Three Days: A Mother's Story (16 page)

“Yes,” I answer. “I heard that the centurion’s faith was so strong that he told Jesus it was unnecessary for him to come to his home, that he knew if the Lord said, ‘Be healed,’ the servant would be healed.”

“That is right,” Mary says. “And even Jesus marveled at the man’s faith. Well, we had come down from Capernaum and decided to visit Nain, just as we are doing today, but when we reached the gate, we could see that a funeral procession was just coming through. Quite a large one, in fact, for the woman who had lost her son was well respected in the city. As soon as we saw this woman’s face, we could see that she was distraught and brokenhearted. She was so overcome with grief that a couple of her friends were helping her walk. It turned out that not only had she lost her son, but her husband had recently died as well, and now she was all alone.”

“Poor woman,” I murmur.

“Yes,” Mary says. “You, of all women, should understand.” She puts her hand on my shoulder as we walk. “Now, Jesus felt very sorry for this woman, and he stopped and kindly said, ‘Do not weep.’ Then he went over to where some men were carrying the open casket, and he put his hand upon it and said, ‘Young man, arise.’”

Our traveling group grows very quiet. It is clear that we are all waiting for her to finish the story.

“And the boy sat up, right there in the casket, and he actually began to speak. It was marvelous! Then Jesus said, ‘Here, woman, I give you your son.’”

“Can you imagine?” my sister exclaims. “What joy that woman must have felt!”

“That is for certain,” Mary says. “And the whole city was amazed. Many of the people in the funeral procession fell onto their knees, and, praising Jehovah, they proclaimed Jesus to be a great prophet. And, indeed, he received a prophet’s welcome in their town.”

Not like it was in his hometown
, I think sadly.

“And so,” she finishes, “we have friends here in Nain.”

As it turns out, Mary is right. We do have friends here in Nain. Word of our arrival reaches the city boundaries even before we get there. Just as we enter the city gates, we are greeted by a woman and a young man. “Welcome, welcome!” the woman is calling as she hurries toward us. “I have heard that friends of the Lord were blessing our town with their company,” she says to Mary of Magdala. “I hope that you will grace me with your presence in my humble home.”

Mary smiles and nods. “We would be honored.”

So it is that we follow this woman and her son to a large home in the center of the city. As soon as we arrive we are treated with great respect.

“This is Mary from Nazareth,” Mary says as she introduces us to our hostess. “She is the mother of our Lord.”

The woman turns her full attention to me now, and, taking both my hands into her own, her eyes fill with tears. “Oh, my dear friend,” she says through her sobs. “I was so sorry to hear of his death. It is so—”

“No,” I tell her. “It is all right now. Have you not heard that the Son of God has risen from the dead?”

Her eyes grow big and then she smiles. “Of course! Of course! Just as he raised my own son from the dead. Of course! It would only make sense that he should rise too!” Then she hugs me tightly and whispers in my ear. “You are to be praised among women.”

When she releases me, I smile and say, “I am only a disciple of my Lord. Your sister in Christ.”

She nods. “Yes, I understand. But you will take the seat of honor next to me at dinner tonight.”

And while such attention is still an embarrassment to me, a poor peasant woman, I can see that this is important to her, so I do not object.

After a fine feast, we all enjoy a good night’s rest, and when it is time to leave in the morning, this woman not only gives us more provisions, she asks if she might accompany us to Jerusalem.

“We would love to have you,” Mary says.

“Yes!” I agree. “And your son too, if he wants to come.”

Well, not only do the mother and son join us, but quite a few people from Nain are coming as well. At this rate, there will be two hundred of us by the time we reach Jerusalem!

On our fourth day of travel, we stop in Samaria, in a town called Sychar. It is nearly dusk as we pause at the well to refill our skins. As usual, news of our arrival has preceded us, and, not for the first time, we are greeted by people whose lives have been touched by the Lord. In particular, a woman who met my son right at this very spot.

“You are most welcome in my town,” she tells us, focusing her attention on Mary, the leader of our group. “I have heard news that our Lord was put to death in Jerusalem but that three days later he rose from the dead. Tell me, is this true?”

Mary smiles and nods. “It is true. We are on our way to meet up with him again in Jerusalem.”

“Come, then,” the woman urges. “Stay in my home, and then I will go with you in the morning.”

Once again we have comfortable lodgings and the best food imaginable. It is as if this trip has been planned from on high.

“I am afraid I may be getting spoiled,” I admit to Sarah as we prepare for bed. “What if I get used to being treated like a queen?”

She laughs. “You, Mary? I do not think so. You seem to thrive on cooking and gardening and serving others. I do not think you shall ever be spoiled, my dear.”

But I am unaccustomed to so much attention and so much preferential treatment, as if having given birth to the Son of God was something of my own doing. I try to explain again and again that I was simply the handmaid of God and, more importantly, I am now just another disciple to our Lord. But people do not seem to understand this. Or maybe they just do not care to accept it.

People seem determined that my being the mother of Jesus entitles me to special treatment. So much so that I actually begin to long for my hometown in Nazareth, where people not only refuse to acknowledge me as anything other than “that Mary” but often tend to put me down as well. Of course, I cannot admit as much to anyone, for I am sure it might sound like grumbling. And that is not how I mean it. I suppose it is only that, in my heart, I am still just an ordinary girl who likes to putter around barefoot in her garden and bounce children on her knee.

Although, I am surprised by something that happens in the night. I have slept in so many strange beds these past weeks that I sometimes wake up and cannot remember where I am. Such is the case tonight. As realization sinks in and I remember that I am in a home about a day’s journey from Jerusalem, I sit here pondering over how much has happened. Then suddenly I remember my son’s words that day when we met on the street during Passover. I remember how he had said, “It was your pure heart . . . the reason my Father chose you.” And, well, I must admit that I do feel a bit special right now.

The next morning we are on our way to Jerusalem and, like little children with great expectations, there is much laughter and joy in the air. Our numbers have increased to nearly a hundred now, with more, like my own James, coming in the next day or two. Naturally, the others will have to find their own lodgings.

“Some of us will be staying in Bethany,” Mary announces to the group when Jerusalem is clearly in sight and it is time to part ways. “But we will all meet in Jerusalem when the time is right.” Then she makes a list of where our friends will be so that messengers can be sent to inform them of where we shall eventually gather. We part ways, returning to the original group of women who left from Magdala nearly two weeks ago.

It is a short journey on to Bethany, but I feel tired when we arrive. Martha comes out the door to greet us while we are still outside of her lovely home.

“You are weary, Mary,” she says to me as she takes my arm and leads me up into her house. “Come and see your room, rest until suppertime, and then we will talk.”

For the first time I am actually thankful for this kind of attention. For it is true, I am weary. But at least we are here now. And I know that with good rest among good friends, I will be ready for whatever is to happen next. I only hope it will involve my Lord. For, oh, how my heart aches to see him one more time!

20

“IT SEEMS IMPOSSIBLE THAT it has been forty days since the Son of Man rose from the dead,” Mary of Magdala says.

“How quickly it is passed,” Martha agrees as a servant fills our wine cups.

“Yet so much has happened,” Susanna says.

It is our first evening in Bethany, and we are gathered at Mary and Martha’s fine dinner table. There are many beautiful cushions for us to recline upon. Some have fabric of embroidered silk. Numerous lovely serving dishes grace the table. The wine decanter looks as if it could be gold. But then I am no expert in such things.

Lazarus has gone somewhere with the men this evening, but there is a feeling of enthusiasm and hopeful anticipation among the women. Sounds of happy conversation and feminine laughter fill the air like musical instruments that are tuning up for an important performance. I am impressed with how well my sister Sarah fits in with these women of influence. This is probably because she was married to a prosperous merchant and is much more comfortable with material wealth than I shall ever be. But I am pleased to see her interacting with these lovely women with such ease. And I can see they like Jesus’s aunt.

As usual, the food and service is much too fine for me, but, as usual, I keep these thoughts to myself. More and more I think I am a very plain woman with very plain tastes and simple needs. Even so, I tell myself to remember these times. Such memories will provide me with much amusement when I am back in my humble home, dining on bread and cucumbers for my supper.

Although I rested before dinner, I still feel tired, and I excuse myself early and turn in before the others. It has not escaped my attention that I am among the oldest of this group of women. And, until now, I thought I managed to keep up rather well. But then I am of hardworking peasant stock, the kind of people who can toil in the fields for long hours without breaks. I should be able to keep up. But tonight I am as weary as a stone and hope to sleep just as soundly.

The next day there is excitement in the air. The disciples have returned after being with Jesus, and their faces are alight with joy. John takes me aside and describes what has happened. “It was wonderful, Mother,” he begins. “He took us to the mountain with him, and once we were there he began to speak.”

“What did he say?” I ask, hungry for more words of life.

“First he reminded us of how he once said that John baptized with water but that he would baptize with fire.”

“Yes, I remember those words, but I never understood their meaning.”

“The Lord said it would not be many days from now.”

“That is why he has called us here to meet with him?” I ask, once again hoping I will still have the chance to see my Lord with my own eyes.

“Yes. After Jesus told us that, one of the men asked him if he would restore the kingdom of Israel now.”

I nod. This does not surprise me. “What did the Lord say?”

“He said it is not for us to know these things. He said they are in the Father’s timing and his authority.”

“Yes. That sounds right.”

“He also said that after the Holy Spirit comes we will all be empowered to be his witnesses, starting in Jerusalem, then throughout Judea and Samaria, and finally to the ends of the earth.”

“The ends of the earth.” I marvel at this. That sounds much bigger than just our nation of Israel.

“But then the most startling thing happened, Mother,” John continues. “Jesus was standing on the ground, right in our midst, and then he began to lift up, straight up into the sky.”

“Oh my!”

“And we all just stood there gaping at him. Some of us had our mouths hanging wide open. Then our Lord called down to us and said, ‘Why are you looking into the sky like that? For it is the same way I go into heaven now that I will come back to you one day.’”

“Does that mean he is gone?” I ask, feeling dismayed by this possibility.

“I do not know for sure.”

“Of course,” I tell him. “How could you? Only the Father knows these things.”

While John’s news is truly wonderful, I still feel a bit disappointed that I have not yet seen the Lord. I know that I am only a poor woman from Nazareth and that the Lord has much more important affairs to tend to than someone as insignificant as me. But I secretly long to see him just the same. Only now, after hearing how he was lifted up into the heavens, well, I am afraid that perhaps he has left us for good. Still, I remind myself that this is not for me to concern myself with. The Lord knows what he is doing. All I must do is trust him. And I believe I can do that.

By the next day the men have located a large upper-story room where all of us will gather to wait for his coming. We are full of excitement and great expectation as we prepare to go and join them there. Some of the disciples say Jesus is not going to come to this place himself but that he is simply going to send his helper—the Holy Spirit—that we may be empowered to be his ministers. Others still believe that Jesus is coming again. I find it somewhat amusing that even now, after all we have seen and heard, his disciples still cannot seem to agree on much. Well, other than that Jesus is the Son of God. I suppose that is enough.

I go with the women into Jerusalem, and soon we find the right place and climb up the stairs until we reach the upper story. It is a spacious room with columns and high ceilings, but it quickly fills with dozens of Jesus’s followers. During our first day we are all very enthused, watching and waiting and expecting a miracle. My zeal is slightly dampened by the fact that none of my children from Nazareth have arrived yet. I am concerned that James may have changed his mind, or perhaps he will not get here in time.

I slip off to a corner in the back of the room, and there I bow my head and pray. “Dear Lord,” I whisper, “I beg you, please, ensure that your brother James, and perhaps some of your other relatives, are able to get here soon, and in time so that they too might see you and receive your Holy Spirit. Amen.”

I continue this prayer and others like it several times into the night and during the following two days, feeling a mixture of relief and impatience, as we all continue to wait and wait and wait. Then, just before sundown of the third day, my sons arrive. Not only James, but Joses and Simon and Judas have come as well! I run to greet them and hug each of them to my heart, thanking Jehovah for bringing them to us.