A.D. 33 (14 page)

He'd spoken of my Talya, surely, but he'd also spoken of me and of Mary and of all those in the room. We were all there, weeping with her, offering him what was reserved for a king.

Judas broke the moment when he slowly stood to his feet.

“Why wasn't this perfume sold and the money given to the poor?” he asked. “It's worth a year's wages!”

Peter reached out to him. “Judas…Not now.”

“Do we not tend to the poor? How dare you rob the poor with such waste!”

Still Mary wept, wiping Yeshua's feet with her hair.

Judas looked at Yeshua. “Master…”

“Leave her alone,” Yeshua said quietly, lifting misted eyes. “She's done a beautiful thing. It was intended that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial. You will always have the poor among you, Judas. But you will not always have me.”

Judas hesitated, then slowly sat.

Yeshua leaned down and placed a kiss on Mary's head. “I rejoice with you, Mary. What you have done will be remembered by all the world, wherever the good news is received.”

She grabbed his hands and kissed them. “Rabbi.” But she had no other words.

She whispered something, and he nodded. Then she gathered herself, picked up the empty bottle, and hurried back to her seat near me, eyes bright like a proud child's.

Yeshua looked around the table. The certainty of his authority, like the extravagant scent of the nard, filled the room.

“Have you not heard me say many times that you cannot serve two masters?” he said. “You will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and mammon. So then, which master do you serve? But I tell you the truth…No one who has left home or wife or brother or parents or children for the sake of the kingdom of God will fail to receive many times as much in this age and in the age to come. Eternal life.”

He was talking about more than money. He was speaking about all that enslaved one to this world's system, be it sword or wealth or religion. There are two kingdoms, Saba so often reminded me: the realm of the world and the realm of the Father. Serve only one, the Father, to master the world.

But surely Yeshua did not mean for me to abandon my own son.

“Tell me, Saba,” Yeshua said, turning to him. “What is the Way of which I speak?”

Saba, the strongest man in the room by twice, was among giants, I thought. He glanced around and cleared his throat.

“There are two realms, heaven and earth, both among us, both within us. To find the priceless treasure, which is the eternal realm of the Father even now, one must trust in you and so come to know the Father intimately. The means to see this path is new eyes that see the realm of peace instead of the storm. This is to be reborn, as an infant, with new eyes. Only then can one be saved from the storms in this age.”

All stared at him. Stephen looked as though he might burst with agreement. “And the age to come,” he said.

“Yes,” Saba said, glancing at Stephen. “And in the age to come.”

Yeshua smiled, offering neither agreement nor disagreement.

“And what of love?” he asked.

“Love without judgment is the expression of the realm of heaven on earth.”

No one voiced an argument.

“I only ask this,” Saba pressed. “If one must have new sight to see the realm of peace in the storm, what is the way to gain this new sight so that our eyes might be opened?” He hesitated a moment. “Is surrender the means to sight, then?”

For a long time, Yeshua regarded him without speaking. Slowly his smile faded. He looked through the window into the night.

“If any would come after me, they must deny themselves, take up their cross daily and follow me.” He paused. “Anyone who does not take up his cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.”

I wasn't sure I had heard right. But I heard more.

Yeshua's eyes rested on Saba again. “Whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for my sake will save it. What good is it to gain the whole world yet forfeit your soul? If anyone comes to me and does not hate their father and mother, their wife and children, their brothers and sisters—even their own life—they cannot be my disciple.”

He paused, looking from one to the other.

“Again I say, you cannot serve two masters; you will hate one and love the other.”

To hate as he said it meant to hold of no account…As if to say it was impossible to have faith in both this world and the realm of the Father at the same time. But how was one to do this of everything pertaining to life in this world? Even their own sons and daughters? He was speaking of a new kind of surrender that staggered my mind.

Yeshua stood and faced us all, fingertips on the table, then he turned and walked to the door. He put his hand on the frame and tested its strength as a carpenter might.

“Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. What will he do, John?”

“He will first sit down and estimate the cost to see if he has enough money to complete it,” John said, as if familiar with the teaching.

Yeshua released the door frame and faced us. “Or suppose a ruler is about to go to war against another ruler. Will he not first sit down and consider whether he is able with ten thousand men to oppose the one coming against him with twenty thousand? If the ruler is not able, he will send a delegation while the other is still a long way off and will ask for terms of peace.”

He was speaking of the Thamud? No…Of me.

“In the same way, any of you who does not give up everything he has cannot be my disciple. So then, first count the cost.”

Why Yeshua's call to unconditional surrender drew me, I don't know. Perhaps only because I was so desperate to know his power.

I looked away.
Have mercy on me. Save me from the trouble that has swallowed me! Save your son, Talya. Save my son, I beg you.

“Maviah…”

I jerked my head back to face him.

“Know this, Daughter,” he said. “I have overcome death. He who believes in me will never die. Do you understand this?”

“Yes, master.” My voice was weak.

“Do you, Maviah?”

Tears were flowing from my eyes, unbidden.

“Yes.”

He walked over to me. Then, gazing down into my eyes, he gently rested his hand on my head.

“Then do not worry about your son. Even as I will not die, so neither will he. You wish to know what to do…Only remain in me. Come to me when I call. Stay in Bethany with your sisters. Then you will know what to do.”

“Yes…” Gratitude washed over me. “Yes, I will.”

Deep introspection filled his eyes. He walked up to the window on my right and gazed out. We watched, silent in anticipation.

“In two days, after the Sabbath, we will go into Jerusalem,” he said quietly. Then turned to face us.

“It is very soon now.”

IT IS SAID that the Bedu can
feel
a storm in the air before the rains come to nourish the desert with life-giving water. There is a power in the air that finally bursts forth with jagged bolts of lightning from the gods.

This was what I felt in Bethany. My skin prickled with the power in the air. Talya would be saved…I knew this like I knew I still breathed. How, I didn't know, but Yeshua could not fail.

He stayed with Simon as the guest of honor, and I did not see him on the Sabbath or the morning that followed. When Yeshua wasn't with them, he was gone to the Mount of Olives, where he went to be alone for many hours.

Remain with your sisters
, he'd said. And so I did. Sure of my son's deliverance, I allowed myself to embrace the presence of Yeshua that hummed in our bones like a silent thunder.

Many had come from Jerusalem to see him, and many others were traveling through Bethany on their way to Jerusalem for the feast of Passover, one of the holiest of celebrations for the Jewish people. On that day they would slaughter a lamb and atone for their sins with its blood.

Bethany swelled to three times its size. Visitors came with gifts of wheat and barley and fruits, and Martha busied herself baking at all hours, for there were many to feed. Mary and I helped as much as Martha allowed. I had never baked so much bread in one day.

Our talk was of Yeshua. Always Yeshua. Mary didn't speak of her time of shame, for it was now in the past—a season that no longer held any significance to her other than the fact that it was past. Though Dumah and the plight of my people hung always in the back of my mind, I spoke of it rarely.

Thoughts of shame and death were far away from us.

If only Judah could have seen what I was seeing! How my heart broke for him. His prison had first enslaved him and then finally crushed him. But he was now with the Father, I thought. Perhaps he was watching over me like the stars, and if so, he was surely smiling, singing a song of gratitude.

But Saba…I can't rightly describe the shift in Saba after that first night. He was gone, always, hovering near Yeshua when possible, or talking to Stephen, or retreating to the hills by himself. I was glad for him.

And yet he also seemed distant from me in spirit. I didn't realize how much I had come to expect his affectionate company until then.

When we gathered to eat, he was at my side, offering me food, but his eyes were not attentive. And he would quickly excuse himself to be gone.

At first I dismissed this retreat into himself as completely understandable. But on the second night I saw with more clarity. We were alone in the courtyard, having shared bread, and he was eager to leave.

“You go to find him now? It's late, Saba.”

“I would be alone.”

“Yes, of course. But you've been gone all day. We've hardly exchanged a word. You might stay with me for a little while.”

Normally he would immediately agree to such an invitation. Now he turned his face away from me. “Yes, my queen.” This out of obedience rather than desire.

I felt wounded. Worse, I was surprised that I would be.

“What is it, Saba? You seem distant.”

“I am here, my queen.”

“Are you? Where is your mind? With Yeshua, of course, but will you not love me as well?”

“Yes…Yes, always.”

But his heart wasn't in his words.

“And yet?” I rose from my mat and crossed to his, then sat down next to him, placing my hand on his arm. “Saba, speak to me…”

“I find that I have become a slave to my affections for you,” he said softly. “How then can I follow his teaching?”

Then I understood. Yeshua's teaching:
If anyone comes to me and does not hate their father and mother, their wife…

I removed my hand. “I'm not your wife. And if I was, what does it mean to hate?”

“To let go,” he said. “To make of no account…He speaks of the chains of affection for this world.”

“Then you would make me of no account?” I had been so enraptured with Yeshua's promise to save Talya that I'd given little thought to this difficult teaching. And thinking of it now, I was sure that Saba must be wrong.

I was also hearing his confession that he found himself enslaved by affection for me.

The former nagged at my mind; the latter did not bother me.

“You are my closest companion, Saba, not my husband.”

He glanced at me. “Yes…” But there was some pain in his eyes, and I regretted being so blunt. My words didn't properly express my own affection for him.

He was struggling with his emotions for me, thinking they distracted him from seeing Yeshua's kingdom clearly. And had not my own desperate need to save Talya made me blind too?

Yes, but there had to be another way of seeing such bonds.

“Stephen says you cannot truly love someone unless you also hate them,” Saba said. “Only when you release all expectation of them can you love them without condition, as the Father loves all.”

These teachings cut at my heart. You could not serve both the system of the world and the Father, Yeshua said. But wife and son? This was impossible. The teaching was opposite the way of the world—and my way as well.

“You would hate me so you can love me,” I said, aggravated.

He hesitated, then rose.

“I don't know…” He remained still for a moment, then turned. “I must leave.”

I watched my tower slip out the back gate. He was shaken by his affections for me. Saba, so strong, would have no great challenge in forsaking himself or his desires for anything the world could offer him—this I had seen many times.

But when it came to me…I was a different matter.

Saba was in love with me. Secretly I cherished this realization, now made so plain.

And if anyone could sever his affection for a woman to walk in the realm of Yeshua, it would be Saba. This was also plain.

I silently pondered all of this as I lay on my sleeping mat in Mary's room that night. We would know what Yeshua meant soon enough. Tomorrow we would be with him.

THE SUN was already in the western sky the next day when Arim burst into the courtyard.

“We go to Jerusalem!” he cried.

Mary, who was sweeping some spilled flour, spun. The broom dropped to the floor. “Now?”

“Yes.” Arim had made no secret of his hope to see the great city. “Jerusalem!” He hurried for his saddlebag, which contained his prized boots.

Saba strode in. “We go to Jerusalem.”

“I've told them.” Arim pulled out his boots and set about dressing himself for the occasion.

Saba dipped his head. “We must hurry, my queen.”

My queen…whom you would hate so you can love.

Mary and Martha were already scurrying about, grabbing their shawls, throwing bread into a basket.

“It's late!” Martha said.

Mary's face was pale with anticipation. “It will only take an hour on foot.”

“We have nowhere to spend the night!”

“We will return for the night.”

“We can't travel in the dark!”

Mary spun to her sister. “Stop worrying, Martha! He calls for us. It is Yeshua.”

We didn't need the camels, Saba said, urging us out of the house. All would walk. The disciples were already leaving from the west side of Bethany.

“We must go, my queen.”

“There's no need to call me queen here, Saba. Only Maviah.”

He caught my eye but said nothing.

“We can catch them on the mount,” Mary said. “It's shorter this way. We can meet them going up. Hurry!”

We followed her out the back gate and up the same small path along which Mary had led me when I'd first come.

“Hurry!”

We hurried. Over the knoll, through the olive trees, while Mary explained why this path was shorter than the one through the village. We would surely come upon them just over the next rise.

My heart pounded as much from my anticipation as from our climb. He was my savior, you see. I and my son and Saba and all of the outcast Bedu in Arabia hung in the balance: death at the hand of Kahil, and life at the hand of Yeshua.

All thoughts of my exchange with Saba the night before were gone.

Arim overtook Mary, urging us on in his new boots. “This way! It will be even faster.”

“No! Stay on the path!”

He corrected his course, eyeing Mary. “Yes of course. Then I will carry your bag.”

“She can carry her own bag,” Martha objected.

He reached out for it anyway, and Mary gave it willingly. I saw the look that passed between them. They were fond of each other? I hadn't noticed until then.

In less than five minutes we crested the second rise and pulled up, taking in the scene below us with a single glance.

He was there in the wadi, on the path that eventually climbed the Mount of Olives, walking just ahead of his inner circle. Directly behind them: Simon, walking with a cane, Lazarus, very much alive, and Stephen, who was waving at us to join them.

A group of perhaps sixty or more—men, women, and children—followed fifty paces behind the disciples, buzzing with excitement while respectfully keeping their distance.

But my eyes were for Yeshua.

Yeshua, who walked with his staff, wearing the same clothes he'd worn to Simon's house, hooded beneath a blue-and-white mantle. Yeshua, keeping to himself as he walked toward Jerusalem.

Yeshua, who slowly turned his head, looked up the hill at us, held his shrouded gaze for a few paces, then faced forward once again. I couldn't see his expression.

Mary and Martha were already plunging down the slope. “Hurry!”

I felt Saba's guiding hand on my elbow. “We must hurry, my queen.”

A gentle breeze cooled my neck.

“I told you, Saba. Don't call me queen.” And then I ran.

We joined Stephen just behind the disciples, now ten in all, who gave their master space after his time with the crowds. They spoke in hushed tones, aware of the danger that going into Jerusalem presented.

Peter turned back, slowing for us to catch him. I had spoken to him only in greeting before, but now his eyes were on me. Gentle brown eyes tinted with green, filled with confidence.

He smiled. “You are Maviah…”

“Yes.”

He matched our stride. “The master says that you are a queen from Arabia. From among the Bedu, deep in the desert.”

Yeshua had spoken of me to them? My pulse quickened.

“Yes. We are outcasts who have been crushed by the Thamud in Dumah.”

“And Judah? Where is he?”

Saba answered for me when I hesitated. “Judah has been taken by the sword.”

Peter glanced at Saba and shook his head, tsking. “I am sorry. He was a good Jew with a wild heart.” To me: “And you, are you now Saba's wife?”

“He is my right arm,” I said quietly. “But no.”

Peter nodded, looking ahead. “Yeshua speaks highly of you both, though you aren't Jews. Perhaps you will follow his Way and make good Jews in the desert.”

To this I had no response. Peter obviously understood Yeshua only within the Jewish context. I didn't know enough of their religion to be a convert, much less to make more good Jews.

“He is more than a prophet, you understand,” Peter said softly. “I would gladly give my life for him. He brings a new kingdom in peace and love. The world will then know their king. You understand this?”

“Yes.”

“Then you too will be a part of that kingdom.” He paused. “He would speak to you and Saba soon.”

I blinked. “He would?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Stay close. Now I must rejoin the others.”

I watched Yeshua, who continued to walk alone, and I tried to imagine what he was thinking. The air was full of excitement, and yet I wondered what burdens Yeshua held close to himself, there on the path ahead of us.

His words about his own journey, spoken to me on my previous visit to Galilee, whispered through my mind.

To the Hebrews it will one day be written of me: “During the days of Yeshua's life on earth…Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered.”

Had he already suffered all he needed to suffer to learn this obedience? Surely. Or was he still to learn more?

Around me, all were speaking as we ascended the Mount of Olives, and I as well, but all the while my eyes were on Yeshua, walking ahead, always ahead, leading the way.

We had come to a small vineyard that drew his attention. He stopped on the side of the path, studying the tangled vines and leaves. He looked back at us. The disciples too had stopped, giving him space.

Then he dipped his head, making his intentions known to his disciples, who knew his way.

Peter turned and beckoned us.

I hesitated, but Mary nudged me from behind. “Now,” she whispered.

“He calls us,” Saba said, striding forward already.

Arim followed on our heels, not to be left out, though Peter hadn't specified him. We hurried through his inner circle, which parted for us.

Yeshua looked at each of us and yet I felt as though he was looking only at me. So close to him, the air was heavy and my heart was pounding wildly.

“Arim, always the eager one,” Yeshua said with a smile.

Arim stared at him, grinning sheepishly.

“Walk with me.” Yeshua resumed his stride up the path. Behind us by ten paces, the disciples followed, and beyond them, the crowd.

“Do you know vines, Saba?”

“
I
have known them,” Arim said.
Arim, always the eager one.

Saba cleared his throat. “Yes, master.”

“But do you
know
the vine?”

To know. Not to know about.

“Listen to the truth as I will tell it to the others,” Yeshua said, facing me. I looked into his eyes. Eyes that beckoned me like an ancient memory, daring me to listen. “Will you know?”