Fifth Gospel (24 page)

THE CAL
L

L
azarus
walked the road from Endor among the seventy or so who followed in his master’s train, but he did not feel himself to be one of them.

After all,
he had not been baptised by John, nor had he followed Jesus directly. His destiny, like those of his sisters, had been a different one. It had been to wait.

John the
Baptist had told him during the months he had spent with him, that his baptism would be a new one, performed by Jesus himself, that he would have to wait and see, for Christ Jesus would call him only if the other disciples failed him. Now, looking about him, John felt the imminence of this call, for among those chosen disciples there did not seem to be one who could hear the fullness of the word of God, which lived in his master’s voice and in his gestures. If they had seen it, surely they would not complain constantly to him of their tired feet, or challenge him with their trivial thoughts, or ask him ignorant questions, or sit with him as if they were his equal!

Lazarus could
see it and so he kept himself apart.

S
ometimes his master’s eyes would fall on him from a great distance and they would stir in him grand pictures, pictures that seemed to him to be more vivid than life. At other times those eyes would be full of promise for his call but he would sense in his heart – not yet.

Lazarus obeyed
.

Such were his thoughts
before they were interrupted. The group had come to the gates of the township of Nain and had met a great many people leaving the city. The great crowd striving to enter the city, among whom he stood, were met by a funeral procession emerging from the township and because neither party could easily give way, both were made to stand still. The funeral procession was led by a line of lamenting women accompanied in their wails by the chanting of rabbis and the sounds of flutes, cymbals and trumpets. The cacophony rose in frustrated pitch and injured the quiet of the end of day, causing even the birds to keep far off.

Lazarus looked for the body
and saw that it was carried according to the tradition of his forefathers on a bier made of wickerwork.  The body was not yet wrapped in burial cloths but lay with its hands folded over the chest and its face covered with a napkin. Lazarus discerned by its dimensions that it was the body of a youth.

His master
moved through the crowds, unperturbed by the excited words and gesticulations of the two sides. He sought the woman who was weeping the most bitterly, knowing her to be the mother of the dead youth.

Lazarus picked his way through the
people to get a better look.

‘Was this your son?’ his master asked
the woman whose face was creased with anguish and streaked with tears.

‘My only treasure is gone!
’ the woman cried. ‘My only son! Weep with us, rabbi, for our hearts are bitter!’

‘No,’ he gentled her
, ‘no…do not weep, widow!’

She looked at him puzzled then.
‘How do you know I am a widow?’

Lazarus saw his master take himself to the wicker bier held by four men
, and then saw him touch it with a hand.

‘Young man,’ he called, ‘I say to you…rise!’

All around, those who followed Jesus gasped, for it was not lawful for a rabbi to defile himself with the greatest of all defilements, contact with the dead. Some said that by overlooking this strict ordinance Jesus was demonstrating how great was the difference between him and the Pharisees and scribes. Others, those sent to keep a watch on his doings, spoke of arrogance and pride.

But Lazarus was not listening to these words, for he was hearing something else
, something that had made his heart full, those words spoken by Jesus, words that had flowed out into space in rings and resonances and tones. They had drawn his attention to the youth, who having heard the command from beyond death, was now compelled to rise up from it.

When
the young man sat up and the cloth fell from his face and he looked about, Lazarus was transfixed. At that moment time ebbed. The world of space darkened and was vanished leaving a pathway between Lazarus and the boy on the bier. This path was lit up by virtue of the effulgence that came from his master, and when his master looked at him, and at the same time pointed to the boy this is what he saw:

Lazarus saw molten fires and burnished metals, pyramids and ziggurats and wars fought
. He saw great walls falling and the rebuilding of mighty temples. He saw the wisdom of kings and the love of queens. He saw the future, when he would be standing in a fortress on a great mountain, sequestered by the followers of this young man. This he knew would be an important life, and he understood how it would be prepared for him by this youth. Thus was made plain to him the web of destiny that was spun between them – and would last for all times.

All was noise and haze as the world returned.

And he knew in his heart this was his call.

‡

‘Who is that young man of Nain, Lea?’ I put down my quill and took up a new parchment.

‘
He was born again,
pairé
, as Mani, the founder of your faith. Soon you will see why, through Mani, you are united with Lazarus.’

‘
With Lazarus?’ I looked up, surprised.

‘
Soon you will know it…do not be impatient! First we must speak of his sister again, for Mary Magdalene has found a use for her mother’s unguent…’

THE ALABASTER JAR

S
ince
that experience in the field beneath the shading tree, Mary had carried her mother’s jar with her wherever she travelled, and it was with her now as she snuck out of the rooming house and made her way to the residence of Simon the Pharisee.

Months ago, when Mary and her sister heard Lazarus’ retelling of his experience at the Baptism of Jesus, they had felt a sense of destiny and had begged their brother to take
them to Capernaum, to the place where Jesus taught and healed the people.

Mary’s only fear had been what she might see hovering over him. But she had not seen anything but light, and love, and life. A life so abundant that she understood instantly
that she must offer herself up as his disciple. And yet, she had hesitated, for her malady continued to plague her and the words of the rabbi at Magadala, even after all these years, still echoed in her ears.

The courage to go to Jesus had only come this night, when she heard him say these wor
ds to those who needed healing:

Come unto me all who are heavy laden, all of you who are burdened and I will give you rest
.

She thought of these words now, and warmth entered into her heart as she walked resolutely, clutching that jar made from cool translucent ston
e, which held her mother’s oil.

It seemed to her appropriate to use this
oil in just
this
very jar to perform the most humbling act which she knew how to perform: to prostrate herself before him, to anoint his feet, and deliver her soul into his care. And it did not matter to her that her Lord was dining at a house that belonged to a well-known and respected Pharisee, among men of wealth and stature who might make fun of her and call her to account for her madness. She did not fear their opinion, nor indeed did she worry for her family’s shame! Something beyond these trivial things moved her legs. A sense of the wonder working magic of destiny had taken a hold, and it worked deeper than her doubts and fears, to fire up her limbs and to guide her up the steps, through the antechamber and an open door that led to the sumptuous and well-appointed dining hall.

The reception room was grandly lit, music played and servants hurried past, backwards and forwards, carrying food and drink to be laid out on the long table. She was dressed simply and could seem like one of them, and so she slipped in unnoticed. She was not
prevented from finding Jesus at the table and from going to him where he was seated on a couch. She saw that he was in deep conversation with the Pharisee Simon, and with the other rabbis who were scattered amongst the closest disciples of Christ Jesus.

S
imon said to him, ‘This evening John’s disciples asked you if you were the awaited one. You said you were not a prophet, for the age of prophets is past, the age of Abraham is past. You said you were something more. What do you say that you are then? John the Baptist would not eat and drink with us, but fasted and lived in the wilderness. You, on the other hand, are here among us, drinking and eating. Is this the conduct of a Messiah?’

Magdalena came from behind him to kneel at his feet. She set down the jar and took out the stopper. She bent reverently to pour the oil but pau
sed, for he had begun to speak.

She heard him say, ‘How shall I liken the sons of Abraham? They are like children who sit in the market place, and say to one another: ‘
We have played a happy tune, and yet you do not dance to it! We have played a mournful tune, but you have not wept!

‘You
have long expected quite another Elijah, and quite another Christ.  You have expected a prophet who was one of you, and a king who will not be among you for his high mightiness! You say that John the Baptist is no prophet, for he will not eat bread nor drink wine with you, and you say the Son of Man, who eats with you and drinks with you, is a gluttonous man, a wine bibber and therefore cannot be the Messiah! But your eyes see only outward forms and so you do not recognise that what lives within John the Baptist makes him the greatest of the sons of Abraham, the greatest of those that are born of a woman. And you do not see that I am not a king, but that
I am the kingdom
, for I am not the son of a woman, I am the Son of God!’

At this point, he turned to look at Mary and in that moment the sun and the stars were his eyes! She saw a
darkened chamber and moonlight and she was once more a bride, for recognised the bridegroom of her dream.

Her heart fluttered with panic, like a bird caught in the confines of a house. And yet,
in her heart’s voice she heard these words,

When a bridegroom knows his bride, this knowing leads to love. So it is with a teacher and a pupil. I love you because I see the light in your heart. See these men, they are learned, but you possess in
abundance what they do not have.

Stunned, trembling, her heart asked him, ‘But
I am a sinner…I have a curse!’

You see many things, Mary. In the past those who had spirit sight, carried this power in the length and thickness of their hair, now you must let go of this power, if you are to gain a new knowledge through me.
’

He had said this in silence, and she felt the warmth of his life entering into her.

‘If you do so, I shall close your eyes to what is troubling you…’

She began to cry and her tears fell over his feet. Hastily, for she did not wish to defile him, she gathered her hair to wipe them away, and realised, that in so doing, she was laying at his feet all of her old treasures. This affected her heart so dearly, that she found herself bending further and touching her lips to his feet in a kiss! And another! In a moment she was pouring her mother’s oil over them, and while the tears continued to flow, she rubbed his skin and anointed his feet with her mother’s very essence, and kissed them again
and again, for he was now her comforter and her guide.

This is what I have done for you
so that you will perform a task for me. One day, before my death, you will anoint me with this oil again and wipe my feet with your hair. You will be the tower that will bring the God in my soul closer to the man in my body so that I can accomplish my task. Until then you shall be the flooring of my soul.

She would give up her life,
she said to him silently, to do this.

He
touched her head with one hand and a spark flew from it and entered into her spine. Of a sudden she was a child again and yet wise also. Rest, warmth, love, goodness had entered her to the marrow, and from the heights of this ecstatic ritual of forgiveness and acceptance, she heard the thoughts of the Pharisee and they pulled her down to earth:

If you are the prophet
why do you not know what kind of woman this is that touches you? She is a sinner and she defiles you!

She had heard it, but once again, not with her ears, with her heart-sense.

Taking his eyes from her, Jesus said to Simon the Pharisee, ‘Why do you forsake this woman?’

The man was aghast. Christ Jesus had read his thoughts!

‘Answer me this riddle,’ Christ Jesus said to him. ‘There was a certain creditor who had two debtors: the one owed five times more than the other. When they had no money to repay the debt, the creditor forgave them both. Tell me, therefore, which man loved the creditor the most?’

Simon did not need to think on it, for he spoke directly, ‘I suppose it must be the man who was forgiven the most. He will love the most, who owes the most. Much for much…little for little.’

‘Shall I apply your principles to this woman then…?’ he looked down at Mary, ‘See how she kneels! How she washes my feet with her tears and wipes them with her hair. When I entered into your house, you did not give me water for my feet, you did not anoint my head with oil. This woman has anointed my feet and kissed them, while you have not even given me a kiss of welcome. You, who have much, have given me little, yet she, who has little, has given me much. Why does she treat me so well, while you show me not even those polite attentions and tokens of respect that one should offer a guest at a feast? It is because in her heart, she has a light that sees who I am, and that is why she loves me! She does not love me because I forgive her the most. It is her abundant love, the light in her heart, which attracts my forgiveness. The little love you show me is a sign, that you do not know who I am, that is why I forgive you less.’

Then to Mary he said, ‘Magdalena…your love is great, and in the same measure, so are your sins forgiven you…go in peace.’

She gathered up her alabaster jar and left the room. Behind her she could hear a great commotion, for those who were present were saying in their hearts, ‘Who is this sinner who can see what others cannot? How can this Jesus of Nazareth think himself able to forgive sins, when he is only the son of a Carpenter…he is not even a rabbi?’

Magdalena came out into the night, leaving those w
ords behind as if they were dirt on her shoes, and looked about at the trees and the air and the sky. She saw no devils, she heard no whispers, she saw only the light of those pinpointed stars above and she heard only the nudging of the sky onwards in its rounds. There was a solace in this quiet, in this peace, a solace that she could not describe even to herself!

The chill autumn air touched her skin only lightly, as she walked back to where she was staying with her brother Lazarus and he
r sister Martha. For within her there radiated a warmth like unto a midday sun.