When Jesus Wept - By Bodie Page 0,31

gave me great satisfaction to know that Bikri, crippled as he was, would never, ever, be the first into the water. I wanted him to witness others being cured, being restored to their friends and family, while he lived on, alone, unloved, and hopeless.

If he lived to be a hundred, instead of the sixty that he now was, he would do so as a miserable lame man, despised by many, pitied by few.

In his case I truly believed the Pharisees had it right.

Shifting the remaining haunch of meat to my other arm gave me an idea. The amount and quality of the meat was more and better than a beggar could hope for from one year to the next.

I could walk up to Bikri, announce my name and identity, and offer it to him … only to take it away and give it to someone else. Remembering Peniel’s keen sense of smell, I knew I could add another layer of torment to Bikri’s existence.

Suddenly my stomach was sour, and I tasted bile in my mouth. Enough!

Approaching the nearest beggars at random, I handed over the mutton. “Share this,” I said.

“God bless you,” they chorused. “God keep your worship. What a good and kind man you are.”

The sickness did not leave me until I passed the crest of the Mount of Olives and tasted the sweet air of home.

Chapter 11

Notorious! Jesus of Nazareth and my sister Mary of Magdala shared that title for different reasons. Jesus was slandered for his persistent righteousness. Mary was justly shunned for her flagrant sin.

Mary’s presence in Jerusalem was something I dreaded, even though she was counted as dead to our family.

It was the morning of the final day of the high holy days when I happened upon my sister and Jesus of Nazareth by chance.

I rose early and made my way toward the Temple for the morning sacrifice. It was cool. The sun had not yet warmed the stones. The wide porticoes and courts were almost deserted. Only one place was crowded. I spotted Jesus seated on the steps near the treasury. Two hundred people were gathered around to hear him teach.

Curious to know what he was saying, I was drawn toward him. Suddenly there was a commotion at the gate. Temple guards and Pharisees dragged Mary forward. She was weeping and clothed in her nightdress. I did not need to ask why she was being brought to this place of judgment. There was a blush of shame upon her cheeks and her bare shoulders. Her feet were bare and bloody, her hair unbound. They threw her to the pavement at the feet of Jesus.

The rabbi leapt up and, in a posture of protection, stood between her and the men who shamed her and plotted her execution.

With great effort she raised herself to her knees and crouched there. Her hair hung down, almost obscuring her face, but I saw her shoulders heave with sobs.

I felt as though I would choke. My heart ached for the sister I had loved … whom I still loved. In that terrible moment, I remembered Mary as a child. Pretty. Sweet and innocent. Now here she was before a cadre of men with stones in their fists.

Yet I made no move to protect her.

A priest challenged Jesus, “Rebbe! This woman was caught in the very act of adultery!”

The crowd gasped. Jesus looked at Mary with compassion. He did not move from his place, physically shielding her from the stones in upraised fists.

A second priest continued, “In our Torah, it is commanded that such a notorious woman be stoned to death so that we will put evil out of the house of Israel. What do you say about it?”

I knew this trap was meant to discredit Jesus. The life or death of my sister was of no concern to the twelve priests who formed a circle around her and Jesus.

If Jesus spoke for mercy, then he would be denounced as a false teacher and a breaker of the laws of Moses. But if he agreed with the sentence of death for Mary, then all his teaching about mercy would come to nothing.

No one moved or spoke as the world hung on the reply that Jesus would give. What would the rabbi do? Would he discredit himself? Or condemn Mary?

I saw Jesus scan the accusers. Who or what did he focus on? I could not tell. It occurred to me this might be the moment when he called upon his followers to