Daughter of Jerusalem (31 page)

“I don’t think He does,” Leah had answered me sadly.

But Jesus, the Son of God, didn’t seem to think that women were of no importance. He had cured Peter’s mother-in-law, and he had raised Hannah from the dead. And he was allowing a group of women to follow him as disciples, a world-shattering event in the Jewish tradition.

Before the day ended, he gave me another reason to believe that he meant what he said about everyone being equal before God. It happened right in front of my house. I was standing inside the front gate, watching as Jesus went among the people who had gathered there begging to see him. He had comforted and cured a few people and was returning to the house for dinner when he halted, turned, and asked, “Who just touched my cloak?”

The crowd, which had begun to disperse, stopped and looked around. Peter, James, and John, ever-present, came to attention like soldiers, glaring all around them. No one came forward.

Finally a small figure darted out of the crowd and fell in a heap at Jesus’ feet. An angry rumble arose from the gathering as her veil fell back, and we all recognized her. It was Bathsheba.

Everyone in town knew Bathsheba. For twelve long years she had been cursed with a perpetual flow of menstrual blood. This problem affected not only her health but every other part of her life. One fixed belief of Judaism was that women were unclean during menstruation. During that time of month we couldn’t be with men; we couldn’t prepare their food or wash their clothes. Everything we touched was unclean—the bed we lay on, the chair we sat on—and any man who might touch us became unclean as well.

For twelve years, Bathsheba lived as a pariah. She sought all kinds of doctors, tried all kinds of remedies, begged the purifiers of the unclean to help her. Today, in her desperation, she was defying the law to come in contact with people. Even worse, she had touched the Master, making him unclean.

The crowd’s anger toward the little woman was building. Peter made as if he would dare impurity himself and drag her away when
Jesus held up his hand for silence. He looked down at the trembling heap at his feet.

I had to strain to hear Bathsheba’s voice. “You have healed me, Teacher. As soon as I touched your cloak, I could feel the blood stop flowing. You have healed me.” And she began to sob.

Jesus bent toward her and said, “My daughter, your faith is what healed you. Go and be in good health.”

Bathsheba scrambled to her feet and looked around, as if she was confused and didn’t know what to do next. Jesus looked to me and nodded slightly. I opened the gate and went to kneel next to the little woman. “Come with me, Bathsheba. I will take you home.”

“Mary!” she said, and tried to smile.

My heart had always ached for Bathsheba. I had visited her regularly since moving to Capernaum, something I had kept hidden even from Ruth. “Come along.” I put my arm around her shoulder and led her away.

Jesus and his disciples, including the women, left Capernaum right before the olive harvest began. I loved this time of year. The punishing hard blue sky of summer had grown softer and cooler. The autumn rain was gentle and warm. It was the best time of year for traveling the countryside, and travel we did.

Galilee is a land of small villages, all quite close to each other, and each village was filled with people eager to see the new miracle-working teacher. Jesus spoke occasionally in the village synagogues, but often they were too small for the vast numbers of people who wanted to listen to him.

They came from the villages, the farms, and the hill country, bringing their wives and their children with them. Often they didn’t bring enough food, and Jesus had to perform one of his miracles to feed them.

Those two months of traveling through the countryside, among people Julia would consider mere peasants, was the fulfillment of a dream. I had never felt so exhilarated, so useful, so alive. The eager response of the crowds gave me confidence that Jesus would be successful in his mission, that he would bring the Kingdom of God to us, and that he would change the world.

We women grew very close during this time. The men, unfortunately, didn’t get along nearly so well. James and John, whom Jesus had called the “Sons of Thunder,” lived up to their stormy names. They were particularly jealous of Peter, chosen by Jesus to be the leader of the Twelve.

As the weather grew colder and the crowds more demanding, I could see Jesus was tiring. Day after day he had to extend himself, pour out his precious truths to crowds who listened, but did they understand? He, who had been slim to start with, lost weight. I wasn’t surprised when one night he finally lost his temper.

It was growing dark when we managed to escape from the day’s crowd by following a sheep track over the hill. Once we were on the other side and safely on flat ground again, Peter asked me, “Where are we staying tonight?”

Judas and I were usually the ones to find places to sleep in the small villages. I said, “Back on the other side of the hill, unfortunately.”

We were standing on a grassy plain, with the hill we had just climbed between the Master’s followers and us. I thought Jesus looked exhausted, so I said to him, “Perhaps we should camp here for the night, Master. It’s quiet, and if we make a fire we’ll be warm enough. We can easily wait until morning for our next meal.”

Some of the strain left his face. “A good idea, Mary. Let us do that.”

Andrew and Thomas collected wood from under the scattered small patches of trees nearby and built a big fire. We assembled around it, grateful for the heat, women on one side, men on the other. The fire was hot enough to keep us warm, and I was contemplating wrapping myself up in my cloak to sleep when Jesus’ voice, sharp and impatient, disturbed the silence. “What is it you want to say to me?”

I looked across the fire to see what was wrong. Jesus’ eyes were on James and John, who were exchanging uneasy glances. Finally John thrust his chin forward and said, “We have a request to make, Master.”

“Yes?” I could see the temper in Jesus’ eyes from all the way across the fire. Unfortunately, John did not.

“It is this. When you come into your glory, will you have James and me to sit beside you, one on your right hand and one on your left?”

I heard the hiss of Peter’s breath, but he was sensible enough to keep quiet.

Jesus closed his eyes. I could see him struggling to remain calm. Finally he opened them, saying in a level voice, “In the world of earthly empires, the rulers lord it over the common people. But among you it must not be so. Whoever wishes to become great among you must act as a servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be a slave to all.”

James and John looked down at the ground in front of them and said nothing.

Jesus stood up. “I will spend this night on the hillside by myself. In the morning we will start back to Capernaum.”

We were silent as he turned away from the fire and began to walk toward the hillside. I understood that he needed to be by himself sometimes, that he needed to commune with his Father. But this was different. Tonight he looked so alone as he walked away. He must be bitterly disappointed in James and John.

I got up and walked after him.

He must have heard me coming, for he stopped to wait. I looked up at his shadowy profile and said, “They do try. It’s just that they can’t help thinking that your kingdom will be administered like an earthly state. It’s what they know.”

“You understand. Why can’t they?”

I sighed. “Because they’re men. The lust for power is part of their nature.”

“And it’s not that way for women?”

“For some women, perhaps. But I think we have a greater understanding of what’s important in life than men do. We have no earthly power to quarrel over, you see. Our lives revolve around our parents, our husbands, our children. It’s not so hard for us to understand that the kingdom you speak about is a kingdom of love.”

He was silent for a few beats. Then he turned and flashed me a smile. For the briefest moment I caught a glimpse of what he must have looked like when he was a boy. “Perhaps that is why I like women so much,” he said.

We both laughed.

I said, “I heard something today in the village when I was looking for rooms. There are rumors going around that Herod wants you dead. This tour has been too successful. Too many people are calling you the Messiah. He thinks you’re dangerous.”

“That old fox.” His voice was weary. “His father tried to kill me when I was a baby. He didn’t succeed then, and his son won’t succeed now.”

I said, “He killed John the Baptizer.”

“It’s not Herod I have to fear, Mary.”

There was a note in his voice that made me shiver. He saw it. “You’re cold. Go back to the fire and warm yourself. I shall see you in the morning.”

“Yes. Good night, Master.”

He didn’t answer but moved off, his slim figure agile as a mountain
goat as he went up the hill. I watched him until I couldn’t see him any longer and then I went back to the camp.

I prayed. I prayed with him all night, even though he was on the mountain and I was not. I prayed to God to keep His Son safe. He had sent Jesus into the world to bring us the truth, but the world could be deaf and ugly and dangerous. If even the men he had especially chosen didn’t understand him, how would the men who stood to lose their worldly power react to his words?

I couldn’t keep the image of John the Baptizer out of my mind.

Jesus didn’t remain long in Capernaum but moved north, into the territory of Antipas’ brother, Philip. It was too difficult for most of his women followers to take more time away from their families, so we remained behind. I would miss him terribly, but I was relieved to see him go. He would be safer in the north.

The campaign against Jesus increased while he was gone. The scribes and Pharisees preached in the local synagogues against the Master’s “crimes.” These so-called crimes came down to the simple fact that Jesus opposed many of the ritualistic rules that for centuries had defined our religion.

He was against ritual cleanliness and purification. He opposed animal sacrifice, fasting rules, eating codes, priesthoods, and the Temple. What Jesus preached was an inner purity of the heart and soul. It was this purity that would allow the believer to share in the union he himself had with his Father in heaven.

The scribes and Pharisees didn’t understand that, for Jesus, love was the test. All he asked was that we treat everyone, high and low, as if they were Jesus himself. A simple rule indeed, but terrifyingly hard
to follow. He wanted us to love our enemies, to care for the poor, and to pray quietly by ourselves to the Father, who would then hear us and reward us.

I often worried if I was up to the demands he was making on me and on the rest of his followers. It was true that I didn’t seek power. But his call to forgiveness . . . that was something else. He had forgiven me for my sins more than once. Over the course of the last few months I had told him the whole story of my thwarted love for Daniel and about my relationship with Marcus, and he had understood the guilt I felt and had forgiven me.

He believed I had forgiven those who had wronged me, but I wasn’t certain I had managed to do that. Like John and James, who couldn’t let go of their dream of power, I was having a difficult time letting go of my anger against those who had hurt me.

Sometimes I thought it was easier to follow the myriad rules of the Jewish Law than to follow the very simple requirements of Jesus.