by Woods, Karen
Without a word to them, she and her companions walked away.
The men followed them back into the city and to the Temple where they went for evening prayers, as they usually did.
Chapter Forty-One
As intimidation didn’t work against her, the enemies of her son convinced the High Priest to send guards to the tomb of her son, in order to keep that place from becoming a place of prayer for the Christians. They were ordered to chase away any who came there by any means necessary, up to and including the death of those who would pray there.
Miriam heard of this order. Her companions were upset by this. Particularly upset when Miriam announced that she would continue to go there to pray.
“But Emma, they will kill you if you go there,” Sepphora protested. “They will kill all of us.”
“I don’t think so. And if they do, we will die as witnesses to my son. There are worse ways to die,” Miriam said.
The girls went with her, fully expecting never to return to Yerushalayim.
Arriving at the tomb, they saw the guards, greeted them without any response from the men who didn’t seem to know they were present. It was as if the guards were blind and deaf to Miriam and her companions.
The four of them stood there, praying, raising their voices in songs of praise. As they were completing their prayers, another two guards arrived to relieve the guards standing there. All of them heard the exchange between the four guards.
One of the new guards asked, “Any problems out here, today?”
“None at all. We’ve seen no one,” one of the men who was being relieved said. “No one at all.”
Abigail asked, “Do they truly not see or hear us?”
There was no reaction from the four men. None at all.
“Apparently not,” Miriam replied with a smile. “Let us return home, my dear daughters.”
The guards remained there for a few weeks, until the High Priest, obviously believing that he had stopped the Christians, particularly had stopped Miriam, from praying at the tomb, grew tired of paying for the men to stand there to no effect. It had been beyond odd, going there and being unseen by the guards, day in and day out.
One morning, some time after the guards had gone, on the first day of the week, early, Miriam was at the tomb, praying, when Gavriel came to her.
Her companions saw Gavriel, a man robed in white and bathed in light. The girls fell to knees and placed their faces on the ground in respect for this heavenly being.
“Hail, full of grace. Blessed are you among women for through you came the salvation of the human race!” he greeted Miriam.
Miriam smiled at him. “Why have you been sent to me, Holy Gavriel?”
“Tomorrow, my lady, you will enter into the eternal joy of Adonai. I have been sent to tell you of this, so that you may prepare yourself to be reunited to your son.”
He handed her a large and beautifully formed palm branch. “As a token of this, I give you this branch from paradise. Say your farewells, Miriam. Elohim draws you to himself, tomorrow. You who are simultaneously His child, His unwedded bride, and His mother will be in paradise tomorrow with Him.”
“I should like to see Yochanan, and all the Twelve, all the Seventy, again, before I leave this life.”
Gavriel nodded in acknowledgment of the request. And then he was gone from her, as suddenly as he had come.
“Come, my dear daughters, there is work to be done,” Miriam said.
They were all crying when they arose from the ground.
“Why the tears, my darlings?” Miriam asked.
“Emma, you will die tomorrow!” Sepphora choked out. “Does that not make you sad?”
“Why should it make me sad, child? I will be going to my son. All who live, pass from this life. I have been given a great gift in this advance word. It is a precious gift. Come, there is work to be done.”
Walking past the tomb of her parents in the garden of Gethsemane, she told her companions, “I wish to be laid in that tomb, beside my parents. I only wish my dear Yosef’s bones were there as well, to lie beside me.”
After returning home, she sent the girls throughout Yerushalayim to tell Yosef of Arimathea, and all the other leaders of the ekklesia in Yerushalayim, of the fact she would soon be leaving them.
While they were gone, she stood before one of the images, the eikon, of her son that Lucas had painted. That image sat on a shelf above the case where she placed the reserved consecrated bread and wine that she always brought home after the weekly celebration. That case was now empty. The covered bowl and cruet in which they stored the bread and wine for their daily communion had been cleaned and made ready to take to the weekly celebration tonight. They had each received the last of the reserved elements this morning before leaving the house.
She prayed, “My son, send those I love to me tomorrow, so that I might bless them, and let them know how perfectly I love them before I am gone from them. I do not wish them to weep for me, but instead to rejoice that I will have been reunited with you.”
Before the girls returned, Miriam had retrieved her festival clothing from the hook, had brushed and sponged the garments clean. Hanging her festival tunic and overdress to dry, Miriam reflected that this dress was not anywhere near as grand as the festival clothes that she had worn at the beginning of her marriage to Yosef, that she had worn when Yehoshua had been young. Still, clothing wears to rags, even clothing as beautiful as those garments had been. Her current festival clothing was simple linen without any added adornment. She would wear it tonight to ekklesia.
She had laid the palm branch down on the table. She touched it as she went past it. “Thank you, my son, for sending Gavriel to me. That was a great mercy.”
She went to her work shelf and saw that there were still several burial shrouds there. She was happy she had plenty in stock to allow her to be buried in her own weaving. She recoiled at the realization that it was a touch of pride in her thoughts that she didn’t want her dead body to be wrapped in another woman’s weaving. She made a mental note to confess that pride before the ekklesia. She wanted to receive the Body and Blood of her son tonight with a clean conscience.
She took her purse from the shelf and sat down at the table. After counting the money, she found she barely had enough to buy spices for her burial. She had planned to buy raw flax with it for next year’s weaving. But rather than spending the contents of her purse in either of those ways, she would give this money to the ekklesia so that it could buy food for the poor. This would be the last example of love that she could give to her son’s people in this place.
She put the money back in her purse as Yosef of Arimathea came in, clearly upset.
“Yosef, my son, sit down, and don’t fret,” she advised him.
“Yael came to me saying that you are dying,” he said, challenging her to say otherwise.
“That is true.”
He sighed heavily as all of the other leaders of the local ekklesia came into the house. All of them looked similarly distressed.
“My sons, thank you for coming. Peace be with you all. Please sit. You have been told that I am dying. This is true.”
When they protested, she waited for them to calm down before she continued, “Gavriel came to me today. I shall leave you tomorrow. He gave me this palm branch from Paradise. I think that was to remind me of my son’s triumphal entry into Yerushalayim so long ago, as well as to herald my own triumphal passage from this life.”
“Emma, what can I do?” Yosef of Arimathea asked. “What would you have me do for you?”
She handed him the purse. “See that this money goes to the relief of the poor. Buy them food, Yosef. Take the last few burial shrouds on my shelf, and see that they go to the next few people who need them from among the believers here in the city. This is my last act of charity.”
“Are you in pain?” Gamaliel asked, clearly concerned.
Miriam shook her head. “No, my son. I feel fine. But this too is a great gi
ft, to pass from this life without being in great weakness, pain, or suffering.”
“An angel came to you while you were standing at the tomb of your son?” another of the presbyteros, the elders, of the ekklesia, asked. She didn’t know this man well. His name was Sh’mu’el.
“Sh’mu’el, my son, that is precisely what happened,” Miriam replied. “I have been given this great grace of being able to call you all to myself and to give you my blessing and assure you of my love for you,” Miriam said. “I want no one to weep for me. I am happy to go to our Father, to the Holy Spirit, and to my Son.”
“Where shall we lay…” another of the presbyteros, a man called Bartholemew, asked, then broke off his question in clear embarrassment. “I mean, what plans for your funeral would you have us do for you?”
Miriam smiled at him. “As I have told my companions, I wish to be laid in the tomb of my parents in Gethsemane. There is plenty of room there for me. I have a shroud on the shelf, my own weaving, that I am to be buried in. Aside from that, the remaining shrouds are to be given to those who are in need of them, as I just instructed Yosef. Sing songs of praise to Elohim and do not be sad on my account. I am the most blessed of women. Celebrate my life and the salvation that has come to the world through my son.”
“What are your plans between now and your death?” Sh’mual asked.
“I go to the celebration tonight, among the ekklesia. I greatly desire to partake of the mysterion of the Body and Blood of my son. Before that, I would confess my sins so that I can properly receive the bread and wine to my soul’s health. Tomorrow, I shall stay home and wait prayerfully for the angels to come for me. My son taught that wherever two or more were gathered in His name, there is was in the midst of them. He is always with me.”
“We are a gathering of the ekklesia, here and in this place,” Yosef of Arimathea said. “We would witness your confession now, if you wish to make it, instead of your waiting until tonight and then having to unburden yourself before everyone.”
“I would confess now, if you would witness that,” Miriam replied. She began to recite the mizmor that David had written after Nathan had rebuked him over his improper relationship with Bathsheba. “Have mercy on me…”
The others joined in chanting that with her.
“Emma, we stand here as witnesses to your confession of your sins to our Lord, your blessed son. Look upon His image, talk to Him,” Yosef of Arimathea said at the end of the psalm. “Confess freely all matters troubling your conscience and receive forgiveness.”
“I confess to Elohim, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and to you my brothers and sisters that I have sinned today. I have felt the stirrings of pride at the thought that I will not need the work of another woman’s hands to furnish my burial shroud, pride that I have done this for myself. Pride can blossom into more serious sin. It is best to root such out before that sin can take root and blossom. So, I confess it and repent of it, turning wholely to my son and seeking only to love and serve him to the best of my ability. I ask that I be released from the weight of this sin both here on earth and in heaven, as my son promised to his Apostles, and to those to whom they’ve given that authority, that anything they release on earth will be released in heaven.”
All of the elders in the room came over and laid their hands on her head and shoulders. Yosef spoke for them. “Miriam, Elohim has put away your sin. And I, we, forgive and absolve you, releasing you from this sin. Pray for us, sinners.”
Miriam blinked back tears as the elders of the ekklesia moved away from her. The words of the Devarim, the book of Deuteronomy, came to mind and she sang them, proclaiming, “Give ear to me, O heaven, and I will speak. Hear, O earth, the words of my mouth. My teaching shall come as rain, my speech shall fall as the dew, as the small rain upon the grass. I shall make known the name of Adonai. Ascribe greatness to Elohim. He is the Rock. His works are perfect. All His ways are judgment. He is a God of truth and without iniquity. Just and Righteous is He.” Then she added, “Halleluya.”
Everyone, the elders, Miriam, and her companions, began to sing a chorus of the single word “Halleluya” repeatedly, simply praising God in song. The Holy Spirit was strongly present and felt by all of them. Soon, everyone was in tears, but they were tears of great joy.
The celebration of the Lord’s Supper was glorious and bittersweet to her. The singing was sweet to Miriam’s ears. She was touched by Yosef’s teaching about the reading from the prophet Yisayahu. And when it came time to take the Body and Blood of her son under the forms of bread and wine, Miriam was one of the first to receive. The only sad part of this was the knowledge that this was the last time she would be here, with these people whom she loved.
Chapter Forty-Two
Miriam awoke before dawn as was her habit. She said her morning prayers while lying in bed. Her companions stirred about the time she completed her morning prayers.
After all of them went through their morning routine, and were clean and dressed, they stood before the image of her son and prayed for the salvation of the world, for those in authority, for the people they knew who were in need, and that they might properly receive the Body and Blood of their Lord to their soul’s health. Miriam removed four small pieces of the consecrated bread and poured a little of the consecrated wine from the cruet into a cup. They sang the communion hymn that Miriam liked so much, the one that urged their souls to be silent and to show Elohim the kind of respect the cherubim and seraphim do in calling out their praises of Elohim. Then they each received their daily communion.
Miriam lit a bit of charcoal and set a bit of small measure of incense to burn. “O my beloved Son, send Yochanan bar Zebedee to me today, from Ephesus. I would like to see him, and all of the Apostles, just once more before I sleep in death.”
Miriam heard her son’s voice say, “Amein.”
She turned to see Yochanan standing there. Happy tears filled her eyes.
“Emma,” he said, “am I dreaming?”
“If you are, my son, it is a dream we share,” she replied.
“A dream we all share,” Sepphora added.
“Come sit with me,” Miriam said. “I suspect the rest of the Twelve will be arriving soon.”
“Why, Emma, how?” Yochanan asked.
She told him of her angelic visitor and showed him the palm. “And I asked for you and the rest to be brought here so that I might see you one last time. As for the how, I don’t know. Do any of us know how the Elohim does anything?”
Yochanan chuckled. “You have a point there, Emma.”
There was a noise from the street. Miriam went to the door and found that there were many people gathered there, so many that the street was full as far as she could see.
“Emma,” one of the deaconesses of the ekklesia, a woman named Adara, stated, “we have heard that you dying.”
“That is what the angel Gavriel told me yesterday. Yochanan has been miraculously brought here to me from Ephesus.”
That news went through the crowd.
She motioned for all of them to sit. “Please sit.”
Miriam waited until the crowd sat down. She stepped out into the street. Yochanan followed her. “My children, do not be sad. I shall leave you today. The angel Gavriel told me my Son will come for me this very day. Rejoice with me. I have run my race. The reward of victory awaits me, just as it waits for all who faithfully live their lives in love and service of Elohim. Even my Son cried at the tomb of his friend Eleazaros, before He raised Eleazaros from the dead. Weeping when someone is gone from us is normal. Being sad at the loss of their company is normal. But remember, my Son taught that He is the Bread of Life, those who eat of Him will never die, but instead will live forever. We pass from corruption to incorruption, from life into life eternal. Whether we live or die, we are Yehoshua’s, united with and in Him. If we are united in Him, then we are united with one another. The repose of this frail body cannot break that bond of love. As I love you all now, I will continue to love
you. As I pray for you now, I will continue to pray until the ages of ages. Be faithful. Continue in the Apostles’ teaching, in the fellowship of the ekklesia, in the breaking of bread, in our prayers, in love and service to Elohim and towards all men. I would leave you with my blessing.” She spoke the priestly blessing, “Yevarekheka Adonai veyishmerkha,” May the Lord bless you and keep you, “ya’eir Adonai panav eleykha vichunekha,” the Lord make His face to shine upon you and be gracious unto you, “yissa Adonai panav eleykha, v’yiseim lekha shalom”, turn His face to you and give peace to you. Then she felt compelled to add to that, “May the blessings of Elohim, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, be upon you and remain with you, forever.”
The people answered with an “Amein.” Then she stepped back into the house and closed the door.
When she turned around again, Yochanan and her three companions were not alone in the house. Most of the others of the Twelve were there, including Yaacov the Just, her dead stepson. But Teom was not among them.
“Yaacov!” Miriam said on the barest of whispers.
“Emma!” he replied in joy as he came towards her.
Miriam’s eyes filled with tears of joy and she was overcome to the point that her legs gave out from under her. She would have fallen if Yochanan bar Zebedee had not been there to catch her. He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
She lay there just looking at them all. There were no words for how happy she was.
She heard Yaacov, Zebedee’s son, ask Yochanan, his brother, “Why has Adonai brought us together here?”
“Emma… Gavriel came to her yesterday and told her she would pass from this world today,” Yochanan said, his voice breaking.