Read Mary Magdalene: A Novel Online

Authors: Diana Wallis Taylor

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Mary Magdalene: A Novel (14 page)

BOOK: Mary Magdalene: A Novel
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On and on questions raced through her mind. She was a woman, and the men in the boatyard would be uneasy if she came alone.

Then, as she sat staring at the ground, she thought of the small group that followed Jesus. Women were in this group. Were they wives of the disciples? Surely women were needed to prepare meals for the men. They looked like good and decent women.

As she mused, a thought began to form in her mind. Her eyes widened and she sat back. It was as if a voice in her head was speaking to her. It was not the same as the voices that had plagued her. She knew this gentle voice.

Daughter of Abraham, be strong and do not falter. Come.
The heaviness that had weighed on her heart began to lift. Suddenly she knew what she must do.

30

A
s the sun climbed higher in the clear sky, the two women sought the shade of a large tree and settled themselves in its shade.

Mary had been told the mother of Jesus was almost fifty, yet her skin had few wrinkles. Her eyes held wisdom and something more. Mary sensed a timelessness about her, and great strength, but also great sorrow. She felt honored that the mother of her Lord had sought her out.

“Tell me about yourself, Mary. How did you come to follow my son?”

Mary mulled her question over a moment, then began with what had happened to her when she was eleven and the suffering she’d endured through the years. Over an hour passed while she shared her story up through the death of Nathan. The older woman listened without comment, nodding from time to time, but Mary sensed her empathy.

“I am sorry about your husband. I lost mine just after the last of Jesus’s brothers, Simon, was born. Joseph was older than I by twelve years and his lungs were not good. I miss him, but Jesus was such a comfort to me. He was head of the house until the day he told me he was leaving. He said it was time. His brothers and sisters were angry. As the oldest, they expected him to be the family patriarch.”

His mother looked down at the grass and sighed. “I knew the day was coming, but I didn’t know what it meant. It was when he was twelve I was reminded of his mission.”

Mary tilted her head. “When he was twelve?”

The elder Mary smiled. “We had been to Jerusalem for the Passover and were returning to Nazareth with family and friends. We thought he was with us—it was a large company—but we didn’t miss him until we had gone a day’s journey and had not seen him. When we inquired among our relatives and acquaintances, we realized he had stayed behind in Jerusalem. We returned at once but had no idea where to look for him. I was sure something had happened to him and was beside myself. Joseph kept telling me that HaShem would look after him, but I was weeping. By the time we found him, three days had gone by and we were frantic. Sure he’d been kidnapped or come to harm.”

Mary leaned forward. “Where was he?”

“In the Temple, in the midst of the learned scholars and scribes, listening to them and asking them questions.”

“He was asking questions of the Jewish leaders?”

“Yes. They were consulting their scrolls and he seemed so at ease there, not intimidated in the least. Of course I was torn between anger that he had not consulted us, and pleasure at the astonishment of the elders and scribes.”

Mother Mary shook her head. “When Joseph asked him why he had done this to us and told him how anxiously we had sought him, he calmly smiled at us and said, ‘Why did you seek me? Did you not know that I must be about my father’s business?’ ”

“So he knew even then.”

“Yes, and I had forgotten why he was given to me. Life had gone on in such a normal way for so many years—and now I remembered the words of the Most High to me, ‘You shall give birth to a son and shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.’ ”

“My lady, many years ago, my father sought to have me taught by the local rabbi in our town, but he refused because I was a girl. My husband, Nathan, then just my friend, was hired to teach me. I studied much about the Messiah to come and the prophecies.” Mary stopped, unsure whether to ask, but something leaped within her and her excitement made her bold. “Tell me, where was Jesus born?”

The elder Mary smiled again. “Due to a decree from Caesar Augustus, each man was to return to his own city with his family. Though I was nearly at my time of delivery when the edict came, we were required to travel to Judea, to the city of David, for Joseph was of the house and lineage of David. There I gave birth to my firstborn son.”

Joy filled Mary’s heart, for she knew what the mother of Jesus was saying. “Bethlehem, the city of David. Jesus was born in Bethlehem.”

The elder Mary nodded. “Yes.”

Mary caught her breath and the words came, “The prophet Micah! ‘But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, though you are little among the thousands of Judah, yet out of you shall come for me the One to be Ruler in Israel . . .’ ”

“You do know the Scriptures, as my son told me.”

“So at twelve, he knew even then . . .”

“He knew who his Father was.”

“He came with you then?”

“Oh yes, he was obedient to us and returned to Nazareth. Yet from that day on, it was as if he was so much more mature, his knowledge far beyond the knowledge of the other boys of the town. He spent many hours walking the hills and talking to his Father. Something he still does.”

Mary put a hand on the older woman’s arm. “Oh, dear lady. Every Jewish mother dreams of such a thing—to be chosen as the mother of the Messiah. They pray for sons, with the hope they will be the one to bring him into the world. How blessed you are.”

“And you are blessed, dear Mary of Magdala, to have a father anxious to teach his daughters the Scriptures.” She looked off in the distance. “Perhaps there will come a day when all women will be taught as the men are.”

Mary was glad to hear another woman voice the same thoughts she had. Then another thought crossed her mind. “I’ve been told that his brothers and sisters do not believe in him.”

“No, they knew him only as their older brother. He worked in the carpentry shop with Joseph until Joseph died, then became the head of the family. Everyone knew him as the son of Joseph. The years went by and it was easy to forget all the things that happened before.”

She smiled at Mary. “At thirty, there was much gossip and speculation as to why I had not found a wife for him. Many a young woman in the village dropped hints.”

“He would have made a good husband.”

His mother shook her head. “But that was not what the Most High sent him here to do. Always, in the back of my mind was the feeling that one day something was going to happen. His Father would call him in some way. I’m not sure where his path is leading, I only know I was told that a sword would pierce my own soul.” His mother shuddered. “Something is coming, Mary, that is going to bring great sorrow. I feel it. I just do not know what it is.”

Mary sat quietly, thinking of what she’d been told. It was almost too much to comprehend, yet she had seen Jesus heal every disease and deliver not only herself but others from demonic powers. Many evenings by the fire, she’d heard the disciples discussing miracle after miracle. She was awed when she heard of the time the disciples and Jesus were all in Peter’s boat, out on the lake, when one of the fierce storms arose that swept the lake from time to time. Mary had thought of Nathan and the night he and his friend had been swept into the sea. She’d leaned forward eagerly to hear what happened . . . Jesus had merely spoken to the wind and waves and suddenly all was calm. Only the Son of God could do such things, she reasoned, and hearing the story of Jesus’s birth, it began to all fall into place.

“I do not know what part you are to play in the coming events, Mary. I was only told to find the Magdalene.”

“Perhaps, my lady, it was meant to strengthen my faith for the days to come.”

“That could be his reason. We cannot question his plans for us.”

The older woman rose slowly. “I am glad to meet you, Mary of Magdala. I’m sure we will see each other again in the days to come. I would ask you to watch over my son, but his Father above does that, and guides him on a path we can only follow as spectators.”

Mary had risen also and now embraced her. “I am indeed blessed by your words. I shall look forward to seeing you again.”

One of Jesus’s brothers approached them. “Are you ready to return?”

“Yes, my son, I am ready.” She turned to Mary with a smile. “We have had a nice talk.”

The young man gave Mary a searching look, but with only a brief nod of acknowledgment, escorted his mother back toward Nazareth.

Mary watched them go. What a wonderful woman the mother of Jesus was.

She hurried back to the camp to help the other women prepare their meal. It had been nearly a month since she’d joined the group. If her uncle kept his word, a messenger should be coming with the funds Zerah said he would send her. She wondered how the messenger would find them. She just had to trust Zerah to do what he’d promised. The group was running low on supplies. The donkey could graze on grass by the side of the road, but he needed some other feed. She looked toward the group of disciples. If her uncle sent the pouch, she was honor bound to turn it over to Judas.

As she walked, she thought again of the storm on the Sea of Galilee that had injured Nathan. A thought brushed her mind. If only Jesus had been in that boat with Nathan, he could have stilled the storm.

32

M
ary was a little apprehensive, for she and the other women had never gone to the home of Martha, Mary, and Lazarus. Jesus had only taken his closest disciples, the twelve he had chosen. Yet the women were warmly welcomed by the family in Bethany.

Jesus and his followers stayed two weeks, giving Mary and Susanna much-needed time to wash and repair clothing. They baked bread and added to the provisions of the cart. Martha was friendly but reserved. She ran a well-kept home and kept the women busy with many tasks. Her sister, Mary, was easier to talk to and was interested in hearing of their travels and the words Jesus spoke. Martha, with tight lips, would go about her duties, but her sister wanted to sit with the other disciples and listen to Jesus.

One evening Martha’s sister played the lute for them and sang one of the songs from the Psalms that was often sung on the Sabbath.

It is good to give thanks to the L
ord
,

And to sing praises to your name, O Most High;

To declare your loving kindness in the morning

And your faithfulness every night.

On an instrument of ten strings, on the lute,

And on the harp,

With harmonious sound,

For you, L
ord
, have made me glad through your work;

I will triumph in the works of your hands.

As the sweet clear notes rang out in the evening air, Mary looked over at Jesus. He was watching Martha’s sister and nodding to the music. His face seemed peaceful as he leaned back against the wall, listening and smiling.

Some of the men helped Lazarus with his brick making and repairs to the house. It was a time of rest and refreshment for all of them.

In the early evenings, Jesus would make himself comfortable in the shade of the courtyard and continue his teaching. Then he would quietly leave the house to walk the hills in solitude. Many times he stood for long moments looking toward Jerusalem, and Mary wondered what he was thinking.

Mary and Susanna cleaned the small cart and Mary was able to rearrange her things. One morning Mary opened a bundle that had been hidden under other household goods and cooking items and recognized the robe she had woven for Nathan. She wasn’t sure why she had packed it and then forgotten about it. Now, as she examined the garment, woven in one piece without a seam, she knew who she would give it to. The next morning, when Jesus returned from a sojourn in the hills, she approached him. She noted how threadbare his robe had become.

“My Lord, there is something I would give you.” She held out the robe.

He took the folded garment and unfolded it. She waited, holding her breath. Would it fit him?

His smile was as if the sun had risen in his face. “You made this.” It was not a question but a statement.

“Yes, Lord. I made it for my husband, but he never wore it, he . . .”

“I know, Mary, and I will be honored to wear it. Thank you.”

As she looked into his eyes, her heart filled with love for him—not the love she felt for Nathan, but love born of worship and devotion. At last she had been able to do something for her Lord.

He turned toward the house and came out a few moments later, wearing the new robe. The white linen caught the sunlight and he seemed to emanate a radiance all his own.

They left Bethany and moved on through other towns in Judea, always drawing crowds. Mary noted that along with the people, the inevitable priests, Sadducees, and Pharisees were present. They seemed relentless in their efforts to trap him into saying something incriminating.

Jesus listened patiently to their questions but always seemed to see through their schemes and, to the delight of the crowd, confounded the Jewish leaders with his answers. Finally, after being embarrassed again and again, the leaders refrained from asking questions. Yet they remained, observing, their faces grim and silent.

When the time came to reunite with the seventy who had been sent out, the group looked forward with great anticipation to hear the results of their journeys. The disciples who had returned to their homes for a time greeted the others, and once again a sense of camaraderie permeated the air.

As the seventy straggled in, many looking tired and dusty, but exultant, they were eager to share what they had seen and heard.

“A child who was blind could see, Lord.”

“A man’s crippled leg straightened before our eyes!”

“I was able to cast a demon out of a young man and restore him to his mother.”

“Lord,” exclaimed one, “even the demons are subject to us in your name.”

Jesus smiled at their eager faces. “I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven.”

At their obvious puzzlement, he continued. “Behold, I give you the authority to trample on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall by any means hurt you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice in this, that the spirits are subject to you, but rather rejoice because your names are written in heaven.”

The stories continued—blind men healed; lepers cured; those who were sick, raised up from their beds of pain. As each team told of the places they’d gone and the events that occurred, Mary and the others listened in wonder. They were mere men, these seventy, yet Jesus had the power to entrust them with the gifts of miracles that he himself performed. She sat quietly, hugging her knees and listening until she felt her heart could not contain the glory of it all.

Mary followed the group as they returned to Jerusalem for the Feast of Dedication in the winter of the third year of Jesus’s ministry and then moved on to the region of Perea across the Jordan. The wives and many of the large following of disciples returned to their homes and responsibilities. Only the twelve whom Jesus had chosen to be his close companions remained, along with Mary, Susanna, and Joanna.

In one town, the Pharisees were able to stir up the citizens and Jesus came close to being stoned. Yet, to Mary’s amazement, he would pass through the midst of them unharmed. When the disciples would comment on this, feeling they’d had a close call, he would merely smile and say, “My time is not yet come.”

He continued through the cities and villages teaching, and Mary realized they were heading again toward Jerusalem. One day some of the Pharisees came to listen and told him, “Get out and depart from this place. Don’t you know Herod is trying to kill you?”

Jesus sighed heavily. “Go tell that fox, ‘Behold, I cast out demons and perform cures today, and tomorrow and the third day I shall be perfected.’ Nevertheless, I must journey today, tomorrow, and the day following; for it cannot be that a prophet should perish outside of Jerusalem.”

Shaking their heads, the leaders departed. Jesus looked after them and spoke almost to himself, “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you kill the prophets and stone those who are sent to you. How I would have gathered your children together, as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, but you were not willing! See, your house is left to you desolate; and I say to you, you shall not see me until the time comes when you say ‘
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!
’ ”

Later, in the darkness, when most were asleep, Mary and the other women whispered together, and Mary was troubled. “He speaks so much lately of death.” In her mind she remembered the scrolls she studied and the Messiah who would come and rescue them from their oppressors. If he was coming as their King and Messiah, why would he speak of his dying? It was as if he was facing something terrible. She had no scrolls to study here and could only search her memory for what she’d read many years ago.

Joanna whispered, “I know, Mary. Perhaps we should avoid Jerusalem. There are many there who would do him harm.”

Mary shook her head in the darkness. “He will not turn. He teaches the people each day, but in the evening, his face is always toward that city. I do not think he will be deterred from whatever purpose he has in mind.”

As she settled down, wrapping herself in her rug for warmth, Mary pondered the Lord’s words and the talk with the Lord’s mother that day outside Nazareth. She too had sensed that he was heading for something they could not name.

Mary gazed out over the campsite at the bundled forms of the sleeping disciples and became aware of a lone figure silhouetted in the moonlight. The Lord stood quietly, the soft breeze moving the robe he wore. He had his back to her, but she knew which direction he faced. She shivered as a coldness brushed across her heart.

BOOK: Mary Magdalene: A Novel
2.18Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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