by Joan Wolf
Martha and I led him to Lazarus’ room. When we moved to accompany him inside, he held up one hand. “I will go alone.”
Martha and I looked at each other, nodded agreement, and remained in the hallway while he disappeared into the suffering silence within.
Once the door had closed, Martha and I heard nothing from within. We stood together, not speaking but silently praying for Lazarus.
At last the door opened, and Lazarus himself stood before us. His fine brown hair was ruffled, and he looked pale, but he was smiling.
“You’re better!” Martha cried joyously.
“Jesus of Nazareth healed me,” Lazarus said and opened his arms to embrace her.
I looked over my brother’s shoulder to the man still inside the room. “Thank you, Master. With all my heart, I thank you.”
He nodded. “Perhaps next time you will trust me, Mary.”
My mouth fell open in astonishment as I remembered my moment of doubt. Those eyes kept watching me. I said, “I will, Master. I will never doubt you again.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Martha invited Jesus to stay for something to eat and drink. He accepted, and I showed him and my brother and sister into one of the small salons off the atrium and asked Elisabeth to serve food and wine.
In simple, subdued words, Lazarus told Jesus the story of his headaches. When he finished, Jesus smiled. I had never seen him smile before; it transformed his face. He said, “The headaches will not trouble you again.”
Lazarus’ eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You have changed my life, Master. Whatever you ask of me I will do with all my heart.”
Jesus nodded and sipped his wine. “I will remember that.”
“One thing you should know,” Lazarus said with urgency. “You have enemies, Master. Many priests, scribes, and Pharisees are speaking out against you. Some of what they say could be dangerous. One of our local Pharisees calls you a ‘spawn of Satan.’”
Jesus’ eyes narrowed. “They are my enemies because they reject the truth. The scribes, the Pharisees, the priests of the Temple, they are all hypocrites, loving the honor and plunder of their positions while they ignore the judgment of God. They may look clean on the outside, like well-kept graves, but inside they are full of rottenness and decay.”
I thought of Ezra bar Matthias here in Capernaum and the way he had looked at me. I thought of all the priests in the Temple collecting their money, and I said heatedly, “What you say is true, Master. The Temple has become nothing but a treasure chest for the priests and scribes; and the Pharisees, who are supposed to be examples of God’s law, are nothing but arrogant hypocrites. They know nothing about the truth of God!”
Lazarus and Martha stared at me, shock in their eyes. Jesus merely lifted his eyebrows and asked gently, “What do you think is the truth of God, Mary?”
“You showed us the answer today, Master, with your story of the traveler who was beaten and left on the road. The priest crossed to the other side because the man might be dead, and touching the dead would make him unclean. The Levite did the same. They obeyed the rules of man, not the truth of God. It was the Samaritan who did the work of the Lord.”
He gave me a faint smile. “I see you are a thinking woman.”
The approval in his voice broke through the dam that had long been restraining my deepest thoughts, and they burst forth like the floodwaters of the Jordan in springtime,
“I have read the Greek philosophers, Master, and they were trying so hard to find the truth. The Truth and the Good—that’s what they sought constantly in their writings. But they were unlucky, Plato and Aristotle and their like. They didn’t know the one true God. He didn’t reveal Himself to the Greeks; He revealed Himself to us, to the Jews. He chose us, and we have betrayed Him. We have lost the meaning of what He wants from us. I think we’ve become so ensnared in the rules we have made that we’ve lost sight of the way the Lord wishes us to live. We had the truth once, but we lost it.”
There was a long silence. I could feel my heart thudding all the way up in my head. What had possessed me? What would the Master think of me for saying such things?
He leaned toward me, his expression serious. “I am the truth, Mary. I am the truth and the way and the light. Believe in me, and the Kingdom of Heaven will be yours.”
I was so caught up in his gaze that I didn’t hear Elisabeth announce the arrival of Peter and Rebecca. It wasn’t until she spoke in my ear, saying Rebecca wished to see me outside, that I came back to my surroundings.
I tore my eyes away from Jesus and walked into the atrium. Peter and Rebecca were there, looking anxious. Rebecca spoke, but she had to repeat herself before I could focus enough to understand.
Their problem was simple enough. They needed housing for some of the disciples who were still at their house.
Rebecca explained, “James and John are from Capernaum, so they can sleep at home, but the other eight are far from home. If you were by yourself, I would never ask this of you, but your brother is here so . . . do you think you could do this, Mary?”
“Of course I can,” I replied.
“The Master and Nathaniel and Thomas can stay with us, but the others . . .”
I smiled at her. “Don’t worry, between the upstairs bedchambers and the downstairs salons, I have plenty of room.”
“Thank you, Mary,” Peter said with a relieved smile. “I knew we could count on you. Is the Master inside?”
“Yes, he’s sitting with Lazarus and Martha.”
Peter disappeared into the salon, and Rebecca hugged me. “You are such a good friend.” She looked toward the salon and shook her head in disbelief. “To think I was once so angry that Peter followed him.”
“He is . . .” I searched for a word to describe Jesus, but there were no words . . . “a remarkable man,” I ended lamely.
“He has been sent to us by God, Mary. I truly believe that. He is a messenger from God.”
Rebecca had been more accurate than I.
Peter’s booming voice came to our ears, and Rebecca smiled. “We’d better go inside.”
As I followed her into the salon, I said cheerfully, “I knew I built this big house for some reason. I just didn’t know what the reason was until now.”
Jeremiah and Elisabeth distributed sleeping mats among the spare rooms for the disciples. Since many of the rooms already had thick rugs, and these were men not accustomed to living a lavish life, everyone was pleased.
As I lay on my comfortable Roman bed, I thought about all that had happened that day. Jesus cured the servant of a Roman military commander. He cured Lazarus. I poured out my thoughts to him, and he told me he was the truth and the way and the light. I had looked into his eyes and seen such love in those amber depths. Not just love for me, but love for us all.
I closed my eyes and prayed: Dear Lord, please show me what I should do, the path I should take. I feel such anticipation, as if something is waiting for me that will change my entire life. Is it Jesus of Nazareth I am waiting for? Who is this man, Lord? He is not a king or a warrior, but . . . can he still be the Messiah? Could it be true that this is the man the Jews have been praying for? I don’t want to make another mistake with my life, so I beg you to guide me in the choices that I make. Amen.
Jesus and his disciples remained in Capernaum for several weeks, traveling to local villages and returning each evening. Judas told me that the Master was attracting such large crowds that he had been forced to preach out in the countryside because the villages were too small.
I wanted desperately to travel with Jesus, to listen to him, to understand him. But it wasn’t possible. Jesus’ listeners had women and children among them, but I knew well that listening to a teacher or prophet with your husband at your side was very different from traveling with him as his disciple. I still had detractors in Capernaum who would seize on my slightest misstep to label me a sinner.
I wrote a long letter to Julia, pouring out my heart. I had seen my
friend only twice since I left Sepphoris, both times at my brother’s house in Bethany. Lazarus and Martha had been welcoming, but I had seen how difficult it was for them to relate to a Roman woman. I hadn’t yet invited her to Capernaum because I knew it would be considered scandalous to have a Roman woman, dressed in thin linen garments and with her hair uncovered, staying with me. Julia would have been as uncomfortable in Capernaum as I would be to have her.
But I missed her. I had made good friends in my new home, but Julia was more than a friend. She was the mother I had never known.
I was curious to find out how she would respond to my letter about Jesus.
The more I saw of him, the more I listened to him, the more convinced I became that he was indeed a messenger from God. Judas, the youngest of the disciples, believed he was the Messiah, and I was coming to believe the same.
Judas was an interesting man. Before he became Jesus’ disciple, he was one of the Zealots dedicated to ending the Roman occupation by the use of force and the military. Judas believed that Jesus had been sent by God to lead our people to triumph over the Romans.
His passion reminded me very much of Daniel. I had to admit to myself that I had a soft spot for Judas.
However, the more I listened to what Jesus was preaching, the less convinced I was that he had any interest in worldly power. He never mentioned Rome. When he talked of his kingdom, it was clear to me he meant something spiritual, a gathering of people who believed in him and in what he preached: kindness, forgiveness, the sharing of wealth.
Every evening, as we all joined for supper at my house, Rebecca and I would sit with the men and listen to the Master talk. I did notice that he appeared careless about the ritual washing Jews were supposed to perform between the various courses of the meal. In Sepphoris I had done as Jesus did, washing my hands only before I ate. I found it a distinct relief not to have to interrupt the meal and the conversation every time a new course was served.
I looked forward all day to those dinners, with Jesus sitting at the head of the table and the rest of us gathered on either side of him. I rarely joined in the conversation, content to listen, though often impatient at the denseness of some of the men.
On a night I’ll never forget, it was John who was being particularly thick. He complained that Jesus spent too much time at my house. Why did the Master not come to the house of Zebedee? James and John were among the first disciples called, but the Master had never been to their house. John’s mother and father were upset by the slight. John wanted the Master to have dinner at his house for once.
Jesus, who was looking weary, merely nodded and continued to eat.
Then James began. The Master must come to dine at the house of Zebedee. It was only fair that he do so since he spent so much time at Peter’s and Mary’s.
Jesus briefly shut his eyes. When he opened them he said, “Enough from the two of you. If it will quiet you, I will come to dinner at your home tomorrow. Now, no more of this bickering. Let us eat our meal in peace.”
As soon as Elisabeth had served the last course, Jesus stood up and turned to Peter. “I am going to sit in Mary’s garden for a while. Do not wait up for me.”
“Yes, Master,” Peter said.
Once Jesus had left the dining room, Judas turned to John and said furiously, “You tire him out with your concerns about who is first and who should have the greatest honor. We are all disciples together, here to support and learn from him!”
A thundercloud descended on John’s forehead, and he began to reply, but Andrew put his hand on John’s arm. “You got what you wanted, John. Say no more. The Master doesn’t like it when we quarrel.”
“Andrew is right,” James said to his brother and, after another fierce look at Judas, John subsided.
By the time Elisabeth and her staff cleared the table, all the men had retired to their beds. I went out into the courtyard. The garden, where Jesus had chosen to go, was situated behind the house, facing the lake.
I sat for a long time in the warm night air, thinking. Jesus often referred to his father and his father’s kingdom. Andrew had told me Jesus’ father was a builder in Nazareth, but when Jesus spoke of him, it was as if he was speaking of some great king. It didn’t make sense.
The moon was out when I decided to walk down to the garden. I understood his need to be by himself, away from all the people who didn’t understand him, but I couldn’t let this chance to be alone with him escape.
He was standing at the end of the garden, looking out at the lake. The moon had risen, casting a white sheen upon its smooth surface, and tiny waves lapped against the shore—a soft, calming sound. I looked up at the heavens, which were sprinkled with starry points of light. Then I went to join him.
He must have known I was there, but he kept his eyes focused on the lake. The moonlight showed me his profile, the thin, arched nose, the defined cheekbones. The scar above his eyebrow was white against his tanned skin.
I said, “They love you, Master. They believe in you. They just don’t understand.”
Still he didn’t look at me. “No, they don’t understand.”
“They believe you are the Messiah.”
“I know.”
I gathered all my courage and asked the question that was burning in my heart. “You were with the Essenes for a long time. A boy I once loved joined them in order to pray for the coming of the Messiah. Did you know him? His name is Daniel bar Benjamin from Magdala.”
He turned his head to me. “I know of him. He is a highly regarded scholar, but we were in different communities.”
“I want so much to understand, Master. If you are indeed the Messiah, why did you join the Essenes to pray for your own coming?”
He turned back to the lake. “I joined the Essenes to learn. I needed to know the scriptures, to be able to read them and speak of them. I needed to know everything if I was to bring the truth of my father to the world. There was no opportunity for me to do that in Nazareth, so I went where I needed to be.”
There it was again. My father.
“Is it true that you can forgive sins?” I could hear the trembling in my voice, and I clasped my hands together tightly.
Finally he turned to look at me. “Do you need to be forgiven, Mary?”
Suddenly I felt bowed down by the burden of my guilt. I began to cry. “Yes, Master, I need forgiveness. I have been a bad woman. I betrayed my husband, and because of that he died. I have lived a life of godless luxury. I cut myself off from who I was and became someone else, a harlot, a murderous harlot!”
My legs wouldn’t hold me and I sank to my knees, weeping. I hadn’t realized that I possessed these thoughts, but I knew what I had said was true.
“Can you forgive me?” I sobbed. “Can you forgive my sins?”
“Mary.” He bent, pried my hands apart and held them. He tugged gently, and I stood up.
He looked into my eyes. “Mary, you have sinned, it is true, but are you sorry for those sins?”
“Yes, Master.” I could hardly get the words out through my sobs. “Yes, I am sorry!”
We looked at each other for a quiet moment. Then he said softly, “You have sinned, but you have also loved greatly. Your sins are forgiven, Mary of Magdala.”
I gazed into his eyes and suddenly felt engulfed by the glory of his presence. His love encompassed me, and I knew that no one on this earth could ever love me as he did. Only God could love like this. I felt his love coursing through all my being, and I knew. “You aren’t just God’s messenger, are you? You are His Son.”
His hands were still clasping mine lightly. “You have said it. You are the greatest of all my disciples, Mary of Magdala, for you have seen the truth.”
I wanted this moment to go on forever. “Why me?” I breathed.
“Because yours are the eyes that see and the ears that hear. Yours is the heart that understands.”
We stood for a long moment looking at each other, and I felt the perfect unison of my spirit w
ith his. The garden, the lake, the physical world faded, and nothing but profound joy and peace filled my heart. It was the greatest moment of my life.
Then he dropped my hands and turned toward the house. “Come, we must go in.”
I didn’t want to go, but I knew he had work to do.
“Yes,” I said and went with him toward the house.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I wanted to stay awake so I could hold onto what I had felt, but I fell asleep almost instantly. I awoke when Martha came in to see if I was all right, I had slept so late.
The disciples had already left, going with Jesus to the lakefront where he often taught. I took Lazarus and Martha into the courtyard and told them what had happened. I could never tell anyone else, but I knew that I could tell my brother and sister. They, too, had eyes that could see, ears that could hear, and hearts that could understand.
“The Son of God,” Lazarus said, wonderingly. “How did such a thing happen? He was a child once. We know that he grew up in Nazareth. Did God create him and place him in the trust of a human family?”
Martha, ever practical, said, “But he’s human too. He gets tired and hungry, just like we do. He gets annoyed when people are stupid, like John was last night.”
We went back and forth for a while until I said, “I don’t know how. All I know is what happened to me last night. If I could have died at that moment, I would have died with joy. All we need to know is that Jesus of Nazareth is from God, and he has come to teach us the way God wants us to live. Our part is to listen and learn.”
Jesus kept his promise to dine at the house of Zebedee. All the disciples had gone with him, so dinner was quiet at my house. Martha, Lazarus, and I were sitting comfortably over our fruit when Jeremiah came into the room. “My lady, a woman is here who says she is the Master’s mother. There are two men with her, and they’re looking for him.”
I put down the fig I was holding and said, “Please bring them to me, Jeremiah.”
The three of us waited in wondering silence until Jeremiah reappeared, accompanied by my visitors.
