Reflections of a Daughter of Jerusalem

In observance of the Easter holiday, I'm posting some excerpts from my first novel, "Daughter of Jerusalem," which I wrote in 2004. The story is from the perspective of Mary Magdelene, and we are joining her as she stands before the cross. I hope you enjoy!

The next few hours seemed to move in slow motion. I felt as if I were drifting under water, so powerless and weak I was. I stood helplessly as the one who had given me my life back gave up his life. He did this without a word of protest or indignation. The soldiers crucified the criminals and then turned their full attention on Yeshua. They stripped him of his clothes, and mounted him on the wooden frame. Carelessly they strapped his arms down and one of them brought forth large metal spikes.

Yeshua cried out in agony as the soldier steadied the spike at his wrist and gave it a swift bang with the hammer. I cried with him, standing as near as the soldiers would allow. The others remained quiet, watching in sorrow as our dearest friend and son was nailed to that Roman cross, and then raised and dropped into the hole that had been dug. As the cross fell rigidly into position, his body shuddered in unimaginable suffering. Yet his words caused the soldiers to stop in their tracks and look at him.

“Father, forgive them. They don't know what they are doing.” he prayed.

“I knew this day would come. Somehow, I've always known.” I heard his mother whisper circumspectly.

The crowd began to disperse as the soldiers finished their motley duty and sat down in a huddle to play games in the dirt, casting lots over who should win the garment that Yeshua had worn. I saw Mary’s tears fall anew as she beheld the clothing.

“I made that tunic for him, when he left home.” She explained with great sorrow.

I saw the centurion in charge turn slightly as she spoke. He stole a glance at her, and I thought I saw some sort of emotion on his face. We made our way closer, and stood underneath the cross as a thick darkness settled over the city, like the darkness before a storm.

Yeshua suddenly became aware of our presence. He looked upon his mother, who lifted sad eyes to watch her firstborn die.

“Dear woman,” he said to her between heaving gasps for air. “Behold your son.”

She looked at John, who stood beside her.

“Here is your mother.” Yeshua managed to say to John before he began to cough and struggle for air. His eyes fell on me as well, and though he said nothing, I could read his heart.

“Trust me, Mary. Trust me even when everything seems to be lost.”

He had a short conversation with the other criminals, and then his expression turned anxious. He lifted his eyes to the sky and searched back and forth in great agitation.

“Eloi, Eloi lama sabachthani!“ he shouted in a mournful and forsaken tone.

“What did he say?” I asked John in a whisper, unable to discern his words.

“I think he asked God why he had forsaken him.” John replied ruefully.

“I am thirsty.” Yeshua spoke again, his voice raspy as he heaved for breath.

Mary sprung into action, demanding that the soldiers give him a drink. They smiled tolerantly at her and did not move, but a man came and lifted a sponge that was soaked in wine vinegar to Yeshua's mouth. He took a small drink, then moved his head away from it. He lifted his eyes again to the heavens, recognizing something that we did not see or hear.

“It is finished.” He spoke judiciously, great relief seeming to relax him.

“No,” I whispered hopelessly. “Don't give up, Adonai!”

Yeshua bowed his head and spoke one final, slurred sentence.

“Abba, into your hands I commit my spirit.” He prayed, and then he went limp.

Never have I felt such anguish and complete desolation as I did in that moment. I fell to the ground, no tears left to cry, no emotion that could express the depth of the grief that tormented my soul. He was gone. The one we had followed, had trusted, had given everything up for was dead. Broken, defeated, and dead.

Not a split second after he died, the wind began to blow, and the sky went completely black as night. Thunder rumbled and lightning shot across the sky in a display I had never seen before. John futilely tried to herd us to shelter, but it was no use. The rain pelted us and the ground began to shake with a tremulous earthquake. Screams went up everywhere as terrified people ran for cover. We huddled together and waited for the dark despair of the earth and sky, which seemed to lament the loss of its Creator, to once again be calm. It seemed that all of nature protested the crime that had been committed, so that even the hardened Roman centurion who had callously ordered the spike driven into Yeshua's healing hands was the one who summed it all up the most eloquently.

“Surely this man was the Son of God.”


Two days later...

On Sunday morning, before I even saw the first glimpse of sunrise in the eastern sky, I woke the other women. We prepared the spices that Lazarus had gone home to Bethany to bring to us, to take to the tomb. We set off on our terrible duty, silently and reverently making our way out of the city to the garden where Mary and I had returned from a few hours before.

Mary and I arrived first, hurrying ahead of the other women.

“How will we move the stone?” Mary was asking as we turned the corner to ascend the steps to the tomb.

She stopped suddenly, her hand going out to stop me.

“Look!” she whispered in fear. My heart skipped a beat as I turned to behold what she saw. A chill went up my spine as I saw the dark entrance to the tomb, and the huge stone rolled away! Beside the heavy stone were two Roman guards, lying on the ground, looking very much like they were dead!

“They've taken him!” I breathed in reply. “We've got to tell Cephas and John!”

Dropping the spices where they were, I raced back to the place where the disciples were. I passed the other women on the way, and they gave me a strange look.

“Cephas! John!” I practically screamed as we threw open the door and fell into the room. They jumped to their feet.

“What's wrong?” Cephas asked as he punched his arms into his cloak.

“He's gone! He's gone!” was all I could manage at first.

“What?” John replied in disbelief.

“They must have taken him! We don't know where they put him!” I tried to explain breathlessly.

Immediately they brushed past us and ran for the tomb. I took a deep breath and ran after them. I had to know.

John got to the tomb first. He stopped short in front of it, leaning down and peering inside, but suddenly afraid to go any further. Cephas wasn't afraid, however, and hurried past him into the tomb. A few moments later both of them came back to where I stood.

“Is he there?” I suddenly felt the lump in my throat and the tears stinging my eyes. Cephas shook his head and walked on, muttering something to himself. John stared thoughtfully back at the tomb.

“All that is there is the strips of linen he was wrapped in. Just sitting there like he just vanished into thin air.”

He left me and walked down the path after Cephas. I was left alone. I stepped closer to the tomb, and boldly dared to peek within. I was astonished to see two people, shining brightly in white clothes and smiling at me. Only as I looked back on it later would I realize that they were angels. They were sitting where Yeshua's body had been laid.

“Why are you crying?” One of them asked cheerfully, as if crying were an absurd choice on such a happy occasion. I stared at them in complete and utter disbelief.

“They have taken my Adonai away,” I stammered. “And I don't know where they have put him.”

I heard a sound behind me and swung around, seeing the form of a man but unable to make out whom it was because of the tears that were flooding my eyes. I assumed it was the gardener.

“Woman, why are you crying?” he asked in a strangely familiar voice. I was too preoccupied to notice to whom it belonged. “Who are you looking for?”

I sobbed and came closer to him. “Sir, if you have taken him away, tell me where you have put him, and I'll go get him.” I knew the words didn't make sense. But my mind was so confused by the events of the day that I was completely beyond sounding coherent.

There was a long pause, and then I heard the sound that brought every inch of confusion into sudden and complete clarity.

“Mary.”

The same voice that had spoken my name in exactly that way so many times before was unmistakable to my listening ears. It was Yeshua! He was alive!

“Rabboni!” I cried out, falling to my knees before him and reaching for his feet.

“Don't hold on to me, Mary. Instead, go tell my brothers that I have risen and I will come to them!”

I beheld his familiar face, now whole again, free of the blood and the wounds and the bruises. He was simply my Adonai again. With a clean white robe and a light shining from his face that I had never seen before and do not possess the words to explain, he stood before me, smiling affectionately and still chuckling at my astonished joy.

“Go, Mary!” he said again, and I turned and ran as fast as I could to bear the news to the disciples.