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Chapter Fourteen
Mary of Magdala
When Jesus mentioned the Decapolis and Perea in his
list of places to visit, he must have been speaking of future travels. Fortunately before our return to our home
base in Capernaum, we would only visit major towns near the Sea of Galilee,
such as Bethsaida, Chorazin, and Magdala.
Jesus had not yet selected all of his disciples. This concern was important to him too. We knew he would do this one day, but it
wouldn’t happen until we returned to Capernaum. Another pattern, that had begun in Nazareth, and which had been more
successful in Capernaum, would be repeated in each town: Jesus would preach in
the town’s synagogue, a crowd would gather and, after the words were spoken, we
would baptize those initiates coming forth.
It would have become monotonous if it had not been for the miracles
occurring now and then. Though the
miracles slowed us down they were often spectacular. People would emerge pitifully from the crowd—blind, deaf, lame,
or diseased—begging for a cure.
Sometimes, as in the case of the sick, who were delirious with fever or
with infected wounds, the crowd would scatter, fearful of contagion, but often
the ailments were minor matters, such as the woman who had been deaf in just
one ear.
Jesus, however, was growing very weary of this
trend. He couldn’t refuse showing
compassion and curing people waiting in line, and yet matters were getting out
of hand. In Peter’s words, “These
people don’t want salvation; they just want to be cured! That’s not the purpose of Jesus’ message!”
In Bethsaida and Chorazin an assortment of illnesses
were cured, which interrupted Jesus’ sermon and even baptisms in progress
because of the commotion the supplicants made.
More serious in Bethsaida and Chorazin was another familiar pattern
Jesus encountered before. Those actually
accepting God’s grace and being baptized, though significant in numbers, were greatly
outnumbered by the idlers in the crowd.
Most of these men and women, many of whom heckled Jesus in the
background, were more interested in his performance as a miracle worker rather
than a preacher. Jesus gladly cured the
sick, lame, deaf, and blind, but his appearances were not meant to be
entertainment. Worse than the curiosity-seekers and frequent hecklers was a
more serious pattern: the suspicion of Pharisees and scribes, who saw Jesus
doctrine as a threat. They were, as a
group, Jesus’ worst problem. Often
scribes would interrupt his message with questions, such as ‘what does that
mean?’ or ‘where is that written’ or they criticized his statements by quoting
points of the law. I could fill a
scroll with the comments made by these men as Jesus went about his
business. While the scribes were crafty
and calm, the Pharisees were obnoxious and perverse. At times their criticisms were insulting and even slanderous. One particular question Jesus would hear
again, “By whose authority do you cure the sick, God or Beelzebub?” was so
outrageous Peter charged after the man and had to be retrained by Andrew,
Philip, and myself. These delays, like
the stream of supplicants, also slowed us down, because each time a complaint
or question arose, Jesus felt compelled to answer. Working against the replies Jesus gave his critics was the
Pharisees and scribes mindsets. Like
Caiaphas’ agents lurking in the crowd, they had already made up their mind:
Jesus was a blasphemer, who perverted their religion with his heretical
doctrine.
Though the towns around the Sea of Galilee were
situated closely together, we ran out of daylight because of the delays and
were forced to camp outside of Magdala that day. As we sat around the campfire, thoroughly exhausted, Jesus finally
shared his frustrations with us. It was
the first time during our travels that we saw him not merely irritated but
actually angry. At the top of his list
of problematic towns were Bethsaida and Chorazin.
“Woe to you,
Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida.” He shook with rage. “Your puffed up Pharisees and toady scribes
are filled with conceit for themselves.
The scribes play at words , while the Pharisees behave like children,
whose temper has no reason, other than preserving false sanctity. All the scribes wish to do is please their
fellows, not God. But my Father isn’t
pleased with these toadies nor is he pleased with the Pharisees who think they
know the mind of God. One splits hairs
to interpret doctrine, while the other spouts trifling matters of the law,
showing great malice to those having opposite views. I bring to the world a new hope and reminder of salvation that
has been dampened by the doctors of the law: that all people have to do is
believe, repent their sins, and be reborn for a life everlasting. All the laws and dogma stuffed down the
throats of common folk has clouded the most important issue facing men and
women: eternal life. Those doctors of
the law seek to squelch the good news.
Is it any wonder that uneducated folk reject the news if their teachers
predispose their minds? Rabbis, too,
who are supposed to be the shepherds of townsfolk, also resist the truth, as do
the priests, the most to blame, who are molders of the law. Priests pollute what I give them with
backbiting and slander.” “But their day is coming!” Jesus stood up and shook
his fist. “To not know the truth and
die is one thing. Those ignorant of the
word, who are righteous, shall find heaven too. To hear the truth, close your mind against it, and die is quite
another. They—the priests, Pharisees, scribes, and rabbis—shall be barred from
heaven and punished for preventing others from seeking the truth...”
Jesus voiced
trailed off into a whisper. “Father
forgive them and set their minds straight.
Protect your children against their machinations and wiles.”
More clearly than
ever before Jesus had summed up our conflict with the religious
establishment. From almost the
beginning of our mission, we had been at odds with it. Only a few of the rabbis we encountered
would at least give Jesus a hearing.
With the exception of a few enlightened Pharisees, the doctors of the
law, along with the scribes and priests, hated Jesus. They considered his message heresy and saw his growing popularity
with common people as a threat. Peter,
who appeared to be Jesus’ deputy now, spoke our thoughts:
“Master, you’ve
made great headway with our people.
Those graybeards and scribblers are a lost cause. Forget them. It’s the little people that matter. Unfortunately, many of them are too stupid to see the light. The Pharisees and scribes know better. Their sin is much greater.” Rising up, the
glow of the fire illuminating his face, he added, with a trembling voice. “You
are the light of the world, master. If
they can’t see the light, they’re spiritually blind. All the fine words and miracles in the world won’t soften their
hearts or change their minds. The
miracles may be forgotten but the words of hope will spread from town to town
like a great force—a wave off the sea, unstoppable and unshakable.”
Greatly moved by
his illumination, Jesus embraced Peter and kissed his cheek. “Well said!” he
exclaimed. “My Father put those words in your head, Peter. Why haven’t you opened up like that before? You will make a fine preacher.” “Don’t you
think so?” He looked around the fire.
Everyone except
Bartholomew (who was asleep) nodded his head.
“Yes, in deed,” I
took the initiative, “a first rate speech!”
Though beaming with
pride, Peter shrank from the idea. “Preacher?
Me?…I don’t know about that. I
get tongue-tied.”
“Don’t be modest.”
Andrew teased. “We have here another Elijah.
Jesus is right: God must’ve put that in your head!”
“He must have,”
John muttered in disbelief. “I’ve never heard him talk like that!”
“So, what’s next?” my
brother James voice came as a wet blanket. “When do we go home?”
Jesus looked down
tolerantly at him. “You consider Capernaum as home, not Nazareth? That’s an improvement, brother. Do consider us to be your family now?”
“…Yes,” James
answered hesitantly, “I have two families.”
“Are we all not
your brothers?” Philip asked playfully.
“That’s a good
question.” Jesus stroked his beard.
“Sure…. Of course
we’re brothers.” James broke into a smile. “The town of Capernaum is a lot
nicer than other towns. Chorazin and
Bethsaida were nothing compared to Nazareth.
I’ll never forgive Nazareth for treating you that way.”
“It’s like I said,
James.” Jesus sat down beside him. “A prophet has no honor in his own country.”
“Then you’re just a prophet?” James looked at him
quizzically.
“Perhaps.” Jesus
sighed wearily. “But I don’t like labels.
I told you that. That comes
later.”
“If not a prophet,
who are you?” James persisted.
“I’m a teacher,” he
obliged reluctantly, “a preacher if you wish.”
“No!” John said,
shaking his head. “You’re more than that!”
“It’s obvious,”
Andrew agreed. “a forgone conclusion.
“You’re not like other men, Jesus!
You think we’re stupid? Why’re
you so secretive? Earlier you admitted
you were the Promised One. Are you
denying it now? Are you or are you not
he?”
“Please, men,”
Jesus grew impatient, “let it rest.
There’s a problem with this definition.
You’ll understand this later. My
Father will define me. He’ll let me
know. Right now I want to focus on the
message: the good news. The stage is
being set for greater things.”
On this cryptic
note, the subject was dropped. In the
near future on just such a night, Jesus would turn Andrew’s question around to
his disciples, asking, “Who do you
think I am?” At this hour, as he
surveyed his exhausted men, he knew it wasn’t the right time. It was clear to me, however, that he was
struggling with his own identity, a problem he also had as a child.
“… Anyone can be a
prophet,” he explained, after a pause. “There are too many false prophets to
respect that name… I am the one John foretold, but that man my cousin referred
to has other names: Redeemer, Deliverer, Liberator, Messiah—none of which John
used. For most of our people, he’s a
warrior king. My role, at least for
now, is that of a teacher as well as a preacher, but a man of peace. I repeat—get this into your stubborn heads:
my mission is to spread the word. Those
people out there have been conditioned by the priests, Pharisees, scribes, and
rabbis to expect the warrior king. I am
no such person. My message must prepare
their minds for who I really am, so let’s not confuse them. I want all of you, including Bartholomew
when he wakes up, to remember this command: Don’t try to define me. Don’t even discuss it amongst yourselves…. Let
my Father tell you, Himself, as he put words into Peter’s head. For now, I want you to concentrate on
preparing yourselves for the work ahead of us.
You, too, must become teachers and preachers. I have listened to God again.
In the coming days our number will grow to twelve.” “…Why twelve? you ask,” he paused
thoughtfully. “Perhaps, this number commemorates the twelve tribes of Israel,
but this is my Father’s decision. None
of you are here by accident or whim.
Each of you have been selected by Him.
Now your group includes a fishermen, a scribe, and a wanderer—diverse
personalities that must, at times, work as one. Soon more diversity will be brought to your group, that, like
James, Jude, and Bartholomew, aren’t fishermen. You can’t yet imagine how important all of you will one day be,
when you must go out alone as sheep among the wolves.” “All you have to do now is watch and learn,”
he added rising again to his feet.
“Don’t worry about tomorrow. Tomorrow will worry about itself! We have a long day ahead of us….Get some
sleep!”
******
The next morning,
after being shaken awake by Jesus, we struggled to our feet, grabbed handfuls
of dried fish and moldy bread, and stood munching this snack, waiting drowsily
for our shepherd to lead the way.
“Come my men.”
Jesus snapped is fingers. “Back to work.”
James looked at
Jesus in disbelief. “Aren’t we going home?”
“Yeah, that sounds
good!” John rubbed his hands.
“I could use some
of your wife’s stew,” Andrew patted Peter’s back.
“Me too!” Philip
beamed.
Jesus eyebrows
plunged in irritation. “I told you men where we’re going. We haven’t visited Magdala yet!”
Everyone
groaned. Now that we were on the
outskirts of Magdala, this meant Jesus would tackle this town at once. I had a restless time last night, trying, as
I pondered Jesus’ last words, to blot out the fishermen’s snores. If it was true, as Jesus implied, that he
was conditioning us for the task ahead, this morning would be especially hard. “You must go out alone as sheep among the
wolves!” he had said. “How soon,” I
asked myself, “would we met these wolves?” James, who must have had a hard
night, too, shuffled along as a sleep-walker.
John and his brother James lagged behind in a daze, and Bartholomew, who
should have been rested up after falling asleep last night, had to be lifted
into his cart. Not one of the
fisherman, even Peter, seemed up to this task.
Magdala was barely
awake when Jesus positioned himself on the shores of Lake Gennesaret near the
town, his energy contrasting our lethargy and lack of vigor. It seemed ludicrous to me at first.
“Why did we have
wake up at the crack of dawn?” James complained. Yet fishermen were already casting their nets in the lake when we
arrived. One fellow, who happened to be
standing by the water’s edge, must have recognized Jesus. Running into town at breakneck speed, Jesus’
had his first herald. “He’s here! He’s here!” he shouted. A second and third citizen of Magdala, who
were emerging from nearby houses, looked out then and caught sight of our
group, chattering excitedly amongst themselves. Soon, as Jesus had planned, people began trickling down to the
lake—men, women, and children, wide-eyed with expectation now that the
miracle-worker was here.
“Another pattern,
eh Jesus?” Peter grinned.
“That’s how it
works!” Jesus replied, turning to the crowd.
Immediately
following his reply, Jesus preached to the gathering townsfolk. His words were very similar to previous
sermons, always with an added flare of words or turn of a phrase. It was, considering the state we were in,
the most difficult mass baptismal service we had ever undertaken. Like most of the disciples, I grew hoarse
saying the words. James was beside himself
as he was forced to baptize some of the less desirable souls in line, and Bartholomew
passed out and had to be carried back to his cart. Other than a few hecklers in the distance and the normal problems
of keeping an orderly set of lines, the emersions went as Jesus planned. Four hundred and twenty men, women, and
children were baptized and became members of the Way. All eight of Jesus’ disciples were ready to drop in their tracks,
when suddenly Jesus held up his hand.
Promising the remainder of the crowd future baptism, if they wished to
visit Capernaum our next stop, Jesus explained that his men needed rest from
their labors.
******
Those moments, as
we began our trek back to our camp in the nearby hills, praying that no more
sick, lame, or blind people would stop our exit, Jesus led us through Magdala,
instead of going around it to avoid more interruptions. It was the quickest way to our camp near
town and yet we were filled with trepidation.
“Something’s going
to happen,” James groaned.
“Oh,” I tried
making light of it, “you’re a prophet now?”
“I have a bad
feeling too,” admitted Bartholomew.
Suddenly, just as Bartholomew finished his
sentence, something dreadful crossed our path again. An angry crowd were gathering at the end of town, blocking our
exit.
“Let’s detour
here!” Philip pointed to alley.
“Yes, master,” John
wrung his hands, “that doesn’t look good.”
Jesus, whose eyes
closed momentarily, as if God was communicating to him again, shook his
head. “When will you learn?” he snapped
irritably. “In my company, no harm will befall you!”
Jesus, who knew
everything, probably knew what lie ahead.
Having this gift, I realize now, must have been terrible for him. A curse more than a blessing, it would fill
his head with dreadful foreknowledge.
Now, he appeared to accept his immediate insight begrudgingly. He knew we were totally exhausted. Looking back at us, as if to apologize,
however, he motioned us on.
“I think I’m going
to faint,” James informed him.
“Take a deep
breath,” Jesus counseled, “and hold onto the cart. Hopefully, men, we’ll return to camp soon.”
Jesus words of
encouragement gave us little comfort.
Directly ahead of us, blocking the right-of-way, the crowd continued to
grow. As before, Jesus had a determined
look on his face. He saw something we
didn’t see. Though I wasn’t sure the
others understood, I knew what that look meant. Once again, God was leading him.
This time we appeared to be heading straight into harm’s way.
“Peter’s right,”
Andrew muttered, “we should have detoured back there.”
“What’re they
doing?” Peter asked, shielding his eyes from the sun.
“They’re angry
about something,” Bartholomew said, cupping his hear. “Listen to that mob!”
“Those people sound
afraid.” Jesus frowned.
That moment we heard, “What’s wrong with that
woman? She looks possessed!”
“She’s an
adulterous and harlot!” an old woman screamed.
“Mad as bat, she is!” shouted a man.
Similar shouts erupted. Jesus was right: fear as much as outrage, appeared to have
gripped the crowd.
“Madgala is famous for prostitution,” Peter said to
Jesus. “What else is new?”
At the edge of the crowd,
Bartholomew stopped the mule, shrinking fearfully into his cart. For a few moments, as we remained a safe
distance from the scene, Jesus moved through the crowd, reminding me very much
of the day in Nazareth when he walked fearlessly through such a mob. Climbing onto the seat, next to Bartholomew,
I was able to finally see what was in the center of the crowd. Standing there, jerking and muttering to herself, was a woman tied
with ropes, bereft of her senses.
“What do you see, Jude?” asked James,
climbing into the cart.
“This is going to break!” Bartholomew
looked down at the creaking boards.
“This is serious!” I announced, looking over the
crowd. “That woman has the biting disease or she’s insane!”
“Moses
beard!” James recoiled. “Look at her: she’s foaming at the mouth!”
“That’s the miracle worker,” someone cried. “Let’s
hear what he says!”
“This woman was
caught in adultery,” exclaimed one of her captors. “I caught her with Haggai, the weaver. Pulled her off him, I did, but then she went berserk. She came at me like a demon. She tried to scratch and bite me. I threw my net over her, but she tore out of
it like a mad thing. Haggai ran away,
scared half to death. Lucky for me
Jamel was handy with the rope; I’d have
the biting disease too!”
“Roped her like a
wild beast, we did,” Jamel gave it a yank. “It both Ira, me three strong men
bind her. That woman’s possessed!”
“Can’t you see?”
Jesus pointed to her. “I understand your fear.
Call it what you will, but her mind’s sick. She can’t help herself.
Untie her at once!”
“So you, a holy man, don’t condemn her?” A familiar
sort elbowed through the crowd.
“No, I don’t.”
Jesus shook his head. “No more than someone whose body’s sick!”
“Sick?” spat
the Pharisee, “it’s more than that.
Look at that woman. Are you
blind?” “Don’t you dare untie her!” He wrung a finger at them. “Keep those
ropes tight, Ira and Jamel. “I’ve seen
evil,” he reasoned with Jesus, “before being caught, that woman was an
adulteress and whore. The devil has his
grip on her now. Any fool can see
that!”
“She’s still a prostitute!” the old woman shriek.
“Judge and you shall be judged!” Jesus pointed at
the Pharisee, his finger moving to the crowd.
“I know this man,” the Pharisee snarled at Jesus.
“He’s that blasphemer who practices sorcery.” “Stone her! Stone her!” He turned
to the mob.
For a brief moment, as the crowd hurried around
gathering rocks and one man brandished a large board, I once again wondered if
Jesus had gone too far. Considering the
woman’s mad eyes and foaming mouth, I couldn’t blame them.
Nevertheless, Peter straightened his shoulders. “We
have to stand by him,” he said bravely.
“Are you insane?” James asked in disbelief.
“Follow me men,” Peter said, hopping off the cart
All of us, even Bartholomew, who grabbed his cane,
pushed our way through the crowd, until we stood beside our leader. Looking at the sky now, Jesus shouted in his
loudest voice, “Father in Heaven, how do you withstand this stiff-necked
people?”
When the crowd appeared to freeze in their tracks,
stunned by his rebuke, Jesus moved quickly to the woman, who relaxed in her in
her restraints, collapsing onto the ground.
Squatting beside her, he stroked her matted hair, then shooing the feet
of onlookers away with a flurry of his hands, he drew a circle around her
quivering frame. Though apparently
exhausted from her efforts, she continued spouting obscenities in her
bindings. I had never heard such words
from a woman. Suddenly, the mad thing
described by Ira and Jamel, looked up with bewildered eyes, as would any
frightened girl, as if Jesus blazing blue eyes was piercing her soul. A growl from her throat belied this
impression. “What do you want with us,
Jesus?” an icy chorus poured out of her mouth.
Ignoring this response, Jesus looked down into a portion of the circle
and knelt down to write in perfect Hebrew now, ‘He who is without sin, cast the
first stone.’ For those in the crowd
whose vantage point prevented them from seeing the writing and for those just
arriving on the scene, this couldn’t have meant anything. The Pharisee, however, looked down, read it,
and then spat on the woman.
Perhaps, as I reflect now, in preparation for the
miracle he would soon perform, I heard Jesus utter, “Be silent woman! Your redeemer is here!”
The woman stared glassy-eyed straight ahead, giving
the audience the impression that the deed was already done. Rising up then, Jesus spoke the message
aloud, “He who is without sin cast the first stone!” The sound of rocks thudding on the ground followed soon
after. Everyone, except the Pharisee,
in fact, backed away, ashamed or confused.
When he raised up his stone, several hands reached out to restrain him,
dragging him back into the crowd. Jesus
asked Ira and Jamel to unbind her, which they did quickly, backing away and
disappearing into the crowd. He prayed
silently then said shrilly, “Now depart from her—all of you!” Though was
directed at the woman, the command seemed to include the crowd too. As I write this, I still get a prickling at
the back of my neck. Despite what I
believed before, the woman’s second captor, Jamel, had been correct: she was
possessed. Though I thought she had the
biting disease, Jesus now exorcised her of her infernal spirits.
Moving back several paces, the crowd watched in
fascination and disbelief as Jesus cast her demons out. They appeared to be a multitude. A commotion of voices similar to a demoniac
I once heard in Antioch flowed out her mouth, and then just as suddenly, her
body relaxed completely, and a peaceful expression fell over her face.
“What happened?” she blinked.
“Mary,” he said gently, “the darkness was upon you,
but now you’re well.”
With his own robe, he wiped her face. The fishermen, James, Bartholomew, and I
stood with a remnant of the crowd, deeply moved by this scene.
“…. Who are you?” she asked hoarsely.
“I’m Jesus.” He looked down with a smile. “… Mary.” He said, after a pause “Look
around you; where are your accusers now?”
“They’re gone?” she gazed up dully.
“Yes, Mary, they’re gone,” he said, helping her to
feet. “I won’t accuse you either… Go and sin nowhere.”
As if on cue, an older woman—a friend or maybe even
her mother appeared beside Mary, escorting her from the scene. She was still dazed and wobbly and mumbled
incoherently to herself. We had no idea
how important Mary of Magdala would be to Jesus one day. Compared to some of his other feats, this
miracle seemed tame, but we were greatly moved by Jesus’ compassion. After
this event, several witnesses, who claimed to have heard Jesus earlier and had
witnessed his latest miracle, asked to be baptized in the new faith. Rather than lead them to the lake, where a
great crowd had assembled before, we performed the rite at a well instead. We were all spent, but not nearly as much as
Jesus, who had shepherded his band tirelessly, eating little and never seeming
to sleep. We knew that his miracles
drained his energies too. Each time he
was completed with a batch of cures, his face would turn ashen and his eyes would
become glazed. Yet each morning his
energy returned, his expression became radiant again and he was ready for a new
day. We had wanted, after the ordeal with Mary, to get him away from the crowds
for awhile so he could rest, but once again they came. This time, after Peter’s coaxing, Jesus stood
by and let us do it by ourselves.
Before, while he performed the rite himself, he might look over and bark
out a command when our efforts flagged, but on this occasion, he watched
quietly on the sidelines, proud of his band.
All of us, including Bartholomew, found ourselves at
least one initiate to say the words to and sprinkle water upon. Compared to the baptisms earlier in Magdala,
it went rather quickly. A selection of
mostly men was represented in this bunch.
Among the new converts that day was Mary of Magdala, who John rushed in
to baptize, himself. I didn’t blame
John, when he elbowed me out of the way.
Mary was quite beautiful now that she had been cured. Her soiled clothes had been replaced with a
white dress. Her face and hands were
scrubbed clean. Sandals had been placed
on her pretty feet. Her matted hair had
been combed out, falling shamelessly to her shoulders in dark curls. What caught our attention first, however,
were her beautiful almond shaped eyes.
Two dark crystals sparkled happily in the sunlight. When she smiled, which caused her eyes to
almost shut, she displayed a mouthful of white glistening teeth. Though the rest of us were goggle-eyed with
this vision of loveliness, James, his mind still locked on the quivering,
sweating, foaming-at-the-mouth Mary of before, gave her a wide berth, picking
out a harmless looking youth in the group, while I wound up with one of the
loud-mouth ruffians, who had a short while ago wanted to stone Mary to
death.
Jesus had politely insisted on Mary going home after
John baptized her. For Mary, however,
who was starry-eyed with her savior, the advice he gave converts to spread the
word among family and friends fell on deaf ears. Though never becoming part of Jesus inner circle of men, she was
determined to stay. Earlier in our
mission, another attractive woman, Deborah had been sent on her way, as had
been Anna, the old crone. “This is
men’s business,” Peter informed Mary. “Women have no business tagging along.”
Of course Peter had a wife. As a
married man, it was easy for him to be
rude. For the rest of us, except
perhaps Bartholomew who was too old and James who thought she was still
contaminated, Mary would be a pleasing sight.
“Awe, let her come along,” John said, walking
backwards. “What’s the harm?”
“Yeah.” Andrew waved at Mary. “She’s a marked
woman. Where else can she go?”
James shuddered at the thought, but the remainder of
us agreed with Andrew and John. In a
hurry to put this town behind us, Bartholomew made clicking noises, egging his
mule along. Looking back at us, Jesus
sighed patiently, as Peter tried shooing her away. He couldn’t very well argue with Peter after the request he gave
converts in general. He had, moreover,
told us that there would be only twelve disciples. It seemed only logical, given the status of Jewish women, that
twelve would contain only men…. Still, I wondered, glancing back at this comely
woman, it would be a nice touch.
It was an uncomfortable feeling to be dogged by such
a beauty and have to discourage her not to follow. When we approached the end of town, not far from our camp, I
wondered just how far Mary would follow us.
And then, to our dismay, it happened again…. They came.
“Not again!” James slapped his forehead.
Bartholomew drew up his reins. “Moses beard!” he
cried. “There’s more of them.”
Though the curing was taking its toll on him, Jesus
was confronted with a new batch of unfortunates. The response from his disciples now was unanimous.
“Ignore them, Jesus,” Peter waved his hands. “You
can’t cure them all!”
“Yes, ignore them!
Ignore them!” we chanted.
“You know very well that I can’t do that,” Jesus
gave us a scornful look. “These people are here for a reason.”
“They don’t want baptism,” James informed him. “They
want to be cured. You’re ready to drop
dead in you tracks Jesus. Come back
tomorrow if you must, but tell them no!”
James had spoken
all our minds: Jesus was totally exhausted.
All of us, in fact, were ready to drop, but, of course, we were driven
by human logic. Jesus answered to a
greater power.
“When will you understand?” He scolded us. “I listen
to God!” He pointed to heaven. “He
alone is my guide!” “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak,” he
counseled. “Be strong and steadfast
men. The extra mile is always the
hardest. You’re not ordinary men;
you’re disciples, who must follow God’s will!”
Some of these words, in a darker time, Jesus would
repeat verbatim. Right now the reminder
that our flesh was week, called attention to how we felt, whereas his words,
“You’re not ordinary men, who must follow God’s will!” reminded us of the
unreasonable demands he placed upon us and himself.
As the supplicants lined up, it was plain to see
that most of them had minor ailments. Only one serious affliction was found in
this bunch, aside from a cross-eyed youth: a man with a withered arm. Then, out of the crowd, two Pharisees
arrived escorting a third man between them.
We were very protective of Jesus by now and were ready to do battle with
these kind of men, but this time, the two Pharisees seemed friendly
enough. The man between them, in fact,
was beaming with happiness. Introducing
themselves as Simon and Jonathon, the religious men had, upon closer
inspection, troubled looks on their faces.
“I heard about that episode in town,” Simon sighed,
“very troubling. Your reputation precedes you, Jesus. A friend of mine in Cana told me about the water being turned
into wine. Why would he lie about such
a thing?” “And now this,” he presented
the third man. “This young man, who once a leper, arrived whole last night with
a story that seems impossible to refute.”
“Hello Jonas,” acknowledged Jesus.
“He’s my son,” Simon announced.
“And my nephew,” said Jonathon.
Finally, we had made a breakthrough with Pharisees,
I thought. But this would prove to be
only partially true. Jesus talked with
Jonas, now a member of the Way, as the two Pharisees looked on. It must have been difficult for these
conservative purveyors of the law to accept Jonas’ conversion, but they made no
protest. In fact, Simon insisted,
perhaps as a reward for curing his leprous son, that we dine with he and
friends tonight. Knowing the mind of
these type of men, none of us thought that this was a good idea, and yet Jesus
accepted the offer. There were times in
the past when a sumptuous meal would suit us just fine after our labors. Rabbi Jethro and Moses bar Nablis, the rich
merchant, had once given us fine feasts, as did Nicodemus in Jerusalem, but
they had been our friends. Simon and
Jonathon, despite Jonas’ miraculous cure, were still Pharisees. As such, they still looked upon Jesus and us
with quiet disdain.
******
That evening, as we entered Simon’s house, my
appetite was great despite my apprehension.
The fishermen and my brother James, who were sweating profusely, seemed
even more worried about the Pharisees’ reaction, and yet they seated themselves
quickly at the long table in the center of the room. Almost immediately, Simon expeditiously said the Shema, gave a
short benediction, clapped his hands, and seven steaming courses of food as
well as fruit and sweetmeats were brought out to the guests. As the food arrived, he introduced his other
guests, and Jesus reciprocated, but the introductions lacked affability on the
part of the Pharisees. All of them,
conditioned to ferret out unorthodoxy, wrinkled their noses, which cancelled
out their perfunctory smiles. It wasn’t
a promising beginning, especially when we attacked our food with gusto, while
the others waited for all the entries to arrive. We had no preparation for this.
When Simon invited us for dinner that evening, he had anticipated that
Jesus would accept his invitation, so we were allowed little time to rinse
ourselves off. I wondered if Jesus
might be testing his host. Other than
expecting us to wash our hands with well water, he insisted that we go as we
were. Our grimy, travel-worn
appearance, odor, and mannerisms at Simon’s table couldn’t help annoying his
friends. Because Jesus had cured Jonas,
his son, of leprosy, Simon and his brother Jonathon naturally appeared
gracious, smiling tolerantly at Jesus and his disciples. Though the other men frowned with
disapproval and whispered amongst themselves, they, too, kept their peace. Perhaps, because of the miracle, our host had
asked his friends to be tolerant of his guests, but it came off as forced and
insincere.
In spite of the efforts made by the Pharisees at the
table, only Jonas seemed genuinely pleased we were here. Sitting closest to him, I marveled at the
improvement made to his once-ruined face.
I couldn’t help staring at him.
Judged by a woman’s standards he might even had been considered handsome.
“You’re Jude,” he acknowledged with a nod of his
head. “You’re blessed to be Jesus’ brother!”
“So am I,” James exclaimed. “Jesus has four
brothers!”
“We’re all Jesus’
brothers,” corrected Peter. “We’re all
blessed!”
I barely had time to answer when James and Peter set
Jonas straight. Jesus, who was several
seats down, raised forward now and piped. “That’s true, Jonas. Because you’re one of us now, you’re my
brother, too,”
This statement didn’t set well with the Pharisees at
the table. Like everything else they
did, which was based on a jot or tittle of the law, they defined matters
literally. At this point, a graybeard,
identified as Obadiah, sitting across from Jesus, muttered, “How so? Are theses men of your flesh?
“No, of the spirit,” Jesus answered promptly, “which
is greater than the flesh.”
“The spirit?” Obadiah snorted. “In what way?”
The sound of munching and slurping of wine almost
drowned out Jesus’ answer: “The flesh counts for nothing; the spirit gives life.” I know now, his answer had
a greater meaning, which John would incorporate in his work. Obadiah looked at Jesus blankly not
comprehending his meaning.
“What does this have to do with blood?” he looked
askance at a friend. “Does that make sense to you?”
“No,” Agabus grumbled, “not a bit.”
Now that the Pharisees polite veneer was
disappearing, Simon took the opportunity to entertain his friends with the
story of Jonas’ miraculous cure. From
the point when the miracle was performed, as told to him by Jonas, until the
day his son returned whole, he recounted this wondrous event. Jonas added his own details, as did his
father, who regretted the dreaded time when Jonas came down with the
disease. No one asked Simon if he cast
out his son for having leprosy or if Jonas left of his own free will. I imagine his son had heard about Jesus as
did other people seeking a cure and traveled to Capernaum where he thought
Jesus might be. What I found
particularly unsettling was the faces made by the guests as they listened to
Jonas and Simon, some of whom stuck out their tongues, muttering “yuck!” Clearly in the minds of the Pharisees,
probably even Simon and Jonathon, having leprosy was a sign of God’s
displeasure. Just the mention of the
disease seemed polluting to the graybeards.
If our grimy appearance and mannerisms weren’t enough, something
happened now, that appeared to be unforeseen.
As I reflect, however, I think Jesus knew this might occur. When Mary entered the room, carrying an
alabaster flask, both the disciples and Pharisees were startled, but Jesus
quietly welcomed her. It was obvious,
after she pulled out the stopper, that the jar contained perfume. The smelly room was instantly filled
with a delightful fragrance.
“What’s she doing now?” James
muttered.
Immediately, as the room broke into
hushed murmurs from the disciples and graybeards, she positioned herself behind
Jesus, anointing his hair with the oil.
It was done gently yet quickly least someone stop her rash act. While the disciples were deeply moved by
this action, the Pharisees and elders were silently outraged. I could almost feel their anger. After this stunt, encouraged by the inaction
of the graybeards, she knelt on the floor below Jesus. After pouring oil onto his feet, she
anointed them as she done to his head, this time wiping them with her own hair,
then kissing them reverently, an action that was, in the minds of our host, the
last straw.
Standing there, looking at them in
disbelief, Simon was shaken by what he saw. “What is this Jesus?” he asked in a
strangled voice. “I-I don’t understand.”
“I don’t understand either,” James,
who sat next to me, whispered in my ear.
Obadiah, who rose up alongside of Simon, pointed
accusingly. “If this man were really a
prophet, he’d know what kind of woman this is who is touching him, pouring
perfume on his head and feet.”
“Yes, I know,” Simon nodded slowly, “I’ve seen this
woman in town. She’s a sinner. I was told she’s an adulterous, caught in
the act.
Jesus answered him with a question. ”Did
you see what happened Simon? Where you
there when I caste out her demons?”
“I didn’t see it,” he confessed, “but she has led a
most sinful life.
“Do you believe in the forgiveness of sins?” Jesus
pressed.
“Not that one!” Obadiah interrupted. “She was a lost
cause!”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Jesus dismissed him. “I
know your mind; it’s like a steel trap.
I was talking to Simon.”
“…Yes, I believe in forgiveness,” he answered
finally, glancing at his son.
“I will tell you a story.” Jesus held up two fingers
and a thumb, as he often did.
“…Very well,” Simon replied, descending
apprehensively into his chair.
As Mary stood in
the corner of the room, holding her jar, Jesus walked around the room, totally
captivating his audience with what would one day be his first parable, later
recorded by Matthew, Mark, and Luke.
“It’s goes like this,” he said, his hands clasped
methodically behind his back. “…Two people owed money to a certain moneylender.
One owed him five hundred denarii and
the other fifty. Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he
forgave the debts of both. Now which of
them will love him more?”
Simon replied thoughtfully after a sip of wine, “That’s
a trick question Jesus. The answer is
obvious: the one who had the bigger debt was forgiven.”
“You have judged correctly” Jesus laughed
softly.
Turning toward Mary, he motioned her over, put his
arm protectively around her slim waste and led her to the head of the
table. “Behold this woman,” he
presented her anew to his audience. “…. I came into your house. You didn’t give me any water for my
feet, but she anointed my head and wiped my feet with her hair. Neither
did you give me a kiss, yet she kissed even my feet. Therefore, I say to you, because of her
great love, her many sins have been forgiven.” “On the other hand,” he added
looking down at the graybeards, “those who have been forgiven little by the
lender will love little.”
Most of the
disciples understood his words as praise for Mary’s faith and a rebuke for her
critics in the room. The Pharisees gave
him blank looks, while Jonas bar Simon appeared to be amused.
As if to stoke the graybeards resentment that much
more, Jesus paused a moment with his eyes closed in prayer, looked in Mary’s
tearful eyes, and exclaimed with finality, “Your sins are forgiven. Your faith has saved you. Go in peace!”
Though it was said more forcefully, Jesus had merely
restated his previous words, but the Pharisees were taken back.
“Who is this fellow who forgives sins?” grumbled
Obadiah. “Is this not God’s right?”
“Yes,” agreed Agabus, “and now she’s saved. Saved from what?”
“From damnation,” Peter leaped to his feet. “Didn’t
you notice? Before hand, he prayed to
God. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing.” Jonas looked at Jesus with admiration.
“Nothing at all.”
“Well, it makes
sense to me.” Simon looked around for agreement. “We all seek eternal life.”
A few of the Pharisees, who had been startled at
first, nodded their heads, while most of Simon’s friends sat there in silence,
their expressions buried in faces full of hair hard to read. Jonas, though, now a convert to the Way,
sipped his wine contentedly, illumination lighting his face. All was well for him. Like the disciples, he had felt God’s
grace. Then, acting as a damper, Obadiah
broke the silence, with a second challenge: “I’m sorry Simon, but it doesn’t
make sense. How did Jesus know God
forgave her sins? I don’t think that’s
what he meant at all. It sounded to me
like he forgave her sins.”
Agabus rose up and pointed accusingly.
“Blasphemer! Heretic!”
“No, no,” Simon
bolted up, waving his hands, “how dare you accuse this righteous man. Jesus isn’t a heretic. No man could do such things and blaspheme
God!”
Jonathan stood up
with his brother now, as did most of the Pharisees and elders in the room,
united in alliance with their friend if not in agreement with Jesus’
actions. Walking over to Simon, Jesus
embraced him, and then shook the hands of those men standing in support.
Signaling for his
disciples, he said before exiting, “Thank you Simon for your hospitality. You
and the men who didn’t show rebuke stood by principle: our traditional
hospitality to strangers. I would
rather it was because you had heard my message and believed. You have spent your lives serving God; why
not let God’s grace serve you?’
The play on words
must have mystified Simon and his friends, but our host gave Jesus a look of
respect, bowing deferentially. “As you said to Mary, Jesus, go in peace.”
******
After leaving Simon’s house, Jesus decided it was
time to go home. After the treatment he
was given in Nazareth, Capernaum was now my home. I couldn’t wait to taste Dinah’s lamb stew and Esther’s special
cakes and walk with Jesus and our brethren along the Sea of Galilee (which
Peter had had informed us was also called Lake Gennesaret). As we exited Magdala, Jonas ran after us,
once again thanking Jesus for saving his life.
Though Jonas had been talked into staying in his hometown to spread the
word, Mary was adamant about following Jesus.
Peter and my brother James attempted to shoo her away, but she tagged
along at a distance, a dejected look on her lovely face. We weren’t certain at this stage if this
woman was love-struck or truly illuminated with the Spirit. Finally, with good reason, Jesus let her
join us on our way to Capernaum.
“She’s an outcast in Magdala,” he explained to
James. “Our mother took in outcasts, whom no one else wanted. Are we better than her?”
Bartholomew, who had once been one of Mama’s
outcasts, himself, gave Jesus a startled look.
I knew that Jesus had no intention of disclosing his identity. James on the other hand had several times in
the past, by careless remarks, almost given him away. Fortunately, his mind was locked in on the issue at hand.
“Jesus,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, “I’m
glad you rescued Mary from her wiles, but she was a prostitute. She’ll bring discredit to you if she joins
our band.”
“Mary was born again,” Jesus reminded him. “She’s
repented of her sins and promised to live righteously. Have you forgotten that, James? What more do you ask?”
“So,” John said with disappointment, “Mary’s not
joining our band?”
“Of course not.” Jesus looked at him in disbelief.
“Where will she stay then?” he probed more
delicately. “In Peter’s house? Where
else can she go?”
“Peter’s
house, of course.” Jesus cocked an eyebrow. “At least for awhile.”
“I don’t believe this discussion.” James clasped his
forehead in dismay “You’re risking your
reputation for that woman? Already they
think you’re a heretic and blasphemer.
Must you consort with prostitutes too?”
“I told you,” Jesus grew testy. “Mary’s not a
prostitute! She’s cured and saved by
God’s grace. She’s a new person,
James. After her transformation, she
changed completely. Forgot all that
rubbish Nicodemus put in your head.
That’s the old way. This—what
we’re doing now—is new. Mary’s
new. You’re new too!”
“I am?” James said in a small voice.
“Yes,” Jesus studied him a moment. “…I understand
were you’re coming from. You were
training to be a scribe, but you must use your knowledge for the Way. You must embrace your sister in the
Spirit. She’s clean in the eyes of
God!”
“Embrace her?” James shuddered. “Are you serious?”
“I’ve never been more serious.” Jesus wagged a
finger. “Mary’s one of us now.”
“Come on,” I teased him, “go give her a hug!”
Looking back at Mary in horror, he exclaimed in a
whisper, “No, she did unspeakable acts.
She’s unclean!”
Andrew and Philip frowned at James with
disapproval. John shook his head.
“Shame on you!” he admonished playfully. “Who are
you to judge?” “Look at her!” He turned and pointed. “Mary’s not unclean. We can scarcely recognize her now. That’s not the same woman we saw in
Magdala. She’s beautiful!”
“Yes, James,” his brother prodded, “you’re acting
like a Pharisee. Give her a chance!”
“What do you say men?” Philip looked around for
approval. “We can make room for her.
Don’t you agree? She’ small,
pleasing to the eyes, and won’t take up much room.”
“Seems reasonable to me.” Andrew scratched his
head.
“I think it’s a great idea!” John
beamed. “Let’s take a vote.”
“All right.” I raised my hand. I vote yes!”
“Me too!” John and his brother cried.
“I’m in,” Bartholomew came alive.
“That makes five.” Philip grinned.
“What about you?” He turned to Andrew.
“Sure.” Andrew shrugged.
Jesus, who had been scrutinizing his
men, gave us a wry smile. “Let’s agree for the right reasons,” he scolded us
gently, “and not simply because Mary’s pleasing to the eyes.” “What do you
think?” He looked over at Peter. “It’s your house.”
“I’m not voting,” Peter huffed. “I’ll stand on the
facts. There’s no more room,
Jesus. My house is already
crowded. Shouldn’t we at least ask my
wife and mother-in-law first?”
“Very well,” Jesus sighed patiently. “We’ll ask them
first, but I’m sure they’ll agree.
It’ll only be temporary, Peter.
In the future when matters cool down in Nazareth, I was thinking of
having my mother watch over her. As I
said, she’s taken in outcasts before.”
Peter raised his palms heavenward, in silent
acquiescence. At a distance, Mary had
listened to Jesus defense of her.
Unimpressed by James and Peter’s protests, Jesus beckoned for her to
catch up. John, his brother James,
Philip, Andrew, Bartholomew, and I greeted her warmly as she arrived in our
midst. Out of breath, embracing each of
us eagerly, she exclaimed, “Oh thank you!
Thank you! I won’t be a bother—I
promise. I can make money for you. Really, I can. I once raised doves for the temple. I know how to capture and take care of them. I can also train them to be pets.”
“Well, there’s an idea.” Andrew snapped his fingers.
“Added to our catch on the lake, Esther’s cakes, and Dinah’s cured lamb strips
and dried fish, it’ll help support our needs.”
“Yeah,” James replied with scorn, “doves are a big
business—especially in the temple!”
“What’s wrong with that?” Philip looked at him
curiously. “Pilgrims need them for temple sacrifice. Raising and selling doves isn’t a crime.”
“That’s true,” Jesus said thoughtfully. “It’s an
honorable profession. It’s what they
charge in the temple that’s wrong.
Mary’s a bright girl, James. I’m
not sure about her selling doves in Capernaum, but she can lend a hand in the
kitchen and help around the house.”
******
Everyone, even James, agreed with that. What happened in Magdala had proved to be a highlight in Jesus’ ministry. Those moments, though, the sun sat low in the sky. With Mary in our company, we continued our journey to Capernaum, hoping to make it before nightfall. By evening, after passing through a grove of trees, we looked out at the great lake, shimmering under the setting sun, and heaved a collective sigh. Mary had walked quietly amongst us at first, wrapped in her thoughts. At times it seemed as if her ordeal as a demoniac had left her addled in the head. She would hum to herself, and, after being asked simple questions, such as “Are you all right?” and “How’re you feeling?” answer perkily, then, at other times, chatter happily, just glad to be alive. Jesus was very fond of Mary. With the temporary exception of James and Peter, we were too. At no time, however, as his critics would later claim, did Jesus act improperly toward her or allow us to treat her with disrespect. In the beginning, I wasn’t so sure about Mary of Magdala’s frame of mind. After all, Jesus was her savior. To her untutored mind, she might not have understood what that clearly meant. That would come later, of course, with great illumination, as she grew into a central character in Jesus’ life
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