by Krishna Rose
“Jesu, harken back to our wedding day and the promises we made to one another. Are you leaving me now, already a widow? Why do you not retrace your steps and return to me? The door of death is soon closing, so forget the day and leave behind the thorns of anguish which pierced your heart. Come to me . . . come to me! Seek and enter the door which has been opened for you, for our souls have been bound together by God. Husband, betray me not so soon after our marriage—ride on the waves of eternity and return. Beg leave of our Lord . . .” I said, wistfully smearing the sacred oil upon his withered brow.
I waited with bated breath, expecting him to sit up suddenly, as if he had been absorbed in a dream. Then panic rose in the back of my throat, and with it, doubt flooded in like a cruel old friend—to destroy hope.
“I am a daughter of the Goddess, and I am that vine which bears fruit from the sacred spring of our holy union. It is our prophecy which shall be as nourishment for those who suffer. But without you, our Messianic destiny will die, along with your body,” I said dolefully, feigning confidence.
“Surely spouse, you will not forsake me in my darkest hour of need? Would you abandon me thus? Be vigilant to my urgent call and by the reins of your mercy, gather into the valley of life to gallantly free me from my intense misery. The Kingdom of God can wait! Take the Lord’s holy name upon your tongue and climb down upon the branches of the Tree of Life. For there is a loveliness in the budding flowers which grow upon your vine. There has appeared a mist in the air, where the rose says “Seek me.” Therefore touch the sacred feet of your Maker, for I know that He hath called you home. Prostrate yourself there and promise Him to return another day.
“A great sorrow, like a storm about to conquer, waits to devour me and destroy all that we worked so hard to build,” I said sorrowfully, leaning forward to kiss his lips. My heart turned to stone, for I felt no change in him. I had confessed my deepest wishes and misery unto the Lord, and if the Lord hath forsaken me, then I should by all accounts, take it upon my head as His will.
‘One final appeal,’ I thought. “Almighty God, sight of Thee is the entitlement of all souls. The merit of Thy unveiled face is my conclusion and my finality. I am humbled before Thy presence—as by Your limitless greatness, Your lamp reveals to us the path which is laid out clearly before us. I shall obey Your will, if it be so, to leave us bereft of your son’s association. If I hath knowingly or unknowingly committed any venial sin, then please forgive me my human weakness and laxity of spirit. I am Your obedient servant. I see my fault now. For I dared to believe that by my own power I might have cause to raise my husband from death. All power comes from You alone, and now I see the sin of my pride which lay hidden from view . . . so please forgive my boldness. Death and life belong to You alone,” I sobbed.
“Shekina! Ra-De! I have prayed to You in the stillness, my Goddess, walking through fire to serve Your cause. Now that my husband is taken from me, stolen from this world by a cruel twist of fate, I beg Thee, please petition the Lord, Your divine husband, to return breath unto my spouse for my sake.” I appealed to the Goddess, remembering Her boundless graciousness. Uniting my strength with Hers, I decisively made a final effort to move Heaven and earth for a miracle.
“Our story holds the secrets of the ages—with the promise of salvation to all. Now, even I see no hope of deliverance. Is mine to be a long life of loss and grief?” I whimpered dolefully, taking Jesu’s hand in mine, letting out one final wretched cry. “Husband, forgive me for asking this of you. I beseech thee. Move beyond the threshold of death. Cross over the bridge of your shame and take the hand of your Messianic destiny. Come to life, my love! The Lord has written it in the stars, that you would return, so do as He willed. Fulfill the prophecy and prove His glory unto one and all!” I said, dissolving into tears.
My uncle came beside me, laying his hand affectionately on my shoulder and together we grieved. I felt hopeless, and knew my uncle felt it too. “Mariam, you have done well. Life is not ours to give or take, but God’s alone. Now we must both accept this fate as the will of the Lord. He is in His hands. Shabbat is upon us and we must leave this place lest anyone see us, or we shall be thrown to the lions. I am sorry that I gave you false hope,” he said sadly. “I did not mean to hurt you any further. Now come, let us go,” he said motioning to the door.
Kissing Jesu’s cheek, I said my last goodbye, wincing as I did so. My hands were shaking, having lost track of what they should or should not do. So I clutched at my growing belly, as a sudden wave of nausea hit me. Resigned, my uncle called the guards and quickly three men came inside respectfully, sensing our deep despair. Experienced in burial, they swiftly set about moving Jesu’s corpse to the middle tomb—the second chamber—for burial, while I watched with wet, dull eyes, flinching as Jesu’s left hand fell. The experience of it had an eerie finality to it. This was the end of an era—for me, for my family, and for my people.
My uncle thanked and paid the men as they brushed past us, eyes down in show of sympathy. My scratchy throat let out a sob.
Placing thirteen of Jerusalem’s native gundelia flowers around Jesu’s freshly shrouded body, we offered a weak smile to one another. Despite the wallowing dread of our last moments with him, begrudgingly, I lay a cloth over his face in an act of submission to Gods’ will.
“It feels so final, Uncle. Never could I have imagined it would have come to this!” I sobbed, weeping into his shoulder. “Yes Mariam, I know,” he said, sighing heavily, patting my back affectionately like a father. “I too imagined a different outcome. Now we must leave. We shall return after Shabbat is ended. My men and the Roman soldiers will guard him until we return. They have all been well paid to watch with great care.”
Thus we departed for Uncle Joseph’s estate which lay just outside of the city. The stone rolled closed behind us with a loud “clank,” and silently, we walked home in the gloomy rain.
I did not wish to see anyone, not even The Mary. I was too shy to share my immense agony with them. It was long past dark by the time I got into bed. The Mary, Cleophas, Jude, Salome, and John, were all thankfully in their rooms, and I was grateful at least for that. Though what sort of sleep they were having, I could not imagine. The house was quiet, except for the gentle hum of crickets calling back and forth.
My feet ached and my belly grumbled from hunger and thirst. I drank a little water and lay down. My mind, filled with persistent unwanted memories of the past few days, would not let me rest. I went over the play by play of how we had come to this, wondering what we could have done differently—to achieve a different outcome. I tried to stop the thoughts from coming, hoping exhaustion would overtake me and offer me relief. Yet still, each scene played out, blow by blow, until eventually, after hours of worry, in the middle of the night, sleep washed all my cares away.
“Mariam, wake up!” my uncle said, shaking me from my sleep. Wiping the salty tears from my eyes, I looked around the room. The dim light let me know that the moon was still high. Sitting up, I pulled the blankets over me. There was a chill in the air. “What is it, Uncle? Has something happened?” I asked wearily. “I must leave, Mariam,” he said, urgently. “I’m taking Nicodemus with me to the tomb. We need to move Jesu immediately. I’m sorry to wake you, but I couldn’t in my right mind move him without telling you first. Last night after we returned, I received word that Caiaphas plans to steal Jesu’s body. He intends to parade him through the streets of Jerusalem to prove that they killed a man, not a Messiah—and put an end to the rebellion brewing on the streets.
“There’s talk of an uprising, for many in Jerusalem wept this night! People are questioning what breed of men govern the temple—who see fit to break the laws of Moses and kill a man without reason. Caiaphas is afraid. He will stop at nothing to quell the fires of the gossip mill. But I mean to put an end to his evil-minded strategy. Tonight I
will thwart that fool and squash him like a fly,” he said, obviously aggrieved by the dire situation at hand. “What would you have me do Mariam?”
Hastily I threw my shawl over my shoulders, jumping down from the bed, signaling my willingness to do what was needed. “I want to come. Can you give me a few moments?” I asked hopefully.
Caring not for the conventions of Shabbat, he lit a lamp which hung in the corner of the room. Nodding to me, he left quietly, so as not to wake the others. My Uncle Joseph was a most noble man. Family was first and foremost, especially when it came to Jesu and I, who he seemed to especially favor. But then everyone favored Jesu.
Splashing water on my face, I drank a little of the mint tea which had been left on the table. Taking a nibble on a crust of bread, the rumble of my belly called for more—though I in fact had no desire for food. I was sick to my stomach. I thought of the life growing inside of my womb and grabbed a couple of crusts, wrapping them in cloth as I left in a flurry.
Excited to see Jesu—even in death, I tiptoed briskly down the stairs to find my muddy sandals by the door where I had left them just a few hours before. Slipping them on, I dashed through the back door to find my uncle and Nicodemus waiting, ready to spring into action. They carried weapons and I wondered what danger might lay ahead. A horse and carriage awaited us . . . a privilege reserved only for those of rank and wealth. Yet in spite of his great affluence, Uncle Joseph had remained the kindest, most generous man in our community—unlike others of substance. If anyone needed help, he was always the first to offer it.
The full moon gave us sufficient light, while Jerusalem slept. Shabbat, like a valiant guardian, once again had shielded our surreptitious intention. Like a glimmer of hope on the horizon, somewhere in the distance, a bell sounded. My brooding resentment and anger towards Caiaphas and the Jewish council spurred me on.
The valley was full with the youth of spring. It was usually my favorite time of year, as the scent of flowers was nothing short of intoxicating. Groggy-eyed, I breathed deep the potent fragrance of nature’s hope, praying for a miracle. The night was empty—quiet. I was widowed. My happy future lay in ruins. And in spite of nature’s joy, for me, it was like the dead of winter.
“We’re in a dangerous situation Mariam,” my uncle made clear, as our carriage dashed across the moors in the dead of night. “Caiaphas won’t be satisfied with Jesu’s death alone. We will all have to be extra careful now, as he may seek us out. I think it might be best if after Shabbat we leave the city and go somewhere far from the jealous eyes of scrutiny—don’t you think?” he asked with a fiery glaze in his eye, holding firm the carriage, which shook as we travelled at speed breaking every law imaginable.
“Caiaphas is hoping that Jesu’s message will disappear . . . and quickly! Our family is no longer safe in Judea,” he said emphatically, holding me tight with his other hand as we sailed over the bumpy roads towards the sepulcher. An eerie silence enveloped us as we came upon its entrance. A cock crowed. ‘That’s unusual for this time of night,’ I thought to myself. It was something I would remember for years to come.
My heart pounded hard in my chest as we neared. Climbing down carefully, our child on my mind, Nicodemus shouted orders to the guards, who immediately rolled the stone to one side. They lit the torches and led the way, with us following behind. A strange light could be seen inside, which seemed to grow in intensity as we approached the second chamber. Then it all but disappeared. A raw chill ran down my spine.
‘How could the Lord allow this to happen?’ I thought, peering into the tomb after my uncle. ‘This one week hath brought such evil upon us,’ I considered unhappily. The guards left us, promising their loyalty and silence, rolling the stone door closed behind them. Tears were falling from my uncle’s disappointed eyes, as we crept inside like thieves in the night.
“He was called to the Kingdom and we must trust that the Lord wished for him to remain there, more than with us,” he said, feigning composure. “Mariam, you will need to be strong, as many will look to you for guidance in the aftermath of what has happened here,” he said, quite obviously alarmed by our loathsome predicament. Wiping his tears on the sleeve of his coat, he said “Wait here until I give you word. Come Nicodemus,” he said furtively. “Oh . . . and we will need that stretcher,” he said, pointing to the poles and bloody shrouds which lay where we had left them just hours before.
“In the back of the third chamber there’s a tunnel leading out of the city. That’ll be our exit route. Mariam, I’ll need you to hold a torch and lead the way,” he said turning back one last time, before disappearing into the middle chamber.
“Yes of course” I called to him, wanting to be helpful in any way I could. Waiting there in the cold crypt alone, the stifling unearthly atmosphere of the dark chamber churned my stomach. I found it difficult to breathe and wondered if I might be sick. The baby stirred, as a darkness crept up behind me from within the murky shadows. “What is that?” I shouted, interrupting the men.
Shocked, I ran into the burial chamber unable to withstand the unpleasantness alone. “It is death, Mariam,” Nicodemus replied matter-of-factly. ‘He must have seen much death,’ I thought to myself, for he knew exactly what had spooked me.
Part of me was anxious to see Jesu, for I wondered if perhaps a miracle had seen fit to return his soul to us. Yet there he was, just as we had left him.
“One, two, three,” Nicodemus counted, as they lifted Jesu’s inert body onto the stretcher by which we had brought him here. The shrouds fell away and my heart sank when I saw his sallow expression—even though there was a benign glow about him. I was afraid to look away, lest I miss a moment, for I knew how deeply these memories would cling to me. Grabbing a lit torch, I followed them to the secret door. Unless you knew of it, you would not have known it existed, for so well hidden was it in the natural cracks of the limestone rock. Pushing hard, the door opened to my touch.
“Be alert” my uncle said, pointing to the dusky tunnel. “Hold up the light so we can see clearly where we step,” he said, motioning for me to lead the way. Nicodemus took up the rear, having attached a torch to the stretcher with twine. This offered extra light in the otherwise pitch-black, concealed, narrow passage.
“It’s a long walk, Mariam. So breathe slow and deep. Hold onto the sides of the wall if you feel faint. Keep walking until it ends.”
Forcing myself to stay calm, uneasily I entered the looming cavern. Immediately I slipped into an abysmal despair. I had no energy to go forward. My head reeled and my heart pounded. I was stripped of any sense of security—worn down and shattered to the core of my being. No one could imagine how much pain I was in. My state of mind was such, that I knew prayer would be my only comfort. I shifted focus, so as not to panic. The only thing that came to mind was Jesu’s prayer:
“D’bwaschmâja
O Thou from whom the breath of life comes, hallowed be Thy names,
Nethkâdasch schmach
I pray to experience and know You in my utmost holiest self.
Têtê malkuthach,
Thy Kingdom is my only shelter,
Nehwê tzevjânach aikâna d’bwaschmâja af b’arha,
Thy will be done, as in Heaven, so on earth.
Hawvlân lachma d’sûnkanân jaomâna.
Give us each day, to partake of Thy holy bread and the fruit of Thy living Vine.
Waschboklân chaubên wachtahên aikâna
daf chnân schwoken l’chaijabên,
Detach the fetters of faults which bind me, and as Thou dost forgive me my trespasses, so may I forgive others who trespass against me.
Wela tachlân l’nesjuna
Let me not be lost in superficial things,
ela patzân mi
n bischa
And in the hour of my temptation, deliver me from evil.
Metol dilachie malkutha wahaila wateschbuchta l’ahlâm almîn.
For Thine is the Kingdom, the power, and the glory.
Amên.
Sealed in trust, faith and truth.”
Immediately the prayer consoled me, quieting my fears, giving me strength to go on. I recalled Jesu’s recital of it—his face so lit up with inspiration. He was replete with every virtue, so unashamedly expressive of the praises he offered unto the Lord. Henceforth, my memory would be all I had to remember him by.
I wondered where Jesu’s spirit was now. My brother Lazarus had told me of death—for he climbed beyond the ninth veil from which none return. Recounting in detail every experience death had offered him, my brother had seen things which everyone questions speculatively. I wished that Lazarus and Martha were here with me now. I had need of them more than ever before.
Walking briskly, even though the path was narrow and its low ceiling made it difficult to stand upright, it reminded me of the ritual passages I had roamed inside the Great Pyramid. They too were stifling. I had always likened the experience to death, though Lazarus told me there was nothing confining about dying.
I quickened my pace, painfully aware of the potential danger. We had broken many laws this night, all of which were worthy of a stoning. I found myself breathless, as if the tunnel had swallowed us. We were burrowed deep beneath all sign of life and I found the confined passage suffocating. Oppressive. The only sign of hope was the light of the flames which flickered, casting a glow in the interminable darkness ahead. Shivers rippled across my skin. My hand grabbed at the dusty wall, like a soul clutching at life as I gasped for air.