by Krishna Rose
Quickly, they moved him into the King’s chamber, where only my father, the great Syrus, and his father before him, had lain. A King had now, once more, returned to this land, to his people, and to this woman and child! Quite at a loss for words, I ran to my sister, falling into her arms, awe-struck. “I am a woman reborn!” I sighed ecstatically.
Inside my father’s bed chamber, The Mary sat beside Jesu, inspecting his bandaged hand. “Son, you are indeed a splendorous sight to behold!” she exclaimed contentedly. Leaning on a post at the foot of his bed, I assessed the damage. “Just see, Mariam. My son, your husband, has done the impossible! He defeated death and returned to us victorious,” she stammered, tears filling her beautiful black eyes. “Miryam,” I said, sharing this most intimate moment with The Mary, “the Lord has not abandoned us . . .” I said dreamily, unable to fully comprehend this astonishing turn of events.
There was a buzz about the house as the servants rushed back and forth, bringing with them food and drink, as well as warm water and clean bandages, which were, one by one, laid out on the table for us. The maidservants were staggered, for Jesu was seriously harmed—yet we were happy. They could not understand. “Fret not,” my uncle told them, sensing their misunderstanding. “My nephew was dead and now he lives!” he declared heartily.
Jesu closed his eyes, and we all watched, transfixed, as his chest breathed in and out—a miraculous testimony of life.
The Mary quietly slipped out, motioning for the others to come with her, leaving us alone. Slowly, I began unwrapping his bloodstained bandages, wiping the encrusted blood with soft gentle movements so as not to disturb him while he slept. I shuddered upon seeing the misshapen damage done to his body. I was startled—for now his flesh was blackened. The damage seemed beyond repair. Distorted, his dark, mutilated feet and wrists revealed a clear mangle of skin, flesh, and bone, and a black substance oozed out from his wounds—I gasped, for its odor was strong.
“Someone fetch a doctor!” I screamed. ‘These wounds must be resewn and burned lest an infection ensue.’
My uncle cracked the door a minute later to give me word that a doctor had been sent for. “I brought with me the jars of ointment, shall I have them brought to you, Mariam?” he asked, with an uneasy edge to his voice. I nodded, unable to meet his eyes, fearful of letting him see my distress. “I think he has an infection,” I told him solemnly. He nodded in agreement, slipping away silently. Blood and pus seeped, trickling down onto the sheets where he slept, smearing my hope with alarm. I could not lose him twice!
Within moments, the anointing jars were brought in and I rapidly set about mixing them into a paste. Intuitively, I began tearing off strips of cloth, into four pieces—binding them tight, two on each leg just above the knees and two above his elbows. This, I knew, would slow his bleeding until the doctor arrived.
Painstakingly, I generously applied the paste to his wounds with tender, slow movements, apologizing to him for any pain I was causing. “Marjan [my nickname which only he ever used], listen . . .” he said exhaustedly. “I pierced the final sheath and went beyond the ninth wave. Eternity . . .” he said trailing off, in and out of consciousness.
I poured warm tea into a goblet and lifted his head for him to drink. “Thank you,” he whispered, flashing me a triumphant smile. “I returned to this body which had been destroyed,” he said wearily. “Not even death could keep me from you.”
The room glowed, though I wasn’t sure where the light was coming from. His skin suddenly had a strange pallor to it. It was as if a radiance scintillated from inside of him. ‘Strange. Nothing is ever normal around Jesu.’
Though I was heartened to see him, I feared death still clung to him. “I saw you when the storms came,” he said reaching for my hand. “And I saw you when they carried me into the sepulcher. I was with you, observing from another place. Then, when you bathed me and broke so many laws to tend me, I watched you as you anointed me with your oil—and tears. When you demanded my soul to return, I felt your great pain as clearly as if it were my own. But I was inspired to finish what they had started. To die and be reborn in the flesh would exalt the Lord and magnify His fame throughout the world—therefore I was willing to slip from this life. Now I shall bring renewed hope to the cheerless and downtrodden,” he said in a fragile voice.
“A light surrounded me, quenching a very great fire which burned me from the inside. And though I could see you, and hear the lamentations of my mother—something in the light beseeched me to surrender. Then I all but disappeared from this place, traveling through lands which were both fearful and wondrous. I had no will to stop what had been set in motion. Such things I saw, Marjan!” he said roused by his reminiscence.
“I heard your crying, and though it pained me to see you thus, I could not yet return. So your prayers became the backdrop to the things I bore witness to. Your pleas did not leave me. They followed me like a shadow. And though it gave me so heavy a heart to hear you lament—so too did it give me immense restoration in spirit.
“I saw thousands of birds sing hymns in the Kingdom from within colorful trees. With no memory of the stiff heaviness of human flesh, I ran down a forest trail, tracking the Lord’s scent like a hunter. Oh Marjan, plentiful unselfishness was there, like an adornment to be worn. Still I could hear you reaching for me through the air—crying out my name,” he said, as if recalling the instant he had been torn from the Kingdom. Three tears, one by one, rolled down his cheek in memory of it.
“I was seized by a compassion so great for you—and for all the suffering souls I had seen. I had promises to keep. Later, I was surrounded by angels who recaptured my soul. It was they who eventually returned me to you,” he said wistfully.
“Praise God for their goodness!” I said, to which he laughed, coughing breathlessly. Once I had finished applying the paste, I wrapped clean bandages over his wounds tightly, in the hope that what I had done would give some relief to his physical plight.
“Jesu?” The Mary asked, quietly opening the door. “May I offer you something to eat?” she asked apprehensively. “Mother, why do you ask me on bended knee? Are you not my mother?” he said facetiously. “You are a woman loved in the Heavens—worthy of our worship, so never again ask my permission. Give me your word,” he said soberly, to her great joy. She came into the room humbly, laying a tray of food on the table beside his bed. She was without doubt, the most generous and graceful woman I had ever met.
“I am fortunate to have you both,” he said earnestly. “There. Now everything is restored!” he said, smiling up at the two most important women in his life. Infatuated, I watched as his mother fed him, one bite after another.
He lives!
Sarah-Tamar knocked at the door. She had heard her stepfather’s voice and had come running. “Father,” she cried, falling to her knees by the side of his bed. We all wept, for that was the first time she had called Jesu “Father,” and it gladdened our hearts. Our family—restored.
The doctor arrived not long after. He had been a family friend since we were young, so we all knew him and trusted him with our secret. He confirmed that there was indeed an infection in the wounds and set about burning them with a sterile hot iron to prevent any further spread of it. He said it would save his life. Jesu gripped a wet rag in his mouth after having been given milk of the poppy. The smell of seared flesh, was horrific. The scorching iron spluttered as if it desperately searched and reached for the infection. Jesu groaned and soon passed out.
We were ordered to keep him in bed for at least two weeks to allow for his wounds to heal. Then, we could travel if needs must, but he was strictly forbidden to put any weight on his feet for at least four to six months, and even then, no more than a few minutes a day. The doctor prescribed herbs and sent my uncle’s servant in search of the remedies. “Wat
er, good food, rest, and cleanliness are required,” he said matter-of-factly, as he walked out the door.
“Many wondrous things did I see, Marjan. The sights and sounds of the inner realms, shall forever remain etched upon my mind. I left a piece of my soul there. Even though I have returned to you, I am still not fully returned—having left my heart in another world—to which one day I shall return,” he said, later that night.
Tears surged down our faces. No words were needed. We knew now in all certainty, that all would be set right.
“You are as much a part of the divine plan as I am. There is much I have to share with you . . . wife . . .” he said, closing his eyes.
The greatest event in history had come to shake the foundations of society—ad-infinitum.
CHAPTER 10
MERCY
Mercy, is to give compassion, grace, or forgiveness
to someone of greater need than ourselves.
From this time on, until the apostles were dispersed by the rising tide of persecution, Peter took it upon himself to be recognized as head of the apostolic corps. Jesu had at no time given him any such authority and his fellow apostles never formally elected him to such a position. He naturally assumed it and therefore held it by common consent. He claimed he was the first and only one of them to have seen the risen Master.
James stayed with his stepfather, Cleophas, quiet in his grief. He was withdrawn for a while, but after some time, he ultimately took on his position as leader of the group. Peter resented James’s natural rank as Jesu’s eldest living brother. This fact speared Peter into action. Eventually, he broke apart from James and the others, creating what was to become the first of many splits among our brethren.
Cleophas, The Mary’s husband, went on to remain in Jerusalem, assisting James in his preaching and maintaining their properties and finances.
One day, while the disciples were gathered together in Peter’s house, the figure of a man stood suddenly in their midst. This astonished them, for with locked doors and windows, how did this stranger appear among them? They stared in awe, as the group slowly realized he was not a stranger at all. “Peace be with you,” the man said to them. The voice was one they all recognized—their Master.
“Why are you shaken?” he said to them. “You look upon me as though you have seen a ghost!” he said, bemused by the dizzy expressions on their faces. “Did I not tell you of these things, when I was present with you? Did I not say to you that the chief priests and rulers would deliver me up to be killed, but that I would rise? Wherefore all your doubts? How long will you doubt my words and disbelieve my promises?” he questioned them.
“Yet even now, one of you is absent, faithlessly grief-stricken. Now listen close. Gather together into Galilee. Have faith in the Lord, love one another, and ready yourselves to enter into service for my sake. I shall meet with thee there. Go in peace, and may the blessings of the Lord be upon you,” he said. And with that, he vanished from their sight just as fast as he had appeared among them. The gathered apostles fell on their faces weeping tears of happiness, praising the Lord, embracing one another in celebration.
Word was sent to grief-stricken Thomas, who was in an intense state of turmoil. In haste, the followers congregated and made plans to leave the city.
In Galilee later that same month, the apostles did not recognize the voice of the stranger on the beach, until they saw Peter run and fall at the feet of their Master. “Come. Let us prepare to break our fast. I have lit a fire and have much bread to share,” the Master told them, tearfully reunited with his brothers.
As Peter sat staring into the glowing fire, he, for a moment, remembered the midnight fire in the court of Annas, where he had disowned and denied his Master. Three times Peter had renounced his affiliation with their leader. He knelt mournfully before him now, seeing his bleeding crippled feet, and bathed them tenderly with a mixture of tears and shame—anointing him with the balm of his remorse.
While the Master baked bread over the fire, he spoke with his younger brother, John, and disciple, Peter, privately. “John, do you love me?” he asked his brother affectionately. “Yes Brother, with all my heart!” John said enthusiastically.
“Peter, do you love me?” “Master, I love you truly,” Peter replied earnestly. “Peter, if you love me, do not neglect to give care to the weak, the poor, and the women. Preach fearlessly and remember that the Lord is not found in the company of materialistic people. Serve all, and forgive all, just as I have forgiven you,” he said, pausing to look him straight in the eyes.
Peter felt great shame deep inside. His cheeks flushed red, and in that moment, he felt vulnerable and exposed. His Master had seen his rejection and renunciation of him. “Peter, do you love me?” Jesu asked him again. “Yes, Master, profoundly!” he replied, uncertain of why he had again asked the same question of him. “How do you love me, Peter?” he asked. “I love you to the exclusion of all others. I love no other as I love thee, Master,” he said, striking his chest in a show of repentance.
Some time passed and the Master was deep in thought as he watched the bread rise upon the fire. “Peter,” he said, “do you love me?” “Master, I love thee. Why do you doubt my love so?” he replied, confused. “How do you love me, Peter?” “I love thee like a child loves his father. I am forever your disciple. Please forgive me my trespasses against you,” he cried.
Three times Peter had denied his relationship with his Master and three times had Jesu now repaid the affront, to reclaim his lost disciple and renew him in his commandment.
“Come. Let us eat,” the Master said, breaking bread with his bandaged hands. Peter felt relief course through his veins, as if a great restoration had come upon him. He vowed in that moment, that he would use this day to rehabilitate himself and correct his reckless negligence of spirit and of righteousness. Peter felt reborn. So did Jesu.
CHAPTER 11
NOBILITY
To be noble is to have qualities of virtue, honesty, integrity—
and to humbly offer generosity unto others.
A fire was lit in the great hall. Tea and snacks had been brought in and laid out for us on the long, dark, wooden banquet table. My uncle, who looked bone-weary, spoke in whispers, as I picked at the delicacies prepared for us. “Shall I tell you of it?” he asked surreptitiously. I knew what he spoke of. Looking around to make sure no one was listening, I nodded.
“When I arrived at the sepulcher that morning, I heard moaning. Someone was muttering inside the crypt. At first I was alarmed, yet curious as to who I might find. Then, from within the darkness, I heard him . . .” he choked. “He was in so much pain, Mariam . . .” he said, gulping down warm tea from a goblet, as if endeavoring to swallow his emotions.
“His groans were convulsive and full of sorrow. Never have I heard such sounds from any living man. Gasping for breath, he had called out in prolonged lamenting wails, which echoed loudly—so much so, that I feared our being discovered. I dared not order him to quiet down, for it was God’s miracle. Indeed to hear any sound from a man who we had just buried two days before, was staggering!” he exclaimed under his breath.
“When I rushed inside, I found him still lying flat upon the burial slab where we had left him. His eyes were so swollen that he could not open them, and believing himself to be blind, he had set about rubbing them until they bled. I ran to him and took hold of his wrists to stop him from hurting himself any further, and he sobbed, mumbling in a language I have never before heard.
“His lips were so parched that an enormous thirst must have burdened him, so I fed him water from my leather pouch, drenching my cloth so that he could suckle from it like a baby without choking.
“Then suddenly, he sat bolt upright, knocking every
thing to the ground. His bulging eyes opened and his breathing became loud, deep, raspy and intense,” he said, with palms pressed to his heart, “Praise be to God,” he said to himself.
“‘Jesu, I am here,’ I said, endeavoring to calm him. My hands were trembling in panic, for it all happened so fast. Then, just as suddenly as he had jumped up, he again threw himself down again with a thud, closing his eyes once more. He began howling and shrieking in a most eerie way, as if he were grief-stricken. I knew instantly that he had to be moved, else someone would discover us. I knew an elderly widow living nearby, so I sent one of my men to her with a heavy bag of gold coins and keys to an empty house in the city, which were offered to her in exchange for her wagon. I knew that I had to find a way to move Jesu—and quick.
“Within the hour we were gone from there, swift as the blistering wind. Pilate had already made arrangements for our escape, hence the road guards were pre-warned not to prevent me or my travelling companions from going where we willed. Calming him with a strong sedative, we concealed Jesu amongst the old woman’s blankets. Thus did we escape,” he confided, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Deliberately we travelled the slower country lanes where we were less likely to be discovered if he roused.”
Staring at the fire, which licked the logs enthusiastically, we both contemplated the marvel of what had transpired. “The Lord hath gifted us immeasurably, Mariam! We are now the most fortunate family, where before, we were most unfortunate” he said, reaching for my hands. I nodded tearfully, pressing my fingers into his open palms. “Thank you. I can never repay you Uncle,” I said appreciatively. We were both still joined in shock and grief, which even now made its presence felt through us. “Let us eat. The food will do us good,” he said, making a plate for himself.