One Friday 3

When John led Mary away from the cross, before they came through the city gate, suddenly she began to retch; all the long journey home the spasms continued, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth, tears in her eyes.

Friday night, Saturday, nothing seemed real. It was as if all life were a mirage.

Her thoughts kept going back to that place. If only she could have died for her son! One old woman, what did she matter compared to all the good her son had done, teaching and healing?

Friday night harsh dreams of soldiers, or priests, or the growling wind woke her. An ice sweat soaked her clothes through.

Saturday she felt useless and disoriented.

In the grand home of John’s uncle there was a maid to care for every need. Mary wasn’t used to being waited on. Or to warm scented baths, soft clothes, and silver platters heaped with quail, fish, dates, figs.

She wanted chickens to feed or laundry to pound! But she sat quietly, doing nothing.

Climbing that hill, listening to Jesus take each breath. Slow, hard breaths.

In the house there were so many passover guests!

Loud noises shocked her. When a servant dropped a bowl in the kitchen, Mary screamed. It sounded to her like the blow of a hammer.

Worst was the talking, laughing crowd.

She found herself staring at everyone as if they were the ones who shouted “Crucify him!”

So (she thought) this is what old Simeon meant, all those years ago in the Temple, when he said, “A sword will pierce your own soul, too.”

As the Law required, she and Joseph had just circumcised Jesus, sacrificing two small pigeons, all they could afford. A blood stain on the baby’s blanket embarrassed her.

At the cross she wiped Jesus’ wounds, her veil was drenched in blood. When they left Golgotha, It was raining; John wrapped her in a dry blanket and left her veil on the ground.

Now, in the cold light of Saturday, she looked at her hands. There was blood on them! No (she thought calmly) I have washed them again and again; they are clean. But it was so easy to remember what they had looked like.

What he looked like, dead, in her arms. As quiet as a baby sleeping.

He was only sleeping! Of course, after such a day! He was exhausted. She’d bathe his wounds, and soothe them with oil. She’d make him a warm broth.

 He’d wake up! He’d look at her, smile, call her, “Mother!”

The smile twisted into a sneer. The voice mocked, “Let him come down from the cross now and we will believe in him!”

“Eloi! Eloi! Lema sabachthani!” she heard Jesus scream.

Then, it was John’s voice, “Mother Mary!”

He squatted beside her, his hand stroking her face. “You’re dreaming! It’s just a nightmare.”

It took a moment for his face to come into focus.

Only a few days ago, he was a boy; in one day he had become a man. He’d seen what no one should see: torture, drunken indifference, pious hatred.

“How will I ever forget?” she sobbed.

John held her gently. “James is here,” he said a moment later. “He wants you to come home with him.”

“No!”

“Will you speak to him?”

Mary hesitated. She didn’t like to quarrel. She was afraid of what she might say.

“No!”

“Wouldn’t Jesus want you to?”

She nodded.

“Send him in,” John told a servant. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Yes,” Mary said.

James rushed into the room. “Mary—!” He noticed that John had stayed in the room. “Leave us alone!”

“No,” John said.

“Mary, tell him to go away.”

“No,” Mary said.

James was used to being obeyed. “Mary, this should be strictly a family matter.”

“It is,” Mary said. “On the cross Jesus told him ‘Here is your mother’; and, me, ‘Behold your son.’ I’m part of John’s family from now on.”

James’ eyes glittered with anger.

“I warned your son many times what would happen, if he kept on!” James said, his quiet tone shaking. “But he didn’t pay any attention. I’m the eldest, he should have obeyed me.”

“He obeyed his Father.”

“Joseph never—”

“Joseph was not his Father!”

James’ face hardened in triumph, as if vindicated after many years’ struggle.

“I knew it!”

“Adonai was his Father!” John said, moving to stand between James and Mary.

“This is none of your business!” James said to him.

“On the contrary,” John said, “it is my business. Mary is my mother—Jesus said so. You will speak to her with respect, or not at all.”

“Mary!” James’ tone softened.

“You and your brothers were in the crowd, shouting ‘Crucify him!’ weren’t you?” Mary asked.

James glanced away, with no place to hide.

“Yes,” he answered.

“He was the Messiah,” Mary said. “Shaddai—not a Roman—Shaddai was his Father. Joseph knew it, that’s why he married me, though I was with child. Do you actually think your father, righteous man that he was, would have married a woman unfaithful even before marriage? No, he would not, and you know it.”

James stared at her.

“Joseph never broke the Law of Moses in his life!” Mary said.

Now James looked confused. She was right, and he knew it.

“It doesn’t make any difference now, Mary. Jesus is dead.”

“I think today is not the right time for this,” John said. “Perhaps, in a few weeks, when feelings have begun to heal.”

“There will never be healing!” Mary cried. She sank into a chair, and covered her face with her hands.

James moved toward her, but John blocked the much older man.

“Through that door,” John said, “a servant will show you out.”

Mary looked at John with gratitude. She’d forgotten that Jesus once named John and his brother (whose name was also James) Boanerges “sons of thunder.”

“I don’t want to be a burden to you,” she said. John’s branch of the family, fishermen in Galilee, were not rich.

“A burden?” John replied. “You are a treasure!”

“A grieving old woman—what good am I?”

“You know, Adonai cherishes people, especially. Solomon said, ‘The beauty of the aged is their gray hair.’ How old was Mother Sarah? How old was your relation Elizabeth, the fiery baptizer’s mother?”

“When you’re old, tell me then about the glory of the aged.”

“If I live to be 100, I won’t see anything more terrifying than what we have seen. I think I aged a dozen years yesterday.”

Mary shuddered, seeing again the body of her son stretched and torn, looming over her, and two other men on either side of him, in just as much torment.

“He used to say that in three days he would rise again,” John said. “What do you suppose he meant?”

Mary replied, “He also said that anyone who wanted to follow him must take up the cross daily.”

She sighed. Soon the sabbath would be end, night would fall. She hoped tonight she could sleep.

Perhaps one day she would understand. Now she didn’t, and she didn’t care to.

John walked arm in arm with her to the bedroom. She changed into cool fresh robes. A maid brought a bowl of milk with honey and spices. A small flame of a clay oil lamp burned on the table, filling the room with a slight fragrance.

Tonight  she felt calmer. Nothing could bring Jesus back. Her eyes closed, and she fell into a deep dreamless sleep….

Hours passed. Silence filled in the house. Here and there small lamps burned.

Very early Sunday morning, though dawn was more than two hours away, Mary had slept a long refreshing sleep.

The curtains at the window stirred. Moonlight shone in. Something woke her.

Or rather Someone, standing beside her bed, casting light as others cast shadow.

Was she dreaming?

He wasn’t a ghost, because he was warm. He reached out his hand and touched hers, to waken her fully.

“Mother!” he called her. She felt Love calling her out of the darkness. All the horror of the past two days dissipated, like a cloud of steam. The wounds of hate and fear were gone. Only Love remained.

“Jesus!” she cried.

“Yes,” he said, “I am.”

“Am I dreaming?” she asked.

“No,” he said, “and Yes. I am a dream that is true and real. My disciples and friends will find I am risen in a few hours, but you are first.”

“I failed you,” Mary said. “I should have—”

“No, Mother, you didn’t fail. You were there with me. My Father chose you to teach me how to be human. Your flesh is God-made-flesh in me.”

“James doesn’t understand. The family—”

“Don’t worry, I’ll bring him along! He’s stubborn, but stubborn for my sake is strength. All my brothers and sisters will believe soon. You’re responsible for that. You planted the seeds, even when you felt pulled between us.”

“Yes.”

“All the pain and lies are over. Just stay close to my beloved ones, John will care for you.”

“I’ll have to tell you’re alive.”

“No, Mother,” Jesus said. “I am in this moment yours alone. Only you are my mother. In the Father’s time and the Father’s way he will show the others.”

There was silence. The moonlight seemed brighter than before.

“Don’t leave me! I can’t bear to give you up again.”

“Wait in Jerusalem for my Father’s promise. I will not leave you desolate. Actually, when the Comforter comes, you’ll know him. For, he came upon you once before-remember?”

The moonlight faded. “Mother, I love you,” he said. The words echoed forever in her heart.

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Regarding the perpetual virginity of Mary. (1) It’s always good to respect others’ views. (2)  Protestants don’t know for a fact that Jesus’ siblings had Mary for their mother. (3) In the case of this fictional narrative it heightens the tension between James and Mary if she were his stepmother.