Mary Magdalene A Novel

by Diana Wallis Taylor

  Joses shook his head. “I don’t know what to believe.”

  Rebecca interrupted them, crying out, “What can we do? We must save him!”

  Her mother shook her head. “It is in the hands of the Most High, blessed be his name. I have felt great sorrow these past few weeks. He was moving toward something and determined to go to Jerusalem.”

  Mary looked around at their faces. “Then this is what he has been telling us all these months, that he would be taken? We did not really listen to what we were hearing. We did not want to believe.”

  John beckoned with his arm. “We’d better hurry. Let us go to the court of Pilate to see what he will do.”

  Mary thought a moment and then blurted, “Where is Peter? I thought he was with you.”

  John shook his head. “I have not seen him since we entered the house of Caiaphas. He was warming his hands at a fire in the courtyard. When we came out, he was gone.”

  Bartholomew rose from the stool. “I’ll try to find him and the other disciples. They need to know what has happened. We scattered and I don’t know where any of them are.” He put a hand on John’s shoulder briefly and left.

  The small group hurried through the streets and was almost unable to enter the court for the crowd of people shaking their fists and crying out, “Crucify him!”

  John held the Lord’s mother up, for she was almost overcome with emotion.

  The four women stood in the shadows with him. When the soldiers brought Jesus out to the crowd, the small loyal group collectively gasped. He was a horrible sight to see. They had flogged him and put his robe back on. Blood seeped through the fabric as he stood swaying before Pilate. A crown of spiked thorns had been pressed onto his head and small rivulets of blood ran down his face.

  The Jewish leaders were moving among the crowd, stirring them into a frenzy.

  Mary couldn’t believe her ears. The same people who had followed the Lord and had him heal their sick were now crying out for his death. Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks as she realized what was happening.

  The elder Mary turned to her son Joses, but he had disappeared in the crowd.

  To her horror and those with her, Pilate, following his custom of releasing a prisoner to mollify the people each year, sentenced Jesus to be crucified and released Barabbas, a known murderer and zealot. It could not be. Jesus was innocent of any crime!

  People brushed past her as the soldiers brought out a large wooden cross and forced Jesus to bear it as they led him out into the street.

  John took the arm of the Lord’s mother. “Come, I know a shortcut, we can get closer to him.”

  The women hurried behind them as they went through back streets, coming out a short distance ahead of the procession.

  People were crying out, some denouncing Jesus as a fraud, but others weeping and begging for his release.

  Ahead of Jesus came two men, condemned criminals, carrying crosses. Their backs also showed the effects of the Roman whips as they were driven toward Golgotha. Then his mother gave a horrified sob as Jesus came into view.

  Mary gasped, feeling almost physically ill. The Lord’s body and face were hardly recognizable as they watched him stagger under the weight of the cross. Blood dripped from his body onto the stones of the street.

  Rebecca wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth with grief. “What have they done to him? Oh what have they done?” she cried over and over.

  Suddenly, the procession stopped for a moment for something up ahead they couldn’t see. Jesus, almost on his knees under the weight of the cross, looked up directly into the face of his mother.

  “My son, my son,” she whispered through her tears, and slipped out of the crowd to kneel at his side. “My dear son.” She wiped his face with a corner of her shawl.

  Just then a Roman soldier rudely pushed her away. “Leave the prisoner alone. Get back.” He raised his whip.

  She looked him in the eye. He was young, younger than Jesus. “I am his mother,” she said quietly.

  The soldier glanced at his fellow soldiers in front who were not looking his way. A brief look of compassion crossed his face, but he shook his head. “I’m sorry for you, woman, and for your son, but you must step away.”

  “Please, help him,” she begged the soldier as she stepped back.

  John took her arm and pulled her back into the crowd. To their immense relief, the soldier grabbed a large, heavyset man out of the crowd and ordered him to help carry the cross. The eyes of the young soldier sought his prisoner’s mother in the crowd, and for a brief second, they acknowledged one another, then he moved on, snapping his whip in the air, but not at Jesus.

  Mary and the others followed the procession to the hill called Golgotha and the women wept openly. Mary felt each blow of the hammer as the nails were driven into the gentle hands that had touched and healed so many. Her stomach churned at the pounding of the large nail into his feet and hearing him cry out in agony. She struggled to keep her composure to strengthen his mother, whose body also jolted with each strike of the hammer.

  At last the huge cross was lifted and a soldier tacked on a sign above him, supposedly telling his crime.

  Mary, thanks to Nathan, could read both Hebrew and Greek. Her eyes widened. “It says, ‘Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.’ ”

  Salome cried out, “Pilate must have ordered that to be placed on his sign. Is there a crime listed?”

  Mary stared and shook her head, feeling the anger rise up. “He committed no crime. Pilate only gave in to the people because he feared their displeasure. You heard them threaten to complain to Rome. He posted that sign deliberately to taunt the priests.”

  John murmured. “They were jealous of him and the way he exposed them. Now they have their revenge.”

  Some of the priests and scribes almost strutted in front of the cross. “He saved others, let him save himself, and we will believe in him.”

  Behind the cross, the soldiers were throwing dice, and to Mary’s horror, she realized the prize was the robe she had woven and given to Jesus. She felt the heat rise to her face at the thought of it being in the hands of a Roman soldier.

  “It is in one piece,” one of the soldiers said. “We’ll cast lots for it.”

  Jesus, in agony, looked at his mother and then toward John. “Woman, behold your son.” Then he looked at John and indicated his mother. “Behold, your mother.”

  John nodded his understanding. She stoically endured her son’s agony but could hardly stand. Almost in a daze, she allowed John to move her back from the scene. He glanced back at Mary and the other women, a question in his eyes.

  “We will stay also,” Mary told him, and turned back to the cross. They were not leaving him now, in his darkest hour.

  38

  Mary and the small group of women huddled together, watching as the hours went by. John kept a strong arm around the Lord’s mother and Rebecca leaned against her mother during the long vigil. From time to time Mary looked back at the crowd, now strangely subdued. Where were the other disciples? The men who had walked with the Lord these past three years? Where was Peter? He had promised to give his life for the Lord. How quickly they had deserted him when he needed them the most.

  She looked back at the cross. The Lord knew they were there, his eyes had flicked in their direction once or twice in his agony. They would be there—until the end.

  The men on either side of Jesus at first taunted him, and she wanted to shout at them to be quiet.

  Finally, one of the thieves looked over at Jesus and spoke through cracked lips. “We deserve our punishment, but you do not. Lord, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

  “Today, my son, you will be with me in Paradise.”

  There was silence for a long while and someone held a sponge up to him with sour wine on it. He tasted the sponge, and then cried out, “It is finished.” He looked up again. “Into your hands, Father, I commit my spirit.”

  As his bo
dy slumped on the cross, Mary moaned and put her fist to her mouth. His ordeal was over. He had died at last.

  Many of the crowd who had at first come to see the spectacle had dispersed. She looked defiantly at their faces, but no one looked back at her. They slunk away from their places as if suddenly ashamed at what they’d done.

  Mary stood with the others and they exchanged glances. What were they to do now?

  The centurion who had overseen the crucifixion was waiting for his task to be over. A soldier hurried up to him and spoke a few words. The centurion nodded. He turned to the soldiers standing nearby.

  “The Jews want the legs broken to hasten their death so they won’t remain on the crosses—some high holy day is approaching.”

  The soldiers took one of the hammers and broke the legs of the two thieves, who barely had the strength to cry out. Death came quickly as they slumped on their crosses. When they came to Jesus, Mary wanted to beg them to leave him alone. He had suffered enough at their hands. She put a fist to her mouth, and she and Susanna clutched each other. Strangely, when the soldiers saw Jesus was already dead, they didn’t touch him.

  One turned to the centurion. “This one is dead already,” but he drew his sword and pierced the Lord’s side just to be sure.

  He had no sooner done that when there was a rumbling in the sky and great dark storm clouds gathered out of nowhere. The earth began to shake, sending rocks tumbling down the hill. A sudden wind blew down on those who frantically ran from Golgotha. Mary and Susanna clung to each other in fear and trembling.

  The centurion looked about at the people running back to Jerusalem to escape the storm and then back at the cross. The words he spoke engraved themselves on Mary’s heart.

  “Surely this man was the Son of God.”

  When the wind died down as suddenly as it began and all was quiet, two figures made their way up the hill. To Mary’s surprise, they were priests. One looked familiar to her. She had seen him before.

  They approached the centurion and the soldiers who were in the midst of taking the bodies down. One soldier laid the body of the Lord on the ground. Mary, the Lord’s mother, John, and Susanna rushed to him, and his mother cradled the head of her son in her lap, sobbing quietly and stroking his face.

  Mary turned to hear what the priest was saying to the centurion.

  “I am Joseph of Arimathea. I have been given permission to take the body of Jesus. The Sabbath draws near and the body must be taken care of. I have a tomb nearby where he may be placed.” He handed the centurion a small scroll.

  The centurion glanced at the seal on the scroll and nodded curtly, as the soldiers unceremoniously flung the bodies of the two thieves on a cart and left. The second priest stepped forward and put a hand on the shoulder of the elder Mary. She lifted agonized eyes to his face and saw not scorn but compassion. John helped her up and the women stepped back as the two priests, after carefully wrapping the Lord’s body, carried it toward the tomb.

  Mary turned to Susanna. “I don’t know Joseph of Arimathea, other than that he is a member of the Sanhedrin, but the other man is Nicodemus. He came to the Garden of Gethsemene one night to speak with the Lord.”

  Susanna nodded. “He is a leading priest, and I have heard that he is a believer. Let’s follow them and find out where they are taking the Lord’s body.”

  When they turned from the cross, they saw another small group of women who had followed Jesus—Salome was among them. They did not speak, but the women acknowledged each other. Zebedee’s wife joined them, but the women with her made their way back to the city.

  John would have gone on with the Lord’s mother, but she stopped him. “You may leave us for now, John. I will see you back at the house of Joanna. We wish to see where the priests are putting my son’s body. After the Sabbath we can go and prepare him for burial.”

  John nodded. “I need to be less visible. Who knows what the wrath of the Sanhedrin will bring. I’m going to inquire in Jerusalem of some of the believers. They will know where the rest of us are.”

  “I will be at the home of Joanna for the Sabbath and you can join me there. I hope you find Bartholomew and Peter.”

  The four women followed the two priests to the tomb. Nicodemus took a package from a bag he carried over his shoulder, and the men went into the open cave.

  The women noted the place of the tomb.

  The Lord’s mother spoke softly. “We will return after the Sabbath and prepare my son’s body for a proper burial. Come, let us return to Joanna’s, the sun is low and the Sabbath is near.”

  They had just reached the home of Joanna when the shofar sounded the beginning of the Sabbath.

  Joses was sitting in the courtyard, his face drawn and gray. As his mother approached, he looked up at her with eyes that seemed like sockets in his head. “Forgive me, Mother, I could not stay. I did not agree with him, but he was my brother. Forgive me.”

  Mary put a gentle hand on her son’s cheek. “You always had a weak stomach, Joses, even as a little boy. There is nothing to forgive. I knew.”

  He covered the hand with his own and leaned against her. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” he moaned over and over.

  She drew him to his feet. “The Sabbath must be attended to, Joses. Since Joanna’s husband is not here, you must do his part.” She looked into his eyes, willing her strength to him.

  Then he stood and gathered himself, and led them into the house to do what they needed to do.

  It was a somber group that went through the ceremonial motions of the Sabbath that night. They did as commanded, but there was no joy in this Sabbath. The songs echoed through the city, but it seemed to Mary to be subdued and more the sound of mourning than praise.

  40

  On the way back to the upper room behind the other disciples, Mary mulled over in her mind the amazing things that had happened in the last few weeks. She could scarce begin to put it all together. What a blessing to have been able to follow her Lord for these last two years. And as the Lord’s mother pointed out, what a privilege she had been granted, of all the disciples, to be the first to see the resurrected Lord. Now that he was gone, she searched for her purpose and a direction.

  Unconsciously thoughts of Magdala began to creep into her mind. There was nothing for her here in Jerusalem. Her headstrong nature had clashed with Peter more than once. Brash, impulsive Peter. He was still a little rough, but she realized Jesus had been grooming him for leadership, even from the beginning. Perhaps it was time for her to return home. A touch of homesickness assailed her, but she put it aside. First, she would wait on the Lord as he asked. He would show her his plan for her life.

  Two days later, Mary was delighted that the disciples were joined by the entire family of Jesus. His brothers—James, Joses, Simon, and Judas—had heard of all the events and acknowledged who he truly was. Other believers joined them until there were over a hundred people in the room. The Lord’s mother, Susanna, Joanna, Salome, Mary, wife of Cleopas, and other women were part of the group and helped Mary prepare and serve food to the others.

  As other disciples and friends came and went, to Mary’s relief, they brought additional food to share with the others.

  When not serving, Mary sought a quiet corner of the room to pray. As she looked around, she saw that, though the believers were diverse, they were of one mind and heart in praising God and praying together.

  One afternoon, as Mary was praying, she was interrupted by Peter, who stood up in their midst and said, “Men and brethren, this Scripture had to be fulfilled, which the Holy Spirit spoke before by the mouth of David concerning Judas, who became a guide for those who arrested Jesus; for he was numbered with us and obtained a part of this ministry. It is written in the book of Psalms, ‘Let his dwelling place be desolate, and no one live in it. Let another take his office.’ ”

  He looked around at the faces turned up to him. “Therefore, of these men who have accompanied us all the time that the Lord Jesus went in an
d out among us, beginning from the baptism of John to that day when he was taken up from us, one of these must become a witness with us of his resurrection.”

  Mary looked around the group, unsure of who might be the one to take the place of Judas. The group talked among themselves, and finally John stood and named two men who were proposed—Justus and Matthias.

  She looked at the face of Matthias and then Justus. Both were good men.

  The disciples bowed their heads and earnestly prayed for the Lord’s guidance. Mary felt strongly for one of the two and when the lots were cast, she was pleased that it fell to Matthias. So he was numbered with the eleven apostles.

  As the Day of Pentecost neared, some, including Mary, were tempted to leave, since nothing had happened for almost ten days. How long were they to wait?

  Peter, always impatient, was ready to go fishing again, but Mary urged them all to stay a little longer. After some grumbling, the disciples finally agreed, and Mary suggested Peter lead them in a united fervent prayer for the Lord’s leading.

  While she gave herself to prayer, a sudden strange wind began to blow through the room. It was a wind they could feel, and yet the wicks in the lamps continued to burn steadily. The wind filled the whole house, and then above each of them appeared a tongue of fire. Mary gasped as the power filled her being. She felt rooted to where she was sitting, unable to move. Inexplicable joy began to flow through her body, and she raised her hands as the emotion coursed through her body. She began to cry out in a language she didn’t know, but sensed she was praising HaShem. Then the entire group began speaking in strange languages, praising the Holy One and giving him glory. Unable to contain themselves, all those in the upper room spilled out into the street.

  Mary was unaware of the number of people at first, so caught up was she in the language that flowed from her mouth and the joy that filled her. Some of the women, caught up in the power of the Spirit, were dancing in the street.

  When she opened her eyes, those in the street in front of the house were pointing to her and the other disciples, murmuring among themselves. She couldn’t blame them for being curious at this strange phenomenon. Some observers cried out, “I hear what they are saying in my language!” Others cried, “They are praising the Most High God and telling of his wonderful works!”