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INCE that experience in the field, beneath the shading tree, Mary had carried her mother’s jar with her wherever she went, 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, she must offer herself up as his disciple. And yet, she hesitated, for her malady continued to plague her, and the words of the rabbi at Magadala still echoed in her ears, even after all these years.
The courage to go to Jesus had only come this night, when she heard him say these words 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 stone, which held her mother’s oil.
It seemed to her appropriate to use this very 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 would make fun of her and call her to account, for her madness. She did not even 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 through 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 here and there among the closest Disciples of Christ Jesus.
Simon 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 paused, 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 expected quite another Elijah, and quite another Christ – you 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 I 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 she 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 will perform a task for me. One day, before my death, you will anoint me with this oil once more and wipe my feet with your hair. Your soul will be the tower that shall bring the God in my soul closer to the man in my body so that I can accomplish my task - the task of dying. 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 it was as if it 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 they say you are, why don't 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 the hair on her head. 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 words behind as if they were dust 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 her sister Martha.
For within her, radiated a warmth that was like a midday sun.
INCE that experience in the field, beneath the shading tree, Mary had carried her mother’s jar with her wherever she went, 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, she must offer herself up as his disciple. And yet, she hesitated, for her malady continued to plague her, and the words of the rabbi at Magadala still echoed in her ears, even after all these years.
The courage to go to Jesus had only come this night, when she heard him say these words 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 stone, which held her mother’s oil.
It seemed to her appropriate to use this very 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 would make fun of her and call her to account, for her madness. She did not even 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 through 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 here and there among the closest Disciples of Christ Jesus.
Simon 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 paused, 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 expected quite another Elijah, and quite another Christ – you 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 I 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 she 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 will perform a task for me. One day, before my death, you will anoint me with this oil once more and wipe my feet with your hair. Your clairvoyance will be the tower that shall 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 it was as if it 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 they say you are, why don't 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 the hair on her head. 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 words behind as if they were dust 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 her sister Martha.
For within her, radiated a warmth that was like a midday sun.
