When Jesus Wept (13 page)

Chapter 13

M
ary had traveled back to Galilee, transformed. With many other women, including Joanna, the wife of Herod’s steward, Mary became a devoted follower and supporter of Jesus.

I was still unsure about the motives and true identity of Jesus. I wanted to know, yet I suspected him.

After Hanukkah the winter months were dark and cold and the vines dormant. This was the time of pruning. I set my workers to the task of cutting off the dead branches, gathering the dead wood, and torching the piles at the ends of the rows. Unless the dead wood was cut back, new growth would be stunted, struggling to compete with the tangle of old growth.

I was supervising in the field when Martha and the women servants came out to feed the laborers.

Martha’s cheeks were ruddy with the cold. Her breath rose in steam as she puffed up the path toward me. “Brother!” she hailed me, but when she came near, she lowered her voice. “There’s a rumor … about our sister Mary.”

I imagined that, in spite of Jesus’ admonition not to sin again, Mary had already fallen and was back to her old ways. “Well?”

“Madness,” Martha whispered. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another.”

The aroma of stew was in the air. I was hungry and impatient, but I knew Martha had to tell me everything. “So are you surprised?”

“I am surprised. She was such a greedy little thing. Spending money on herself and no one else. But this!”

“Get on with it, Martha!”

“She’s squandering her dead husband’s fortune! That’s what. Squandering! Spending her money on feeding the poor. Opened her villa to house women—
unmarried women
—and their infants. A one-woman charity house! That’s what she is!” Martha reported the news with such disgust that it took me a moment to understand exactly what she was saying.

“This can’t be … our Mary.” I accepted a bowl of steaming food.

“We’ve got to put a stop to it. She’s gone crazy. One extreme is as bad as the other. Extreme, I say! She will spend all her inheritance and then …” Martha’s mouth turned downward. “Then she will come home begging. As much a beggar as the people she cares for today. And we will have to care for her!”

Spoon poised between the bowl and my mouth, I considered Martha’s report for a moment. “Yes,” I agreed. “Without a man to advise and direct her …”

It seemed to me, Mary’s generosity to the needy had become careless and profligate. She had no kinsman but me to bring order back into her life.

Shortly thereafter, I left the care of my vineyards in the hands of Samson. Martha and I, with our friend Nicodemus, made the journey to Galilee to question Mary face-to-face about the business affairs of her estate.

Pruning had only begun in her vineyards. Observing the swarms of workmen in the fields, I noted that Mary employed too many for the task. I made a note of this as we rode to the wide-open gates of Mary’s villa. In the courtyard beyond, children squealed and played while their mothers boiled laundry in great kettles scattered about the luxurious grounds.

A lanky, red-haired teenage boy named Carta kept us from entering. “Halt here, sir. Women only permitted to pass, except by permission of the Lady.”

“I am brother to widow Mary of Magdala, mistress of this estate.”

“How can I know who you are, sir? Too many angry brutes, husbands of the unfortunates, come prowling for a way to get their women back. They want to make them servants again to wickedness and beat them upon a drunken whim.”

Martha drew herself up in protest. “My brother is none of those things. I am Martha, sister of Mary. And this is our friend, Nicodemus. We have traveled far, from Bethany, and you will tell my sister that her kinfolk have come. And that we are weary and expect at least the hospitality she shows to these … these … this … mob!”

“In that case, wait here. It’s wash day, and the mistress is somewhere about the grounds. It will take a moment.” Carta bobbed his head and sprinted away. Some minutes passed before he came again to the entry. “Names?” he demanded.

I replied, “David ben Lazarus. Martha. And Nicodemus.”

“Correct. You may enter.” Carta stepped aside and swept his hand toward clotheslines and flapping linens.

We entered. Martha’s face became more sour. Nicodemus seemed amused. I was amazed at the clutter and noise that had overcome my sister’s once elegant grounds.

We waited in the private courtyard of the house beside a fountain. Children played tag just beyond the door, but the place was clearly off limits.

Only a minute passed before Mary appeared at the doorway. Dressed for work in a coarse, pale blue dress, her thick dark hair was piled on her head. Brown eyes were shining as she stretched out her arms to welcome us.

“Brother! And Martha! Oh! And you … Nicodemus! To see you all here! It is an answer to my prayer.”

My embrace was reserved, but she held me tighter and laughed. Her welcome was as warm for Martha, though the two women had never been on good terms. If she noticed our hesitation, she did not comment on it.

Leading us into her private quarters, she summoned servants to care for us and ordered food for us.

Throughout the lavish meal, Mary talked joyfully about Jesus, whom she called Rabboni, and the women and children who had taken refuge in her home. “Carta was a servant to Marcus Longinus. Jesus healed him from a terrible injury. Now he’s helping me here.” There were 136 souls living within the walls of Mary’s villa. Some women escaped abuse from husbands. Others had been prostitutes who had repented, turned to God, and become followers of Jesus. They had no place of refuge but this. Three new babies had been born in the last two weeks. Most important in Mary’s narrative was the news that, from time to time, Jesus of Nazareth and his disciples lodged in Mary’s guest house.

She radiated joy as she spoke of all this. I thought she had never looked so beautiful.

“But why have you come?” she asked at last.

Martha blurted, “We have heard that you are wasting all
your estate. Spending your wealth like water! You never could do anything with moderation.”

Mary gazed at Martha for a long moment. Her smile wavered. “Ah. I thought … I was hoping …”

Nicodemus blushed at the confrontation. He stood and escaped to the veranda.

I tried to explain gently to Mary. “You see, sister, we are concerned that perhaps you are being taken advantage of. Giving everything … everything to others.”

She studied me. “Brother, for the first time in my life I am happy. Jesus teaches …”

Martha scoffed. “Jesus! Yes. All or nothing. That’s the problem. No moderation.”

I asked, “But what about the inheritance that your husband left to you? Your estates? I see you’ve hired an army of workers to prune your vines. Half the number would do.”

“Yes. But then half the number would be unemployed. These are hard times, brother. Hunger is at the door here in the Galil. Men and women need work.”

“But what if all you have is gone and the coffer empty because you did not manage wisely? It makes no sense, Mary. If you give all to the poor, then soon you will number yourself among the poor of Israel.”

Mary answered. “I am rich. My orchards and vineyards are blessed. There is plenty to share, brother.”

I explained, “But if you are careless with giving away what you own, no matter what your rabbi teaches … a good man, yes. But impractical.”

Mary did not attempt to answer my charge but simply replied, “Come, brother. Come and meet the Lord.”

She took my arm and led me out of her villa. To the east our
view was the Sea of Galilee. It was calm and flat and reflected the enormous clouds that loomed on the horizon. To the west was Mary’s vast vineyard. Workers moved methodically through the rows, pruning wild, leafless canes down to the trunk of the vine. Mary gestured beyond them. “There he is.” I recognized him at once. Jesus and about twenty of his disciples sat beneath a large tree at the top of a hill overlooking the vineyard.

Mary led the way up the path. Nicodemus joined us. I followed, and Martha trailed behind.

At our approach, Jesus raised his eyes, then waved a welcome, looking directly at me.

“
Shalom
, Mary.” Jesus gestured for us to join the lesson.

“Rabboni! These are my brother, Lazarus, my sister, Martha, and Lord Nicodemus of Jerusalem. They’ve come visiting.”

“
Shalom
and welcome,” Jesus said. “We are enjoying the day. Will you join us?”

We came into the semicircle of rough-looking Galileans who made up the core of Jesus’ followers. I was between Mary and the disciple called Peter. We three were directly in front of Jesus, close enough to touch the hem of his cloak. An easy grin with straight white teeth. Square jaw. Hands calloused from years of manual labor.

He asked me, “What do you think of all your sister has accomplished in her vineyard?”

“My sister has hired too many laborers. She needs an adviser to help her manage her business.”

Jesus smiled. “Mary gives everything into the care of her Father. Can she trust him?” He held me in his gaze for an instant, long enough for me to know that the lesson I was about to hear concerned me, somehow.

“What do you think?” Jesus asked me. “There was a man who had two sons. He came to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work today in the vineyard.’ And the son answered, ‘I will not.’ But afterward he changed his mind and went. Then the father went to the other son and said the same thing. And the second son replied, ‘I will, sir,’ but he did not go. Which of the two did the will of the father?”
¹

Peter raised his hand and blurted out the answer, “The first son! That’s the one!”

Jesus smiled and again cast his eyes on Mary. “That’s right. The one who does the will of his father … or in this case … the will of her father.”

My smile froze on my face.

He gave me a look that gently warned me I was about to learn something. Then he directed his attention to the crew of laborers in the field. “Truly, I tell you, the tax collectors and harlots will get into the Kingdom of Heaven before the hypocrites.” He paused. “I saw you by the Jordan the day you came to hear John preach. Our friend John came walking in the way of an upright man in right standing with God, and they did not believe him. But tax collectors and harlots did believe him. And the religious hypocrites, even when they saw that, did not afterward change their minds and believe John’s call to repentance.”
²

I felt color climb to my cheeks. Just that quickly I had become the subject of a lesson. And just that quickly I had been humbled.

Jesus asked me, “I saw you then at the wedding at Cana.”

I nodded. “The wine. I never tasted anything so rich. So full of character. I’ve wanted to ask you how … from what vines? What soil? I’ve pondered the wine I tasted that night and have never come up with a logical answer.”

Jesus replied, “Mary tells me you own vineyards near Jerusalem.”

“I do. Not so many acres as Mary.”

“Have you finished your pruning?” he asked.

“The work of pruning is never really finished. To come here I left the care of my vineyard in the good hands of my vinedresser. He will do the job.”

Jesus nodded. “We’re mostly fishermen here … and one carpenter,” he added in an aside that made several chuckle. “We have no real knowledge of grapes and vineyards, or how the grapes become good wine or … bad wine. Teach us. And why must vines be pruned, my friend?”

I considered his question. Surely there was a trap set for me. “First, the dead canes must be cut off in this season when the vine is sleeping. This season … you see the workers there … the pruning is severe. Down to the trunk of the vine. Dead canes will not bear fruit and so must be cut off first. In another month or so, depending on the weather, there will be bud break. The vine will produce new, healthy shoots. New growth will bear fruit.”

Jesus asked, as though he did not know, “Is the job of the vinedresser finished when he cuts away these dead branches?”

“Well … no. Through the growing season, we train the branches. Set them in the best position to expose fruit to the sun. Thin the leaves that block the sun from the berries; break off clusters that will never ripen evenly. They only steal the life of the vine from the good clusters. The vinedresser cuts away excess foliage to concentrate the life of the vine into the best berries that will make the finest quality wine. The vine can’t nourish the new growth properly … the quality of the grapes is not as good … if the vine must also support the weight of dead wood or wild tendrils that don’t bear fruit or only produce
showy foliage. So, to answer your question, pruning goes on all through the life of the vine.”

“Exactly.” Jesus nodded and leaned forward to gaze directly into my eyes. More than that, he looked into my heart.

Then he spoke to us all: “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. Any branch that doesn’t bear fruit, he cuts away. And he cleanses and repeatedly prunes every branch that continues to bear fruit, to make it bear more and richer and more excellent fruit. Just as no branch can bear fruit of itself without abiding in the vine, neither can you bear fruit unless you abide in me. I am the Vine; you are the branches. Whoever lives in me and I in him bears only the best fruit. However, if you are cut off from me, you can do nothing. If a person doesn’t dwell in me, he is thrown out like a broken-off branch. He withers, and such branches are gathered up and thrown into the fire and burned.” He gestured to a tribe of little boys gathering the broken sticks and heaping them into a pile for burning.

Jesus continued, “If you live in me, abide vitally united with my life, and my words remain in your hearts, ask whatever you will and it shall be done for you. When you bear much fruit, my Father is honored and glorified, and you show and prove yourselves to be true followers of mine.”
³

From that time, though I doubted at first, I came to admire and love Jesus of Nazareth. And I knew he loved me. He connected my heart to his. Like the morning of bud break, when the first new green foliage breaks forth from the vine, I was far from bearing fruit. My faith was small, about the size of my thumbnail, like the tiny clusters in early spring. All the promise of fullness and quality exists within the cluster from its beginning. But everything depends on the branch remaining united to the nourishment of the vine. I could not say if I would be
among the few who matured to the full richness of life in Jesus. Yet I clung to every word he spoke. I was thirsty for his truth, drinking it in.