Yesterday, Today, and Forever

by Maria Von Trapp

  “DAUGHTER OF ABRAHAM!” To call Abraham one’s father was the great pride of every Jew; but all over the Scriptures there is talk only of the sons of Abraham. It was our Lord’s very own invention to use the words “a daughter of Abraham.” What a deep impression it made on His listeners. The ones were put to shame while the others rejoiced.

  If a man was supposed to not even talk with a woman, how much less was he supposed to touch one? But there we see Jesus taking Peter’s mother-in-law by the hand and curing her from the fever, and also taking Jairus’ daughter who had died and giving her back to her parents. He who could say to one leper, “I will; be clean” (Mark 1:41) and he was made clean — He did not have to touch the women. No, He wanted to.

  And how He shows His emotions for women! Out of compassion for a mother who is a widow, He raises her only son from the dead. Out of compassion for two sisters who are among His best friends, He calls forth their brother, who was four days in the tomb.

  One of the most revolutionary things He ever did happened in Samaria when His disciples found Him talking to the woman at Jacob’s Well. Not only was He talking to a woman, but she was also a Samaritan. Not only was He talking to her, but He had also accepted a drink of water at her hand. And not only that, but He finally disclosed His identity to her. And the first one to whom He Himself said that He was the Messiah was this sinful stranger (John 4:4–42).

  The Apostles really thought they were doing the right thing when they told the mothers harshly to go away with their little ones. After all, weren’t they women? Unmistakably, our Lord taught them that they were still thinking in the ways of old, whereas He had already founded the New Covenant (Mark 10:13–16).

  No rabbi would have defiled himself in talking to a woman taken in adultery (John 8:1–11). No rabbi would have allowed a sinful woman to touch his feet, to anoint his head (Luke 7:37–50). No rabbi would have allowed a girl to sit in at his talks to the men, and of all things, to sit right at his feet. He also would have never allowed her sister to break in and interrupt him in the middle of his speech. Still, Mary and Martha were His closest friends (Luke 10:40–42).

  The poor, elderly lady who had spent all her fortune on doctors but couldn’t be helped, must have heard about His great kindness to women, because she said to herself, If I only touch His garment, I shall be healed, and she approached Him in the crowd and touched the hem of His garment (Luke 8:43–48).

  His unequalled reputation traveled even across the border to the country of the Syro-Phoenicians. A mother from that country dared to approach Him, although she knew what the Jews in general thought about Gentiles. Then we see our Lord putting her off as He had once done, it seems, to His mother. This woman, also could not be cheated, and the final outcome was that Jesus not only did what she asked of Him, but also praised her: “O woman, great is your faith!” (Matt. 15:21–28).

  Therefore, we cannot be the least bit astonished when we see how women all over the country responded to the Master. A number of them even got together and, in a little club, followed Him around wherever He went. Not only that, but they took care of His and the disciples’ needs. “And the twelve were with him, and also some women who had been healed of evil spirits and infirmities: Mary, called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out, and Joanna the wife of Chuza, Herod’s steward, and Susanna, and many others, who provided for them out of their means” (Luke 8:1–3).

  The sober, critical men needed a direct invitation: “Come, follow me,” and after they had done so, they would still quarrel among themselves as to which one would be the greater and wonder a good deal about their reward. As Peter worded it, “Lo, we have left everything and followed you. What then shall we have?” (Matt. 19:27) Women are different, although they also must have received a special vocation, because our Lord said once, “No man can come to me, except the Father which hath sent me draw him” (John 6:44; KJV), and another time, “You did not choose me, but I chose you” (John 15:16).

  That was true of the women as well as of the men in the company. All they needed, however, was the permission to stay with Him. He didn’t have to give them special rewards. He knew all they wanted was to be allowed to love Him and to show their love by providing for Him. What they did was quite unusual. Their contemporaries surely couldn’t have understood it. They were obviously from different walks of life. Some were noble ladies who would have left everything behind and would follow in His footsteps. This is the first real feminine movement.

  Up and down throughout Galilee they followed Him and at the end they would be under the Cross. They would help to bury Him, and they would want to mourn at His grave. Little wonder it is, therefore, that after the Resurrection our Lord appears to the women. First, tradition tells us, to His mother, and then to Mary Magdalene (Mark 16:9).

  This is a true story as it is written down in the pages of history. Against the dark background of the position of women in ancient and modern paganism, Christ stands out as a figure of light. Mathilda Ludendorff, one of the leading names among the Nazis, wrote a book in which she tried to prove that Christ is only a myth, and His teachings only ancient wisdom from India plagiarized by the Gospels. Her husband, a famous name of his time, introduced this book with the following recommendation: “On the widespread reading of this book depends the liberation of the individual, of the German people, and of all peoples.” The title of the book was Redemption from Jesus Christ. And her sister in America has said it was undignified for women to follow Christ. Mary Magdalene, however, says in the name of all her sisters throughout the centuries, “ ‘I have seen the Lord’; and she told them that he had said these things to her” (John 20:18).

  Chapter 18

  “The Woman”

  It was at the end of summer, and our music camp was just over. A few of our best friends had stayed behind to help us close up. The evenings we usually spent in my little house on the campus, sitting around in a circle, bay window-fashion, talking about “it.” “It” is spiritual life, which has many more aspects than there are evenings to talk them over.

  Stanislaus, one of our seminarian friends, leaned back in his chair and said rather helplessly, “I don’t know what I can do. I have absolutely no feeling for Mary. Try as I may — I have read many books about her — she seems to me a perfect stranger. She is so completely unreal. That makes me so sad, but what can one do?”

  We had spent so much time with the holy family in Nazareth, seeing the mother of the house as a real housewife, cooking, washing, baking bread, cleaning house, preparing and mending garments, and all the while mothering a little boy. Now we told Stanislaus all about it. How very, very real she was!

  Then we came to talk about one of the most beautiful stories in all the Gospels, the one of the marriage feast in Cana in Galilee, when Mary, the mother of Jesus, was there. The gospel continues, “Jesus also was invited” (John 2:2). At that time He had not made a name for Himself yet. He and His disciples were obviously invited on account of His mother, to whose family the newlyweds must have belonged. Mary is usually described in word and picture as a rather shy, retiring person, clad in complete silence. The faraway look in her eyes indicates that she was pondering in her heart, which seems to make her oblivious to what is going on around her. All these artists of pen and brush seem to feel it a sacrilege to let her stoop down so low as the little trifles of everyday life. As the words of Holy Scriptures are inspired by the Holy Ghost, we can confidently take the story of the wedding of Cana as a most valuable aid to a true biography of Mary.

  “When the wine failed, the mother of Jesus said to him ...”(John 2:3). To appreciate what that means, we have to understand all the customs of such a marriage feast of her time, how the friend of the bridegroom was the steward who was also in charge of the wine, and who was most solicitous that everything should go as well as possible. It had escaped his attention, but it had not escaped her motherly vigilance. What really happened is this. Through the thoughtlessness of somebody, the wine was
alarmingly short, which would amount to a great embarrassment for the hosts. Mary does not think this is a trifle too little to bother her Son with. As a real housewife, as a real mother, she foresees this painful situation.

  She must have been up and around, coming and going, watching and seeing everything, and before anybody else, she anticipated the need and “did something about it.” How heartwarming! And again, how real and how close she becomes. When her Son in His answer, which does not sound encouraging to us, but didn’t disturb her a bit, calls her “Woman,” many people like Stanislaus wonder and don’t understand. So we mentioned that last day in Eden to Stanislaus, when God Almighty Himself gives her this greatest of all titles in His prophecy about “the woman” (Gen. 3:15).

  And what authority she had! As was usually the case, the women belonging to the wedding party assembled at the house days ahead of time baking and preparing. Maybe Mary had taken over the leadership among them. With what natural poise she now steps over to the servants and commands, “Do whatever he tells you” (John 2:5). Perhaps the servants may have laughed outright at the funny idea of filling those huge stone jars with water at the end of a feast when there would be no more ablutions; but because of her words, they went back and forth many times with their pitchers, filling the jars. Doesn’t she still do the same thing today? Looking imploringly at us, she says, “Do whatever He tells you.” How can we refuse her pleading and not listen to Him when He says, “Love one another as I have loved you” (John 15:12).

  Stanislaus had already said repeatedly that this was all new to him, and it had never occurred to him in just that way. He seemed to grow happier and the tense, anxious expression on his face vanished visibly.

  While we were telling and explaining, I got one of those fits against this degenerate sacred art of Barclay Street. How could a young man of our days get any access to a person represented in these doll-like faces, clad in pastel colors, whose lily-white hands seem only meant to be folded but couldn’t be imagined as kindling a fire or washing a little boy’s clothes or taking care of a carpenter’s household. It seems to me that heresies don’t absolutely have to be preached or printed; they can also be painted or carved in stone. These cute and sweet representations of Mary are a heresy widely spread.

  And then we came to the end of the Gospels. We see Mary as a warm-blooded woman, mothering not only her own child but anyone who was in need. When it comes to the passion of our Lord, the Holy Ghost lets us have a look into the depths of her heart. “Did you not know?” her Son had said to her once when she hadn’t quite understood Him. That had been 21 years ago. In those years she had been pondering in her heart on everything He had said and done.

  We see her now in the most cruel suffering a mother can endure: her Son caught like a criminal, betrayed by one of His own, denied by one of His best friends, mocked, ridiculed, and treated with the utmost scorn, scourged, tortured, disfigured, and finally condemned to death. Mary knew what power as a mother she might have over human hearts, how irresistible she would be if she were to step up to Pilate who was wavering anyhow, how she could perhaps turn the fury of the multitudes into pity.

  She understood. And while her heart was pierced by the sword, she kept silently in the background. Simon was allowed to help carry the cross; the women could show their grief so that He even stopped and addressed them — the mother could only exchange a silent look. Then when the Gospel says, “Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother…. he saith unto his mother, Woman, behold thy son!” (John 19:25–26; KJV), it was the final approval of Jesus toward His mother. The prophecy was fulfilled. Here she stands: the woman.

  Georg and Maria at home in Stowe.

  Chapter 19

  “Christ …Lives in Me”

  In the beginning of the book I told you how it happened that we became interested in the life of Christ, in reconstructing it for ourselves as closely as possible, day by day, as it may have happened 1,900 years ago. Then in the next chapters I tried to tell how we did what we did by showing you some of our versions of the childhood story and the hidden life. Then I picked at random some of the countless aspects of our Lord’s personality through which He was observed when we read the Gospels together throughout the years, alone and with our friends.

  Now I want to tell you about still another discovery which we made when we had already become quite familiar with our Lord. This happened when one blessed day we seemed to understand what Paul meant when he exclaimed, “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and for ever” (Heb 13:8); and in another place: “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me” (Gal. 2:20). These two statements were linked with the tremendous statement the mysterious voice had made to Paul when he was still Saul, “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting” (Acts 9:5). From that day on these words became the whole pattern for our life.

  If He can be identified with each one of us and if He is the same yesterday as today — then He just continues His very life in every one of us until the end of time.

  It is a big moment when one realizes that. One feels like saying, “All right, dear Lord, here are my hands and feet, eyes and ears, my lips and my heart — they are Yours.” I suppose this is the first step toward the final goal: “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.”

  As soon as one becomes familiar with the fact that He is the same today as yesterday, one will meet Him constantly with His friends and stories. He really is the same. Nothing has changed. The Good Shepherd is still going after the lost sheep; the Father is still waiting for the Prodigal Son; Mary Magdalene is still sitting at His feet after He has freed her from seven devils.

  It may be that not everybody will come across Mary Magdalene or the Good Shepherd in a drastic way. But as soon as we have awakened to what the words mean: “Jesus Christ …yesterday and today”; and as soon as we want to meet Him today, we can always find Him unerringly as Jesus, “a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief” (Isa. 53:3). Once He would talk about the persecuted Christians of the first decade: “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting” (Acts 9:5). This is true throughout the centuries. All we have to do is to learn to think about our fellow men in that term: “I am Jesus.”

  There are those incredible stories which seep through the Iron Curtain, which tell us how He re-lives His whole passion, how He is again scourged and crowned with thorns, “Despised and rejected by men” (Isa. 53:3), crucified and pierced by the lance. And this is not just one story, there must be thousands like it now.

  If they seem a little remote to us, let us look around and we might find Him in the same persecutions He had to endure by the Pharisees: in our high schools and colleges, in offices, in newspapers and magazines. If we just learn to look, we shall find Him, and again He says, “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting.” As we look into the lives of our friends and neighbors, how much suffering do we find! And the great day will come when we discover the cross in our own life. Up to then we may have hated it, but on that glorious day we shall understand His words: “If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me” (Luke 9:23). On that blessed day we shall suddenly know that it is He Himself who wants to suffer in us, who wants to give us that greatest of all privileges: to help to “complete what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church” (Col. 1:24). This is a mystery as great as the Incarnation or the blessed Trinity. We shall never quite understand how it can be that we are called upon to co-operate in the work of the redemption, but so it is. We can only faintly understand it when we think of the Body of Christ, of which He is the head and we are the members. And this whole body is suffering throughout the ages until the measure of suffering is fulfilled.

  What we once said of Mary and Joseph, how they are still going from house to house seeking shelter, we can now say of the Son of Man. He is still carrying His Cross, and we meet Him every day. Do we want to hold it with the scribes and elders, saying, “He is the
King of Israel; let him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in him” (Matt. 27:42), or translated into our language, “If there were a God, there couldn’t be this awful war. How can God allow so much unhappiness?”

  Encountering Him TODAY, we may come across fantastic situations but, after all, hasn’t His whole life been full of such fantastic events, and haven’t we discovered that His life is going on in our very days? So don’t be astonished when, after you have studied the life of Christ in the land of Israel, you discover it again in Vermont, Chicago, New York, and other places.

  Chapter 20

  A Letter

  Stowe, Vermont

  April 1951

  Dear friends:

  It was the end of January 1951. Our Christmas vacation was over, and the great blue bus came from New York to get us for our concert tour to the West Coast. There was the usual hustle and bustle of stowing all the many things into the bus, this time even a baby crib for Werner’s little Barbara. There was the running back and forth with the last-minute errands. There was Dave blowing the horn and shouting “All aboard!” and when the bus finally rolled out of the courtyard, there was Martina standing on the porch next to her husband Jean, waving, half-happy, half-sad. This was the first time she would not be with us in all those many years of singing. That was sad. But when we came back from the West Coast at the end of April, there would be a little baby lying in the cradle upstairs. Martina had brought this old, wood-carved cradle along from Salzburg this past summer, and now she was fixing it for her first child. So this was a farewell with a tear and a smile.

  Four weeks later we drove into one of those large, modern motor courts in Wasco, California. It was a Sunday night, the end of February. We had had an afternoon concert, after which we had driven on to the next concert town, and now we would have a quiet Sunday evening together. This and the fact that we all prefer these beautiful motor courts to any hotel put us in the best of spirits. The man at the desk in the office said that a long-distance call was waiting for us. When he said, “You should call Operator 14 in Morrisville, Vermont,” we knew the call came from home. It must be something very urgent.