Daughter of Jerusalem (28 page)

Then he looked beyond me to Martha, who was standing at my shoulder. “I will come,” he said.

I remembered the faith of Fulvius, how he had not needed Jesus’ presence, only his word. My faith was not as strong; I wanted him to go to Lazarus.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Shall I come with you, Master?” Judas asked.

“It is not necessary,” came the answer, and he rose and moved toward the gate in the fence.

Martha and I led him to Lazarus’ room. When we moved to accompany him inside, he held up one hand. “I will go alone.”

Martha and I looked at each other, nodded agreement, and remained in the hallway while he disappeared into the suffering silence within.

Once the door had closed, Martha and I heard nothing from within. We stood together, not speaking but silently praying for Lazarus.

At last the door opened, and Lazarus himself stood before us. His fine brown hair was ruffled, and he looked pale, but he was smiling.

“You’re better!” Martha cried joyously.

“Jesus of Nazareth healed me,” Lazarus said and opened his arms to embrace her.

I looked over my brother’s shoulder to the man still inside the room. “Thank you, Master. With all my heart, I thank you.”

He nodded. “Perhaps next time you will trust me, Mary.”

My mouth fell open in astonishment as I remembered my moment of doubt. Those eyes kept watching me. I said, “I will, Master. I will never doubt you again.”

Martha invited Jesus to stay for something to eat and drink. He accepted, and I showed him and my brother and sister into one of the small salons off the atrium and asked Elisabeth to serve food and wine.

In simple, subdued words, Lazarus told Jesus the story of his headaches. When he finished, Jesus smiled. I had never seen him smile before; it transformed his face. He said, “The headaches will not trouble you again.”

Lazarus’ eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You have changed my life, Master. Whatever you ask of me I will do with all my heart.”

Jesus nodded and sipped his wine. “I will remember that.”

“One thing you should know,” Lazarus said with urgency. “You have enemies, Master. Many priests, scribes, and Pharisees are speaking out against you. Some of what they say could be dangerous. One of our local Pharisees calls you a ‘spawn of Satan.’”

Jesus’ eyes narrowed. “They are my enemies because they reject the truth. The scribes, the Pharisees, the priests of the Temple, they are all hypocrites, loving the honor and plunder of their positions while
they ignore the judgment of God. They may look clean on the outside, like well-kept graves, but inside they are full of rottenness and decay.”

I thought of Ezra bar Matthias here in Capernaum and the way he had looked at me. I thought of all the priests in the Temple collecting their money, and I said heatedly, “What you say is true, Master. The Temple has become nothing but a treasure chest for the priests and scribes; and the Pharisees, who are supposed to be examples of God’s law, are nothing but arrogant hypocrites. They know nothing about the truth of God!”

Lazarus and Martha stared at me, shock in their eyes. Jesus merely lifted his eyebrows and asked gently, “What do you think is the truth of God, Mary?”

“You showed us the answer today, Master, with your story of the traveler who was beaten and left on the road. The priest crossed to the other side because the man might be dead, and touching the dead would make him unclean. The Levite did the same. They obeyed the rules of man, not the truth of God. It was the Samaritan who did the work of the Lord.”

He gave me a faint smile. “I see you are a thinking woman.”

The approval in his voice broke through the dam that had long been restraining my deepest thoughts, and they burst forth like the floodwaters of the Jordan in springtime,

“I have read the Greek philosophers, Master, and they were trying so hard to find the truth. The Truth and the Good—that’s what they sought constantly in their writings. But they were unlucky, Plato and Aristotle and their like. They didn’t know the one true God. He didn’t reveal Himself to the Greeks; He revealed Himself to us, to the Jews. He chose us, and we have betrayed Him. We have lost the meaning of what He wants from us. I think we’ve become so ensnared in the
rules we have made that we’ve lost sight of the way the Lord wishes us to live. We had the truth once, but we lost it.”

There was a long silence. I could feel my heart thudding all the way up in my head. What had possessed me? What would the Master think of me for saying such things?

He leaned toward me, his expression serious. “I am the truth, Mary. I am the truth and the way and the light. Believe in me, and the Kingdom of Heaven will be yours.”

I was so caught up in his gaze that I didn’t hear Elisabeth announce the arrival of Peter and Rebecca. It wasn’t until she spoke in my ear, saying Rebecca wished to see me outside, that I came back to my surroundings.

I tore my eyes away from Jesus and walked into the atrium. Peter and Rebecca were there, looking anxious. Rebecca spoke, but she had to repeat herself before I could focus enough to understand.

Their problem was simple enough. They needed housing for some of the disciples who were still at their house.

Rebecca explained, “James and John are from Capernaum, so they can sleep at home, but the other eight are far from home. If you were by yourself, I would never ask this of you, but your brother is here so . . . do you think you could do this, Mary?”

“Of course I can,” I replied.

“The Master and Nathaniel and Thomas can stay with us, but the others . . .”

I smiled at her. “Don’t worry, between the upstairs bedchambers and the downstairs salons, I have plenty of room.”

“Thank you, Mary,” Peter said with a relieved smile. “I knew we could count on you. Is the Master inside?”

“Yes, he’s sitting with Lazarus and Martha.”

Peter disappeared into the salon, and Rebecca hugged me. “You are such a good friend.” She looked toward the salon and shook her head in disbelief. “To think I was once so angry that Peter followed him.”

“He is . . .” I searched for a word to describe Jesus, but there were no words . . . “a remarkable man,” I ended lamely.

“He has been sent to us by God, Mary. I truly believe that. He is a messenger from God.”

Rebecca had been more accurate than I.

Peter’s booming voice came to our ears, and Rebecca smiled. “We’d better go inside.”

As I followed her into the salon, I said cheerfully, “I knew I built this big house for some reason. I just didn’t know what the reason was until now.”

Jeremiah and Elisabeth distributed sleeping mats among the spare rooms for the disciples. Since many of the rooms already had thick rugs, and these were men not accustomed to living a lavish life, everyone was pleased.

As I lay on my comfortable Roman bed, I thought about all that had happened that day. Jesus cured the servant of a Roman military commander. He cured Lazarus. I poured out my thoughts to him, and he told me he was
the truth and the way and the light
. I had looked into his eyes and seen such love in those amber depths. Not just love for me, but love for us all.

I closed my eyes and prayed:
Dear Lord, please show me what I should do, the path I should take. I feel such anticipation, as if something is waiting for me that will change my entire life. Is it Jesus of Nazareth I am waiting for? Who is this man, Lord? He is not a king or a warrior, but . . . can he still be the Messiah? Could it be true that this is the man
the Jews have been praying for? I don’t want to make another mistake with my life, so I beg you to guide me in the choices that I make. Amen.

Jesus and his disciples remained in Capernaum for several weeks, traveling to local villages and returning each evening. Judas told me that the Master was attracting such large crowds that he had been forced to preach out in the countryside because the villages were too small.

I wanted desperately to travel with Jesus, to listen to him, to understand him. But it wasn’t possible. Jesus’ listeners had women and children among them, but I knew well that listening to a teacher or prophet with your husband at your side was very different from traveling with him as his disciple. I still had detractors in Capernaum who would seize on my slightest misstep to label me a sinner.

I wrote a long letter to Julia, pouring out my heart. I had seen my friend only twice since I left Sepphoris, both times at my brother’s house in Bethany. Lazarus and Martha had been welcoming, but I had seen how difficult it was for them to relate to a Roman woman. I hadn’t yet invited her to Capernaum because I knew it would be considered scandalous to have a Roman woman, dressed in thin linen garments and with her hair uncovered, staying with me. Julia would have been as uncomfortable in Capernaum as I would be to have her.

But I missed her. I had made good friends in my new home, but Julia was more than a friend. She was the mother I had never known.

I was curious to find out how she would respond to my letter about Jesus.

The more I saw of him, the more I listened to him, the more convinced I became that he was indeed a messenger from God. Judas,
the youngest of the disciples, believed he was the Messiah, and I was coming to believe the same.

Judas was an interesting man. Before he became Jesus’ disciple, he was one of the Zealots dedicated to ending the Roman occupation by the use of force and the military. Judas believed that Jesus had been sent by God to lead our people to triumph over the Romans.

His passion reminded me very much of Daniel. I had to admit to myself that I had a soft spot for Judas.

However, the more I listened to what Jesus was preaching, the less convinced I was that he had any interest in worldly power. He never mentioned Rome. When he talked of his kingdom, it was clear to me he meant something spiritual, a gathering of people who believed in him and in what he preached: kindness, forgiveness, the sharing of wealth.

Every evening, as we all joined for supper at my house, Rebecca and I would sit with the men and listen to the Master talk. I did notice that he appeared careless about the ritual washing Jews were supposed to perform between the various courses of the meal. In Sepphoris I had done as Jesus did, washing my hands only before I ate. I found it a distinct relief not to have to interrupt the meal and the conversation every time a new course was served.

I looked forward all day to those dinners, with Jesus sitting at the head of the table and the rest of us gathered on either side of him. I rarely joined in the conversation, content to listen, though often impatient at the denseness of some of the men.

On a night I’ll never forget, it was John who was being particularly thick. He complained that Jesus spent too much time at my house. Why did the Master not come to the house of Zebedee? James and John were among the first disciples called, but the Master had never
been to their house. John’s mother and father were upset by the slight. John wanted the Master to have dinner at his house for once.

Jesus, who was looking weary, merely nodded and continued to eat.

Then James began. The Master must come to dine at the house of Zebedee. It was only fair that he do so since he spent so much time at Peter’s and Mary’s.

Jesus briefly shut his eyes. When he opened them he said, “Enough from the two of you. If it will quiet you, I will come to dinner at your home tomorrow. Now, no more of this bickering. Let us eat our meal in peace.”

As soon as Elisabeth had served the last course, Jesus stood up and turned to Peter. “I am going to sit in Mary’s garden for a while. Do not wait up for me.”

“Yes, Master,” Peter said.

Once Jesus had left the dining room, Judas turned to John and said furiously, “You tire him out with your concerns about who is first and who should have the greatest honor. We are all disciples together, here to support and learn from him!”

A thundercloud descended on John’s forehead, and he began to reply, but Andrew put his hand on John’s arm. “You got what you wanted, John. Say no more. The Master doesn’t like it when we quarrel.”