A Lineage of Grace (68 page)

“Who?” she said dully, looking up at two finely garbed men standing at a respectful distance. They looked like the wealthy men who were members of the Sanhedrin. Mary put her hand against Jesus’ cold face as though to protect him from them.

John knelt down and looked into her face with compassion. “Joseph has been given permission by Pilate to take your son’s body and bury him.”

Bury him? Mary stroked Jesus’ cold face. John put his hand over hers, and she looked up at him. His face was etched in grief. “Mother, it will be Sabbath soon. He needs a proper resting place.” She looked away at the gray sky and at the small groups of people still standing around. The bodies of the two thieves had already been taken away. If she didn’t give up her son now, nothing could be done for another day. “Joseph of Arimathea has offered his own tomb.”

She looked down at Jesus. The rain had washed away the blood, leaving his face white as the marble in the Temple. Leaning down, she kissed his brow as she had when he was a baby sleeping. His hair smelled of perfume. “Take him,” she whispered and spread her hands.

Nicodemus lifted him enough so that Joseph could wrap Jesus’ body in a clean linen cloth. Mary sat in the mud, watching. John put his arms around her and lifted her. “Come, Mother,” he said tenderly. “I’ll take you home with me now.”

“Where is the tomb?”

“In a garden not far from here. Joseph said it’s hewn from the rock. It’s a beautiful place with olive trees and a cistern. Jesus will rest in peace there.”

Several women came to meet them, weeping and embracing Mary. She felt so numb, so bereft of any emotion. She didn’t know what to say to them. As John led her away, she saw her sons standing together. They looked at her in shame and grief. She saw in their eyes that they expected her to reject them as they had rejected Jesus. “Oh,” she said, the tears coming hard again. She went to them, weeping and embracing each one, kissing them.

“Come with us,” John said to them, taking the place Jesus had assigned to him beside Mary. “I have a house in the city.”

As they walked away together, Mary looked back in sorrow as two men she didn’t know carried her son to a borrowed tomb.

* * *

Mary and her companions joined the disciples in an upper room. Most were too ashamed to look at Mary, for they had all run away and left Jesus. The women were not among them.

“The Magdalene and the other Mary are sitting near the tomb, waiting for the Sabbath to pass,” someone said.

“Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus have already anointed Jesus’ body with a hundred litras of myrrh and aloes and wrapped him in linen.”

“We should all get out of the city.”

“He’s right. The Romans will be looking for us.”

“Why would they bother looking for us?” Peter said, his face anguished. “We’re no threat to anyone. It’s finished. Jesus is dead.” He thrust his face in his hands and wept.

“It’s not over,” Mary said quietly. How could it be over? God had told her Jesus would save his people, that Jesus was the Messiah. She believed him. So how could this be the end?

The men all looked at her in pity and then looked away.

“It’s not over,” she said again.

“Mother,” John said gently, putting his arm around her.

She would not be silenced. “The angel of the Lord came to me when I was a virgin and said the Holy Spirit would come upon me. He said the power of the Most High would overshadow me. He said I would bear a holy offspring, a son. He said I was to name him Jesus because he would save his people.”

They hung their heads.

“God said Jesus would save his people from their sins,” she said, tears welling again.
“God said . . .”

They would not raise their eyes to hers. She knew they thought she was out of her mind with grief, clinging to hope when all seemed hopeless. But when God spoke, he always kept his word. “It can’t be over.” Her voice broke. “I refuse to believe it’s over!” She gulped back a sob. “God . . . promised . . .” Covering her face, she wept.

The men were silent for a few minutes, and then began to talk among themselves again.

“I tell you, we should get out of Jerusalem.”

“Yes, but how do we do it without being seen?”

“What if we are seen?” Peter said in bitter anguish. “What does it matter now? What does anything matter?”

Mary rose. She moved to the back of the upper room, lit a small lamp, and knelt down to pray to the God who had promised that salvation would come through her son Jesus.

* * *

On the morning of the third day, they heard footsteps racing up the stairs. The men moved restlessly, casting frightened looks, not knowing what to do. The door burst open and Mary of Magdalene came in. “I have seen the Lord! He’s alive!” She came excitedly into the center of the room, her face radiant as she laughed and cried with joy, turning and speaking so fast, her words tumbled one over another.

“We went to the tomb with burial spices, and the stone was rolled aside. When we went inside, Jesus wasn’t there.”

“Woman,” Peter said, raising his hands to calm her.

“We went inside the tomb, and there were two men in dazzling robes. We were terrified! They said to us, ‘Why are you looking in a tomb for someone who is alive? He isn’t here! He has risen from the dead! Don’t you remember what he told you back in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be betrayed into the hands of sinful men and be crucified, and that he would rise again the third day?’ And we remembered.” She spread her hands, turning around to look at them all. “You remember, too, don’t you? You talked about it because you didn’t understand.”

Mary stood, her body tingling with the truth of the young woman’s words. “He’s risen.”

“See what you’ve done,” one of the men said to the Magdalene.

“He’s alive, I tell you. I saw him!”

“Saw him? How?”

“I was weeping, and he spoke to me. He said, ‘Why are you crying?’ I thought he had taken the Lord away, and I asked him to tell me where he had put him so I could go and get him. Then he said, ‘Mary!’ I would have known his voice anywhere. And I looked up, and there he was. I clung to him.” She clasped her hands against her chest. “I didn’t want to let go, but he said to stop clinging to him because he had to ascend to his Father, our Lord and God.”

“She’s out of her mind with grief.”

“Mary, you’ve let your imagination run wild. Just because you want Jesus to be alive, doesn’t mean he is alive.”

The Magdalene looked at them in frustration. “How can you not believe? Jesus told you this would happen.”

The disciple John was out the door, Peter on his heels.

“Let them go,” another said dismally.

The Magdalene came to Mary, her eyes searching. “It’s true. He said once that the Son of Man would have to be lifted up on a pole, as Moses lifted up the bronze snake on a pole in the wilderness.”

Mary remembered what had happened in Moses’ time: Because of the people’s sin, the Lord sent poisonous snakes among them, and many of the people were bitten and died. But when the people confessed their sin and asked the Lord to save them, he did. God told Moses to make a replica of a poisonous snake and attach it to the top of a pole. Whenever those who were bitten looked at the bronze snake, they recovered!

The Magdalene took Mary’s hands. “We were near the Sea of Galilee, and he said God loved the world so much, he was giving his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him will not perish, but have eternal life.” Her fingers tightened. “None of us understood.” Her gaze intensified. “Your son is alive, Mary. He is alive!”

“I believe you.” If only she had been the one to see him for herself.

* * *

Peter and John returned. “It’s true,” John said, his eyes aglow.

Dismissing what John said, the disciples looked to Peter for confirmation.

“His body is gone.”

They didn’t know what to think, still afraid of what might happen to them. They feared death more than they feared God, shutting the doors and locking them because they were so certain the Council would send men to find and take them into custody for questioning.

They were all talking in low, frightened voices when a familiar voice spoke with a hint of good humor.

“Peace be with you.”

Mary’s head came up. Her son was standing among them. The men cried out in fear and fell on their faces. Mary’s other sons stared in amazed terror and covered their heads. A sob caught in her throat as she stood. “Jesus.” She rushed toward him, ready to embrace him as a mother. But when he looked at her, she was struck by the truth of who he was.
I Am Who I Am
stood before her. The sword of Truth pierced her soul, and she stopped. The son she had borne did not belong to her. Nor did he belong to Israel.

Long ago, the serpent Satan had enticed mankind to distrust and rebel against God, and then held all captive by the fear of death.

Mary looked up into the eyes of her son who was dead and was alive again.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, her heart humbled, she took Jesus’ hands and kissed them as the words of the prophet Isaiah came to her, words Joseph had read aloud to her and their children so many times before:
“I would not forget you! I have written your name on my hand.”
Now, she saw that Jesus was the Living Word. The full realization pierced her heart. Though she had carried him in her womb, he was God’s Son. He had never been hers to command. Jesus was God’s Son, God’s gift of salvation to Israel.
“The Lord has laid on him the guilt and sins of us all.”

The awe of her first encounter with God came upon Mary again. Her soul exalted him. Her spirit rejoiced in Jesus, her Savior. All her life, she had struggled to find answers, to rise above her circumstances, to obey God and wait—not always patiently—for his plan to unfold, and now she was filled with awe at what God had done. She had mourned and was comforted with the promise of life eternal with him. She had hungered and thirsted for justice, and now beheld the one who would judge.

Mary fell to her knees before Jesus and bowed her head to the ground. “My Lord,” she said in complete surrender. “My Lord and God.”

EIGHT

Mary lay upon her pallet, meditating upon the years since she had last seen Jesus. John sat nearby, praying. There were others present, just beyond the door of the small house she shared with him on the edge of Ephesus. She was troubled by their weeping.

“John?”

He rose and came close, taking her hand. “Yes, Mother.”

“Why do they mourn?”

“Because they know your time with us is nearing an end.”

She sighed. “They make too much of me.”

“Because you are the mother of our Lord.”

“Do you remember the forty days after the crucifixion? Jesus did not set me above the rest. He didn’t give me an exalted place among his followers. Tell them.”

“I have told them.”

“Tell them again, John. We were all together, breaking bread with him while he told us about the kingdom of God. I served him and touched his hand and filled his cup with water.” Her mind drifted. “Oh, I remember his smile. Do you remember his smile, John?”

John’s eyes were moist. “Yes, Mother.”

“That day when we stood on the Mount of Olives and we all saw him taken up into heaven, I thought my heart would break. I missed him the instant I saw him embraced in the clouds, and wondered how long it would be before I saw his face again. I hungered so much for one more look at him.”

“We all did.”

“Yes, and we stood staring up into the heavens, waiting and expecting him to come right back.”

“Until the angels came.” John closed his eyes, joining in her memories. “They said, ‘Men of Galilee, why are you standing here staring at the sky? Jesus has been taken away from you into heaven. And someday, just as you saw him go, he will return!’”

Mary sighed. She had accompanied Jesus’ followers as they walked the half mile back to Jerusalem. She and her sons had remained with them, meeting with the men continually for prayer, and waiting and waiting. . . . She still waited. She and John had prayed together every day for Jesus to return, for Jesus to make them the instruments of faith they were intended to be. Each morning, she had risen from her pallet with the thought that today might be the day and she must be ready. But she knew Jesus would return in God’s time and not because she asked it.

Still, Jesus was with them.

On the Day of Pentecost, seven weeks after Jesus had risen from the grave, while all of his believers were gathered together, the Lord had poured out the Holy Spirit on them. She remembered that day as clearly as if it were yesterday, for the Holy Spirit was still alive within her, just as he was in every believer. The joy of her salvation still filled her with exultation, just as it had that day when she had run outside with the others to spread the Good News throughout Jerusalem.

And then the persecution had come.

“They’re all gone now, aren’t they, John?” Tears filled her eyes as she remembered all of those who had died as Satan had sought to extinguish the message of salvation through Jesus Christ. She could almost see their faces. Young Stephen had been the first to die, stoned to death by Damascus Gate. Then others followed.

The apostles she knew and loved had scattered, taking with them the gospel message and spreading it like seeds across the world. And the seeds they planted had taken root, for there were believers in Syria, Macedonia, Greece, Rome.

Word had trickled back over the years of how the apostles had died. Some were mocked, their backs cut open with whips. Others were chained in dungeons. Some were sawed in half; others killed by the sword. Peter was crucified upside down near the obelisk in Rome; Paul was beheaded outside the walls of the city. Not one recanted his faith.

Among those martyred were her sons.

When she had heard of their deaths, she understood why Jesus had given her over to John’s care. Jesus had known what was to come and made provisions for her even as he was dying on the cross. Her throat closed even now as she thought of it. Right from the beginning, Jesus had been pouring his life out for others.

John had brought her to Ephesus during the years of persecution, and she had lived under his care on the outskirts of Satan’s city ever since, telling everyone who lived in the shadow of the Artemisian Temple about Jesus Christ who had died to save them. Paul had come to help the Ephesians, and then written to them as he traveled. His letter was still read at meetings.

Satan still waged battle against the truth, trying to cloud the minds of men. And so it would go on. Every day, the choice was the same:
Will God reign in my life, or will my desires win out? Will I make demands of Jesus and be distressed that he doesn’t come back to us when I call?

Waiting was the hardest thing to do. Mary had always struggled with waiting. But she was older now. She was eager now—not impetuous, not impatient. Each day was a refining fire. Each day brought the question, Will you obey no matter the cost?

“Today I say yes.”

“Mother?”

“Today I say yes. And today, and today, and today, until there are no more todays left.”

John squeezed her hand. “Each day has trouble of its own.”

“And the Lord will carry us through it.”

How was it God had chosen her, a simple peasant girl, to be his vessel? The privilege still rocked her. Jesus, born in darkness, was the Light of the World. He, the Bread of Life, had known hunger. The Living Water had known thirst. He had been misunderstood, sold for thirty pieces of silver, rejected by all, and crucified, and now he stood before the throne of God as the advocate of all those who believed in him.

She remembered how Jesus had prayed, unceasingly, in every circumstance—standing, sitting, lying down, and walking along the road. He had prayed, and now he listened to her prayers as well as to the prayers of all those who called on him. Unblemished by sin, he had given up his life as the atonement offering for all the sins of mankind, including hers. Defeating death, he had risen from the grave.

She had hoped her son would be victorious over Israel’s oppressors. She had hoped he would reign as king. How small her dreams had been! How great and mighty was God’s plan! Jesus was far beyond and above what man expected.
He is victorious! He is king above all kings! He is everlasting life, the holiness and righteousness of God. He is the Son of Man, Messiah, God in spirit and in truth.
And he had come to save not only Israel, but also the world.

Oh, Jesus, my sins are many, as you well know. I was so proud of you, so proud of the part I was given in bringing you into this world. I was so eager to see you reign on earth as king, with Joseph’s sons at your side. . . . And you knew, didn’t you? I pressed you and prodded you to that end, didn’t I? I didn’t know that even I could be used by Satan to tempt you. Even I, the one chosen to be your mother, added to your burdens. I didn’t understand you’d come to be the sacrifice. And I praise you for that. I praise and worship you for your tender mercy and compassion.

Oh, Lord God of my fathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, you were so kind to me. For how could I have lived with the knowledge that my precious baby was born to be nailed to a cross? I was in your presence for thirty years. I saw your beauty, experienced your love and mercy, witnessed your strength and righteousness, your perfection and holiness. I saw the living, breathing fulfillment of all your promises.

Lord, it was only during those last three years that I began to see what was to come. And still, I didn’t understand. Through your death, you removed the barriers, and we can come before you and speak with you as Adam and Eve did in the Garden of Eden before sin came into the world. The fear of death no longer imprisons us.

She felt the change in her body. “I will be with him soon.”

John leaned down. “I will miss you, Mother, but I will rejoice knowing you are with our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Again, Mary heard the weeping just beyond the door. Deeply troubled by it, she looked into John’s eyes. “More have come?”

He nodded.

Over the years, many had come to touch the edge of her garment. They thought because she was Jesus’ mother, she had his power. Some had even bowed down before her, pleading with her to pray for them because they felt unworthy to do so themselves. She was no more worthy than they were. Did they not see clearly? Did they not hear the message preached?

She had always corrected them firmly and with love. “Did Jesus die for you and rise from the grave so that you could come to
me
for help? Do not be fooled! Salvation is from
the Lord
! Jesus is Savior and Lord! Jesus loves you. He listens to your prayers. Trust in him.”

She smiled sadly now. “Perhaps they will understand better when I go the way of all flesh.” She felt the shifting inside her body, the loosening of the bonds of this earth. “When I die, John, bury me where no one will know. Don’t let them make a shrine to honor me. It is by God’s grace we are saved, by h
is
power. Jesus died for them so that they would be free of sin and death. Remind them to love the Lord God above all others. It has always been that way from the beginning. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your mind, all your soul and strength, and love one another. Keep the gospel pure, my son. Keep it pure.”

“I will, Mother,” John said. He stroked her hand tenderly. “I will tell them the truth. Jesus is the Word, and the Word already existed in the beginning. He was with God, and he was God. He was in the beginning with God. He created everything there is. Nothing exists that he didn’t make. Life itself was in him, and this life gives light to everyone. The light shines through the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it.”

“Yes, my son. Tell them. Tell them . . . to do what Jesus says.”