by Krishna Rose
“Pilate facilitated so much, may the Lord bless him. It was just as we orchestrated. He went to great lengths to come to our aid,” he acknowledged “as not one sentinel blocked our passage. Mind you, one could only be expected to be provided miracle upon miracle—considering our great blessing!” he said, with a wink in his eye.
“Now to a more serious matter—did you do as I bid thee? Did you see Peter and the others? Tell me what happened . . .” he asked, dipping his bread into olive oil and vinegar.
“I did everything just as you said. And as expected, Peter in every way doubted my story. He ran from the house in a flux to the tomb, just as you predicted he would. But, I couldn’t bring myself to tell The Mary or the others—I just couldn’t do it . . .” I said bashfully, avoiding eye contact. And suddenly, my burden unshackled. Understanding that my deceit was no more, relief rushed through my taut muscles, liberating me from a great tribulation—for Jesu was alive! I laughed at my own lack of conviction.
“And James and Cleophas . . . has anyone sent word to them?” he asked. “Yes, The Mary has sent a messenger. For now, we are safe here Uncle, but not for long. I think we should leave sooner rather than later, don’t you?” “Yes, my thoughts exactly,” he agreed. “Perhaps we should consider Scetis, Uncle? The devotees there are famed for their skill and knowledge in medical matters, which would be most helpful for us, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, that sounds like a good plan. But only until the child is born. I have somewhere in mind for us to go. Lands far from these shores . . . in the meanwhile, anything you need, ask, and it shall be done,” he said generously. After we had eaten our fill, I returned to my room, to bathe and prepare for prayer.
The door to my husband’s room was slightly ajar. Inside, my brother and sister were seated beside Jesu’s bed, with Salome, whispering in hushed voices, while The Mary tended her son, rooted to a chair beside where he lay. The curtains were still closed. The room, lit by soft beams of light which trickled in, bathed us in a mystical glow. Quietly The Mary caroled, “Eloha Elohim” in a most enchanting way. She had a wonderful hypnotic tone to her voice. Jesu’s broad features, rugged and strong, were marked by streaks of blood, which still now and then wept from the tip of his right brow. His mother fastidiously wiped them in such a way as not to wake him—all the while chanting softly.
Martha, and Jesu’s sister, Salome, came around to greet me—happily picking me up in their arms as I entered. There was an air of astonishment in the room. We were all of us lost in speechless awe. Inwardly, a part of me in some way felt afraid to go to him, for I sensed a reverence between us that had not been there before. He was no longer my Jesu—he had become our people’s risen Messiah. Now, he somehow belonged to everyone. “Eloha Elohim,” The Mary cooed.
Nestling into a tufted pillow on the floor at the foot of his bed, I lay my head at Jesu’s feet, exhausted. With a cracked voice, I said prayers. Together we sang in quiet voices, united by sacred persuasion. Closing my eyes, a great heaviness was in my heart. Deep inside, I wondered if things would ever be the same between us. Slumped over the edge of the bed, my sister spread a blanket over me and very soon the gentle lull of my family’s voices sent me into a satisfied sleep, where a strange vision came to me.
Benevolent voices beckoned that I walk upon a long winding path which was before me. Bells rang from within a distant valley. I followed behind a curious robed figure, who silently guided me through a dense forest, below which, there flowed a narrow shaded river. Women lined both sides of the path, their large hoods pulled high, chanting ancient incantations—as one. They appealed to me, so I drifted dreamily between them, curiously confident.
Hundreds of lit torches hung in the air above them, the light from which, lit my way. At the end of the path, there stood a man who seemed like someone of significant importance. His hair, shoulder length and silver in color, shone in the darkness. His eyes were the brightest of blue hues, and his expression was wise. Instinctively, I moved towards him. His gaze was on me, so I bowed my head low, out of respect, for he seemed holy.
“Welcome, Magdalene, Lady of mysteries,” he said, motioning for me to follow him. Sobered by his composure, yet puzzled by his referring to me as ‘Magdalene,’ I walked behind him, military fashion, shadowing his footsteps exactly—left, right, left, right, down a flight of stone steps into a dark cavern. Fireflies danced between waterdrops, as they trickled down a steep slope covered with moss and fern. As I passed the mysterious women, one by one, they fell into line, marching behind me in perfect procession, their pendulous torches trailing overhead.
A veil of darkness cloaked us in natural beauty. There was a chill in the air. The women, dressed in red robes, seemed as if they had been anticipating my appearance. Eyes down, hoods high, more and more of them lined the stairs, one on each side, their lamps hovering unnaturally overhead. Playing a mesmerizing beat on large drums, they chanted “Mag-da-lene, Mag-da-lene, Mag-da-lene,” repetitively, in a most somber, yet dignified tone.
After some time, we came upon an enclosed wooded area which was shaded by overgrown bushes. In a sunken space, surrounded by streams that bubbled pleasantly, was an open alcove. At its center, nestled in the womb of nature, was an intricately carved stone pool. Many more women were already there, as if awaiting my arrival, also chanting rhythmically in low droning voices, “Mag-da-lene . . .”
Springs erupted from between the rocks, shaped in a labyrinthine pattern, upon which we ceremoniously walked. Blithely, I followed the serpentine path, the water touching my feet in a reverential way. Swaying, side to side, the women crooned as I approached the pool, gathering together in a large circle. The atmosphere had a calm in its designed order. The moon’s rays, dappling playfully on the water’s surface, embellished the already electric ambience.
I sensed this place was deemed consecrated by the Sisters here. The torches overhead permitted me to see their down-turned veiled faces. One woman approached me, eyes downcast. In her hands she held a silver belt, which she offered me. I nodded, accepting her gift, instinct driving my experience deeper. As she attached the belt to my waist, the drumming and voices stopped. Everything was still. A light appeared from inside the cistern, slowly emerging from within the center of the pool’s misty surface. It approached very slowly, as if assessing my essence, regarding me carefully. I felt no threat from it, for authenticity seemed to be its search. In fact, I found myself strangely exhilarated by its presence, as it sought to transmit visions of coming times, as if it were a bridge between my consciousness and the future.
I followed my heightened state, one image after another, each one drawing me further beyond the mind—beyond the boundaries of time.
“Your soul is anointed, Magdalene. Trust in the things we reveal to you, for they shall bring about change” a voice said softly.
The light hovered in front of me, agitating the water’s surface, revealing visions of the future. The women seemed watchful, though their eyes remained downcast. It was as if they, through me, were witnessing what was being unveiled. I was tested to move beyond all limits of my ability, to understand the tragedy of the things which I caught sight of.
“Within the ruins of death, we are each of us changed by the crucible of transformative power,” the voice concluded, as one forecast after another came to me in a constantly changing stream. I was inside the womb of time itself, for with each vision I could sense the expansive existence of all living things. Like a bird watching discretely from a distance, life unfolded at a rapid pace.
“Once you have gazed upon these waters, you shall forever have the sight,” the voice inferred. Following the call of every vision, I was permitted to see the worlds of the living and the dead. In one such experience, I set my eyes upon the temple in Jerusalem. A ferocious fire had engulfed it. People scattered in all directions,
screaming, as angry flames wreaked havoc inside the once magnificent building where Solomon’s temple of gold had formerly stood. Crumbling to the ground by the forcefulness of the insistent, urgent fire, determined in its path—the temple, where not long ago we had stood, lay in ruin. Just as Jesu predicted.
As the image shifted out of focus, next I saw my daughter, Sarah-Tamar. Two hands covered her face, black as night. Led into a dark castle in a green and distant land, she was imprisoned, shackled, and starved to death. I shuddered, trying to draw my eyes deeper into the vision, but again the ripples on the water changed.
Afterwards, an elderly woman appeared before me wearing no clothes but her long wild hair. Picking berries from thorny bushes outside a hollow cave on the edge of a rugged mountain where she had lit a fire, she said “The treasure of your blood runs real, Magdalene. In time you will return, and the seeds that were planted shall again be watered. Many shall come to you with hearts sickened by injustice and sorrows which sadden them, and you shall teach them to pray and offer homage unto the Lord. Bless you . . . bless you . . . bless you . . .” she mumbled repeatedly, seemingly quite senseless. A shiver ran down my spine, for something in her eyes rang true.
As the visions slowed, pulling my gaze from the water, the pool stilled. It seemed as though it waited for me—attentive to my command. The chants and drums rang through the air again, breaking the eerie silence. This time, it was slow and weighty.
“Mag-da-lene, Mag-da-lene, Mag-da-lene.” Their voices rang out like bells in the dead of the night.
Whirling, arms held high, eyes closed, heads tilted upward toward the moon, their hoods fell back, revealing each beautiful face. With hair, long and loose, cascading about them as they danced, I prayed “May the peace of God be with you all.”
I could perceive their heartfelt offerings, as symbols of their devotion—to me, and was humbled by it, for I considered myself entirely unworthy of such attention and sincere praise.
“You are a light in the darkness. The heartbeat of a thousand winds. You are an anointed Woman in Red. The Magdalene. We echo your name and pray that your blessings shine through us, as a constant benediction to all who suffer,” they proclaimed. Their lips moved not, yet still I could hear them.
“Marcella, bring me fresh bandages and aloe,” The Mary requested her maid, waking me with a start. Everyone had since left the room, except for The Mary, who still tended her son, soothing him with soft prayers. A candle was lit on top of my father’s old dressing table, and I could see through the cracks between the curtains, that the light had faded in the sky. I had embraced sleep and the visions that came with it, like a long-lost friend. Hours had passed. Shabbat would soon begin. It was exactly one week since Jesu’s execution.
He did not stir for three days thus.
Scripture and prophecy had been fulfilled. Jesu was the one whom the world had waited for. And despite the clandestine attempts to restrain and check his predestined consecrated Providence, the Lord’s favor was with us. Bethel had assembled the people unto us and would do so forevermore. Our names were to be written in history books, much to the disdain of Caiaphas, whose plans had thrown him into a heresy too great to fathom.
His torment would follow him the rest of his days. Forever he would be famed as the scoundrel of our clan who had brought great shame on his people. Not only had he failed to recognize the man who the people of Judea had prayed would come—but worse, he had tortured and crucified him!
All the while Jesu was to be heralded as the most famous Jewish man in history. He had fulfilled his destiny.
Now, we were in a predicament to try once again to save his life. This time we were determined to make no mistakes.
CHAPTER 12
TOLERANCE
Tolerance is having the ability to endure without reaction, a situation, a person, or an experience, which we dislike or find difficult.
Even as children we had heard rumors of Jesu’s forecasted ordainment. There were indeed some curious circumstances surrounding his birth—like the unusual star configuration which had appeared in the sky around the time of his delivery. Then there was the arrival of the foreign Kings, who had traveled a very great distance from the three principal Kingdoms of Bharata, riding upon camels to pay homage to the newborn child.
Evidently, Jesu’s birth had been predicted by the Magi of the East, who were experts in both scripture and astronomy. The Kings of that realm gave paramount importance to the movement of the stars, regularly consulting astrologers and wise sages who advised them in all matters of faith and government. The three Kings were counseled to follow an unusual star which was to appear in the sky over Judea at the time of Jesu’s birth. Their scriptures and astrologers believed it signified the birth of an appointed avatar whom they believed had been sent to earth, ordained by God, to sanctify the world with his spiritual sovereignty.
In the realm of Bharata, where the Magi dwelled, the giving of alms to Saints is customary, especially if one wished to gain the mercy of God. They believed Jesu’s appearance was of utmost significance, as their sacred texts had foretold his birth. For the Kings, it was to be a pilgrimage, for they would forever be linked and allied with that of the descended Messiah.
Upon the Kings’ advent, the occasion had signified The Mary’s son as the anointed one. She took this omen very seriously, while Yosef had doubted. With the power of God inside of him, Jesu had been sent to relieve the people of their burdens—which were many. It was something we had taunted Jesu about as children, for in all honesty, not one of us took it seriously. We considered it mere coincidence. But The Mary certainly had faith in the significance of her son’s future, and she ensured he would be educated in all matters of the spirit so that he might fulfill his destiny unhindered.
Jesu’s birth father had been a Prince of Judea and Rome—a descendant of King David. And his mother, The Mary was a Princess with lineages of both Benjamin and David. Jesu had come to unite humankind, who had forever struggled to live peacefully side by side, without conflict.
Jesu, John the Baptist, and I, didn’t believe the tale as being anything more than his mother’s wishful thinking. That was, until after Jesu’s thirteenth birthday, and consequential bar mitzvah, when he was suddenly taken from us, by his mother, to the Kingdoms of the Magi, whom they had met upon Jesu’s mystifying birth. He was to study with the best the world had to offer. It was fated as a necessary measure in order for him to realize his destiny.
For us, that was to be a defining moment, for it seemed to be a legitimate validation of what was to come.
Jesu, John, and our brethren, were to become the legends of our time. Everything was about to change and we had no real understanding of the enormous implications of what was to take place.
I was anxious to leave Judea, though I feared Jesu would first and foremost wish to see his brother James, and their followers, so as to instruct them. “Do you think Peter and the others are coming here to Galilee?” I asked Maximus, before Shabbat began. “Yes,” he laughed. “I believe Peter’s curiosity will get the better of him! He would never miss an event which could be to his eventual benefit. We have sent word for James to come, though there is need of him in the city. Anyway, knowing him, he will remain and brave the storm in his own composed way,” he said, covering his head with a shawl, signaling our time of worship.
This Shabbat, unlike the last, came as a welcome relief to us all. It was the calm after the storm. It was to be our first meal together as a family, united. Nothing could be better. With eyes closed, we began.
“Let us pray,” my uncle said, giving me a nod to begin the lighting of the candles. Bowing our heads, I drew both palms over the dancing flames, touching the holy light to my eyes. Pulling my shawl down so that it covered my eyes, we said prayers.
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“We come in submission before Thee, this Shabbat, and we exult in Your presence, O Lord. Your holy name is elevated above all praise, for Your name is our blessing, more than any can offer within this world. Supreme King of Kings, Holy One, Yours is the Kingdom and the power. We extol the glory of Your Kingdom forever and ever. Amein.”
“Amein.”
“With ever-enduring love, You have sheltered us, and the commandments You have given us, are so that we might pursue You and be with You. Therefore, when we lie down and when we rise, we shall remember You and rejoice in You forever. For the length of our days, upon You we will meditate, morning, afternoon, and night. Sh’ma Yisrael, Adonai Eh-lo-hay-nu Adonai e-chad. Ba-ruch shame k’vode mahl-choo-toe l’oh-lahm vah-ed. Sh’ma Yisrael, Adonai Eh-lo-hay-nu Adonai e-chad.”
Each of us rose to wash our hands for the ceremonial cleansing, water being the Lord’s angelic vehicle by which we could purify our bodies from corruption. Then we gave thanks for the bread and vines of the abundant earth.
“We praise Thee Lord, for Thou art the King of the universe, who brings forth the bread from the earth. Baruch atah Yahweh, Eloheinu Melech ha’olam, hamotzi lechem min ha-aretz. Blessed and praised are You, our eternal ruler, creator of the fruits and of the vines. Baruch Atah Yahweh, Eloheinu Melech ha’olam, boray pri hagafen.”
Shabbat was for us, a sacred time to withdraw from worldliness. To sit together in fellowship and gratitude. Today especially, we celebrated, thankful for the miraculous week we had shared. “Sabbat Shalom!” we chorused, as one by one we embraced and honored the holy night.
Excited conversations were abound. The dining hall was filled with chatter, while the candles flickered and twisted in the shadows as the sun disappeared over the horizon.