by Krishna Rose
Chuza and his wife, Joanna, helped Susanna in the kitchen at Peter’s and Mari’s house. They did this in grave silence, avoiding eye contact at all costs, for their sorrow was very great indeed. Cooking was a comforting distraction from thoughts of their Master’s martyrdom, as well as of Judas’s death.
Mariam returned to her uncle’s sprawling estate. She slipped into the house unbeknownst, creeping up the stairs, desperately hoping not to see anyone. She lay down and contemplated her next move, waiting for her uncle’s return. The Mary, and Mariam’s daughter, Sarah-Tamar, were nowhere to be seen. She was relieved, at least for now, of the burden of sharing a false story with her own family.
She dozed in and out of a dreamless meditative state—minutes swiftly turning to hours. Then after some time, she had a vision of her husband standing by her bedside. Through her slightly cracked, heavy eyelids, she saw him and heard him speak to her. “Mariam, be of good cheer, for it is done. The Lord has breathed new life into me. Have faith and tell the others that I am renewed. Offer unto them hope,” he said to her.
She woke suddenly—but no one was there. Unrestrained, she wept bitterly into her shawl, for she needed him more than words could say.
She recognized the truth of Jesu’s words and knew then that she must inspire the disciples into action, for soon she would leave Jerusalem . . . forever. Peter would certainly have taken it upon himself to assert leadership over the flock by now. Not that she cared so much about such things. After a vision of her husband’s spirit, she could go confidently, for she was so instructed by their Master. Especially since she fathomed, she may never see them again. Not in this life anyway.
Mariam wondered where her uncle was, for as yet he still had not returned—Lazarus too. Hurriedly, she slipped out of the house with a genuine sparkle in her eye, or was it a tear? She was prepared to escape Jerusalem this night, and knew emphatically that she would never again return to these lands. Therefore, she intended to uplift the hearts of Jesu’s followers prior to her departure—so as to motivate them. It was critical that they be revitalized if their movement was to continue gaining momentum. They needed to gain courage by which to persevere and forge ahead in their crusade against the darkness in their Master’s absence.
This caused her once again, brave as a bear, to venture out, strengthened by a vision of her most treasured friend and teacher. Her perjury would no longer be a fabrication, for she had seen him . . . or so she thought, in her fatigued, drunken-like state.
Peter had lived under a heavy burden of guilt ever since his denials of Jesu. All day Friday, Saturday, and now on this day, he had fought the fear that perhaps he was no longer a disciple—for he had openly denied being one. He was angry with himself for being so weak and faithless. Peter shuddered at the thought that he had betrayed his Master, not once, but thrice!
Minutes quickly turned into hours, as Peter sat quietly staring at the bloody shrouds. He considered every feasible angle before walking a longer, safer route back to his house. He had contemplated the group of men who shared in his grief, and his conviction soon surmounted any doubts that he had. He stood at his door clenching his fists, ready to tell a barefaced lie. It was true that Jesu’s body was gone, ‘That much at least is true,’ he thought to himself. ‘I should have gone to the tomb before Mariam this morning,’ he thought to himself. ‘For then I would have seen the risen Master first—not her. But I was too cowardly, for I am a sinner.’
He could see that his lie was for the betterment of the group, for no woman could lead them. It had to be him. And this thought gave him comfort and a strength to face the apostles. As Peter opened the door to his house, the gathered apostles and their wives all turned to see who had come. “Peter! Thank the Lord you came! Tell me Brother, what did you ascertain?” James asked, suddenly alert, jumping up to go and meet Peter at the door.
For a moment Peter was overcome by the realization that he really did not believe in the concept of the risen Master. Yet inside, he knew without a doubt that it was he who should be the apostle to the apostles. They were after all, gathered in his house waiting for him to return . . . waiting for him to guide them. He would help lead their heavy hearts out of faithlessness. It had to be done.
“Our Master lives!” he said unashamedly. “I have seen him and spoken with him. So brethren weep no more, for your tears run false. Our Master has returned and fulfilled the prophecy!”
James shook him. “Tell me Brother, is what you speak the truth?” he asked, stunned, for he disbelieved the legitimacy of such a tall tale. “Yes James, it is so, your brother lives!” Peter replied smiling brightly—delighted to be the center of attention. He could now assert his authority over the group and be their leader. “Where is he, Peter? Where is my brother?” James cried, grabbing at Peter’s sleeves, tears streaming down his despairing cheeks. “I don’t know! One minute he stood before me. The next, he was gone,” he said, gasping for air. Was it hot in here, or was it the heat of his lie, which now pumped through his veins?
“The stone had been rolled open and the tomb was empty. Here are his burial shrouds as proof,” he said, reaching for the bloody cloth, which he promptly emptied onto the table for all to see.
Mari let out a startled high-pitched scream, collapsing to the ground in a state of shock. Peter and James ran to pick her up, calling for the women to come and assist them. Chuza, like a bolt of lightning, raced into the room to see what the commotion was about, shouting for his wife, Joanna, to come. At once Susanna and Joanna rushed from the kitchen, chancing upon Mari, who was unconscious on the floor. Gasps of horror could be heard throughout the house.
“Take her upstairs,” Peter ordered, irritated that his wife had distracted him in his moment of glory. Leading the way, he jumped up the stairs quickly, while the men carried Mari’s limp body behind him, to her bed—where she was tended to by the women. “Shouldn’t we call a doctor?” Joanna suggested. “No!” Peter said in a flash, rushing back downstairs, to continue taking charge of his opportune moment.
Everyone looked at each other in trepidation, as suddenly there was a knock at the door. Each of them froze, holding their breath fearfully.
Peter grabbed the bloody burial shrouds, stuffing them quickly beneath his cape on the chair beside the table, safe from prying eyes. He held proof of his Master’s resurrection. It was to be the most valued item of his time—and he knew it. Everyone would now look to him, or so he presumed. Peter’s declaration that he had seen their risen Master, had a profound effect on his fellow apostles, and finally venerated as their leader, he was well-pleased.
He motioned for them to sit down and act normal as he went to open the door. Before he got there, the knocking again came upon the door, this time with their customary secret code—and they all breathed a sigh of relief. Peter unbolted the door, opening it slightly, noting the robed figure at the door. It was raining outside, so he couldn’t see clearly who it was that entered.
“Please come and sit Brother. Let me take your robe,” he said, not recognizing who was beneath the large hood.
CHAPTER 7
SURRENDER
The act of surrender, is to relinquish one’s independence, fully submitting oneself faithfully to a greater authority.
I lifted the hood of the enormous wool robe my uncle had draped me with. ‘A man’s cape, with hood pulled low will conceal you,’ he had told me protectively. My inconspicuous curls caught on the edge of a button, unraveling my loose disheveled bun, cascading my long reddish hair down for all to see, announcing my arrival. Much to the annoyance of Peter, who, with a loathsome expression upon his face, stood before me, astounded. Here again, this woman dared to come among them. I could see him slipping into his usual resentful stupor, but then he stopped himself, aware that all eyes were upon us.
“Welcome Sister,” he said offering to take my cloak, which I passed to him, confused, taken back by his civility. My hands shook—Peter noticed. The two of us glanced at one other, both guilty parties to the same lie, as if in that moment, shamefaced, we had caught one another in the act, yet said nothing. It was a silent untruth that bound us together as equals.
Inside Peter’s residence, separated from his watchful scowl, which was soon again upon me, the disciples huddled uneasily together, laying low. They were unsure of themselves, and as yet, too afraid to be seen in public. In that moment, I knew emphatically that I must turn their hearts. Our mission had irrefutably just begun. Together, we would secure the future of my husband’s legacy. Jesu’s resurrection designated to us the Messianic throne, conveying upon our family and brethren—authority in all matters of the spirit. Jesu’s dedicated group of followers were to become the anointed messengers of an unfurling revolution, exalting us above those who had failed before us.
Unhesitatingly, I addressed them, whilst recognizing and appraising their doubt. “Brethren, the path and our soul’s journey on it, is all that there is. Thus I ask that you resurrect yourselves, to resume without reserve, the commission which our Master assigned unto us. Our concern is of the spirit, not of the flesh, therefore conquer over your fear. Together let us now undertake to go forth and scatter our seeds of influence throughout the aching world, which shall grow and flourish for years to come. Jesu’s gospel is the way forward,” I forecast.
‘He will resurrect today, through us,’ I thought determinedly.
“Brothers and Sisters,” I declared, holding my composure, “our household leaves Jerusalem this night. But I could not in good conscience depart without first meeting you for one last time, to offer you some words of encouragement,” I said, painfully aware of the isolated struggle which each of them privately battled. Susanna and Joanna came downstairs upon hearing my voice, exchanging knowing smiles.
“Be not mystified about what to do, or what not to do, for I have come to remind you to gather in his name. Now let us increase the flock in all corners of the earth, just as we were instructed. Our Rabboni requested that I come and furnish you with renewed hope. The right-of-way is given unto us, as the miracle of resurrection has come to pass—bringing with it a new light, which has dawned on the horizon today,” I said courageously. Still, I could sense the men’s discontent.
“How are we to preach the gospel of a man crucified?” Matthew asked. “They did not spare our Master’s life, so perhaps they will capture and kill us too!” he suggested fearfully. So I sat down among them, inviting them to move closer. Peter turned pale, shrinking into the shadows.
“Linger not in sorrow and uncertainty, for our Master has survived an unthinkable ordeal. With these two eyes, I have seen him on this day, and he is risen,” I said, prying my eyes open with my thumbs and forefingers for effect. Their confused faces gawked. They were heartbroken and disenchanted. Still they doubted my words. Like orphaned children who had been suddenly thrown into tragic ruin, they had lost the conviction which Jesu had instilled in them. They were defeated and discouraged—crushed to dust with sorrow.
“If the Master lives, then why does he not come here in person to give us hope?” Matthew chimed, to a chorus of congruous grumbles. His voice having a stern, self-restrained hysteria to it.
“Do not forget that he prepared us for this!” I reminded them, rejecting the palpable doubt in the room. “I would assume he is wary of returning to the city. And rightfully so,” I said calmly. “Presumably, when he is fully restored, you will see him again. Our Master bravely faced the jaws of death, with an eye toward the future, and now, his example and lessons will span the times yet to come. Surely then, our sacrifice is no trial by comparison. Therefore be not perturbed. We are the torchbearers on the precipice of a spiritual revolution,” I said confidently. “Therefore, despair no more brethren, for what he said would come to pass, has since taken place,” I claimed, chills brushing across my skin.
Reaching for the hands of my friends Susanna and Joanna, who had sat down in front of me, I felt some comfort in their touch and close proximity. Joanna’s lip trembled, searching me mournfully, holding back her tears. In spite of it, I managed to retain my composure. Smiling, a look of hope eased across her face. “Tell us something the Master taught you, since he loved you most,” Susanna tendered. “Share teachings that we have not yet heard—to give us inspiration” she said hopefully, squeezing my hand reassuringly. Peter snorted loudly, flashing a sneer in Susanna’s direction, a vein throbbing visibly on his forehead even from within the shadows. ‘Why does he fear me so?’ I wondered.
Searching the room with my eyes, to quickly take in those who were present, I noticed Thomas and Judas’s absence, wishing they were here so that I could seek comfort in their gentle nature. “Brethren, come and sit with me these last few moments together,” I said, motioning for the men to come closer. “I shall now share with you things which have not been given to you by the Master’s mouth. Such things are the secrets of the soul, so take these teachings deep into your hearts:
“When I was with the Master alone I asked him, ‘When a faithful initiate has a heavenly vision, is it real, or is it a figment of their own imaginings?’ To which he replied, ‘You are blessed, for the inner sight does not disturb you. It is there where the soul lies, that is the treasure yet to be found. The eyes deceive, whereas the sight within brings true vision, which like a scepter is given, just as chastity is given to one who is pure of heart.’
“So I asked him further, ‘When a dedicated person of faith has a divine vision, is it through the mind that they see, or is it through the heart?’ To which he answered ‘It is neither the mind, nor the heart, but the connection between the two which sees the vision. And that sight is not of this world. If a faithful soul prays with the mind alone, the Lord may not come to be with them. However, if we pray with heart and mind united, in the blink of an eye, a vision of the Lord shall be theirs, for the Kingdom is never separated from us—it is we who are forgetful of it. Using the physical eyes to see, the things which we speak of cannot be seen,’ I explained, to the now-captive audience.
“‘So how can we perceive a vision of the Kingdom?’ I asked him, sensing the significance of what he was about to tell me. To which he replied, ‘As long as craving drives the spirit, we shall never know peace. The Kingdom is like a great treasure, found only within the toil of self-sacrifice. Each of us are bound to pass through infinite trials which are laid out before us. Know that they serve as spiritual refinements, and all are required to face them. Therefore we lay our poverty before the Lord, in our search of humility—which is the bridge by which we may go forth and ascend.
“‘In crossing the bridge from material to eternal—faith and yearning are necessitated. Here, the soul relinquishes its power of resistance, obediently, by the strength and divine power of love. Compelled to yield to the refuge offered, amid their sorrows, they pass from long-deferred deliverance unto the possession of glory. Yet that is only the first bridge.
“‘The second bridge, is crossed when the feeling of despair in this world, like a gift, is given unto us. Consoled in our bitter solitude, we pass over desires, which like chains have possessed us. Triumphing over that which before tormented us—here the mysteries of the spirit are revealed. Only then, upon our completion of such trials, may we approach the third bridge, to face our own willful ignorance—our refusal of submission to that which we know in our heart to be good for the spirit. This is the place where unbroken prayer comes as a friend to assist us in harmonizing with the will of the Lord. This point of surrender adorns us with sweet reassurance, and its reward is tremendous relief for the living soul. Such solace hails a great blessing—for it breaks our vanity and pride entirely,’ our Master explained. Can you follow the things I am speaking?” I a
sked, checking the pulse of the captive audience.
“Yes!” they chorused eagerly. “Go on!”
“Next, the Master taught me of the fourth crossing—which is where our enslavement to the body lies. Here we find ourselves still infatuated with selfishness. Dominated by inclinations, which untethered have enslaved us, we lack discrimination. At this juncture, the strength of the eternal spirit within, unchains and unbinds us. Without unloosening these tethers, the Kingdom remains lost to us, and lethal jealousy still possesses us in its dark shadow. It drives souls to abandon all that consoles them in the sacredness of pious living,’” I said, glancing in the direction of Peter whose envy had oft offended me.
“Thus the Master did teach me. Without these currents of divine perfection, we shall forever remain hindered by our longings. Yet upon conquering over them, the plentitude of our desires shall be satisfied entirely by possessiveness and loyalty to the Lord. These things I shared with you today, came from the grace and wisdom of our Master, which I have now deposited into your faithful hearts. I believe that the light of these ascensions are like treasures for the spirit—for those who are so inclined.”