Woman in Red: Magdalene Speaks

by Krishna Rose

  I had to make a decision and struggled to find another way. For if this course of action were to succeed, I had to believe in what I was saying. I wished more than anything to confess my confusion to my loved ones and seek their advice, but I was bound to secrecy. Therefore I strived to convince myself that it would be by some means, an act of penance, for it was unquestionably true that Jesu’s everlasting soul had risen out of his mortal coil. This thought gave me an excuse for a resurrection story, for in death, Jesu had resurrected, not in the flesh, but in spirit! It would be a fib, but a seemingly more digestible one . . . if I could pull it off.

  I was beside myself with uncertainty. Dissolving into tears, I wept into the pillow to muffle my mournful sobbing. I wished Jesu was here—he always understood. My limbs shook. My heart raced. I was faint with worry and I longed to escape this unavoidable decree.

  Uncle Joseph was without fail unmistaken. To declare Jesu as the resurrected prince of peace, in spirit, would indeed pave the way for remarkable change, as well as the betterment of society at large. Nevertheless, I still felt an almighty apprehension. But I also knew that if my uncle comprehended this as the most effective way to approach the issue at hand . . . it most likely was.

  Convincing myself that it solved all the complications and implications of what we had done last night, I saw no alternative. Jesu’s disappearance would be answered for, Caiaphas would be implicated, my husband’s story would live on, his message would thrive, and our family would have considerable influence for generations to come. Though it was radical by all accounts, it was a well thought out determined plan. Otherwise Jesu would be hailed as a Messianic imposter, a want-to-be king, the bastard son of The Mary—nothing more. Tongues wagged.

  The public were without exception always thirsty for gossip. Fault-finding was a primary source of distraction, for it was entertainment at no-cost. When an opportunity arose to spoil the character and reputation of someone, people eagerly accepted and believed the scandal to be gospel truth. For we lived in a time where ill-advised, foolish gossipmongers could stone a woman to death without evidence, accusing her of having loose morals if she was said to have been seen uncovering her head, or worse, unbinding her hair in public.

  Even as a young girl, I could see that we lived in an intolerant, small-minded community. The hypocrisy of it! In a world that prided itself on scriptural learning and devotion unto God, we could stone a woman to death for her hairstyle! I had long since removed myself from society, for one never knew who would accusingly point the finger, especially in the villages where people still lived by the old laws.

  However, the city of Jerusalem had transformed under Roman influence, for the Romans were renowned as being liberal minded, and not suppressive when it came to women. To Romans, every desire was to be fulfilled. Their gods and goddesses were there to dispense and offer them pleasure, pandering to their relentless appetites. They were the antithesis of my people. My brother Lazarus and I, had on many occasions eavesdropped on our father as he had discussed such complex matters with his brethren in private.

  Scores of married men, joined in holy matrimony, frequented houses of ill-repute to drink and make merry with courtesans. Yet they were the first to incriminate and dishonorably censure anyone for unscrupulous behavior. The deceit ran deep—even in the temple. Meanwhile a woman’s hairstyle could decide whether she lived or died!

  A distorted stoicism had taken over the people of my faith, where displays of holiness had become more important than actual spiritual piety.

  Having grown up in Bethany, we had lived a privileged yet sheltered life, picking grapes, figs, and olives, from the many trees on our farmlands. We spent our time chasing wild rabbits and riding horses through the orchards. I had often roamed about aimlessly for hours in nature, where I had no need nor care for rules or laws. I, Mariam, remained the same person whether my hair was tied or not, for the style of one’s hair did not, to me, represent a person’s soul. It seemed that those who were living seemingly religious lives, were in fact abundantly prejudiced in more ways than one—for criticizing had become a cultural norm. People were obsessed with physical cleanliness, while their insides still brimmed with dirty thoughts and secrets.

  In our faith, it was deemed that women were unfit for anything but housework and childbearing. Our people frowned upon and even regarded with contempt, those not born of Jewish parents, designating derogatory names for those of ‘dirty blood,’ whilst priding themselves in a belief that they were the master race—God’s chosen people set above others.

  Covered with the dirt and pollen of the Bethany countryside, I felt more connected to the Lord than anywhere, for the miracle of nature was, in my opinion, the greatest proof of the Lord’s existence. However, having said all that, our father liked for us to follow temple rules to some degree. From early on, my siblings and I had made a pact to stick together like glue. We would not conform to the sway of public opinion. It was the backbone of who we were as a family, for each of us had regarded the temple of God as something which was to be found within oneself. We did not measure the confines of four walls as being the necessary requirement for reaching God’s holy Kingdom.

  It was apparent to us, that many indoctrinated seekers were under the control of fear, whether by ill-intentioned leaders or by social pressure. And while fear may keep one safe in this world, security is not the path of those who seek eternity.

  One might describe the high holy days in the temple, as barbaric. For the blood of limitless innocent animals sacrificed, flowed like a river. My siblings and I preferred to remain home on such days, for we found no holiness in bloodshed. We questioned why God, who was said to be merciful, would require slaughter in order to be appeased. The Supreme Being, who I knew and loved, was not someone to fear . . . for I imagined Him youthfully handsome, residing in a forest, donning flowers and feathers in His free-flowing hair. He was far from the angry God my people trembled before.

  Sometimes I would ride into the countryside on my pony, to lie in the green grass amid the prettiest of wild flowers. Watching the tall trees sway on the hillside as the wind danced between their branches, the songbirds, like a choir, sang in sweet voices, while bumblebees danced around the flowers’ edges searching for nectar, like us. I found deeper devotion alone, with nothing but the Lord on my mind. This was where God spoke to me. His creation charmingly on display for all to see, illustrating His beautiful mind.

  Even though I did not buy into the belief that a hairstyle was a signal of one’s spiritual purity, out of respect for our father, I lived by the rules, so as to not bring shame upon his house. But secretly I yearned to one day be free of such confines. I had vowed in due course, to lead by example, to present the idea that one could live a fully devoted life without conforming to fashion statements or cultish methodology.

  Once married, I did just that. For I wore my hair unbound, symbolically, to show that I was not part of any social code. For codes alone, do not declare one’s morality or propriety. I had seen many worshippers, who, in spite of heeding etiquettes and a show of daily prayer, would not pause to falsify facts for the sake of their reputation and position in society. Prestige and honor had become the golden calf of social order.

  Some men, and even priests, were rumored to have performed coitus with the children of their brethren, or worse, their own . . . while in the daytime accepting adulation unto themselves, assuming roles of authority and preeminence in our villages and cities. Feigning a flawless appearance, abiding by the letter of every law, as the ideal of our religious society—behind closed doors they were hypocrites at best.

  I knew we would each of us play an integral part in a spiritual revolution. Jesu was unrivalled. He had been the greatest ecclesiastic weapon, for he was a forward-thinking renegade, like us . . .

  Within temples and on stree
t markets, people gathered to argue over points of scripture, while judgement, not love, was the outcome of all their efforts. If scripture conveyed the truth of God’s existence and love for us, then why were our religious leaders propagating conceited prejudice, and sanctimonious self-righteousness? I had since my earliest recollections, questioned the foundation of everything—though I voiced my strong opinions only to our closest childhood friends, Jesu and his cousin John, who were of the same mind. These two stalwart men had brought about real change, and now they were both gone from this world.

  The leaders of our faith feared losing control and that was the sum and substance of it. ‘The stain on their souls may pass by the legal justice system in the city, but no one will escape the jaws of the divine courts,’ I thought to myself. I felt a lump in the back of my throat. It was all too much to consider. A great shame had come upon our people this Passover. Jerusalem was divided straight down the middle and I did not see how this could be resolved. A holy revolution was inevitable.

  One had to be extremely heroic to step out of the flock’s norm. For to be so bold, would bring certain scrutiny from the amiable sheep’s fold, even culminating in death—despite the fifth commandment “Thou shalt not kill.”

  ‘Deceivers.’

  We were indeed, pioneers of our time, ushering in new ways of thinking—a new age. And we knew it.

  Jesu’s death was not something I had considered, for when he was arrested, I expected them to release him. What could they possibly have found him guilty of?

  Many in Jerusalem had heard rumors that Jesu was the son of Prince Antipater. As the grandson of King Herod the Great, God rest his soul, I presumed no Roman would ever agree to put Jesu through a public trial, let alone crucify him. If anything, I imagined that they might wish to see Jesu take his rightful place—as heir to the throne of Judea, for he would bring peace to their troubled lands. There were many disgruntled politicians and leaders who were anxious to remove Herod-Agrippa from his position, for few liked him. He was a selfish, boorish man, bearing no resemblance to his sainted nephew, Jesu.

  Predictions were that a prince, with the blood of Rome and Judea flowing in his veins, would unite the new world and bring peace to the people of earth. That King would then herald a new beginning and he would be known as the Messiah—the expected one—the one sent by God to save us. Caiaphas and his minions wanted to be sure that Jesu was extinguished forever, for he shone too bright a light on their deceit. ‘They were squirming.’

  I vowed this night to right their wrong, for I was now not only the widow of my husband, but also a widow of my faith. I no longer affiliated myself with their rule, as being imbued with the authority of God. I believed that the Lord had long since deserted those who insincerely claimed to be His representatives on earth. It was decided. I would offer myself as the holy grail by which to keep my husband’s legacy alive. I would use this opportunity to take from them what they took from us. A risen Messiah would be far more dangerous than a living one. As far and wide, people would come to know of him—and his words would be immortalized.

  Jesu had predicted that the temple and its priests would in time fall. Now, I’d ensure that the spirit of love would thrive in my husband’s name. Love must undeniably prevail by all means. So that settled it. I would do it. Jesu would live on through us. He would be resurrected by my will tomorrow. Until then, these four walls would offer me respite.

  Everywhere, men and women cheat and mislead the people. This will be a small lie for a big cause. The world would otherwise be deprived of Jesu’s codes of belief. Given the plight of humanity, I hoped that the Lord would approve of my bold decision. I vowed to render it my mission to unite the people of the world with the erudite teachings Jesu had come to bring.

  CHAPTER 4

  FORBEARANCE

  Forbearance is when one is patient, self-controlled, and able to tolerate difficulty, while offering clemency to others.

  The mournful wailing downstairs was macabre, causing me to recall the tragic week of my brother’s passing, which was to harken Jesu’s Messianic status. Lazarus, despite being young and active, suddenly became ill. Death came like a thief in the night and crushed him. He was dead within days. The whole village had grieved with us, and father sent word for Jesu who was preaching in the city.

  It was the common understanding of our people, that the angel’s sword of death began to work by sundown on the third day. The departure of the soul was said to have taken its full effect by sunrise on the fourth day, though it was generally believed that the deceased might still remain—lingering about the tomb, seeking to reoccupy its dead body. But by the dawn of the fourth day, it was firmly accepted that the soul of the deceased had been taken to the abode of departed spirits.

  Jesu arrived in Bethany on the fourth day. A small crowd of mourners were still gathered, offering prayers outside the sepulcher where my brother lay. When Jesu appeared on that momentous Thursday afternoon, he spent a few minutes comforting our family, asking, “Tell me Sisters, where have you buried him?”

  When the locals saw Jesu approaching, they seemed astounded. “Behold how he loved him! Could he who opened the eyes of the blind, not have kept this man from dying?” one of the men shouted. Controversy followed him everywhere. This was nothing new. They understood him not.

  Our family crypt was hewn of a cave on the edge of a rock face rising up some thirty feet at the far end of the olive orchards. Jesu walked to the center of the crowd which surrounded the tomb’s entrance. Suddenly everything fell silent. Raising up his arms, high in the air, he vibrated with expectancy—ready to execute the bidding of our beloved sovereign Lord. Unexpectedly, he set about shaking his hands in an unnerving display of what I at first mistook for grief, for Lazarus had been as much a brother to Jesu, as he was to Martha and I.

  He broke the silence like a strong wind, muttering in a strange foreign language, as if he were speaking to someone, though we could see no one there. There was an unusual resonance to his voice, which emerged out of him like a force of nature. It was out of the ordinary. I was awe-struck to see him thus, for he had become so powerful and self-assured since last I had seen him.

  Approaching the burial chamber, he easily rolled the burly stone to one side, as if it were something of little consequence. The professional wailers all at once fell silent. “Do not roll away the stone, for our brother has now been dead nigh on four days!” Martha cried out, running to stop him. She had presumed Jesu wished to look upon our dead brother who had gone to meet his Maker. Worried that his body had already begun to decay, she had cried out. He turned to face her, holding up his right hand in protest, with a fixed gaze. Searching the crowds he said, “Did I not tell you that this sickness was not to the death? Have I not come to fulfill my promise? And after I came to you, did I not say that if you would only believe, you would see the glory of God? Wherefore do you still doubt me? How long before you will have faith?” he asked us.

  Father was beside himself, “Son what in God’s name are you doing?” he howled.

  My nerves had fluttered in the pit of my stomach, for I had been filled with conflicted emotions of dread and excitement. A cold tremor had run through me and my body had pulsed with apprehension. But Jesu bent not to my father’s will—but the Lord’s.

  “Do not be disturbed by what I do. Have faith in me, for your son is not gone,” Jesu told him, turning towards the entrance willfully, hastening into the looming mouth of the crypt without hesitation. We were riveted to the spot like statues, while his words rang in our ears like flames which burned bright in our spirit. “May the will of the Lord preserve us,” I heard my father whisper.

  The beliefs and opinions regarding the departure of the spirits of the dead, served to make sure in the minds of all who were present at Lazarus’ tomb,
and subsequently to all who might hear of what was about to occur, that this was a declaration to one and all, that the Messiah, the anointed one who had been waited for and prayed for—had finally come.

  Jesu disappeared into the crypt. I remember it clear as day. There had been such an eerie quiet. Breathlessly, we watched in trepidation. I had heard of Jesu’s abilities, and of course a part of me had hoped he could return our brother to us. ‘But that would be a miracle, and people can’t perform that kind of miracle,’ I remembered thinking to myself. The wailers again began their pitiful cries, filling the empty silence with their sympathetic howls. It had been a black week for my family, despite the gathering of friends who had come to pray and offer us comfort. But no consolation could deter the feelings ruthless death had instilled in us.

  Today, too, nothing could offer me relief.

  After some time, Jesu emerged to a captive audience. He turned to face the wide-open entrance and in a raised voice commanded, “Lazarus, come to me,” he said authoritatively, while everyone stood spellbound, their eyes transfixed on the dark shadowy opening. Jesu held his gaze on the tomb expectantly, with his long arms outstretched, as if to greet his lost brother. “Lazarus, come to me!” he said again, in a more forceful, yet encouraging voice. Then suddenly, in the quiet of the afternoon, a muffled sound could be heard from within the tomb and all at once our brother appeared in the dim light—his body still wrapped in burial shrouds.

  The cloth which had covered his face, fell to the ground, to gasps of shock and horror. Lazarus stood ashen-faced before us, his eyes flashing ominously in our direction. He held a pained, dark, puzzled expression and was muttering something illegible under his breath. “Come to me Brother,” Jesu commanded, blinking back tears.