Daughter of Jerusalem

by Joan Wolf

  I anointed his feet. It was usual to do this service at the beginning of a meal, but I did it at the end. I poured the scented oil lavishly, and when I finished I pulled off my scarf and dried his feet with my unbound hair. When I straightened up, my hair fell around my shoulders and down my back, and the room was filled with the fragrance of the oil.

  We looked at each other, and what I saw in his eyes frightened me.

  Judas said, “That oil must have cost a fortune, Mary. You should have spent the money on the poor.”

  I opened my mouth to make a sharp reply, but Jesus spoke first. “Leave her alone. It is right for her to anoint me now. The rest of the oil must be kept for the day of my burial.” He turned to Judas. “The poor you will always have with you, but you will not always have me.”

  His look and his words were like a sword to my heart. He knew that something dreadful was going to happen to him.

  I returned the nard to its place with shaking hands. I would have given my life to protect him, but I knew he would not allow me to do that.

  Jesus and the twelve went into the city early the following morning. We had decided that it would be best for Lazarus to stay away from Jerusalem. He would be mobbed if he should show himself. Martha, of course, would remain home with her brother, and I decided to stay in Bethany as well. Jesus’ mother was coming to stay with us for Passover and I wanted to be at home when she arrived.

  Mary came late that afternoon, having traveled from Nazareth with a group of friends, who then went on into the city. She looked smaller than I remembered, fragile, and weary. Martha fussed over her and fed her and sent her upstairs to rest.

  While Mary was sleeping, Martha, Lazarus, and I sat in the courtyard, wondering what might be happening in the city. At least the crowds around our house had disappeared; everyone was in Jerusalem for Passover.

  We were still sitting there when one of Lazarus’ neighbors, Joachim, saw us from the road and came into the courtyard. He raised his hands dramatically and said, “Why are you here today and not in Jerusalem? You missed the most amazing sight!”

  “What sight?” Lazarus demanded.

  “The Master entered Jerusalem in triumph! He sat on the back of a colt, and the people strewed his path with palm leaves. Some even threw their cloaks down before him! It started at the Mount of Olives and went all the way to the city gates. Everyone was crying out Hosannah! They were calling him the Messiah and even King of Israel!” Joachim beamed at us. “It’s all because of what happened to you, Lazarus. I don’t think there’s a soul in Jerusalem who hasn’t heard about the miracle.”

  Martha’s dimples flashed in her rosy cheeks. “This is wonderful news!” She put her hand over Lazarus’ and smiled up at him.

  “There was no trouble at all?” Lazarus asked.

  The man grinned. “Only if you call the Master throwing the money changers and merchants out of the Court of the Gentiles ‘trouble.’”

  “What?” Surely Jesus wouldn’t do such an outrageous thing now, when the priests already hated him.

  “I saw it myself,” Joachim said, his eyes bright with delight that he was the first with this news. “He overturned the money changers’ tables—the coins were bouncing everywhere! Then he kicked over the birdcages and loosed the lambs. The whole court was in turmoil. And all the time he was doing this, Jesus was calling the priests names. He called them a den of thieves and vipers. He said the Temple was his Father’s house and they were turning it into a cave of robbers!”

  My hand was at my mouth. This wasn’t good news. “What did the priests do, Joachim?”

  He raised his thick eyebrows. “They pounced on his words. They asked him who he was that he should think he had the authority to vandalize the Temple.”

  Lazarus and I were silent. It was Martha who asked in her sweet, soft voice, “What did the Master answer?”

  “He said something very odd. He said if the Temple was destroyed, he would raise it up again in three days’ time.”

  We were silent, trying to make sense of this. Then Lazarus said, “They didn’t try to arrest him?”

  “No, there were too many people there who believed in him. They all know about you, Lazarus. The priests are afraid to touch him.”

  “Well, that is good news,” Lazarus said.

  I smiled and agreed with him, but in my heart I was worried. Why had the Master let his temper get the best of him? He was winning the war against the hypocrites. Why would he do anything to endanger his victory?

  At this point, Mary came out of the house, and Joachim repeated his story. She sighed when she heard about Jesus’ behavior in the Temple. “Yeshua is usually the kindest of men. He must have been furious.”

  I said, “I suppose we can’t blame him—the Temple is a disgrace. But I wish he hadn’t done anything else to stir up the priests.”

  “Yeshua is not like us, my dear,” his mother said. “He does what he feels he must do, what he is called upon to do. It’s not for us to judge him.”

  I felt rebuked. I looked into the face of Mary and for the first time saw the strength that lay behind that delicate bone structure. This was the woman God had chosen to be the mother of His Son. Everything in Jesus that was human came from her.

  I said, “You’re right. It’s not for me to question what the Master chooses to do.”

  Joachim took his leave, and the four of us lingered in the courtyard until the air began to chill. We were just getting ready to move inside when Andrew arrived.

  “I’m to tell you that the Master is spending the night on the Mount of Olives. He will go into Jerusalem tomorrow and celebrate Passover there. Thomas has gone to secure a room for us.”

  I put my hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Does he know his mother has arrived?”

  “He didn’t say anything about his mother.” Andrew shot Mary an apologetic look. “He’s fixed upon spending Passover in Jerusalem.”

  Mary put her hand upon mine where it rested on her shoulder. “Don’t be upset, Mary. You should know Yeshua by now. He has his own plans, and we must abide by them.”

  Martha said, “Won’t you eat something before you leave, Andrew?”

  “Thank you, Martha, but I must get back to the others before dark.”

  I accompanied Andrew to the front gate. “We have heard the Master was well received in the city today,” I said.

  “It was magnificent! There must have been thousands of people throwing palms. His hour is coming, Mary! Finally we will see the revelation that we have all been hoping for. The Jewish people will see the Master for who he truly is: the Messiah and the Son of God.”

  I watched as he walked down the street to join the others on the Mount of Olives and I prayed that he was right.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Martha woke up feeling sick. She was rarely sick, so I was concerned. Mary and I had planned to go into Jerusalem for Passover, but I couldn’t leave Lazarus with sole care of his sister, so we changed our plans and remained in Bethany.

  Martha had always prepared the Passover meal, but fortunately Mary knew what needed to be done. I helped her as best I could, but our thoughts were in Jerusalem. Still, we got the food together, and at sundown the three of us, without Martha, ate our Passover meal.

  It was a dismal Passover. We followed the centuries-old ritual, but our hearts weren’t in it.

  Why did Jesus want to have his Passover meal in Jerusalem and not with us?

  It was a question I could not answer, which made me uneasy. I kept insisting to myself that Jerusalem was safe, but I remained unconvinced. I couldn’t forget the look he had given me when I anointed him. And I couldn’t forget his words: Save the rest for my burial.

  I looked at Lazarus and Mary, who were sitting in silence, and I knew they felt it too.

  Something bad is going to happen.

  It was dark when the three of us finished the meal. I had just risen to my feet when Martha came into the room. She was clutching a cloak around her shoulders,
and her hair was rumpled.

  I went to her. “Martha! I thought you were sleeping. You should have called for me.”

  “I’m feeling better, Mary, truly.” She regarded the remnants of our feast. “I’m so sorry I didn’t cook the Passover supper.” She looked at me anxiously. “Did you manage?”

  “We managed beautifully. Mary knew exactly what to do. Are you sure you should be out of bed?”

  She was assuring me she felt fine when we heard a knock upon the door. My heart jumped. People didn’t go visiting on the first evening of Passover.

  “I’ll go,” Lazarus said.

  He came back with a man who had a scarf pulled over his face. He pushed the scarf away as he came into the room, and I saw it was Nicodemus.

  “I have bad news,” he said to Lazarus. “The Sanhedrin has issued an arrest warrant for you.”

  I was stunned. In my concern for Jesus, I hadn’t considered that my brother might be in danger as well.

  “But why would they do that?” Martha’s eyes swung from Lazarus to Nicodemus and back to Lazarus again.

  “The Sanhedrin has seen how the people are turning away from them and embracing Jesus.” Nicodemus put a hand on Lazarus’ arm. “You are living proof of a tremendous miracle, my friend, and they don’t want you around to verify the story.”

  Mary asked quietly, “And what of my son?”

  “I’m afraid there is an arrest warrant out for the Master too, dear lady.”

  Mary went pale.

  “The Master was dining somewhere in the city tonight. Does the Sanhedrin know where he is?”

  “No. But they’re looking for him.”

  “That’s why he didn’t dine with us tonight. He didn’t want to put Lazarus in danger.”

  “But he is in danger.” Nicodemus turned to Lazarus. “You must get away from Bethany tonight, while everyone is home celebrating Passover. Go to Mary’s house in Capernaum. I’m sure she has friends who will hide you.”

  I thought immediately of my cousin Ruth. “Of course I do. Nicodemus is right, Lazarus. You must leave tonight.”

  “I can’t do that. Suppose the Sanhedrin arrests you, Mary? You’re known to be a follower of the Master.”

  Nicodemus disagreed. “They won’t arrest Mary. There wasn’t a single mention of the Master’s female followers at the meeting tonight. The Sanhedrin doesn’t consider them of any importance.”

  I sighed at the likely truth of that statement.

  I urged my brother. “You must go, Lazarus. The Temple guards may come for you at any moment. Pack a few things and get away from here. Immediately!”

  “I want to go with you,” Martha said. She had crossed the floor and was standing beside him.

  “I’m not leaving you all here.” Lazarus’ face was set and unusually hard.

  Mary spoke. “Lazarus, Yeshua did not raise you from the dead to see you throw away your life. You must live so you can testify to the truth of who my son is.”

  We were silent as the two of them looked at each other. Finally Lazarus bowed his head. “If you wish me to go, my lady, I will go.”

  “Thank you,” Mary said.

  “I want to go with you,” Martha said again.

  I went to put my arm around her. “Listen to me, little sister. You will only hold him up. Let him go, and he’ll send for you when it’s safe.”

  “She’s right, Martha,” Lazarus said gruffly.

  “Go and help him pack his things,” Mary said.

  As the two of them left the room, I turned to Nicodemus. “The Sanhedrin must be very frightened. This action will outrage all the people who only yesterday proclaimed Jesus to be the Messiah.”

  “It’s not only because people are calling him the Messiah that the Sanhedrin has stirred into action. People have begun to call him king of Israel. And Jesus himself has said that he’s the Son of God. The Sanhedrin is terrified that people will turn away from the Temple. They fear they’ll lose their power to a man the high priest once dismissed as ‘a peasant from Nazareth.’”

  Mary said with a catch in her voice, “I keep thinking of my cousin Elizabeth’s son, John. He was beheaded for saying far less than Yeshua.”

  I hastened to assure her, “The Sanhedrin doesn’t have the right to put anyone to death here.”

  Some of the shadow left her face. “But what if Rome . . . ?”

  “Rome won’t become involved in a religious struggle.” I was certain of this.

  When Pilate had first been appointed procurator of Judea, he made the mistake of bringing into Jerusalem Roman standards bearing a likeness of Caesar. Jewish law forbids the making of images, and this move had provoked a huge demonstration, which forced Pilate to back down. I didn’t think he’d want to repeat that situation. Marcus had told me the episode tarnished Pilate’s image with the emperor.

  Lazarus and Martha came back into the room and, after gently pushing her away, Lazarus left with Nicodemus, who was returning to Jerusalem. After the men had gone, Martha began to clean the table. I tried to convince her to go back to bed, but Mary told me softly to leave her alone, that this was her way of handling fear.

  I wished I could find something that would help me handle mine.

  I dozed on and off during the night, dreaming restlessly, waking, then dreaming again. I woke fully to the sound of someone pounding on the front door.

  They’ve come for Lazarus, I thought. I blessed Nicodemus for getting him away as I grabbed my cloak and went to the door, an oil lamp in my hand.

  I opened the door, and John was standing there.

  “Let me in, Mary. I have something to tell you.”

  I opened the door wide.

  “Who is there?” It was Mary, also wrapped in her cloak and carrying a lamp.

  “It’s John.” I closed the door behind him. “Let’s go into the kitchen so that no one will be able to see the lamplight.”

  As soon as we were away from the window, John said, “The Master has been arrested.”

  Mary was silent, but when I reached out to touch her shoulder I could feel her shaking.

  “When?” I asked.

  “A few hours ago. They came upon us as we were leaving the garden of Gethsemane to return to Jerusalem.”

  I knew the garden. It was a quiet place, not frequented by many people. “How did they know to look for you there?”

  “It was Judas who gave him up, may he rot in the fires of Gehenna.”

  “Judas!”

  “Yes, Judas. He brought a troop of armed Temple guards with him to arrest the Master. Peter tried to fight the guards, and James and I did too, but we were overpowered. The rest of the disciples scattered, but Peter and I followed behind to see where they were taking him. They went to the high priest’s house. Peter volunteered to wait outside in the courtyard if I would come to tell you.”

  “Thank you for that, John,” Mary said. “Do you know what they will do at the high priest’s?”

  He shook his head.

  I knew. I don’t know how I knew, but I did. “Caiaphas has probably already called the Sanhedrin together, and they will put him on trial. They’ll want to do it in the middle of the night, so no one will know what’s happening.”

  Mary said, “I must go to him.”

  “We’ll both go,” I said. “Just let me run next door and get one of the neighbors to sit with Martha. She’s been ill, and she’s worried enough about Lazarus.”

  The sun was fully up by the time we passed through the Valley Gate and into the city. Jerusalem was filling up with Passover crowds, but we avoided the worst of them by heading west toward the high priest’s house instead of north toward the Temple.

  It was less crowded in the Upper City, and the streets were wider, so we quickly reached the large stone mansion that housed Caiaphas. A substantial crowd was gathered in front, and as we joined it, we heard shouting from down the street. John grabbed Mary and me and pushed us back as a detachment of Roman cavalry came trotting up the street. They we
re shouting in marketplace Greek, the shared language of the Empire, “Clear the way! Clear the way! Horses coming through!”

  Everyone moved as far off the street as possible, afraid of the huge horses that towered over us. As the soldiers formed two lines in front of the high priest’s house, the front door opened—and I saw him.

  They had tied his hands in front of him and surrounded him with a phalanx of Temple guards. My heart dropped into my stomach. Why are the Romans here?

  The situation was more dangerous than I had realized.

  They made Jesus walk between the horses, with the Temple guard marching in front and behind. Jesus seemed untouched and composed. As he passed a few feet in front of us, his eyes fixed straight ahead, I heard Mary whisper, “Yeshua.”

  The childhood name brought tears to my eyes, and I turned to her. She was standing perfectly still, her eyes on the procession as it marched away from us down the street.

  John said to me, “What should we do now?”

  I knew exactly what we must do. “Go to the Temple and find Nicodemus. He will have been at the Sanhedrin meeting, and he can tell us what was decided.”

  John bent down to Mary. “Will that be all right with you, my lady? Do you want to come to the Temple with us?”

  She looked up as he towered over her and said in a firm voice, “Yes. Let us go to the Temple.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The closer we got to the Temple, the thicker the crowds became. People chattering in foreign languages milled all around us, filling the air with the aroma of the different foods and spices that emanated from breath and skin. John pushed doggedly through the streets, and Mary and I followed close behind him. It took an hour to get to the Temple, through the mikvahs, and into the Court of the Gentiles where Mary and I met up again with John.