Poisoned Honey: A Story of Mary Magdalene (26 page)

It was almost evening by then, and I helped my aunt carry water jars to the village well. She was amazed, but not disbelieving, when I told her that Rabbi Yeshua had driven out my demons. “I
knew
Elder Jonas was mistaken. He thought the holy man was fooling us with magic tricks, and getting on the right side of the women by paying attention to their children. He ordered Rabbi Yeshua and his disciples to leave.”

Other women were gathered at the well, and we waited as they filled their jars first. When my aunt introduced me as seeking Rabbi Yeshua, each of them had something good to say about him. One woman said, “The rabbi cured my neighbor’s boy of his stutter.” Another said, “And he healed a lame nanny goat, the leader of our herd.” A third woman added, “Who knows what he might have done for the grape harvest, if the elder hadn’t sent him away?”

“It was wrong of Elder Jonas,” agreed my aunt. “But he’s the elder, like his father before him.”

“I wanted to listen to the rabbi some more,” said a shy young woman with a baby tucked into her shawl. “I hoped he’d explain …” She waved a hand at the hillside above the village, bright yellow even in the fading light. “He said the kingdom of heaven is like a
mustard seed.”

A mustard seed! I stared straight ahead, seeing not the well but a brown dot like a grain of sand. As I watched, it sprouted, branched, and bloomed, and my heart expanded
with the healthy plant. I felt a mighty power in the seed, stronger than armies. But if the seedling were yanked from the soil …

The thought hurt me, as if my own roots were being torn up, and I cried out.

“Mariamne?” Aunt Deborah’s voice brought me out of my vision. I clutched the edge of the well, waiting for my head to stop whirling. The circle of women watched with mixed expressions: puzzlement, hope, worry.

“It
is
like the kingdom of heaven,” I gasped.

“Do you understand that?” asked the young woman. “What did the rabbi mean?”

I told her what I’d seen, the whole plant unfolding miraculously. “A mustard seed is so tiny; it’s so common. Yet it’s a miracle waiting to happen. And the same thing’s true of us.”

I looked around the circle, remembering the way Yeshua had looked over a crowd of listeners and spoken to each person’s heart. “We can remain dry little seeds … or we can sprout and grow into the kingdom of heaven.”

“The kingdom of heaven?” asked another woman, glancing toward the field of mustard. “Right here in Arbel? In us?” She gave an unhappy laugh.

I started to say yes, but before I could get the word out, the woman with the baby breathed, “Yes.” Her face shone.

Later, as I lay down to sleep, the young mother’s face
came back to me. I thought, My vision helped her see! I was grateful for that, and I said a prayer of thanks.

The next morning, we thanked my aunt for her hospitality. We took a road through the hills on the far side of the Arbel valley, the same road by which Yeshua had left two days before.

At first, we walked in silence. It was strange, I thought, to walk alone side by side with a man who was not my father, my brother, my cousin, or even my husband. (Not that Eleazar had ever walked beside me in a companionable way!) And yet, it felt natural.

After a time, I told Matthew about the women at the well and the mustard seed. He listened intently, then said, “You …
see
things, don’t you? Not only because you were possessed.”

My heart tripped. It was one thing to think about my visions by myself, and another to speak freely to someone else about them. “I—I always have, even as a child,” I stammered. Matthew nodded encouragingly, and I went on, “But when I tried to tell other people, they usually thought I was just being odd. Now I wonder … could it be a gift to share? When we find the rabbi, I want to ask him.”

Glancing up at Matthew, I was struck by his eager
expression, and I ventured a guess. “Maybe you, too, have something to ask the rabbi?”

Matthew admitted, “I have an idea. There must be others like me, not only tax collectors, but landowners, merchants, judges—many people who grow rich by cheating the poor and helpless. Meanwhile, their souls wither. Maybe I could seek them out, the way Yeshua sought me out….” Matthew’s voice trailed off, and he glanced at me. “It’s foolish of me to think I could help the rabbi in that way.
He
can inspire people to repent because he’s a great prophet—maybe as great as Elijah.”

“Still, you should ask him,” I said. “Maybe Yeshua does need our help.”

As we followed the road downhill, I puzzled over my own words. It hadn’t occurred to me that Yeshua might need
us
in order to accomplish his mission.

The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed, Rabbi Yeshua had said. I quickened my steps, and so did Matthew. He must have felt the same sense of urgency. Suddenly it seemed to me that in spite of Yeshua’s power, his mission could be crushed as easily as a young seedling.

Following a trail that wound through the folds of the hills, we caught up with Yeshua in Rumah. It was midday as we neared the village, and we could tell from a distance that there was a celebration going on. The music of wooden flutes and drums, as well as the smell of roasting meat, wafted in the breeze up the gorge. The village’s threshing floor was full of circling dancers, with merrymakers around them clapping and singing.

“Simon?” said Matthew to a burly man on the edge of the group.
“Shalom
. I am Matthew bar Alphaeus. I used to work at a … er, a post near Capernaum.”

“I remember you, toll collector,” said Simon. He grinned. “That was some dinner party at your house! Well, here we are at another party. The rabbi loves celebrations.”

He went on to explain that this was a feast for a childless couple who’d been blessed by Yeshua the previous year. Now they were celebrating a
brit milah
, the circumcision and naming of their baby boy.

While the two men talked, I caught sight of Yeshua bobbing among the dancers, hands raised. It was a moment before I was sure it was him, because he looked so carefree, laughing and calling out like any party guest. The last time I’d seen Yeshua, I’d felt he was taking on the needs and longings of every person in the crowd—including mine.

“James!” At the urgent note in Matthew’s shout, I turned to stare at him, and so did several of the partygoers.

One of them broke from the rest and pushed his way toward Matthew. “Brother!” he shouted back. Even if he hadn’t said that, I would have known they were brothers. James was slighter than Matthew, but he had the same thick, mild-looking eyebrows.

“I thought you were lost to the Dead Sea sect,” muttered Matthew as they embraced, his fine but threadbare robe pressing against James’s rough homespun coat.

“I thought
you
were lost to the Romans,” said James pointedly. Even as tears ran down their faces, they burst out laughing, punching each other’s shoulders like boys.

Now Yeshua, too, separated himself from the dancers and came to greet us. “Matthew, Miryam!” he exclaimed, looking
from one to the other. “Have you come to join our family?” With a delighted smile, he answered for us: “Yes!” Matthew and James grinned helplessly, and I felt the same foolish smile on my face.

There was a touch on my arm, and then a woman hugged me. “Welcome, Miryam!” It was Joanna, the disciple who’d offered me water after my healing.

As the celebration wound down, the rabbi’s disciples followed him out of the village to a shady grove of oaks. We sat on the grass around Yeshua. I felt uneasy with all these strange men, and I seated myself near Joanna and the few other women.

“Friends,” said Yeshua, “you already know Matthew, son of Alphaeus. He’s one of us now. So is Miryam from Magdala.” The rabbi went on around the circle, naming each disciple for us. “Simon, otherwise known as the Rock.” Yeshua said this with a teasing smile, knocking on Simon’s head with his knuckles. Simon grinned sheepishly.

There was Simon’s brother, Andrew, and then there were the two sons of the fisherman Zebedee. Yeshua called them Sons of Thunder. (As I learned later, they tended to talk in loud, self-important voices.) Several others also had affectionate nicknames, and I wished I did, too.

After naming all the disciples, Yeshua looked up through the leaves of the oaks and said quite naturally, “Lord, Abba, I
thank you for drawing Matthew and Miryam to us.” Then he turned to the two of us with an eager light in his eyes. “Tell me what you bring for our mission.”

This was our chance to explain our ideas, but I was taken aback, and Matthew looked dismayed. “I—I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer,” he stammered.

Simon spoke up, in a tone of good-natured teasing: “Matthew can keep our money for us! He’s had a lot of experience handling coins.”

Some of the others laughed, but Judas said stiffly, “Keeping the money is my job.”

Yeshua didn’t laugh either; he waited quietly for Matthew’s answer. Speaking haltingly, Matthew explained what he’d told me earlier. After he finished, Yeshua nodded. “I want to think more about this. It’s already come to me that soon some of you should go out on your own missions. There’s so much to do. I won’t have time…. Thank you, Matthew.”

Now was the moment I’d been dreading. My heart seemed to beat in my throat. Yeshua turned to me. “What about you, Miryam? What do you bring us?”

It seemed like an unfair question. I had gone through so much, dared so much, just to get here. I was only a woman. Why couldn’t I just quietly join the group?

Joanna was nodding encouragingly at me, and finally she
spoke up. “Rabbi, Miryam has some land and a share in her family’s business. She can help support us.”

“No,”
I said quickly. At their puzzled stares, I added, “I mean, of course I’ll share my income, but what I really want to bring …” I thought of the young woman at the well in Arbel, and how she drank in my description of the mustard seed. “I want to share my visions.”

The disciples didn’t laugh at me as they had at Matthew. “You claim to have visions from heaven?” asked Andrew. “Like a prophet?”

“I think she does have them,” protested Matthew, but the others ignored him. They looked appalled.

Joanna whispered to me, “You didn’t mean it, did you?”

I didn’t dare to look at the rabbi, for fear he’d be as shocked as the others. I saw now how close to blasphemy it was, for me to talk as if I could be a prophet. Had a demon spoken through my mouth again, even in Yeshua’s presence? “I do want to share my bride-gift,” I said, trembling. “Please let me stay.”

The rabbi looked intently into my eyes, as if he was turning over new ideas. Finally, he said in a reassuring tone, “There’s no need to understand everything all at once. I do understand one thing: everyone the Lord sends us brings gifts.” But I hardly heard him, I was so shaken.

Again Yeshua thanked the Lord for us two new disciples.
Then he told the group, “Friends, it’s time to move on. There’s so much to do. We’ll start out for the next village tomorrow morning.”

Various villagers invited Yeshua’s followers into their homes for the night. Joanna and another woman, Arsinoe, took me with them to the potter’s house. Before we lay down on our pallets, Joanna whispered to me, “Don’t worry, Miryam. The rabbi won’t be angry with you.”

Although I was weary, I lay awake for a while after the others had gone to sleep. My mood shifted, and I felt I had been slighted.
I
was the one who was angry.
We could teach that Andrew a thing or two
, whispered a voice.

“Be gone!” I exclaimed aloud, causing the other two women to moan in their sleep.

The voice did not speak again, but I felt sad and confused. Were my visions, which had inspired Matthew and the woman in Arbel, only demon’s tricks? Where was the freedom and joy I’d expected to find in Yeshua’s presence? The rabbi’s family appeared to be just as difficult as my own. Or … maybe I was the one who was difficult.

The next morning at dawn, we thanked our hosts and set off with the rising sun on our backs. We were on the road that led to the city of Sepphoris, Joanna said, although Yeshua
would avoid that city. It was a stronghold of Herod Antipas. Joanna thought Yeshua wanted to visit his mother, who still lived in Nazareth. He’d have to be careful there, too, since he’d been thrown out of that village on his last visit.

For the most part, the men walked ahead of the women, as one would expect. Matthew and James walked together, each with a hand on the other’s shoulder, talking and gesturing without pause to catch up on their years apart. Yeshua moved freely up and down the road, first conferring with Zebedee’s sons and Simon, then laughing with Joanna and Arsinoe, then talking quietly with Matthew and James.

In the fresh morning, traveling as one of Yeshua’s twenty or so disciples, I felt more cheerful. They might think
I
was peculiar, but they were an odd mix themselves! Here was Joanna, apparently a noblewoman, but she didn’t ride in a litter or even on a donkey. She walked the dusty road along with the farmers and fisherfolk. No one called her
Lady
Joanna, not even the former beggars in our band, who had been lower than stray dogs.