Mary Magdalene

[Blaze]

This was the death of Jesus in the eyes of Mary Magdalene... this was also written at 11:30pm when I wasn't in a good mood so sorry for the sloppy details and everything.
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They took Him away the other day. One of his own followers betrayed him. Dear Judas, how could you have done that? But He said that he must follow the prophecy. They slapped him, spit in his face, meaning they believed that He was the lowest form of all creatures, when His own Father had created them all. They cursed Him underneath their own breaths, the takers of Him, to coward to say what they had to say. At least Jesus spoke out the Truth! But they didn't believe that; the takers of Him, they didn't believe that.
My own screams couldn't be heard above the crowd wanting that old fool Barabbas to be set free instead of Jesus. What has Jesus done to you? I shouted. Barabbas is the true robber and thief! But no, my voice, my woman's voice, could not be heard much less listened too. If there is nothing to hear, there is no sound.
And yet I'm sure, so sure, I saw Jesus take a glimpse of me, and... smile. He'd just been taken in front of the crowd. They'd dressed Him in a beautiful, yet deadly feeling, purple robe and crown of thorns. Meant for royalty I supposed, since He'd called himself the King of the Jews. He seemed to be almost crying blood with the mixture of sweat and blood on his brow. But he did not wince nor did he show any signs of pain. The king of the Jews, save yourself now! They shouted to him. Mockery, the one thing I couldn't stand. Listen to me! He will save you! Don't you want something better than this world? Anything? Surely better than that Barabbas... surely anything better than him. Why, when had Jesus killed someone? Or stole of someone? Besides of their sin!
They have no king, they shout, they have no king besides Caesar; that old rut of a man. They will not have a king, and that shall be their own fault.
I watched Him breathlessly take His own cross and throw it over His back, and I felt His pain as he slumped to Golgotha, the place to be where His last breath was to be taken. I wondered if they?d allow Him to keep even that as they had taken everything else from Him.
They set up a sign consisting of three languages. Only being fluent in Aramaic, I read 'THE KING OF THE JEWS'. I heard the protesters tell Pilate to write instead 'This Man Claimed to be King of the Jews' but Pilate replied, "What I have written, I have written," Causing me to give him more respect though it was he that sentenced Jesus. I stood near the cross with Jesus' mother, His mother's sister, and Mary the wife of Clopas. Jesus said to his mother, "Dear woman, here is your son," and I realized that he was talking about one of his disciples standing close by who I had not seen before. And Jesus said to his disciple, "Here is your mother." From then on, the disciple had taken Jesus' dear mother as his own.
I didn't dare watch the death, but my eyes couldn't stay away from the cross and his body upon it. My eyes saw, but my heart didn't, so in any sense, I couldn't explain what happened. But I just know it was the most beautiful and most horrid thing I had ever let my eyes watch.
The next day at the market I heard that a man by the name of Joseph had taken the body of Jesus and laid Him in a tomb. I had a dying sensation to go see Jesus, just to make sure He was really there, but I didn't. The next night my brother, Peter, and his family would be coming down to eat and I needed to prepare for that as they were a slightly large family.
The night at the dinner table was a long, harsh one. My brother kept on asking me about 'my Jesus' oblivious to his screaming children. His wife, exasperated and exhausted did nothing about the small child that had just flung a small piece of lamb that landed in my lap. She seemed to hardly even notice and my brother just got annoyed at my sudden stop in the conversation and my staring down in my lap.
Finally when it was time for them to leave, they were headed down to my sister's house to stay the night, the little one who'd flung the lamb at me tugged at my skirt. I leaned down to hear what she had to say.
"Miss Mary? I'm sowwy for fwinging da lamb at you," I smiled at the way she stumbled on her words and I let her continue. "Will you fogive me?" All of a sudden my smile disappeared. She obviously noticed for she started to make more apologies but I interrupted her.
"Of course dear, it's alright, don't take any worry in it." She smiled slightly and bounded out of the door following her family.
The prophecy! Why hadn't I realized it before? He died so that we could be forgiven. I quickly looked over to the east and saw that it was starting to get light. The night had lasted longer than I thought it had. Assuming it was about 3 o'clock in the morning, I headed over to the tomb where I'd heard the day before that Jesus had been buried.
When I finally reached the tomb, I hadn't taken care to put anything on my feet or take one of the cattle to ride upon, my hand rose to my mouth instinctively. The tomb was empty. But how? I ran until I caught sight of Simon Peter and the disciple that had adopted Jesus' mother and told him, "They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don't know where they have put him!"
Simon Peter and the disciple started to run and the disciple reached the tomb first. He looked inside the tomb, but did not go in. Simon Peter did. They both clearly saw that Jesus was not there and went back towards their homes.
"But wait!" I shouted. "What are you going to do?"
"Nothing. There's nothing that can be done. He's gone, and that's all there is to it," Simon Peter said. I sank to my knees in bewilderment feeling betrayed. I felt my head slip into my hands and I just stayed there in front of the tomb even when I started to feel the sun shining on my back.
After several minutes of sitting there, I glanced into the tomb and was surprised by two glowing figures sitting on each end of where Jesus' body must've been.
"Woman, why are you crying?" They asked me. I hadn't realized I had been crying until then, I could feel the salty tears against my lips. Surely they knew the reason, but I answered anyways.
"They have taken my Lord away and I don't know where they have put him." I heard a rustle in the grass beside me and I saw the gardener come up to me. "Woman, why are you crying?" He repeated the question that the angels had asked me. But he continued, "Who is it you are looking for?"
"Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him." I replied.
"Mary," I felt all of my fears and pain slip away from me, that was no gardener!
"Rabboni!" I reached for Jesus' shining face and I longed for his touch.
"Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet returned to my Father," I pulled my hand away and held it, ashamed. "Go instead to my brothers and tell them, 'I am returning to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.'"
I ran as hard as I could, not looking back, until I reached the disciples having a small meal in a small house. "I have seen the Lord!" They looked at me in question.
"He is alive."

<small>[ 06-28-2003, 08:47 PM: Message edited by: Blaze ]</small>

[Mary O]

I really enjoyed this visual of times past. Made me feel tranquil all over. Thanks for sharing this story.

God love you,
~Mary O <img border="0" title="" alt="[Smile]" src="smile.gif" />

[ehli'schild]

it was a nicely written piece. mary's view was at once both earthy and cerebral. i'm not usually into anything bordering on 'religion' however this didn't have that feel at all and that was much appreciated too. <img border="0" title="" alt="[Smile]" src="smile.gif" />