This is the story of the woman who washed Jesus feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. Traditionally, the church has cast Mary Magdalene in this role. Whoever she was, this is her story...
Tale of a Sinful Woman
Mary had been only a child when her parents had both died of the fever that had ravaged her tiny village. But she still remembered the pain when she realized that her parents were gone, and the abject horror that had overwhelmed her when she was told that her Uncle Mordecai had insisted on his right to raise her…his brother’s child. His own wife had died in childbed of his only daughter, who had followed her mother to the grave in a matter of hours, leaving him with two sons to raise alone. He had taken out his bitterness and rage upon them, and they, in turn, had become bitter and cruel.
She remembered the neighbor woman, Martha, who had looked after her during the dark days immediately following her parents’ deaths, and who, although she had five sons and three daughters of her own, had begged to take the homeless little girl into her family. But her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. Her husband, whose name Mary had forgotten, had tried to do what he could, but, as he had told them sadly one afternoon, the law was the law. Mary must go to her father’s brother. They had bundled her into a cart, and that was the last she had seen of her childhood home. She had cried bitter tears as the cart rumbled away, and the figure of the kind Martha grew small in the distance.
Mary had gasped in awe when the little cart pulled into her uncle’s yard in the city of Magdala. Magdala had been the queen of The Sea of Galilee once, but since Herod had built the city of Tiberius, named for the emperor of Rome, she had lost much of her influence, and most of her former glory had faded away. Still, Magdala boasted a large fishing industry, and her streets were usually crowded. Mary had never been in the city before, and the sights and sounds all around her frightened her…but not as much as the prospect of facing her two cousins, Eli and Samuel. She remembered the one time her father’s brother had visited him. Both of the boys had been older than she by several years, and they had leered at her and made nasty remarks. Samuel, the oldest, had even ventured to pinch her when he thought none of the adults could see. Her mother had seen the bruise, and had told her father. Her father had spoken to his brother, who had beaten Samuel severely. “I’ll get even with you, you little brat,” he had hissed through clenched teeth. Her parents, horrified at such brutality, had been relieved to see their unwelcome guests depart.
It had been three years now. It had soon become obvious why Mordecai had insisted that she come to live with him. At barely seven years old, Mary found herself with all the duties of a grown woman, with only a rickety old housemaid to teach her what she needed to know. Within a year, even that small comfort was gone, and little Mary was left to do all of the household chores by herself. It was back breaking work, but she knew better than to complain. She had been beaten often enough by that time to know what to expect, should the tiniest whimper escape her.
“What else is the beggar brat good for?” her uncle would say.
Samuel had been as good as his word….he had gotten even with Mary several times over for the beating he had received that day at his father’s hands. It had begun the first time he caught her alone in the house. He was thirteen that year, and proud of his manhood. But his sadistic ways had earned him little respect from the girls in the neighborhood, who tended to avoid his vicinity whenever possible. Mary had backed up against the rough kitchen wall, her eyes round as saucers, as Samuel had advanced relentlessly upon her. She expected that he intended to pinch her, or kick her, or slap her…he often did that, when his father wasn’t looking. But that was not his intention, this time. He advanced slowly, grinning lewdly. “Let’s see what you look like, under those rags,” he snarled. When Mary, not understanding, had hesitated, Samuel had reached out and torn her dress from her tiny frame.
Less than an hour later, as she lay trembling on the floor, holding her belly as the pain began to subside, blood seeping from her most secret place, he had growled harshly at her of the dire consequences that would befall her if she should ever dare to tell on him. Knowing that he was capable of carrying out his threats, and knowing that no one would care what he did to her, Mary had kept silent. Alone, in her bed at night, she cried out silently to God…but He had seemed deaf to her pleas. After a time, she decided that God either did not exist, or, if He did, He did not care what happened to a helpless orphan like her.
And it had gone on. Before long, Eli had discovered their guilty secret. At first, he had threatened to reveal them both. Mary would be stoned to death, like the little whore that she was. Samuel, for once, had come to her aid. In the end, Eli agreed to keep silent…provided that Samuel share her with him.
“What else is the little baggage good for?” Samuel had agreed, in a harsh echo of his father. Both brothers had laughed.
Six years, it had been. Six wretched, horrible years. How Mary had grown to hate the sight of the three of them. Many a night she had lain in her poor little cot behind the kitchen and plotted an impossible revenge. She would kill them all, she seethed. She would not be satisfied until all three of them lay dead at her feet.
But, of course, it was impossible. Not only were they all three bigger and stronger than she, but she knew that she could never get away with it. She would only bring more disaster upon herself. God’s chosen people seemed to have one penalty for the breaking of His rules….and only one. Death.
No, the thing was…she had to get away. To get far away from this house of misery, and never to look back. Her uncle had begun to talk of a husband for her, but Samuel had told her what would happen when the man took her into his house and found that she was not a virgin. It was time, she knew, to make her plans.
She wasn’t afraid. She had been to the lower city, and had met a girl there named Leah. Leah had taken the frightened child under her wing. It wasn’t long before she realized that Leah was a prostitute…but what difference did it make, Mary thought. What difference did it truly make? Was Leah a sinner? God didn’t care. He hadn’t cared about her….He had watched silently as her uncle and her cousins had done unspeakable things to her. If Leah was a sinner, then so was Mary, herself. A sinner with no hope. For God had abandoned her. She couldn’t understand why, but He had, of that she was sure. Perhaps there was no God. If there was, Mary didn’t see that she owed Him anything. So what if she became a prostitute? Could she be any worse off than she was now? The men Leah took into her house paid her well…and they didn’t want to hurt her or beat her. Samuel and Eli liked to torture her; for them, it was all part of the fun. No, so far as Mary could make out, she would be better off. She would be a sinner…a wretched, miserable sinner, one who had no right to God. She grunted. Big deal, she thought, as she began to throw her few possessions into her cloak. God had already condemned her, for something that was not her fault in the first place. Samuel had been right. She could never have a husband; never have a real home or family of her own. For she was not a virgin….through no fault of her own. However, the fact remained that when her bridegroom discovered that he had been cheated, he would insist that the law be fulfilled….and Mary would be stoned to death, for that was God’s law. If that was the kind of God He was, Mary wanted nothing further to do with him. Turning her back on her past, and on God, she marched out into the night, toward freedom.
That had been eight years ago. Mary had never regretted her decision. She had been worried at first that her uncle and cousins would try to find her, but she soon made friends in the lower city who assured her that they would keep her safe…and they had kept their word. Before long, Mary was going about, boldly, in broad daylight. On those rare occasions when their paths did cross, her former guardian and his two sons would look the other way. That was just fine with Mary.
However, something new was happening in and around the sleepy little fishing towns in Galilee. There had been that crazy man, John the Baptist. Mary had disdained to follow after the curious mob that thronged to see and hear him. She had long since stopped believing in God, and she wasn’t interested in the least in the ravings of some wilderness lunatic. When her friends and acquaintances would tell her about the man in camel’s hair, who ate locusts and wild honey, and who advised everyone to wash their sins away in the waters of Baptism, in order to prepare the way of the Lord, Mary only snorted in derision. “We have seen his like before,” she muttered. “Likely as not will find himself on a Roman cross before too long.” When the Baptist had been arrested, Mary had been almost pleased. “See?” she had boasted. “Told you so.”
Now, another crazy preacher had come out of the woodwork. “They seem to be breeding like flies,” was Mary’s only comment when Leah came in excitedly, telling her about Jesus.
“He is not like the others, Mary,” Leah told her breathlessly. “There is something about Him…”
Mary laughed. “He must be something, to have aroused even our good Leah,” she commented with a snicker. “Is He handsome?”
“Be serious, Mary,” Leah had chided, as the rest of the girls laughed.
But Mary had ignored her.
She was finding it difficult to ignore the situation today, though. For Jesus had actually come here, to the seedy little neighborhood where Mary and Leah and a few others plied their trade…and crowds of people had followed Him. Many of them, recognizing Mary and her friends for what they were, began to revile them, but, to Mary’s surprise, Jesus had rebuked them. “Do not judge,” He had said sternly. “For Your Father in Heaven gives His blessings to all equally. His sun shines down on the just as well as the unjust.”
“But the law says we should stone such as these,” a man hooted.
Jesus stopped. Slowly, He turned His head, as if searching the crowd to identify the speaker. “Which of you,” He asked slowly, “has kept the whole law of God? Search your hearts….and answer Me.”
An awed hush fell over the crowd. Jesus nodded His head and smiled. “Your Father in Heaven is merciful. If you would that God would have mercy on you, you must also have mercy. As I have told you, do not judge others….for the standard you use will be the standard by which God will judge you. But your Father in Heaven loves you. He loves you,” Jesus repeated, and Mary thought He was looking through the crowd, straight at her! “He is not willing that any should perish, but that all might come to repentance,” Jesus went on, as Mary, alone in the crowd, examined the thing that had just happened to her. “He has sent His Son into the world, not to condemn the world, but that the world, through Him, might be saved. He is long-suffering, willing to forgive your sins….if you will only believe in Him and in the One He has sent.”
There was much more, but Mary had stopped listening. Could the thing that this amazing Man had said…could it be true ? Did God love her? No. She couldn’t believe it. Of course, God didn’t love her…didn’t even care about her. If He loved her, how could he have let her uncle abuse her, her cousins rape her? God was not a just God…..
She looked up. Jesus was looking at her….looking into her eyes. She could feel that gaze breaking through the ice that had frozen around her heart…she could feel it melting…melting away like snow when the summer sun shines down on it….melting…until he had broken through to her very soul….
Trembling, unable to stop herself, she took a step toward Him. Then another. Before she knew what she was doing, she was standing before Him, head bowed. He placed His hand gently on her carefully dressed and plaited hair…and looked up to Heaven. His lips moved in silent prayer….and Mary could feel her hatred, her need for revenge, her shame, and her disgust at the thing they had made of her…slowly falling away from her, like old, discarded clothing. Her rage seemed to burst from her, almost like a living thing…leaving her gloriously empty…and strangely full at the same time. For…she was full of a new happiness…a new joy. Tears shimmered in her eyes, as she lifted her head, and once more met that penetrating gaze. Shyly, she smiled at Him, and to her amazement, He smiled back.
And then, He was gone. The crowd rolled its eyes, as He approached Simon the Pharisee. Several people in the crowd had heard Him speak about the Pharisees. He had condemned them for their habit of flaunting their faith, grabbing the best seats in the synagogue, deepening the hems of their garments, wearing phylacteries wherever they went, making long, drawn out prayers; in short, making a public show of their faith. Perhaps the people around them were impressed, Jesus smiled. But God was not impressed at all. God knew them for what they truly were, on the inside. He pointed an angry finger. “Hypocrites,” He had called them, and the simple people enthusiastically agreed with Him. “When you pray to your Father,” He had told them, “shut yourself in your most secret room. Pray in secret. Your Father, Who sees in secret, will reward you openly.”
“Bah,” a woman muttered. “Now He is kissing their hands, currying favor. Well, all the Rabbis do it…I guess it was only to be expected.”
This brought a gale of laughter from the surrounding multitude. Jesus was going to eat with Simon, the Pharisee. Only proved what they had been saying all along….double-tongued hypocrite Himself, Jesus was. Those who had believed that He might be the Messiah shook their heads sadly. Others smirked triumphantly.
Mary watched sadly as He walked away from her. Something had happened when He had touched her…something she could not explain. She felt….clean, somehow. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew. Jesus had changed her entire being with His touch. A great weight had been removed from her. Her bitterness and her rage were gone. In their place was a new heart, a heart that no longer thirsted for revenge. Slowly, she turned from the street where Jesus no longer was, and walked back into her house.
Many tears and three hours later, she stepped shyly back out onto the street. It would have been difficult for anyone who knew her to recognize her without a close look….she had scrubbed her face clean of make-up and her body of oils and perfume. She had taken her hair down, and had washed it and brushed it until it shone. She had let it hang loosely around her shoulders; to her surprise, unbound and cleaned of perfumes and oils, it hung nearly to her waist. She had donned a simple gown of light green, with a girdle of a darker green tied loosely around her slender waist. Gone were the dazzling rings, the jangling bracelets, the gaudy necklaces, and the cheap earrings. She wore only a simple brooch on her homespun cloak that had belonged to her mother. In her hands she carried a small jar of expensive ointment. She had paid dearly for it, and the jar itself was a work of art. She had bought it with the intention of perfuming herself with it for her more favored clients…but she had a different intention for it this evening. She looked around shyly, almost as if she were ready to bolt back into the safety of the house. Without her perfume and make-up, her flashing jewelry, and with her hair unbound around her, she felt…exposed….somehow. She stood there uncertainly. After a moment, she resolutely straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and marched down the street. She knew where Simon’s home was. She was going to see Jesus.
The room went deadly still as she timidly came inside. Ignoring the others, she threw herself at Jesus’ feet. Tenderly, she placed her cheek against His instep, her tears flowing freely. For several minutes, she knelt there, her tears wetting His feet, while the men seated around the table watched silently. Finally, she gained a measure of control over herself. She took her newly washed hair, and slowly began to dry the precious feet, the awed silence unbroken. Finished, she smiled tremulously up at Him. To her delight, He smiled gently back at her. Mary felt that she had never known happiness until that moment. She drew the jar of precious ointment from her cloak, and, breaking it open, she spread the soothing, sweet smelling stuff unto His feet, massaging them until the thirsty skin had absorbed all that it possibly could.
Simon had been feeling quite pleased with Himself all afternoon. Jesus, Who had become the Darling of the people, had chosen him, Simon, out of all the people in that crowded street. He, too, had heard Jesus speak about the men He had called “Scribes and Pharisees.” He had cringed when the accusation had rung out upon the clear air. “Hypocrites.” The word had been ringing in his ears, echoing through his mind. “Hypocrites. Hypocrites. Hypocrites.” Simon suspected that it was true . But he would never have admitted it out loud. After all, weren’t he and his crowd the true keepers of the laws of Moses? Where would Israel be, without the Pharisees, the scribes, the lawyers? Israel had the distinction of being God’s chosen people. God, Himself, had come down from Heaven, and, with a Mighty Hand, He had freed them from Egyptian slavery. But, it had not been long before the people had strayed. Without people such as himself…without those Jesus had callously labeled as hypocrites that afternoon….it wouldn’t be long before Israel was right back where she had started from. Israel should be grateful for men like him. It seemed that Jesus had realized that, and was ready to admit His fault and make amends.
But now, this woman, this harlot, had barged into his home, and had made a revolting display of herself, fawning all over the Man, fondling him, kissing His feet, and wrapping them in her hair. Simon had not been fooled by her obvious efforts to wash away the marks of her trade. So she had cleaned up, and had brushed out her hair. Simon couldn’t help but admire it, as it gleamed in the lamplight. For just a moment, he caught himself wondering what it would feel like…to be caressed…to be wrapped in the warm softness…to be entangled within those glorious, silken strands. Catching himself, he had been disgusted. She was a harlot...nothing but common street trash. If it weren’t for these Romans, such as she would be taken to the city gate and stoned….which was all they were fit for. Simon couldn’t blame the Man for not recognizing her…but it showed that He was no prophet. If He were truly a prophet, then he would have known her immediately. Even without the gaudy trappings, He would have recognized her for what she was. Surely, a Holy Man would never let such a woman so much as touch him, never mind shamelessly paw at him, the way that this Mary was doing.
After a tense moment, Jesus turned to His host. “Let me tell you a story,” He said in His gentle, compelling voice. “Once there was a great and wealthy king. One day, he decided to check his accounts, and it was discovered that he had two servants who owed him money. One owed him a great deal of money, the other substantially less. When he called them in to pay their debts, it was found that they did not have the money to pay, so, being a just and kind king, he simply forgave them both, and wiped out their debts.”
Simon wondered what this had to do with anything, but having settled in his mind that Jesus was no one special after all, he was willing to let him ramble. “Yes,” he agreed with his guest, trying to ignore the woman who still knelt at His feet, staring raptly up at Him, even though He seemed to have forgotten she was there. “He was a kind king.”
Jesus eyed him for several uncomfortable seconds. “Which of the two servants, do you think, will love that king the most?”
Simon seemed to consider this question, although the answer seemed obvious. “I suppose,” he faltered, wondering what was expected of him, “the one who was forgiven the most.”
Jesus smiled and nodded. “You have judged correctly,” He said, smiling. He looked back down at Mary, who caught her breath as he gently stroked her hair. “Do you see this woman?” He asked. “You did not give me the kiss of greeting, but this woman, since she came in, has not stopped kissing My feet. You provided no water, no drying cloth, as would have been proper, for Me to wash the dust of the road from My feet…but she…” he smiled down at her, “has bathed my feet with her tears, and dried them with the hairs of her head. You did not honor Me by anointing My head with oil…but she has anointed my feet with precious ointment.” Once more, He reached down and tenderly brushed the back of His hand against her cheek. She caught at it and held it to her lips, closing her eyes in ecstasy. Jesus turned back to His host. “The great love she has shown proves that her sins, which were many, are forgiven.” Gently, he withdrew His hand.
Simon sat staring at Him. He did not know how to answer this strange Man. But, Jesus, it seemed, had said what He had come to say. Without another word, He rose from the table, and trailed by the enraptured Mary, He walked out of the room. Simon sat shaking his head. After a moment, the rest of his guests were making their goodbyes, and Simon called for his housemaid to come and clean up the meal, which had been barely touched. Wearily, he betook himself to his private chambers, where he spent the first of many a long and a restless night, tossing and turning till the dawn.
Mary followed Jesus and His men through the streets of Magdala. They were headed for a small area just outside the city where travelers sometimes camped at night. As they approached the camp, she was surprised to hear a female voice. “Hssst,” went the voice. “Mary.”
The owner of the voice, it seemed, knew her name. “What is it?” she whispered back.
The voice materialized into a small, rather plump woman. “My name is Susanna,” she told Mary pleasantly. “We saw you, today, when Jesus touched you. We knew you would follow Him. We have been waiting for you.”
Looking about herself, Mary saw that there were several women with Suzanna. “Are all of you followers of this Jesus?”
There was soft laughter. “Yes,” Suzanna told her simply.
“It is difficult to explain,” said another woman. She had a deep, rich voice, and when she stood up, Mary saw that she was tall, with a crown of blue-back curls that tumbled around a pair of slender shoulders. She was probably in her late thirties. Seeing Mary’s curious glance, the woman smiled. “My name is Joanna,” she told her. “My husband was Chuza, King Herod’s steward. He was killed in a raid on the palace…” her voice trailed off. “Many good men and women died that night. Families were torn apart. Hearts were broken.” She looked steadily into Mary’s eyes. “I was fortunate, for I have enough money of my own, and could look after myself. Many are not so lucky.”
Mary shook her head. “No,” she sighed.
“But still, my heart was broken because of the things that were done that night. Why, I wondered. Oh, I can understand why the people hate Herod, and might wish him harm…but he wasn’t even there that night. And Chuza was only doing his job. I was a bitter woman…”
“I understand,” Mary whispered.
“Then, I heard about Jesus,” Joanna continued. “I went to see Him, and He comforted me.” She smiled at Mary. “Since then, I, and many of these other women, have tried to stay close to Him. I have a house in Jerusalem, and most of these women live with me. But, sometimes we travel with Him, as well.”
“I am glad you were here tonight,” Mary sighed, as she composed herself for sleep.
“So am I,” Joanna whispered softly. Jesus had known, she thought. He had asked her and her friends to travel to Magdala with Him, and she had wondered at the time, but now she understood. Jesus had known that this child would need her. Somehow, He always knew. This girl had been through something horrible, that had brought her to the place where He had found her, even Joanna could sense that much. And He had had pity on her. He had reached out and touched her, touched a harlot, with all of that crowd watching. Joanna had seen the look on her face, and she had understood. She had expected that Mary would follow Him…and she had been waiting. She would invite the child to come and live with her, in her house in Jerusalem, as she had done with Susanna and the others.
The next morning, as they talked it over, Mary had said that she would consider Joanna’s offer. She was going to sell her few possessions, she told them, for her life in Magdala was over. She intended to follow Jesus. She intended to be at His side…wherever He was, there she would be.
Joanna smiled at the child’s naiveté. “I’m afraid that might be a bit difficult, my dear.” She indicated the women with her. “We stay with Him as much as possible, but there are places a woman just cannot go…”
Mary lifted her chin. She had been beaten and abused for most of her life, she told Joanna, and Jesus had freed her from her past. There was little that she was frightened of, and nothing that she would not do for Him and for the men that followed Him. She was happy to know that she was welcome in Joanna’s house in Jerusalem, but she intended to follow Jesus.
Joanna sighed. “Have it your own way, Sweetling,” she said softly.
In the weeks and months that followed, Mary realized the truth of what Joanna had told her. The men who followed Jesus were annoyed with her at first, and one of them, the one called Judas Iscariot, had gone so far as to complain to Jesus about it. “You are enjoying this woman’s attentions,” he had accused. “Why, that jar of ointment must have been worth a small fortune. It should have been sold, and the money given to the poor.”
“Leave her alone,” Jesus had replied. “The thing that this woman has done for Me will be told of her, as a memorial, throughout time. She is welcome here, with us.”
And, although the men had grumbled at first, they soon got used to having her around. She cooked for them, and saw to it that their clothes stayed clean, taking it upon herself to wash everything in water, and hang it out to dry among the sweetly scented trees. She saw to it that their bedding was fresh and comfortable, and when they stayed anywhere, she saw to it that the place was left cleaner than when they arrived. After awhile, she became like a sister to them all, and even Judas seemed to accept her. She became especially fond of John and James, two brothers whom Jesus had nicknamed “The Sons of Thunder”, although she had a hard time understanding why. John was such a sweet, kind man, and James was almost painfully shy. She liked the one they called Peter, as well…although he was a bit more difficult to get close to. She knew that he had a wife in Capernaum, and that they were very much in love with each other. Perhaps that was why he was so irritable. He missed his precious Rachael. She smiled sadly. She, too, missed the physical intimacy between a man and a woman, although she had never expected that she would. It had never meant anything to her except pain, as a child, and then, later, a means to making her living. But now, she ached to feel a man’s arms around her once more. She remembered the night, back in the beginning, when she had offered herself to Jesus, in the only way she had known. Gently, but firmly, He had sent her back to her own cot. At first, she had felt rejected, although she still loved Him. But slowly, she began to understand…Jesus did love her…as He loved all people, everywhere. Jesus was not like ordinary men. Slowly, she had come to understand that He was not just a man. Jesus was more than a man. He was the Son of God….
But now, it was all coming to an end. The past week had been so exciting…Jesus had rode into the gates of Jerusalem in triumph on the back of a small white ass’s colt. Oh, how the priests and elders in the city had seethed…they knew that He was proclaiming Himself the Messiah…and the rightful King of Israel. They looked to Herod to object, but Herod, that old fox, had been keeping pretty much to himself since the unfortunate incident a few years back…he had had some poor wilderness preacher put to death for personal reasons, and Rome had reprimanded him severely. He and Pilate, the Roman governor, hated each other…that was common knowledge. So Herod cowered behind the walls of his palace, while this pretender to the throne mocked him openly.
But that was not all. Even His disciples had been horrified at what he had done next, but Mary had openly applauded Him….as He boldly stormed into the courts of the Holy Temple itself, overturning the tables of the deceitful money-changers, throwing open the cages of the animals kept there for pilgrims to buy as sacrifices at exorbitant prices, and proclaiming in a loud voice that seemed to carry for miles that His Father’s House was intended to be known as a House of Prayer—and not what they had made of it—a Den of Thieves!! Mary had seen it all…and she had known that the cowardly priests would not dare to make a move against Him…for they were afraid of the mob that surrounded Him. And rightfully so. These people knew that this was their Messiah. They knew that He had come to fulfill the ancient prophecies…and they were ready, willing, and able to rend into pieces any that got in His way. The priests, like Herod, cowered within doors, as Jesus began to preach daily in their precious Temple. And Pilate, the Roman governor, who had no more love for the priesthood than he had for Herod, looked on and smiled.
As more and more people flocked to hear the Messiah speak, the excitement built to a fevered pitch. The Passover was nearly at hand. Surely, that would be the day, they told each other eagerly. Surely, on that most solemn and historic occasion, the Messiah would declare Himself openly. God would pour His wrath out upon the ones that oppressed His chosen people, as He had done in times past. Israel would be a free nation once more. What was more, many said, eyes wide in anticipation, they would rule the world, and the world would flow into Jerusalem to visit the Holy Temple and learn the ways of The One True God.
Mary, however, had been apprehensive. She knew that, if Jesus had cared to do so, He could have ascended the throne of Israel at any time He chose. She had seen the power at His command…indeed; she had experienced it first hand. He was The Son of God, and The Messiah…but if He had intended to take the throne, as so many seemed to expect Him to, Mary felt that He would have done it long before now. She did not know what He did have in mind, but she was sure it would be something that none of them expected. And she, alone of them all, was frightened. They had gone off tonight, the Eve of the Passover, on some mysterious errand of their own, and Mary, who had learned through experience when to gracefully withdraw, had remained behind….
It was late at night when she heard someone urgently knocking. She hurried to answer the door, before whoever it was should awaken the entire household. Cautiously opening the door, she spied John standing in the entryway with a look on his face that told Mary right away…his news was not good.
“Oh, Mary,” he breathed. “I’m so glad that it is you.”
“Come inside, John….”
“No! Mary…there is no time. They—they arrested Jesus—in Gethsemane—just a little while ago!”
“Who? Who arrested Him, John?”
“The Temple police. They came…with Judas.”
“With Judas? What do you mean?”
John looked at her, and she could see the tears shining in his eyes, and the trails they had left as they had flowed down his cheeks. “Judas,” he whispered. “He left us…Jesus told him to do what he must quickly…we all thought he was going to buy the lamb…you know…”
“Slow down, John,” Mary chided him. “Come in. Sit down. I will bring you something cool to drink…”
“No time, Mary…I’m going to Caiaphas’ house….”
Before Mary had time to grab her cloak, he was gone. She stood in the doorway for several minutes, looking after the tall, handsome man hurrying down the street. Finally she closed the door, and turned back into the house. Should she awaken the others? They would want to know. He had been arrested and taken to Caiaphas’ house…the high priest…although everyone knew the real power lay with Annas, Caiaphas’ father-in-law. Annas hated Jesus, for reasons of his own. But the priesthood had no real authority. Perhaps it would all be over before breakfast time. Unless. Unless Annas decided to pull his strings. He could really have Jesus crucified, if he decided to. In some ways, even Mary knew, Annas had even more power than Herod Antipas, mewling son of the old King Herod. Mary chuckled. But it was not funny, she knew. Jesus was in very real danger. She made her decision. She would awaken the others, and, together with the rest of the women, would follow after John. She would be there…one way or the other.
Hurriedly, she woke the others. Joanna, when she heard, agreed that they should follow the men, “But,” she cautioned, “we must prepare ourselves. Let us eat a little breakfast first, and wash and put on clean clothing…for we may be gone from home for some time.”
Hiding her impatience as well as she could, Mary nibbled at the breakfast Suzanna insisted upon bringing her, and washed and dressed herself in a simple brown homespun gown with matching girdle. She fidgeted as Suzanna tugged at the hem of the gown, and insisted that she bring her best cloak. “We are wasting time,” she complained. “We need to be going.”
Joanna gave a swift glance, and assuring herself that everyone was ready, she agreed. “Let us go,” she said.
Holding tightly to each other, the little group of women made their way down the street.
However, when they reached the home of Caiaphas, the high priest, they were disappointed. “They have already taken Him before the governor,” they were told.
“Pilate?” asked Joanna. “Why would they take Him there?”
“They want him to sign the order to put Him to death.”
At this, they wasted no more time, but hastened toward the palace of the Roman governor. There, they were told that Jesus had been taken before Herod, the king.
“But…why?” Joanna asked.
The guard at the gate grinned at her. “Pilate is a sly one,” he told her, winking at her. “He doesn’t want to upset the priesthood again…but neither does he intend to give them their way by slaughtering a harmless prophet. So…”
“I see,” Joanna nodded. “Since Jesus comes from Galilee, it is rightfully a case for the Tetrarch of Galilee.”
“You are quick, for a woman,” the guard smiled. “Pilate knows that Herod is not about to make the same mistake twice.”
“Since the affair with John the Baptist, we have seen little of our king,” Joanna smiled back at him.
Turning away, the women headed for Herod’s palace. Suzanna shot a questioning glance in Joanna’s direction. “What was that all about?” she wanted to know.
“Well,” Joanna drawled, “there has never been much love lost between the Roman governor and our good king. Seems they had a bit of a run in a few years back, when Pilate first got to Jerusalem, and thought it would be a good idea to parade the bust of Caesar through the streets of the Holy City. Right past the Temple, they marched with their ridiculous idol. Of course, the priests were outraged, and Herod was forced to take a stand. Pilate, who really didn’t know that he had violated one of our oldest and most cherished laws, was…petulant, to say the least. But, Herod overstepped himself when he had John beheaded…to please his stepdaughter, Salome, some say…but more likely that shrew of a wife of his, Herodias, was actually behind the whole thing. Anyway, Pilate let him know in a hurry that only Rome had the right to put a man to death. That is why he sent Jesus to him. Pilate does not intend to have Him crucified.”
Mary drew a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” she breathed.
Joanna, who knew a bit more about the political situation in Jerusalem than the rest of them, looked grim. “It is not over yet, ladies. Annas will not give up so easily. He hates Jesus as it is…and when He cleared the Temple the other day, it made him furious.” She sighed. “No…it is not over yet.” And she led the way toward Herod’s palace.
They were about a third of the way there, when they were met by a mob of excited people coming toward them. Hurriedly, they ducked into a nearby alley. As the people approached, they could hear them shouting “Hail, King of the Jews!” “Messiah!” “Hosanna!” These voices were not being raised in joyful praise, however. Indeed, they seemed to be mocking the Man Who marched sadly in the midst of them, eyes downward, struggling to stay upright, as the soldiers around Him tried to protect Him from the worst of the indignities that were being heaped upon Him. The little group of frightened women cringed back into the shadows as they passed. They could see the marks where He had been scourged, and the cruel crown of thorns that had been forced down over His forehead. Mary, eyes blinded by angry tears, began to run forward, but Joanna held her in her strong arms.
“What can you do, little one,” she crooned, as Mary fought against the gentle pressure of her arms. “Do not make it harder on Him than it already is.”
At this, Mary stopped and allowed Joanna to hold her, as she wept bitter tears. “How could they,” she cried, over and over again. “How could they. He loves them so….only yesterday they wanted to make Him their King….”
“Hush, child,” Joanna soothed her. It was the only thing she could think of to say.
After a few minutes, Mary composed herself, and the women started out after the mob headed toward Pilate’s embassy. When they arrived there, they were amazed to see that the streets were already lined with people. A group of hard faced men were gathered determinedly near the porch, waiting for Pilate to appear. Moving among them were several men that Mary recognized as members of the Sanhedrin. The men nodded grimly, as Pilate swept out onto the portico, and looked down at the crowd below.
“I have come before you, this morning,” he called, “to pass judgment on certain prisoners, all of whom except for this One, have been found guilty of crimes against the peace of Rome—crimes which carry the death penalty. The others will be crucified this morning. However—it is your Passover. It has seemed good to your rulers that on this great occasion, we release to you one prisoner, of your own choosing. This being so, I will release to you your Messiah, Jesus of Nazareth.” He nodded to the soldiers, who bent to untie the ropes that bound Jesus’ wrists. But, even as they began to work on the knots that held Him, a rumble started in the crowd below.
“Rome has been gracious to you!” Pilate cried. “Take your King, and go home!”
“We have no King but Caesar!” a voice called. Soon the cry was taken up. “We have no King but Caesar! We have no King but Caesar!”
Pilate held up his hands. “I am sure Tiberius will be gratified to hear it,” he remarked in a voice that dripped with sarcasm. “He has been rather concerned, since his last visit.” He smiled. “However, that leaves me in a bit of a quandary. I would release this Man, for I find no crime in Him worthy of death. He is free to go.” He began to turn away, but again, that angry rumble stopped him.
“Would you not have me release a prisoner to you, as Rome has done every year?”
“We want Barabbas,” that same voice called, and again, the cry was taken up. “Barabbas! Barabbas! Barabbas!”
“Barabbas? No, that is impossible. That one is to be crucified this very morning, for murder, and for insurrection.”
The chant grew louder. “Barabbas! Barabbas! BARABBAS! BARABBAS!”
Mary’s mouth dropped open in astonished horror. Barabbas? So, that was why those grim and determined looking men were here. They must be members of the bloody little band of thieves and cutthroats that followed the infamous Barabbas…she had heard that he had been thrown into prison for an attempt on the life of a Roman Senator…and they were here in an attempt to free their leader. She looked up. But…surely Pilate could not give in to such a ridiculous demand. He wanted to free Jesus…anyone could see that…he wouldn’t change his mind in favor of some criminal. He couldn’t!
But…who was that, there among those hard-faced men? No! It was Mary, Jesus’ mother…being pushed roughly back and forth, picking herself up again and again, begging, pleading with the men….Mary tugged at Joanna’s sleeve.
“Oh…” Joanna groaned. “She should not be here…”
As a group, the women shouldered their way forward. Suzanna reached out and caught Jesus’ mother, as she was once again pushed roughly down. “Come…” she said softly, as she took Mary’s hand and drew her to safety.
Mary, seeing that Joanna had Jesus’ mother in her tender charge, noticed John standing by looking helpless, and charged on him. “What ails you, John,” she asked him sternly, “bringing that poor woman here? Don’t you know that if Annas gets his way, Jesus will probably be crucified? She should not be here…..”
John nodded gently. “I tried to stop her,” he sighed.
Instantly contrite, Mary put her hand gently against his cheek. “It is not your fault, John. I am sorry.”
At that moment, the crowd roared. John and Mary looked up. Oh, no. Pilate was dipping his hands in a silver bowl, symbolizing his innocence in giving in to the blood-maddened throng. “His blood be upon us, and upon our children!” came the soul-shattering cry.
John drew a deep breath. “It is over,” he said, his voice trembling.
Mary nodded numbly. She turned back to the group of women, standing white faced, while His mother wept silently in a heap on the ground.
“I must go with Him,” John told her. “Go back with the women…”
Mary lifted her head. “I will not leave Him now,” she said defiantly.
“But Mary…” But John’s plea fell on deaf ears. Mary had gone back to the women. To John’s dismay, he saw that they were all preparing to follow Jesus to the cross. Even….he could hardly believe it…even His mother. He sighed deeply. Well, he would stay near them. Even as he made his decision, he saw that Jesus had turned His head toward them. He seemed to be smiling.
The next several hours were terrible beyond the telling. They watched, as their beloved Lord and Master was nailed to the cruel Roman cross. They stood there, numb with shock, as he refused the drugged sponge the merciful centurion offered Him. They listened, their grief too great for tears, as He forgave His killers. Then, around noon, the sky grew dark. Lightning flashed in an angry sky…but there was no scent of rain in the cool wind that had suddenly blown up. An earthquake shook the ground under their feet…there were screams as the people clutched at each other in terror.
But Mary was not afraid. She walked slowly up to the foot of the cross where He hung…and placed her head against the beloved feet. Sudden tears blinded her eyes…and fell, wetting His feet. As she had done on another afternoon that seemed ages ago now…she took her hair, and gently wiped the tears…and the blood…away.
And then…it was over. Two men had come to the centurion with an order from Pilate…he was to give them the body of Jesus for burial. The soldiers waved Mary away as they lowered Him to the ground. They drew the nails from His hands and feet, and handed Him over to them…Mary recognized one of them as Joseph, from the province of Arimathea, and the other as his friend, Nicodemus, both members of the Sanhedrin.
Mary knew that they were going to take Him and bury Him. It was nearing sunset, and the Sabbath was upon them. They would not even be able to anoint Him for burial…not until the first day of the week. Sadly, the little group of mourners followed Joseph and Nicodemus. They watched, as He was carefully laid in a fine sepulcher…a chamber fit for a prince to lie in…Joseph’s own, it turned out. Turning to them, Joseph told them that all would be welcome to come here, to mourn Him, and to do for Him according to the custom…but they must hurry now, for the Sabbath was beginning.
Mary went back to Jerusalem, to wait.
She was up before the sun on the first day of the week, her spices prepared. She, along with Joanna and the others, planned to go to the tomb this morning, to anoint His body, as was proper. As soon as the sun touched the horizon, they were on their way. “But, who shall roll the stone away for us?” Suzanna asked anxiously. “Perhaps we should wait for the men.”
Mary, His mother spoke gently. “There will be no trouble about the stone.”
Mary, not inclined to argue, kept her thoughts to herself. No, there would be no trouble about the stone. There was sure to be a man about somewhere…a groundskeeper, at least. If there was one thing Mary knew, it was how to get a man to do her bidding. She could get the stone moved, she had no doubt.
But when they arrived at their destination, they were greeted with an astonishing sight. A man in dazzling white clothes was standing at the entrance to the tomb…where the stone had been rolled away. Without hesitation, the women brushed past the man and hurried into the sepulcher. But, to their amazement, Jesus was not there. Instead, two more young men, dressed like the one at the entrance, sat where Jesus’ body had been…one at the head and one at the foot. Except, these men…had wings. Huge white wings seemed to sprout from their shoulders, and as they sat, facing each other, their wings seemed to touch the top of the rocky chamber. Mary stood staring for a moment, and then it occurred to her. The Ark of the Covenant! The cherubim, who sat at each end of the mercy seat, with their wings stretching overhead. Of course, they had been made of wood, and overlaid with fine gold. But, if they had been real, she knew, they would have presented a picture…a picture such as the tableau that now confronted them.
“Whom do you seek?” they asked in unison. Their voices sounded like rushing water, or like the wind, blowing through the trees.
The women stood staring. Finally, Mary Magdalene cleared her throat. “We…we are seeking Jesus. Jesus of Nazareth. We have brought spices,” she lifted her basket for them to see. “We have come to anoint His body. Perhaps we have the wrong place…”
“Why do you look for the living, here among the dead?” the angel sitting at the head asked them. “For Jesus of Nazareth, The One Whom you seek, is not here, but is risen, as He told you.”
Mary, the mother of Jesus, fell to her knees. “It is you,” she breathed. The angel put out his hand, and raised her to sit beside him. He turned to the rest of the women and said, “Go, and tell what you have seen and heard.”
Exchanging glances, they hurried from the tomb. “What shall we do?” Suzanna asked. Joanna, usually so cool and in charge of the situation, was at a loss. They turned toward Mary.
“The rest of you, go home,” Mary Magdalene said crisply. “Tell John and the others what you have seen. I will wait here, for His mother.”
Exchanging nervous glances they hurried off.
Watching them as they hurried away, she wasn’t sure just what to think. Who…or what…had they seen in there? And what did he mean, why were they looking for the living among the dead? What a ridiculous question. Perhaps she shouldn’t have left His mother in there alone with him. But…it had seemed…right, somehow. She couldn’t explain why, but she had felt strangely…compelled.
She heard a rustling noise close by and looked up. There was a Man walking around the garden. Perhaps he was a gardener, or something. He might know what had happened, and where they might find the body of the Lord. It wouldn’t hurt to ask Him.
“Sir!” she called out. The Man walked over to her. She looked at him closely. He seemed to be someone she knew…perhaps someone from her past. Well, never mind. “Please, Sir. Someone has moved the body of Jesus…the man who was newly laid in that tomb,” she said, pointing. “I…that is; His friends would like to know where they have taken Him, so that we may do for Him according to our custom. Please, if you know, won’t you tell me?”
The Man smiled at her warmly. “Mary,” he said, in a gentle voice.
Mary gave a cry of wonder. “Jesus!” She threw her arms around Him. “Oh, Jesus, my Lord! Can it really be You?”
Jesus embraced her, and tenderly unwound her arms from about Him. “You must not hold on to Me,” he admonished her kindly. “There is much I must do, and I have little time. I have not yet returned unto My Father.”
“Lord…”
“Go now. Tell my disciples…and Peter…that you have seen Me.”
“Jesus…”
“It is alright, Mary. I have done that which I came to do. I have redeemed My Father’s children. My disciples are my witnesses…and you are one of them, Mary.” He looked at her tenderly. “You have been a comfort to me during my time in the world.” He brushed her cheek with the back of His hand. “Continue to be a comfort to my followers.”
Mary stood, gazing at Him. After a moment, she whispered, “I will.” She looked over at the entrance to the tomb, where His mother was still speaking with the angels that had heralded His return from death, then back up into His face.
“I know,” He said softly. “Go now.”
Slowly, she nodded. Of course, He would want time alone with His mother. She turned and began to walk slowly from the garden. At the gate, she turned, for one last look. His mother had come out of the tomb, and had seen her Son. He stood, His arms open, as she went running joyfully toward Him. Wiping away a single joyful tear, Mary turned back toward the road that led back to Jerusalem.
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