frustration. Claudia held the boy as he sobbed himself to sleep; his father stormed out of the fortress for long hours and stayed away from both of them each time this happened.
Young Smedia had infinite patience with the boy, and she would sit with him for hours, telling him stories and singing him songs. Claudia smiled to herself as she watched them out of the corner of her eye while working on embroidery with Rachel. What would Pilate say if he heard his child singing in Hebrew? But Pilate was rarely here in her quarters, and she knew they would not have to worry about such a thing.
It was on one of these visits that Claudia Procula first heard of Easa, the Nazarene. Rachel was positively enamored of this man and his deeds. She regaled Claudia with the stories of Easa’s healings and his miracles. Rachel’s husband, Jairus, would not allow her to rhapsodize of the Nazarene — he was considered something of an adversary of Jonathan Annas and Caiaphas. Those men considered Easa to be a renegade who was disrespectful of Temple authority. Jairus could not be seen to have anything to do with this man.
And yet Jairus’ cousin, Judas, was now one of Easa’s elect followers. This was sometimes awkward for Jairus, but so far he was balancing it very well. And Rachel was delighted as she now had more firsthand accounts of Nazarene miracles.
“You should take Pilo to see this Easa,” Rachel said one day.
Claudia’s eyes grew cloudy with regret. “How can I? My husband would never allow us to be seen in the company of a traveling Nazarene preacher. It would be unseemly.”
Rachel did not mention it again out of sensitivity to her friend. But Claudia never stopped thinking about it. Then Smedia was struck with the terrible wasting fever, and it was only a few days later that Pilo fell ill with it as well.
The mourning throngs were already crowded around the city home of Jairus. Families attached to the Temple and the many citizens of Jerusalem who had been touched by Jairus and Rachel came out to show support. Smedia, their beloved daughter, was dead.
Judas pushed through the crowd, moving urgently toward the home of his cousin. Easa and Mary followed close behind him, Easa grasping her hand tightly so as not to lose his diminutive wife in the crowd. Andrew and Peter followed behind them as extra protection. It was obvious to the arriving Nazarenes that the child had succumbed to her fever, but they were not deterred. They pressed on and into the house of Jairus.
At the Fortress Antonia, Pontius Pilate and Claudia Procula had been given a death sentence for their only child. The doctors had given up. There was no more they could do for the child; besides, wasn’t he weak to begin with? Pontius Pilate left the room without a word and closeted himself for the rest of the night with his stoic philosophers. He had to come to terms with this loss in his own Roman way.
Claudia was left alone with the withering Pilo. She held him in his bed and cried softly that her sweet, brave boy was dying. This was how the Greek slave found her mistress as he entered the room.
“My poor boy is leaving us,” Claudia said softly. “What will we do? What will I do without him?”
The slave rushed to the side of his mistress. “My Lady, I come bearing news from the home of Rachel and Jairus. These are tidings of great sadness, but perhaps they are draped in greater hope. The lovely Smedia has died.”
“No!” Claudia cried. Certainly this was all too much to bear. What justice was there when such a beautiful girl as Rachel’s daughter had departed the world, perhaps on the same night as her beloved son?
“But wait, Lady, for there is more. Rachel bid me tell you that the Nazarene healer, Easa, will come to their home tonight. Even if it is too late for Smedia, it may not be too late for Pilo.”
Claudia had little time to consider the consequences. Pilo was clearly on his last breaths. “Bundle him up. Let’s get him to the chariot. Quickly, please go quickly.”
The Greek, who was also a tutor for the boy and loved him greatly, wrapped Pilo gently and carried him to the chariot, with Claudia running behind them. She did not stop to leave word with Pilate, but didn’t think he would notice she was gone. Besides, she was perfectly capable of making such an important decision on her own. Wasn’t she herself the granddaughter of a Caesar?
Pilo held on, still breathing as the Greek and his mother held him. Claudia was heavily veiled, not wanting to appear obviously imperial upon arriving at the home of a Jewish family in mourning. The Greek slave drove the chariot as far as he could take it in the crowd, then abandoned it to help his mistress and the child make their way through the mass of people. It was difficult. Beyond the mourners, word had spread that the miracle-working messiah from Galilee was on his way, and the streets were filling with the curious as well as the faithful. But the little party from the Fortress Antonia was determined, and pushed until they reached the vestibule door.
“We would see Rachel, the wife of Jairus,” the Greek slave announced. “Please tell Rachel that it is her dear friend, Claudia.”
The door opened, but they were not readily admitted. Judas stood guard at the inside door. He told the exterior guard that no observers would be allowed in the room until Easa had left. Judas wanted no witnesses, and this was for Easa’s protection. Jairus was a Pharisee, and there were others from the Temple surrounding the house waiting to see what would transpire — others who were not friendly to the Nazarene mission. If Easa was unable to raise Smedia, they would condemn him as a fake. If he was successful in his efforts, they could claim witchcraft or trickery of some sort, a charge that would damage not only Easa but Jairus — and an eyewitness account of such a charge by a Pharisee with an agenda could carry a death penalty. The safest course of action was to keep witnesses out of the room, other than the immediate family.
Claudia Procula heard only Judas’ curt “No visitors yet” instruction. But as the door opened, she had a glimpse of the activity in the room. She saw Smedia on her deathbed, white and lifeless in the thick incense. Rachel sat at her side, holding the still hand of her child, head bowed in surrender to excruciating grief. A woman in the red veil of a Nazarene priestess stood beside Rachel, a tower of strength and compassion in the tragic setting. Jairus, a man Claudia had known as proud and strong, was collapsed in a heap on the floor at the feet of Easa the Nazarene. He was begging the Nazarene to heal his daughter.
Later, when everything from that night had settled, Claudia spoke of her first vision of Easa. “I have never felt like that before,” she said. “Seeing him filled me with a sense of calm, as though I was in the presence of love and light itself. Even in that brief moment, I knew what he was — that he was more than human, that we were all blessed for eternity to be in his presence even for those few seconds.”
The door did not close as Claudia had anticipated. Judas was attending to the grief-stricken Jairus, and the external guard was too fascinated by the proceedings to be effective. Claudia watched with utter fascination as Easa moved to the side of the bed. He looked at the woman in red, who Claudia would learn later was his wife, Mary Magdalene, then put his hands on Rachel’s shoulders. He whispered something into her ear that no one else could hear, but for the first time Rachel lifted her head. Then Easa bent over the child and kissed her forehead. He took Smedia’s hand in both of his and closed his eyes to pray. After a long and silent minute when no one in the room took a breath, Easa turned to Smedia and said, “Arise, child.”
Claudia did not recall everything that happened next. It was like a strange dream that is never remembered quite the same way twice. The child, Smedia, stirred very slowly at first, but then sat up and cried for her mother. Rachel and Jairus screamed as they ran to embrace their daughter. At some stage Claudia fell to her knees, just as the crowd surged forward. There was c
haos from the mob around the house. There were cheers as followers of the Nazarene and friends of the family celebrated the miracle of Smedia’s resurrection. But there were jeers and hisses as well, from Pharisees and opponents of the Nazarene who yelled out his blasphemy and called him a black magician.
Claudia was in a panic. She and the Greek had been pushed out of the doorway and were being carried away by the surging crowd. Pilo was desperately ill, and she knew he might die here on the steps of Jairus’ house. It had been risky, even cruel, to bring Pilo out here when he could have drawn his last breaths in the comfort of his own bed. And now it looked futile. The Nazarene was being ushered out by his followers, and Claudia could not reach him.
But as all hope was draining from Claudia, she saw Mary Magdalene stop in the crowd. Something happened between the two of them then, the mystical communication between mothers in difficult times. Their eyes locked for a long moment, and then Mary’s gaze moved to the child in the Greek’s arms. Silently, Mary placed her hand on Easa’s shoulder. He stopped, turning to see what Mary was asking of him. Easa’s eyes met Claudia’s for a brief moment and he smiled at her then, an expression of pure hope and light. Claudia was never able to say how long this lasted as she was distracted by the voice of her son shouting for her.
“Mama! Mama!” Pilo squirmed in the arms of the Greek. “Put me down!”
Claudia could see the color returning to Pilo’s face. He appeared healthy and strong again. In less than an instant, the dying son of Pilate and Claudia had been completely restored. And there was more. As the child’s feet touched the ground, it was apparent to both Claudia and the Greek that Pilo’s leg was no longer twisted. He walked to her, straight and strong. “Look, Mama! I can walk!”
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