Her eyes grow wide with excitement, and she even stands up as she continues. “Jesus asked Peter this exact same question a third time. And, of course, Peter was just falling apart by then, poor man, and he cried out, ‘Lord, you know all things! You know I love you!’ And then Jesus simply said once again, ‘Feed my sheep.’”
“Three times!” Susanna exclaims. “You see, Mary? Jesus wanted Peter to have three times to make him feel better.”
“Oh, that is absolutely wonderful,” I say as I clap my hands. “I am so happy for Simon Peter. He must be so relieved.”
“You have never seen anyone so joyful,” Mary says as she sits back down at the table and sighs. “Truly, Peter is a new man.”
“And where are the men now?” I ask as Joanna passes me a dish of figs covered in honey.
“They have gone off to the hills with the Lord,” the other Mary says. “We have not heard from them since they left.”
“And has Jesus revealed himself to any of you again?” I ask.
Mary shakes her head. “No, but it is enough just to know he is here.”
“Yes,” I tell her. “That is how I feel.”
We visit after dinner, sharing our various stories and experiences with each other, and once again I am reminded of how these women feel like family to me. And I think of John, Jesus’s beloved disciple, and how he is like a son. Even so, I cannot completely dismiss my own children. I am reminded of my son James and that look of longing in his eyes before I left home yesterday and how he made me promise to send word back to him. Something I shall do first thing in the morning.
Sarah and I share a lovely room to sleep in. I suspect it is the best in the house, and I am honored that Mary is so generous. The room has a window that overlooks the lake, and although I should be exhausted from travel, I still feel a lightness and joy in my spirit, and after I hear the quiet breathing of my sleeping sister, I arise from my bed and go to look out the window. The stars are shining brightly, reflected like glistening jewels on the surface of the smooth, dark lake. I think to myself, He is out there right now. My son—rather, the Son of God—is out there with his disciples tonight.
Then I return to my bed and sleep more soundly than I have slept in weeks.
When I wake up I hear the sounds of voices in the house. Male voices—and they sound happy. I hurry to dress, and, without waking Sarah, I slip down to see what is happening. I hope to see that Jesus is here. But when I get down to the main room, I see only Peter and John.
“Mother!” John cries when he sees me. He hurries over and hugs me. “It is so good to see you again. Have you heard all the wonderful stories about our Lord?”
I nod, smiling. “I am so happy.”
“Jesus has just left,” he informs me, but I try not to show the disappointment I feel at this news. “Before he left he gave us some important messages. As soon as everyone is up, I will share his news with all the women.”
Before long, we are all gathered around the table again. Mary’s servants have prepared a very elegant breakfast for everyone. I must admit that I am beginning to feel like a queen. And while it is an interesting change for me, I am not completely comfortable with this luxurious lifestyle. Still, I am grateful to Mary for her gracious hospitality.
After we finish eating, Simon Peter stands to address the group. I instantly recognize what Mary has been saying about how he has changed. I definitely see something different in his eyes. It is a mixture of confidence and peace, and what I might best describe as humility. Yes, I do believe this fisherman has changed!
“Jesus took us into the hills,” he begins slowly, putting emphasis on each word. “And while we were there, Jesus told us that all authority in heaven and earth has been given to him.” He pauses, allowing us a moment to absorb these words.
“After that, Jesus charged us to go out and to make disciples of all nations. He said that we are to baptize them in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. And that we are to teach them all the things he has taught and commanded to us.”
The room is completely silent, and I feel that everyone in here believes that this message is for each one of us personally. Then Peter continues. “Finally Jesus said, ‘Remember, I am with you always, even to the end of time.’”
I run these words through my mind again. “Remember, I am with you always, even to the end of time.” I repeat this to myself several times until I am certain that this promise will be etched upon my heart.
“Is that all?” our hostess asks, and I feel sure she speaks for all the women, for that is the exact question on the tip of my tongue.
“No,” John says. “There is something else. The Lord has commanded for all of us, for all who believe in him, to meet in Jerusalem and to wait there for him to bring us power from on high.”
“And he will meet us there?” I ask hopefully.
“That is what we believe,” John says with a cheerful smile.
“We will leave at once,” Peter announces. “You are welcome to travel with us if you are ready. Or we can meet up with you later.”
Plans are quickly made. Oh, how I appreciate Mary’s ability to take charge for the rest of the women. She is so assured, and her mind is sharp and quick to remember what is needed. Finally she decides that we will travel on our own and that she will send a messenger ahead of us to arrange our stay with Mary and Martha near Jerusalem. There we will tarry until the men have determined where we shall gather to wait for the return of our Lord.
“I am so sorry that you have to travel again so soon,” Mary tells me as we set out on our journey the following morning.
I laugh. “Do not be worried,” I assure her. “I may be old, but my legs are as sturdy as a donkey and my heart is as light as a dove. I think I could walk forever as long as I knew I would meet up with my Lord in the end.”
It is the second day of our trip when we reach Nazareth just before noon. I have already told Mary of Magdala about my son James and his growing interest in his half brother, and we have agreed to take our midday rest in the same town that once made the Son of God feel very unwelcome.
And I cannot say that my neighbors make us feel any more welcome on this day. We receive bold stares, and people hold their hands before their mouths as they whisper to one another. One can only imagine what they are saying. But, determined to ignore this, I take my sister travelers to my humble home, where I am determined to make them welcome. My daughter-in-law, Joses’s wife, is surprised to see us coming. And although this is my home, one that I share with my sons and their wives, I sense that I am intruding into her space.
“We have only come to rest for a spell,” I quickly assure her. There is no sense in letting her think that my friends and I will be here for longer than that. “After our rest and after the heat of day passes, we will have something to eat, and then we will continue on our way.” Now, it is our custom that young women show respect to their elders, particularly daughters-in-law to their husbands’ mothers. A normal response to my announcement would be to offer to help and to serve us food. But Joses’s wife simply nods, then goes on her own way. Not unlike a slap in the face.
I tell the women to make themselves comfortable in my modest home, then go off in search of James. As expected, I find him in the workshop, but, to my surprise, my Hannah is also there. I tell Hannah I have guests who are hungry and tired, and, since James has no wife, ask if she could attend to them. Maybe I have raised my daughters well—although I do not deserve such credit—because as I take little Mary into my arms, Hannah departs to see to the task of preparing food for my friends.
“What is my mother doing now?” James asks as he sets aside a saw.
I tell him all the news from Galilee, and I can see that this makes an impression on him.
“So you are going to Jerusalem again?” he asks as he removes his work apron and then shakes the sawdust from it.
“We will leave as soon as the heat of day has passed.”
He frowns. �
��I have some things I must attend to first. But when I am done, may I join you down there?”
I smile. “Of course! I would be delighted to see you there.” I tell him where we will be staying, with Martha and Mary, and he promises to meet me before the second Sabbath.
“Shall I invite others?” he asks in an uncertain voice.
“Yes!” I urge him. “Invite anyone who will come. All of your brothers and sisters are more than welcome. Any who believe in the Son of God are welcome.”
He makes a half smile. “I do not imagine we will have much of a traveling crowd, Mother. Not from this town, anyway.”
I nod with understanding. After all, this is Nazareth. “Even if it is only you, James, you are most welcome.”
19
WE ARE SOON ON our way, and we seem to be growing in numbers as we go. I am pleasantly surprised, just as we are leaving Nazareth, when I discover that my dear friends Rachel and Myra want to join us. They have hastily packed and are ready to travel.
“The more the merrier,” I tell them as we hug. Then I introduce them to my other women friends. “So far, these two are the only other true followers of Jesus in my hometown.”
“And that is only because of Mary,” Rachel adds.
I laugh, then say, “And that is only because of Jesus.”
After a couple of hours, Mary of Magdala announces that we will spend the night in the town of Nain. “We have friends there,” she tells us.
“Nain?” I say to Mary as we get closer to the town, which is just south of Nazareth. “Is not that where Jesus raised a boy from the dead?”
“Yes,” she says. “I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Can you tell us about it?” I ask.
“Yes,” Rachel urges. “Please tell us, Mary.”
Mary smiles, and I think, not for the first time, that this woman is a born storyteller. “We had recently been in Capernaum,” she begins. “Do you remember hearing of the centurion who asked Jesus to heal his servant?”
“Yes,” I answer. “I heard that the centurion’s faith was so strong that he told Jesus it was unnecessary for him to come to his home, that he knew if the Lord said, ‘Be healed,’ the servant would be healed.”
“That is right,” Mary says. “And even Jesus marveled at the man’s faith. Well, we had come down from Capernaum and decided to visit Nain, just as we are doing today, but when we reached the gate, we could see that a funeral procession was just coming through. Quite a large one, in fact, for the woman who had lost her son was well respected in the city. As soon as we saw this woman’s face, we could see that she was distraught and brokenhearted. She was so overcome with grief that a couple of her friends were helping her walk. It turned out that not only had she lost her son, but her husband had recently died as well, and now she was all alone.”
“Poor woman,” I murmur.
“Yes,” Mary says. “You, of all women, should understand.” She puts her hand on my shoulder as we walk. “Now, Jesus felt very sorry for this woman, and he stopped and kindly said, ‘Do not weep.’ Then he went over to where some men were carrying the open casket, and he put his hand upon it and said, ‘Young man, arise.’”
Our traveling group grows very quiet. It is clear that we are all waiting for her to finish the story.
“And the boy sat up, right there in the casket, and he actually began to speak. It was marvelous! Then Jesus said, ‘Here, woman, I give you your son.’”
“Can you imagine?” my sister exclaims. “What joy that woman must have felt!”
“That is for certain,” Mary says. “And the whole city was amazed. Many of the people in the funeral procession fell onto their knees, and, praising Jehovah, they proclaimed Jesus to be a great prophet. And, indeed, he received a prophet’s welcome in their town.”
Not like it was in his hometown, I think sadly.
“And so,” she finishes, “we have friends here in Nain.”
As it turns out, Mary is right. We do have friends here in Nain. Word of our arrival reaches the city boundaries even before we get there. Just as we enter the city gates, we are greeted by a woman and a young man. “Welcome, welcome!” the woman is calling as she hurries toward us. “I have heard that friends of the Lord were blessing our town with their company,” she says to Mary of Magdala. “I hope that you will grace me with your presence in my humble home.”
Mary smiles and nods. “We would be honored.”
So it is that we follow this woman and her son to a large home in the center of the city. As soon as we arrive we are treated with great respect.
“This is Mary from Nazareth,” Mary says as she introduces us to our hostess. “She is the mother of our Lord.”
The woman turns her full attention to me now, and, taking both my hands into her own, her eyes fill with tears. “Oh, my dear friend,” she says through her sobs. “I was so sorry to hear of his death. It is so—”
“No,” I tell her. “It is all right now. Have you not heard that the Son of God has risen from the dead?”
Her eyes grow big and then she smiles. “Of course! Of course! Just as he raised my own son from the dead. Of course! It would only make sense that he should rise too!” Then she hugs me tightly and whispers in my ear. “You are to be praised among women.”
When she releases me, I smile and say, “I am only a disciple of my Lord. Your sister in Christ.”
She nods. “Yes, I understand. But you will take the seat of honor next to me at dinner tonight.”
And while such attention is still an embarrassment to me, a poor peasant woman, I can see that this is important to her, so I do not object.
After a fine feast, we all enjoy a good night’s rest, and when it is time to leave in the morning, this woman not only gives us more provisions, she asks if she might accompany us to Jerusalem.
“We would love to have you,” Mary says.
“Yes!” I agree. “And your son too, if he wants to come.”
Well, not only do the mother and son join us, but quite a few people from Nain are coming as well. At this rate, there will be two hundred of us by the time we reach Jerusalem!
On our fourth day of travel, we stop in Samaria, in a town called Sychar. It is nearly dusk as we pause at the well to refill our skins. As usual, news of our arrival has preceded us, and, not for the first time, we are greeted by people whose lives have been touched by the Lord. In particular, a woman who met my son right at this very spot.
“You are most welcome in my town,” she tells us, focusing her attention on Mary, the leader of our group. “I have heard news that our Lord was put to death in Jerusalem but that three days later he rose from the dead. Tell me, is this true?”
Mary smiles and nods. “It is true. We are on our way to meet up with him again in Jerusalem.”
“Come, then,” the woman urges. “Stay in my home, and then I will go with you in the morning.”
Once again we have comfortable lodgings and the best food imaginable. It is as if this trip has been planned from on high.
“I am afraid I may be getting spoiled,” I admit to Sarah as we prepare for bed. “What if I get used to being treated like a queen?”
She laughs. “You, Mary? I do not think so. You seem to thrive on cooking and gardening and serving others. I do not think you shall ever be spoiled, my dear.”
But I am unaccustomed to so much attention and so much preferential treatment, as if having given birth to the Son of God was something of my own doing. I try to explain again and again that I was simply the handmaid of God and, more importantly, I am now just another disciple to our Lord. But people do not seem to understand this. Or maybe they just do not care to accept it.
People seem determined that my being the mother of Jesus entitles me to special treatment. So much so that I actually begin to long for my hometown in Nazareth, where people not only refuse to acknowledge me as anything other than “that Mary” but often tend to put me down as well. Of course, I cannot admit as much to anyone,
for I am sure it might sound like grumbling. And that is not how I mean it. I suppose it is only that, in my heart, I am still just an ordinary girl who likes to putter around barefoot in her garden and bounce children on her knee.
Although, I am surprised by something that happens in the night. I have slept in so many strange beds these past weeks that I sometimes wake up and cannot remember where I am. Such is the case tonight. As realization sinks in and I remember that I am in a home about a day’s journey from Jerusalem, I sit here pondering over how much has happened. Then suddenly I remember my son’s words that day when we met on the street during Passover. I remember how he had said, “It was your pure heart . . . the reason my Father chose you.” And, well, I must admit that I do feel a bit special right now.
The next morning we are on our way to Jerusalem and, like little children with great expectations, there is much laughter and joy in the air. Our numbers have increased to nearly a hundred now, with more, like my own James, coming in the next day or two. Naturally, the others will have to find their own lodgings.
“Some of us will be staying in Bethany,” Mary announces to the group when Jerusalem is clearly in sight and it is time to part ways. “But we will all meet in Jerusalem when the time is right.” Then she makes a list of where our friends will be so that messengers can be sent to inform them of where we shall eventually gather. We part ways, returning to the original group of women who left from Magdala nearly two weeks ago.
It is a short journey on to Bethany, but I feel tired when we arrive. Martha comes out the door to greet us while we are still outside of her lovely home.
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