Daughter of Jerusalem (30 page)

Jesus didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes as he regarded his brother was sorrowful.

James went on, “No, I’m wrong. You weren’t like me. I was normal, and you were different, always wanting to go off by yourself. But this business of preaching and miracles . . . it makes no sense. You’re my brother, Yeshua! You’re one of us.”

“Enough, James,” Mary said. James met her eyes, then looked away. Mary turned to Jesus. “My son, no one knows better than I who you are. Why you are here is for you to know.”

They were looking at each other as if no one else was present. “I know it now, Mother. I searched for a long time, but now I know. That is why I can no longer be as a son to you.”

“I let you go, my dear, when I sent you to the Essenes. You have learned what you needed to know, and now you must fulfill your mission. I know that, and Joseph knew it too. His last words were that I should give you his blessing.”

Joses said quietly, “They’re saying you are the Messiah, Yeshua.”

“Yes,” Jesus replied, “I know.” His face was calm and unreadable. He flicked a quick glance in my direction.

I said, “How long are you planning to remain in Capernaum, James?”

“We leave tomorrow. We have work to do at home.” He glared at Jesus. “We have a big job in Sepphoris, and we need all the men of the
family to complete it on time. But Mother wanted to bring you this sad news herself, so Joses and I came to protect her.”

Hidden in James’ words was an implication that they had come to protect Mary from her wayward son as much as from any robbers they might meet on the road.

“Then you must stay the night with us,” I said. I turned to Jesus’ mother. “Would you like to remain as my guest a little longer so you can hear the Master teach?”

Mary’s lovely, delicate face lighted. “I’d like that very much.”

James said, “We won’t be able to come back for you, Mother, until the job in Sepphoris is done.”

“That will be fine with me,” I told him.

Mary looked at her son. “Yeshua, is it good?”

He gave her his rare smile. “It is good.”

And so it was arranged.

For most of the time that his mother was with me, Jesus remained close enough to Capernaum for us to hear him preach. But he couldn’t remain in the area forever; he needed to reach people in the other parts of Galilee.

He said as much one evening when we were dining at my house. Since the disciples—now called the Twelve—were eating at the home of friends, it was just the five of us.

As Elisabeth served the sweet cakes, Jesus said, “My Father sent me to bring heaven’s reign to everyone. I have to leave Capernaum to do this, Mother.”

“I know, Yeshua. I understand you must go, but I fear for you. So many men of authority hate you. Look at what Herod Antipas did to your cousin John!”

Lazarus said, “She’s right, Master. The scribes and Pharisees have been spreading their poison all over the province. I’m afraid you’ll find many of the village synagogues closed to you.”

Jesus shrugged. “If I am no longer welcome in the synagogues, I must live like the fox who has no lair—out in the open, so that all who wish to find me can do so.”

“Why are they saying such things? You aren’t dangerous, Master!” It was Martha, whose love was so open, so simple, so clear that she could scarcely imagine evil.

Lazarus answered, “The Master is very dangerous, my sister. He tells people that there’s no such thing as clean or unclean. He says that everyone is the same before God and they should be the same before men as well. He tells us to treat the lowliest person, the outcast, as if he were the Master himself. He tells us to love our foes, never to judge, and always to forgive, no matter the injury.”

Lazarus turned to Jesus. “You’re very dangerous, Master. Kings, priests, scribes, Pharisees, they all rightly see you as a threat to their power, which lies in all the things that you tell people to reject.”

Jesus’ eyes narrowed. “These so-called religious leaders are hypocrites, a blight upon my Father’s kingdom. They will never enter it themselves. But what is even worse, their teachings keep other people out.” He closed his hand into a fist. “I tell you, prostitutes and tax collectors will enter God’s kingdom before they do!”

Lazarus was right. Everything Jesus said and did was a threat to the religious establishment. Like his mother, I was afraid.

Mary didn’t argue. “If you’re not going to be here, Yeshua, I think I’d like to go home.” She turned to me. “Mary, do you think you could get a message to my son James for someone to come for me?”

Lazarus said, “I will see you safely to Nazareth. Martha and I must return home as well. The dates and summer figs are ready for harvest and I must be there to attend to business.”

“But Nazareth is nowhere near Bethany,” Mary protested. “I cannot ask you to go such a long way from your own route.”

“Nonsense.” Martha’s small, round face was shining. “We would be happy to go to Nazareth with you. It’s a part of Galilee I have never
seen. And now that Lazarus is well”—a quick grateful glance here at Jesus—“we can travel with free hearts.”

Jesus smiled. I think he smiled at Martha more than the rest of us put together. “Thank you, Martha. My mother will be happy to accept your offer.”

The following day, after my guests had left, I was sitting alone in my garden, feeling sorry for myself, when Jeremiah brought me a letter. It was from Julia.

Her response to my thoughts about Jesus of Nazareth was temperate. She thought he sounded “interesting” and “certainly very different from Marcus Novius Claudius.” But what perked me up immediately was this paragraph:

If you wish to be a disciple of this man, then be one. You are far more intelligent than his other followers, and you should be allowed a chance to know him so you can make up your mind whether or not he is who he seems to be. You write that there are other women in your town who feel the same way you do. Well, why not organize a group of women and travel together? From what you tell me, none of his other followers has any money—they will probably be delighted if you offer to finance them.

Julia, ever pragmatic, had come up with the perfect answer.

I invited a group of my friends, and we sat for hours in my garden, enjoying the breeze from the lake and talking about my proposal. Everyone wanted to do it; the question was would their husbands allow them to? Once again I found myself deeply grateful that I had no husband.

My hope had been to collect twelve women disciples to match the twelve men. We didn’t quite make that number, but we got ten, which
was remarkable in view of the outrageous thing we were proposing. Susannah came; Jesus had cured her son and her husband was happy for her to be a disciple. Another Mary joined us whose husband, Clopas, Jesus had healed of a chronic sore. Four women whose families had been recipients of my loans came. My cousin Ruth and my good friend Salome came. I wanted Rebecca to come, but she felt her family was too young for her to leave, especially since their father was away as well.

The only one to come who wasn’t a friend of mine was Joanna. She had been born in Capernaum and was visiting family when she heard about our plans and asked to join. I didn’t want her, but I couldn’t find a way to keep her out. She was married to King Herod Antipas’ steward, and I had a suspicion that her husband had asked her to spy on Jesus for him. I agreed to let her join us, but I determined to keep a close watch on her activities.

Men can move quickly, but women work differently. We needed to organize our clothes, our food, and our houses before we could leave Capernaum. I also needed to make sure I had enough money with me if we couldn’t find free lodging. It was a Jewish tradition that people offered to house a prophet when he visited their town, but I had a strong suspicion they wouldn’t be so willing to house a group of women for free. In fact, we would probably have to pay dearly for a roof over our heads. Jesus had been pleased when I told him about his new disciples. To give us a few days to prepare, he crossed the lake to preach to the people on the other side.

They returned in three days, and as usual, the news of their arrival sped around the town, drawing a crowd along the road to greet them.
I walked up my small street to the main road and waited until Jesus reached me. As I stood there, I cast my thoughts back to similar times when I had waited for Daniel or Marcus.

This feeling was similar in that my heart was pounding, but I felt no urge to run and throw myself into his arms. I didn’t need to feel his arms around me to know he loved me. I didn’t need to press my body against his for him to know I loved him. What I felt for him was the greatest love of my life. I would have turned my back on Daniel and Marcus in a second to follow this man. He offered me everything I had ever wanted in my life—love, belonging, a rule to live by, eternal life, peace.

As Jesus came into view, flanked as usual by Peter, Andrew, James, and John, a man slipped through the crowd to throw himself at the Master’s feet. The scene was uncannily like the one when Fulvius’ servant had beseeched Jesus to come to his house. Only this was no servant; it was Jairus, one of the officials of our synagogue.

Jairus had never declared himself a follower of Jesus, nor had he condemned him. I had always thought he was waiting to see which side would benefit him most by joining. He was a cold-blooded sort of man, so it was startling to see him on his knees.

I was close enough to hear him say, “Teacher, my little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may live.”

I was horrified. Not Hannah! Jairus doted on his only child, a lovely girl just on the brink of womanhood.

Jesus said something to Jairus, and then the two of them began to walk down the street with the disciples following. The crowd parted to let them through.

I moved quickly into the midst of the disciples. Judas looked at me and nodded gravely. We continued on into town.

We were almost there when we heard the weeping and wailing. We all knew what the sounds meant—Hannah was dead. Jairus, the most dignified of men, let out the cry of a wounded animal. The howl went straight to my heart.

Jesus took the man’s elbow and began to walk him toward the house. I could see his lips moving as he spoke quietly to the bereaved father. They disappeared into the house.

Peter explained later that Jesus had told the weeping parents their daughter was not dead but sleeping. Then he had gone over to where Hannah lay, taken her limp hand into his own, and said, “Child, arise.”

“And she sat up,” Peter said. He said it almost matter-of-factly, he had become so used to Jesus’ miracles. “I had to tell
you
, but the Master instructed us to keep it quiet. It’s not wise to provoke his enemies any more than is necessary. He still has work to do.”

Jesus had raised the dead before, but this time he had raised a girl. A twelve-year-old girl had been important enough for him to risk another major miracle that might increase the vitriol of his opposition.

As I listened to Peter, I remembered my words to Aunt Leah when she had told me I must marry Aaron.
I have a soul too. Surely the Lord thinks I’m just as important as a man.