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Chapter Thirty-Five

What To Do With Mary

During our first day back in Capernaum, Mary was her usual opinionated self, saying foolish things to Jesus and hanging on his every word. Esther, Peter’s wife, and his mother-in-law Dinah had given up trying to make her a reliable helper. Like her namesake, Lazarus’ sister, she felt she had taken the better part, as Jesus told the other Mary. For this Mary, however, Jesus had much higher expectations. Though I saw intelligence in this woman at times, I didn’t fully realize how important she would become. What I heard from her that day, though, reinforced my opinion of her, for she was not only able to understand Jesus’ words, she remembered almost everything he said. For the first time since I’ve known her, I had a chance to talk to her alone. It turned out, in fact, that she had, like myself, almost perfect recall.

Jesus had just scolded her for making Bernice do her chores. It was just the opposite of what happened with Lazarus’s sisters, when Martha was chided by him for criticizing her sister for being lazy. Considering this disparity, I might have sympathized with her if her actions didn’t resemble her namesake. What made this fault seem insignificant to me, was the gradual realization as I talked to her, of just how smart Mary Magdalene was.

“Well, out with it girl.” I gently elbowed her. “What did Jesus say?”

“It was silly,” she frowned. “… He said I was lazy and should pitch in more. The most important thing was a proverb: ‘The wise must also labor. Wisdom is no excuse for sloth.’”

“Why that’s a compliment,” I gave her a pat. “Jesus said you were wise!”

“You really think so?” She wrinkled her nose.

“Mary,” I answered thoughtfully, “do you really understand all that stuff Jesus says? Even James, Matthew, Simon, and I who are more educated than the fishermen, don’t always understand.”

“…Most of it.” She thought a moment. “I know all of his parables now. He also told me where you men have been.”

“Wait a minute.” I held up my hand. “Are you telling me you memorized all of his parables? Did Jesus really tell you everywhere we went?”

“Yes and yes,” she answered both questions. “Women have brains too.”

“All right, Mary.” I cocked an eyebrow. “I want to believe you, but that’s quite a boast. Prove it to me.”

“You don’t believe me?” She asked indignantly.

“No.” I shrugged my shoulders. “…. It’s just hard to swallow!”

“Well, I never!” she gave a wounded cry. “Why doesn’t anyone take me seriously?”

I regretted immediately insulting Mary’s truthfulness. For a few seconds, I was tempted to apologize. Mary might be one of those people who never forgive a slight. After jumping up from the riverbank and running toward the house, however, she halted midway, turned and, to my amazement, began reciting all of the parables Jesus has said so far. Among the most memorable, as I watched her small mouth wrap around Jesus’ words, was the Good Samaritan. Like the other parables Jesus has given, she appeared to understand it perfectly. What astonished me the most, however, was her account of Jesus’ and his disciples’ travels, from our beginning in Capernaum until our return, including stops in between these high points, such episodes as the Sermon on the Mount, feeding of the five, feeding the four thousand, and the many important miracles Jesus performed. Before she had completed, in an expeditious manner, her mental chronicle of what Jesus and said and done, she had attracted an audience of children who had been dawdling by the shore. They quietly marveled at this strange lady but said nothing as they scampered on their way. Unfortunately, there were no adults within earshot of her incredible narrative.

Her entire performance took about an hour. In the distance, Esther, Dinah, Bernice, and a few disciples looked out from the door. John, who had taken an interest earlier in Mary, as he had the convert Deborah, had been jealous of my attention toward her. As I stood there gazing at this remarkable young woman, my onetime lust for her was heavily counterbalanced by admiration and respect.

While we returned to the house, I complimented her effort. “Whoa, Mary, God has given you a wonderful gift. I thought I had a good memory, but that was incredible!”

“Thanks.” She smiled faintly. “You appreciate me.” “It won’t change my station,” she added with bitterness. “Because I’m not man, I’m supposed to cook, clean floors, and become someone’s wife. Jesus won’t let me go with him. He knows I have this gift, but it makes no difference. I’m a woman, and that’s that!”

Unknowingly, just as we re-entered the house, I spoke prophecy: “Someday, Mary, you’ll make your mark. Be patient, and hold your tongue. It’s just a matter of time!”

******

When I told James and Bartholomew what Mary had done, they were greatly impressed, but I could see doubt in both of their eyes. Since Mary had not told me to keep this a secret, I also told the other disciples. The reaction I received shouldn’t have surprised me. Most Jewish men had little respect for a woman’s minds. There were many exceptions, including my father who had deferred to his wife many times, but judging by Peter’s lordship over his household, women were intended to be the servants of men. It irked me very much when the fishermen, especially Peter, scoffed at my claim. What bothered me almost as much was the mixed reaction I got from the remaining men. Matthew and Thomas, like James and Bartholomew, wanted to believe, but admitted it was farfetched, and Simon, who had always thought Mary a striking creature, said it made no deference. “She’s a woman,” he replied carelessly, “What use is that in her head?” Only Judas gave credence to my report, but then suggested half-seriously that, because Mary was a flighty-headed girl, she must be possessed. No one but me took her seriously. Even Jesus, who thought her boasts unseemly, had put her in her place.

“Let another praise you,” he scolded her, “ not from your own mouth. Better a stranger extol your virtues than have it come from your lips!”
That was another criticism that cut her to the quick. Jesus was trying to make Mary humble and not show her gifts for their own stake. Begrudgingly perhaps, I understood this, but there seemed to be no excuse for the other disciple’s attitude toward Mary Magdalene. One day they would know better, but during this time they were in denial. It was, I told Mary later, like the ignorant villager who saw a peacock and told his friend such a bird couldn’t possibly exist. She was, for a time being, that strutting peacock in more ways than one. Her problem wasn’t her intelligence and what she knew, but how to behave around others with humility and tact. I didn’t realize then, but not only did I respect and want to protect Mary Magdalene, I had fallen in love with her. I might never tell her this or ask her how she felt about me. I was just happy to be her confidant and friend.

Though Bernice’s disposition didn’t include petty jealousy and cynicism, her mother Esther and grandmother Dinah had grown to resent Mary more than even the fishermen. Nevertheless, that day, against the normal resentment of men for women smarter than themselves, Mary had made an impact. No one, except me, would admit it yet, but clearly this was an extraordinary woman. Auspiciously, on the third day of our rest period, a large band of followers arrived, led by Azariah and his wife, Yoshabel. What I noticed, after studying those singled out as the Seventy was that several wives accompanied their husbands. A precedent had been set for spouses and their families to be converted together, and yet Jesus allowed only mature matrons, like Yoshabel, into the group. Most of the women, who appeared in front of Peter’s house with their husbands, were young wives, who would stay behind with their children, but there were other young, unmarried women like Mary, would also stay behind. Despite a pattern that included only middle-aged spouses, I wanted Jesus to make an exception with Mary Magdalene. What came out of my mouth, therefore, before I lost my courage, was both a challenge and a request: “Jesus, there are many women in that bunch. I can see that many of them are much older than Mary. None of the younger women, regardless of their marital status, were chosen. This is greatly unfair. I can understand leaving young wives home to take care of their children, but what about younger women who have no such attachments, like Mary Magdalene, who can dedicate themselves solely to the Lord. Mary is the most intelligent and able woman I’ve ever known. Please make an exception and let her, like the other women, serve the Lord!”

“You love this woman,” Jesus replied, smiling faintly. “I know your mind, Jude; it questions often, but your heart is pure. You must have given this great thought. Did she say she wanted to join the Seventy?”

“No,” I admitted, “but I know she wants to contribute to the cause.”

“Cause?” Jesus frowned. “This is more than just a cause. You and the others are more than soldiers for God. You don’t merely preach, you are ambassadors, who represent the Way. During that first time you and the disciples went out to spread the word, there were incidents that brought discredit on the message and the Way. Some of the pairs I sent out before didn’t get along well. This must not happen again. Though I’m aware of her potential, Mary is immature, self-absorbed, and stubborn. Like all of you she is growing in spirit and resolve, but, like my disciples, she will need a partner when I send the Seventy out in twos. There are exactly thirty-five pairs. In order to send her out, a man must accompany her. It’s dangerous out there.”

“We’ll find her someone,” I replied quickly. “A strong mature fellow, who’ll rein her in.”

“But they must get-a-long with Mary,” Jesus said succinctly. “That’s important!”

“I’ll ask Azariah if knows such a person,” I suggested. “He might have some ideas.”

Jesus was just humoring me. Deep down inside, I knew this was hopeless. Looking out at the assembly I recognized many other familiar faces: Barnabas, one of the first converts to the Way, Cleopas and Matthias, who were there in Capernaum in the beginning, Justus, the onetime leper, several other older men and women I recall enthusiastically joining up, and, in a few more cases, those persons healed after Jesus sermons in Galilee and Decapolis. Also present, after leaving Jericho, was Zacchaeus, now in the company of his wife Rhea and servants, who followed him into poverty. Though it was unreasonable to expect her here, I was disappointed not see Deborah in this group. The two Roman converts and, of course, the old woman weren’t here either. In most cases, Jesus wanted the converts to return to their towns and share the good news with their family and friends. This was, in fact, Jesus expectation for the towns and villages throughout the land and the multitudes who attended his sermons in Galilee, Decapolis, and Perea.

Today, the men and women gathered here together to spread the word, were an exception to the master plan. There were several men and women like Zacchaeus and his wife who had impoverished themselves to follow the master. Would he really change their number from seventy to seventy-two just for Mary’s sake, even if I found another preacher? James didn’t think so. Jesus had asked Azariah to select seventy, he reminded me. Azariah, guided by Jesus’ father, had deliberately picked this number. The Lord never changed his mind or revised a plan, however nebulous it appeared in the beginning. Why would he include Mary and be forced to admit yet another person into the group and upset the plan?

Yet Jesus would not bless his team and send them on their way without considering my request. Very quickly that hour when I took Azariah aside, though, I realized the folly of my request. Mary, who accompanied me, her face radiating with eagerness, heard the elder dismiss my appeal outright.

“No, Jude,” he waved irritably, “it took a lot of trouble to sort out this bunch. There simply isn’t room for any more people. Seventy, including myself, came to Capernaum. Seventy will go out and spread the word.”

“There are no others who’d like to go?” I asked hopefully.

“No, I’m very sorry.” He looked over at Mary. “As you can see, I have nothing against women serving god. My wife’s here. There’s many women in our group. The Torah is filled with great women. I pray that you’ll find your mission, Mary, but there’s no more room.”

I had built up her expectations just to watch them crash to the ground. With the exception of James and Bartholomew, who at least supported my efforts, the other disciples had little genuine sympathy for Mary.

“Bad luck, Mary,” Peter reached out insincerely. “You’d be a great warrior for the Lord.”

“Yeah,” piped Philip, “it’s not your fault.”

“Better luck next time!” Matthew waved.

The other disciples offered similar condolences. Mary, who saw right through their efforts, frowned with scorn. Beside myself, none of their words, even John’s words, sounded genuine. Rather than join in their efforts at sympathy, I gave her shoulder a pat yet held my peace. The very notion of adding to the Seventy against Jesus’ wishes was, in fact, silly. It had been utterly presumptuous of me to offer this suggestion. What a fool I was? I scolded myself. How could I have been so rash? It had been a hopeless prospect for Mary. Then suddenly, during their offerings of sympathy, a solution flashed into my head.

“I got it!” I exclaimed, snapping my fingers. “Why not let her preach to the locals? Those other fishermen would like to see a pretty face.”

“Aren’t all of them converts?” Andrew frowned. “Is there anyone around here not saved?”

“Yes, I think so.” Peter scratched his head. “There’s lots of boats on the lake. Some of those men are set in their ways. I have a few doubters in my own crew.”

“There’s a lot of people in this town who are doubters,” Jesus clarified, “not just fishermen.”

“Mary will need an escort,” suggested Simon, “pared off with a man. Like us and the Seventy, they’ll work as a team.”

“I’ll volunteer,” Judas raised his hand. “I’m not afraid of these locals!”

“No, way,” I jumped in. “It’s my idea. If anyone goes with her, it’s me!”

“Wait a minute!” Peter stared at Jesus. “You’re really going to allow this?”

“Yes,” Jesus replied with resignation. “Her contribution to the Way lies in the future, but, like all of you, Mary wants to be a part of this and test her resolve. Until the Seventy returns from their missions, Jude will go with Mary. Let’s give them a chance in Capernaum to spread the good news. After Mary has her chance to preach, she must be a helpmate in Peter’s house.”

“Yes-yes,” Mary clapped her hands excitedly, “it’s a deal!”

“Ho-ho,” Jesus broke into laughter, “this isn’t a deal, Mary. This will be a test. You must do your part for Esther and Dinah nonetheless.”

“All right,” she nodded enthusiastically. “When can Jude and I start?”

Jesus pursed his lips. “Why not today?”

“Good grief!” groaned Andrew.

As Jesus stood in front of the Seventy to bless them, he made scooting motion with his hand, “Go,” he snapped, “I have business now!”

I could scarcely express my joy that moment. While the Seventy prepared to depart for places unknown, Mary and I knew exactly where we would start our preaching. Our first stop would be by Lake Gennesaret. Jesus sent word by Thomas that we were not to baptize, only preach. There were many men, even woman, who might resent a woman preaching to them, and this would a big enough challenge. Baptism, to my relief, was out of the question. There was no question that Mary would not be baptizing if it was allowed, but even having her stand there and watch me perform the rite would be too much for initiates, especially the men. Thomas also added Jesus’ advice that we shouldn’t attempt any miracles. Since it was Mary’s first time, keep it simple, advised Thomas. All we had to do, I exclaimed happily to her, was preach the word. What could be so hard about that?

******

Hand in hand, which made it seem as if two lovers were prancing along the shore, we set out in the late morning unconcerned about that ‘other’ group of preachers. Looking back on this venture, I’m somewhat embarrassed. It must have looked bad to the other disciples. John, who had no room to talk, would later scold me for my behavior. Forgetting entirely that Mary was once a street prostitute possessed by a demon, he feared for her innocence and thought I might corrupt her with my worldly ways. I know John hadn’t lost his memory. His jealousy had evidently addled his brain. Mary, though rehabilitated and a new woman, was anything but innocent and unaware of the world. What was so incredible about her was how she bounced back after Jesus drove out her demon and was transformed into the woman she was now.

Anyone looking at this rosy cheeked, raven-haired girl would think she was the picture of blamelessness and virtue, which was, thanks to Jesus, partly true. Mary, however, was also mischievous and headstrong. The first thing she wanted to do was ignore Jesus advice and try out her powers. I wish Jesus had made it a command that she not attempt this. Now, as she argued, it had really been left up to her.

“After all,” she said, batting her eyelashes, “I am a disciple, aren’t I? Jesus said we could move mountains if we have faith. All I want to do is cure one person. What’s so wrong about that?”

“Because,” I tried reasoning with her, “you’re not a disciple. Jesus never said that. He agreed to let you preach, not heal. If you fail, Mary, it’ll just upset you. You’ll anger Jesus. The disciples will have that much more reason to dislike you. Please stick to our plan. We’ll find a few small groups and preach to them—nothing grand today.”

“Oh, pooh,” She pouted. “Why doesn’t anyone trust me? I cured a dog once; why not a person?”

“A dog?” I looked at her in disbelief. “You cured a dog?”

“Well, he was in pretty bad shape,” she equivocated, “Esther and Dina had given up on him, but I fed him and nursed him back to health.” “Bernice said I have the gift,” she added resolutely. “Now Elijah is as good as new!”

I shook my head. “The dog’s named Elijah? I didn’t know Peter had a dog.”

She gave me a hurt look. “It’s the neighbor’s dog. You don’t believe me, do you? That dog was almost dead!”

“It doesn’t matter.” I folded my arms. “That’s a cure, not a miracle. Did you pray first and ask God to cure the beast?”

“Well…no,” her voice faltered. “…I guess I didn’t.”

“Then it wouldn’t count anyhow, would it?” I asked, watching her squirm. “If you cured a dog or a person automatically, it would be magic, not a miracle. That would be considered sorcery, wouldn’t it?”

“No.” She stomped her foot. “I love animals. When I cured that dog, I didn’t use magic. When I sold doves, I had the gift. I could always bring the sickly ones back to health.”

“Listen, Mary,” I grew frustrated. “I thought you understood what we’re doing. Curing dogs and birds makes you a clever girl, but trying to heal a person requires prayer and purpose. Jesus taught us that healings are done for spiritual as well as physical cures. You heard what he told Thomas. We mustn’t go to extremes. I’m doing this for you, Mary, not myself. So help me, if you attempt such a thing, this is will all stop dead in its tracks!”

With her lower lip extended and frown playing on her face, Mary nodded reluctantly as we walked toward men standing by the shore. I didn’t know then that they were critics of Jesus. They didn’t look like fishermen or any of the villagers I had seen near Peter’s house. What should have been a warning sign was the way they were scrutinizing us from afar. The closer we came to them, the more I suspected hostility in the foursome… And then I realized who they were.

“Stop, Mary!” I whispered from the corner of my mouth. “Turn around, face the opposite direction, walk as fast as you can toward the dock.”

“But why? They look friendly enough?” She protested as I pulled her along.

“Keep walking.” I demanded. “I think they’re temple spies. I saw two of them during Jesus’ sermon. We’ll circle around and head into town.”

Through an orchard, passed a farm, and down the western path into town, I led her by her small hand into Capernaum. My heart swelled with pride. At that point, I could care less about preaching or spreading the word. Like a new colt, I had tamed Mary. I would teach her to be a proper disciple if that’s what she wanted. It didn’t matter whether she joined our group or not. One day, with her personality and mind, she would be a great tool for the Lord… just not today.

“Here’s how you do it,” I bent over and whispered into her ear.

In the center of town, at a meeting place where Jesus preached many times, we found three woman fetching water from the well.

“Hello!” I called cheerily. “I’m Jude and this is my friend Mary. We’re followers of Jesus, the Chosen One. Have you heard the good news?”

“What news is this?” one of them asked.

“That salvation and everlasting life is offered to all, who repent their sins to God and live righteously from now on.”

“My father is a Sadducee.” She replied. “We live. We die. We rot in the grave.”

“You don’t believe that!” Mary looked at her in horror.

“Oh yes I do.” She frowned. “As do my sisters. Father is a Levite, servant of the temple.”

“Levites are agents of Caiaphas,” I whispered to Mary. “I bet her father was one of those men!”

“Who are you to preach to us?” The spokeswoman wrung her finger. “You’re one of Jesus’ men. My father called him a blasphemer and heretic.”

“Do you even know what those words mean?” Mary said with contempt. “You don’t even know Jesus? Have you no mind of your own?”

“I’ve heard all about him.” She snarled. “I don’t need to hear him attack the temple and set himself above God. Father told me all about him.”

“What about you?” I looked at her sisters. “Do you want to die and rot in your grave in eternal darkness?”

“No,” replied a second woman, with wide unblinking eyes. “…We don’t think about it much.”

“Well, you should.” Mary came forward and took her pail. “Jesus offers you eternal life simply by accepting his message.”

“Don’t do it Mary,” I whispered. “No baptisms. Give her back her pail.”

Handing her back her pail, Mary spoke with great eloquence: “Jesus taught us that there is no spiritual death. The priests tell you that there is no afterlife, but there is: heaven or hell. For you, who are responsible for your sins, there’s only two choices: salvation and paradise through Jesus message or eternal darkness, where the soul also lives on. This isn’t something a priest would tell you, because he doesn’t believe in eternal life. But the Lord will punish the Levites priests for leading the people astray. This includes their wives, who refuse to believe.”

“Our priests don’t lie.” A third woman frowned severely. “Our father’s a good man, who offers sacrifice in the temple and keeps the law. “ “Come, Rebecca,” she called to her sister, “Father says Jesus works for the devil. He’s bewitched the people and led them astray.”

“No,” Rebecca jerked away. “I’ve heard about Jesus from our neighbors, Hosea and Rhoda. They say he healed a girl who had been blind since birth. They told me that his words brought them peace of mind, and no longer did they worry about death. I didn’t believe them. But our neighbors never told me about two deaths. I can accept ‘not being,’ as Father calls it, but I can’t accept living in darkness—forever!”

“Come, Rebecca,” her older sister demanded.

“No.” She jerked away again. “I must hear more about this Jesus.” “Do you know where he is?” She looked pleadingly at Mary. “I want to have peace like my neighbors. I want eternal life!”

“Why, of course,” Mary clapped her hands in delight, “and you shall have it! Jesus will be at home this evening. Come and see him then.”

After we left Rebecca at the well, we could hear the first sister who had spoken berate her: “You foolish girl! Father told us he was a sorcerer. He will bewitch you and turn you from our faith!”

“Jesus isn’t evil,” cried Rebecca. “Hosea and his wife believe he’s the Messiah. Our neighbors wouldn’t lie!”

As their voices faded in the distance, the second sister joined in the scolding.

“Listen to that,” I shook my head. “The way they’re carrying on, you’d think she committed a terrible crime. The older sisters represent the old faith. The younger sister represents the new.”

“Will her Father punish her very much?” Mary looked back with concern.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “He might give her a beating. I hope not.”

“Jesus told me we would suffer in his name,” she said reflectively. “I just hope Rebecca can slip away.”

“Well, it was good practice,” I replied cheerily. “She hardly counts as a convert. At least you got her thinking.”

“You think so?” She looked at me for approval. “I did good, didn’t I? That part about eternal darkness really shook her up.”

“Very good, Mary.” I grinned, patting her head. “You’re a natural preacher. You’ve learned a lot from Jesus. You understand human nature, too.”

“Really?” She beamed happily. “A natural preacher? You really think I understand people?”

“Yes.” I nodded, suppressing a smile. “I’m proud of you, Mary. That was a good start.”

“What next?” she piped, tugging my sleeve.

“Come on!” I grabbed her hand. “Let’s find more people for you to practice on!”

“Yes, yes!” She skipped ahead briskly. “Lots of them!”

“We can’t stay away too long,” I reminded her. “I think Jesus expects us back soon. He’s sending off the Seventy today. Let’s look for friendly faces—no more sour pusses or grouches!”

******

Almost immediately, after that statement, a couple appeared on the road. Like a freshly broken colt, Mary bolted ahead. Restraining her by gripping her wrist, I counseled caution: “Careful, Mary, wait until we see their expressions.” When they were close enough, we were encouraged by what we saw.

“Two old people smiling,” Mary called out, shielding her eyes from the sun. “…. The old man is waving to us…. His wife is waving too.”

“They seem friendly enough,” I acknowledged, “but don’t come on too strong. That might no work this time. Just ask them, ‘Have you heard the news?’ That’s a good opener.”

“Good idea!” she said excitedly.

Closer and closer the couple came. When they were in front of us, Mary popped the question, “Have you heard the news?”

“Yes-yes.” The old man bobbed his head.

“What news?” The old woman scowled. “You talking ‘bout that preacher fellow?”

“Yes, Jesus of Nazareth.” She smiled warmly. “All you have to do is repent your sins, accept his loving Father, and live righteously from that point on.”

“That’s a tall order,” replied the old woman querulously. “No one’s righteous, misses. The Torah tells us this. You forget that tale about Adam and Eve?”

Caught off guard, Mary was momentarily speechless. Though she was a good listener, I doubted very much if she had read our scrolls.

“Jesus is righteous,” I stepped in quickly. “If you heard him speak and saw his miracles, you would see this. Following conversion, all men and women must strive for righteousness. That’s what Jesus means.”

“Humph!” The old woman’s expression softened again. “What about the law those rabbis and Pharisees pander and all that stuff in the temple? We don’t need any of that?”

“None of it,” I made a sweeping motion. “Jesus good news has replaced it.”

I had almost blurted, ‘Jesus, the Lamb of God, takes the place of the temple sacrifice,’ but bit my tongue. Even I still found this difficult to digest. Instead, I carefully explained why it was necessary to replace the old religion.

“It’s like this,” explained searching my memory. “…. The priests have made the temple a slaughterhouse, filled with money lenders and hapless doves and lambs; the Pharisees and scribes have burdened the people with laws they can scarcely understand or keep; and the rabbis in the land, have failed as shepherds by passing on this burden to their congregations. The Messiah that religious leaders stress—a warrior king who sweeps away our Roman oppressors, doesn’t offer salvation in the next life. All men and women die, are buried, and rot in the grave as the Sadducees and priests believe. For those who want a mere deliverer, the law and temple sacrifice are enough. For those who seek paradise forever, Jesus, Isaiah’s true messiah, asks but one thing: believe. Accept the good news for eternal life!”

It was a singular moment in my preaching, for I summed up in a nutshell Jesus’ message. I had taken the glory from Mary, though, which isn’t what I wanted. Turning to her then, as the old man and woman stared at me, I whispered, “Finish this. Tell them what they must do.”

“Oh, yes.” She blinked. “Come to the house of Peter tonight. It’s at the end of town, near the lake. Jesus will baptize you into the Way. You’re lives will never be the same!”

“Well, what do you say Gershon?” she turned to her husband.

“Yes-yes.” He bobbed his head again.

“He’s not right in the head anymore,” the old woman explained, yanking his beard.

“Don’t worry,” Mary said brightly. “If you wish, Jesus will cure him.”

“Cure him of what?” she cackled. “He’s touched. Old folks get that way.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I reached out and gently gripped their shoulders. “Jesus has made people see again, cured demoniacs, and raised people from the dead. He can surely restore your husband’s wits!”

As we departed, I felt a measure of guilt. The old woman hadn’t expected Jesus to fix her husband. Yet I was sending an old man to Jesus who was senile and touched in the head. Mary didn’t appear to know any better, but I shouldn’t have promised the woman such a thing. Hopefully, that poor woman with the Sadducee father and the senile old man would stay at home. I didn’t want the Sadducee’s daughter to be abused because she visited Jesus nor did I want Jesus feeling obliged to cure that old man. Why should he attempt to change the mind of another stubborn, close-minded elder or use his powers to undue old age? He was being put upon too much, and his powers had been tested too many times! I didn’t want to create more problems for Jesus. That’s exactly what I had done when I let Mary invite Rebecca to Peter’s house and promised that Jesus would cure that old man. What worried me the most was Rebecca’s father, who might come storming up to the house. Jesus shouldn’t have to put up with that nonsense. What was I thinking? I berated myself. Just to impress that maiden, I had given Mary free rein!

With this apprehension in my mind, I wanted to get back to Peter’s house as soon as possible. So far, unless our spiritual contacts did, in fact, visit Jesus, we could tell Jesus with a clear conscious that Mary had done comparatively well, which was true. After all, it was her first time. This logic was acceptable to Mary, who had enough of preaching today. Unfortunately, despite the scolding I gave myself for our referrals to Peter’s house, I found myself, like Jesus so many times, tested when I heard a familiar voice. As we began exiting town, a man approached us, holding out his hand.

“Alms, Alms for the poor!” he cried out.

“It’s a beggar,” I said from the corner of my mouth, “Smile nicely but ignore him. I don’t have any coins.”

“I’m sorry,” I held up my hands, “I’m poor too.”

Upon closer inspection, I noticed that the man was shaking badly as if he had palsy or some other condition. Without thinking clearly again, I said, “I haven’t money, but I know a man who can change your life. Jesus offers eternal life if you repent your sins. He will heal both your body and your soul!”

“Huh?” the man muttered with a gaping mouth. “….Where?”

“The house of Peter, the fisherman.” I answered, reaching out to steady the man.

I clasped my mouth in dismay. “What have I done?” I whispered to Mary. “It’s seems I can’t help myself. This man is isn’t sick. He’s drunk.”

At that point, I could detect the sour odor of wine radiating from the man and clearly understood the gravity of my mistake. Unfortunately, the die was cast. I couldn’t very well detract my offer of salvation and healing.

“Mary,” I said, running my hand through my hair, “this is serious. Not only have we referred a senile old man to Jesus but, I just referred a drunkard to Peter’s house. Let’s pray none of them show up.”

“Yes, Jude,” Mary squeezed my hand, “let’s go home.”

******

We arrived back in Peter’s house late in the afternoon. According to James, the Seventy had departed shortly after Mary and I scampered away. Jesus and his handpicked fishermen were nowhere in sight. Their absence deflected from my lapse of judgment with Mary, since the other disciples, especially Andrew and Philip, resented their special treatment. Soon after we departed, however, James had heard criticisms from Peter’s family and the remaining men.

“It didn’t look good,” he scolded me. “Everyone thought you might have an infatuation for Mary. Now they’re certain!”

“Huh?” I gasped. “Certain of what?”

“What do you think?” James glanced at Mary.

“What did Jesus say?” Mary’s eyes brimmed with tears.

“Nothing,” James’ expression softened. “If Jesus is angry, it’s with Jude. I know for certain everyone else is upset after what they saw today.”

“What did they see?” I went on the defense. “Two of Jesus’ followers harvesting souls? What’s so bad about that?”

“Hah!” spat James. “You’re a disciple Jude, not merely a follower. You held her hand like some moon sick lover!”

“That’s ridiculous.” I waved irritably. “It’s no such thing!”

“Yes,” Mary wiped her eyes. “You men are just jealous of Jude. He held my hand to guide and protect me. We’re just friends.”

“No.” James shook his head. “It’s not jealousy Mary. Most of us thought it looked bad.”

“Who? Tell me who!” I demanded, as the other disciples walked up to the scene.

“I did.” Andrew frowned severely.

“Me too.” Philip folded his arms.

“We all know Mary’s background,” Thomas said disapprovingly. “You’re leading her back into temptation. We saw how she looks at you!”

“Really?” I glanced at Mary. “Like how?”

“Like this.” Philip tried imitating Mary.

“The important thing,” James reminded us, “is how it looks.”

I looked across the room at Matthew, Simon, Bartholomew, and Judas. “What about you fellows? Do you agree with James?”

“Well…no.” Matthew smiled sympathetically. “It seems innocent enough. What’s the big deal?”

“It’s not a big deal!” Simon stepped forth. “You don’t speak for us, James. Peter, who has great influence over the fishermen, thinks he’s better than us. He’s never got over Mary’s past. John wants Mary to himself!”

“Hold on a minute, Simon!” James raised his hand. “Let’s not slander John behind his back. Jude’s not after Mary either.”

“Right!” I jumped in. “Like she said: we’re just friends.”

“That’s not how it looks to me,” Andrew grumbled

“Yeah,” snarled Philip. “Why was he holding her hand?”

“Ho-ho!” Judas snickered. “Why do you think? Don’t blame Jude, men. Mary’s a looker—a real tease.”

Stifling the urge to hit him, I stared at him in disbelief. What was wrong with this man? I wondered that moment. Is he possessed or just addled in the head? Before I could think of a rebuke Thomas stepped in. “That wasn’t very nice, Judas,” he scolded him. “James’s right. It’s how it looks.” “Just remember.” He looked at me thoughtfully. “All eyes are watching us now. Out there you represent Jesus, not just yourself.”

“Well spoken.” James gave him a nod. “No one has a right to judge Mary or Jude.”

James had toned down his rebuke in order to keep the peace. Of all the disciples, he had the strongest sense of basic right and wrong—a trait that would one day earn him the nickname ‘James, the Just.’ Bartholomew, the best natured member of our group, stepped forward a pace to grip James and my shoulder, muttering for the sake of the two brothers, “Shalom!” Matthew and Simon flashed us supportive smiles, and even Judas, who made light of the discussion, agreed with James.

“I trust my brother,” James concluded, looking around the group. “We’re not talking about Jude’s and Mary’s intent. They’re good people. I personally don’t believe either of them would sully their reputations or bring ill-repute on the Way. I repeat: it’s what people out there think!”

“Thank you,” Mary replied dubiously.

“The important thing,” I said for her benefit, “is what Jesus thinks. I could care less what any of you believe!”

******

Contrary to what James led us to believe at first, only the fishermen were really upset with Mary and me. I couldn’t believe that Andrew and Philip resented me as much as the other fishermen who had been elevated about themselves. Neither of them expounded on their grievances. In fact, I think both of them, like John, were jealous of her affection toward me. That day, however, as the remaining disciples waited for Jesus and his innermost circle to return, I realized how much more this issue played on their minds. In this we were all united. The question remained, ‘why did Jesus show favoritism toward that threesome?’

“I don’t like questioning God,” Andrew said glumly, “but it doesn’t make sense. Philip and me were there in the beginning when the Baptist called Jesus the Lamb. I can understand Jesus picking Peter—he’s the Rock, but John and his grumpy brother? Why would God pick them over us. We were his first disciples?”

“All Peter did was say ‘You’re the Son of God.’ Everyone knew that!” I scowled.

“I didn’t know it,” murmured Mary.

“Neither did I,” Bartholomew confessed.

“The point is,” Philip waved dismissively, “Jesus shouldn’t have favorites. What do they have that makes them so special?”

“Nothing!” Simon folded his arms.

“The truth is,” I shook my head. “Peter’s not that bright.”

“You’d think he’d go by seniority,” Andrew said querulously. “I was the one who introduced him to my brother.”

“I still don’t know why he picked me,” Thomas scratched his head.

“And me!” Judas laughed at himself.

“What about Jude and I?” James blurted. “We’re his brothers. I prayed about this a lot. We have to accept Jesus revelations from God and Peter’s selection as the chief disciple, but Andrew’s right. There has to be a good reason why God decided upon those other two.”

“I can’t see any,” Mary said petulantly.

“Nor I.” Matthew heaved a sigh.

That moment, after eavesdropping on our conversation, Esther and Dinah, who could care less about John and his brother, rushed like a storm to Peter’s defense.

“How dare any of you speak ill of him!” Dinah shook her fist. “This is Peter’s house. Because of this nonsense, we now have a hole in our roof. Our lives are forever changed. We feed you, let you drink our wine, give you shelter, and this is our thanks?”

“What?” Simon said indignantly.

“It’s true,” cried Esther. “Look at you people. It’s bad enough the fishermen have become loafers. Now we got a tax collector, temple spy, and prostitute, acting like a virgin princess in our house.”

“She’s nothing but a tart!” Bernice shrieked.

“That’s enough,” Andrew held up his hand. “Jesus accepted them and so should you.”

“Esther, Bernice,” I tried not losing my temper. “Jesus cured Mary. Why are you attacking her? She said nothing bad about Peter. I did!”

“Then shame on you!” Esther pointed accusingly at me. “Someone told me about Jude. You’re practically a Gentile. You rode with Romans, Syrians, and Greeks. We saw you at the lake with that temptress, prancing like a love struck fool with that whore!”

I was speechless a moment. I could scarcely believe what was happening. Even Bernice, who once looked up to Mary, had turned on her. Mary broke down after this last insult, yet managed, between sobs, an eloquent defense. “How dare you!” she cried in righteous anger. “Esther, you’ve become a spiteful women; I expected as much from you Dinah, but there’s no excuse for your behavior Bernice. Thanks to Jesus saving grace, I’m at peace with myself, but, because of your resentment, you dredged it up. Haven’t you been listening? Jesus said, ‘judge and you shall be judged. Your words would be unworthy to your son, whom Jesus called the Rock. They both would be ashamed of you now!”

After this rebuke, the three women lunged at Mary Magdalene with outstretched arms, as if they might do her harm, flinging a string of insults at her, including ‘whore!’, ‘harlot!’, ‘tart!’ and ‘Jezebel!,’ shocking everyone in the room. Not caring what anyone thought, I took her in my arms. I was reminded that moment how much I loved her. To protect her from physical abuse, I reeled around showing my back to her attackers, while the other men seemed frozen in shock.

“Wait just an infernal minute!” I shouted over my shoulder. “I don’t care what you think of me, but you have no right treating her this way. Don’t you dare touch her. Jesus loves Mary. He sees a great purpose in this woman and what he sees is God’s vision. Jesus has his father’s ear and speaks with His voice. Careful, Esther, Dinah, and Bernice that you don’t defy God!”

On that thunderous note, the other disciples snapped to action. It was as if evil spirits possessed the women. To diffuse the situation, as I shielded Mary, the men pulled her three attackers to the far side of the room. I could never have imagined that Peter’s family would react this way. The small house continued to echo with accusations and screams of rage.

“Stop it! This is dreadful!” James awakened in the background. “You obviously weren’t listening to our conversation. The disciples spoke ill of Peter. Mary merely agreed. Why are you attacking her? Your words are an abomination. If Jesus and Peter heard you, they would be ashamed and horrified. Cease spewing your foul words at once!”

“You honey-tongued, smart-mouthed, snot-nosed scribbler!” Esther shouted back, trying to break free. “How dare you talk to me like that in my home?”

With two or three men gripping each of the women, it should have been an easy task, but the women were bereft of their senses. Thomas and Bartholomew were feint hearted. Simon and Judas simply didn’t have enough strength. Using his greater strength, Andrew lifted Peter’s wife straight up and deposited her in the kitchen then stood there staring at her menacingly, his jaw set. With less trouble, Philip dragged the older woman over to her daughter-in-law, while Simon and Judas managed finally to deposit Bernice in the kitchen too.

While I comforted Mary, James stood staring in horror at this episode. It must have sounded awful to townsfolk passing by. Fortunately for us, Jesus and the others hadn’t yet returned. As the disciples stood as a united front between the kitchen and master room, Esther hissed, “Keep your hands off me! This is our house!”; Bernice shrieked “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!”; and Dinah spat like a cat: “I want you people out! You’re ruining our lives. Jesus brings tax collectors, temple spies, and lowlifes like that Judas into our home. I’ll be cursed if I allow that prostitute to live in this house!”

“You have no choice,” Andrew replied boldly. “This is Peter’s house. Peter obeys Jesus, and Jesus obeys God.”

“Like I said.” I glared back at the women. “You’ll be defying God!”

******

When Jesus returned that evening, giving no explanation of where they had gone, I expected that Peter’s family would tattle on Mary and me. James, who had defended us with great emotion, was also worried, but the other disciples who had witnessed this debacle gave us looks of respect. As he entered the house, to avoid exacerbating the situation, Mary and I slipped out the back door. For appearances sake, James and Bartholomew escorted us a ways up the shoreline, and, together we waited on Peter’s dock for the shouting to begin. Though James and Bartholomew told us not to worry, Mary and I were frightened. This was another storm Jesus would quieten, James reassured us. Jesus had power over both people and nature. After a few words he had silenced the waves, just as he had silenced his critics and also used his power over the winds to blow away Barabbas and his gang. James words had a calming affect on us those moments…. Then the shouting began.

“Listen to that!” Bartholomew shushed us. “Those women sound possessed!”

“Abraham’s ghost!” I groaned. “I have a good mind to leave the twelve. Mary and I can return to Nazareth until this blows over. Jesus was afraid she would rub our mother wrong, but could it be any worse than this?”

“I don’t know.” James shrugged. “I mean no offense Mary.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “But our mother won’t approve of you. I don’t think our sisters will either, and I know for certain that our brother Joseph won’t. You are a spirited young maiden, but you must hold your tongue and watch your step. It may not seem right, but you’re a Jewish, not a Gentile, woman, who have higher standards than the outspoken Greek and Roman matrons, and are expected to behave accordingly.”

I bristled somewhat at his words but both Mary and I realized he was right. Despite the poor reception James predicted if I brought Mary home, he also implied that a change in Mary’s behavior might make a difference. We couldn’t hear exactly what the women were telling Jesus but we were certain that things would never be the same. When Jesus came out of the house, alone, with a grim look on his face, our fears seemed confirmed.

“Jude,” he came straight to the point, “innocently or not, you and Mary have created a problem in Peter’s house. I’ve had a long talk with Esther, Dinah, and Bernice. There’s no excuse for their treatment of Mary, but the fact is they want her out. Matthew and Simon suggested I use my powers to make them behave, but the three women are reacting no differently than our mother would react. It is left to Mary to be accountable for her actions, rather than my casting a spell over her adversaries, as Matthew and Simon want me to do.”

“I don’t understand.” I gave him a troubled look. “Mary and I went off on our own to preach—that’s all we did, and they want to kick her out? That’s stupid, and it’s unfair! Mary’s smart and spirited. She has an almost perfect memory. You should’ve seen her out there, Jesus. We need her in the Way!”

“Her talent isn’t in question.” Jesus shook his head. “It’s Mary’s disrespect for others and her ignorance of the mindset of Jewish women and men. The problem didn’t start today, either; it began the day she set foot in Peter’s house. Deliberate or not, Mary’s unwillingness to be a helpmate in Peter’s house and disrespect for his mother-in-law and wife, have predisposed them to judge her more harshly when they saw her scampering hand-in-hand unescorted with you along the shore.

“This is all my fault,” Mary announced with a quivering voice. “I started on the wrong foot. I have to change.”

“You have said it.” Jesus bent forward and kissed her cheek. “Your heart’s in the right place, Mary, but save that spirit for the day I call you. Your time will come!”

“Really?” she brightened.

“Yes, I told you this before.” He gave her a hug.

James and Bartholomew’s heads jerked back in surprise. Mary’s face was illuminated, as if a lamp burned inside her head. My heart swelled in my chest at this change. From an apparent outcast to a chosen vessel, Mary had transformed. Now, more clearly than ever before, I knew that Jesus favored Mary above other women. From that day forward, thanks to what Jesus would tell his disciples and my own promotion of Mary, her esteem would grow in the group. This hour, however, we had to decide what to do with Mary.

******

Before returning to the house, as we walked slowly down the shore, Jesus wasted no time in hatching a plan. There was no question that Mary’s return to the house alongside of Jesus would signal to the women that he had given in to her. This sounded irrational to us, but Jesus explained in one sentence the root of human intolerance: ‘people believe what they want.’

“You will live with Hosea, Rhoda, and their family,” he announced with resolution. “When the Seventy return, you can accompany Cleopas, a most faithful follower, to his home in Emmaus, if you aren’t happy at Hosea’s house. If Peter’s family doesn’t have a change of heart, Hosea’s or Cleopas’ household will remain a safe and secure place for you to live.”

Knowing that Jerusalem was our ultimate destination, I found this solution less acceptable than her staying with Hosea’s family, but Hosea’s house was, Jesus pointed out, too close to Peter’s house. If it was up to me, I would rather have her stay in Bethany with Lazarus and his sisters, where Jesus planned to stop once more before entering the holy city, which meant she could accompany us on our trip, but this wasn’t much better than Mary staying with our mother or remaining where she was. As if reading my mind, he reminded me of how self-willed the other Mary was too. Mary Magdalene would rub Lazarus and his sisters wrong. Like Hosea and Rhoda, Cleopas and Tirzah, his wife, were easy-going folks, and, as opposed to Peter’s household, would provide her with a stable, uncomplicated place to sit out the criticism ignited by our actions today. Because of the distance away from me, however, I preferred Hosea’s house.

Jesus was blunt with criticism and gave compliments only when they were deserved. He had prophesized a great future for Mary but now that she was an outcast, he sent her into exile to meditate upon her sins. Though he didn’t say this exactly, and, in fact, tried making it seem like her stay with Hosea’s family and then, if necessary, Cleopas and Tirzah, was a positive step, he wanted Mary to mature and behave responsibly, so she could one day play her part.

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