When Jesus Wept - By Bodie Page 0,35
it’s not one thing, it’s another.”
The aroma of stew was in the air. I was hungry and impatient, but I knew Martha had to tell me everything. “So are you surprised?”
“I am surprised. She was such a greedy little thing. Spending money on herself and no one else. But this!”
“Get on with it, Martha!”
“She’s squandering her dead husband’s fortune! That’s what. Squandering! Spending her money on feeding the poor. Opened her villa to house women—unmarried women—and their infants. A one-woman charity house! That’s what she is!” Martha reported the news with such disgust that it took me a moment to understand exactly what she was saying.
“This can’t be … our Mary.” I accepted a bowl of steaming food.
“We’ve got to put a stop to it. She’s gone crazy. One extreme is as bad as the other. Extreme, I say! She will spend all her inheritance and then …” Martha’s mouth turned downward. “Then she will come home begging. As much a beggar as the people she cares for today. And we will have to care for her!”
Spoon poised between the bowl and my mouth, I considered Martha’s report for a moment. “Yes,” I agreed. “Without a man to advise and direct her …”
It seemed to me, Mary’s generosity to the needy had become careless and profligate. She had no kinsman but me to bring order back into her life.
Shortly thereafter, I left the care of my vineyards in the hands of Samson. Martha and I, with our friend Nicodemus, made the journey to Galilee to question Mary face-to-face about the business affairs of her estate.
Pruning had only begun in her vineyards. Observing the swarms of workmen in the fields, I noted that Mary employed too many for the task. I made a note of this as we rode to the wide-open gates of Mary’s villa. In the courtyard beyond, children squealed and played while their mothers boiled laundry in great kettles scattered about the luxurious grounds.
A lanky, red-haired teenage boy named Carta kept us from entering. “Halt here, sir. Women only permitted to pass, except by permission of the Lady.”
“I am brother to widow Mary of Magdala, mistress of this estate.”
“How can I know who you are, sir? Too many angry brutes, husbands of the unfortunates, come prowling for a way to get their women back. They want to make them servants again to wickedness and beat them upon a drunken whim.”
Martha drew herself up in protest. “My brother is none of those things. I am Martha, sister of Mary. And this is our friend, Nicodemus. We have traveled far, from Bethany, and you will tell my sister that her kinfolk have come. And that we are weary and expect at least the hospitality she shows to these … these … this … mob!”
“In that case, wait here. It’s wash day, and the mistress is somewhere about the grounds. It will take a moment.” Carta bobbed his head and sprinted away. Some minutes passed before he came again to the entry. “Names?” he demanded.
I replied, “David ben Lazarus. Martha. And Nicodemus.”
“Correct. You may enter.” Carta stepped aside and swept his hand toward clotheslines and flapping linens.
We entered. Martha’s face became more sour. Nicodemus seemed amused. I was amazed at the clutter and noise that had overcome my sister’s once elegant grounds.
We waited in the private courtyard of the house beside a fountain. Children played tag just beyond the door, but the place was clearly off limits.
Only a minute passed before Mary appeared at the doorway. Dressed for work in a coarse, pale blue dress, her thick dark hair was piled on her head. Brown eyes were shining as she stretched out her arms to welcome us.
“Brother! And Martha! Oh! And you … Nicodemus! To see you all here! It is an answer to my prayer.”
My embrace was reserved, but she held me tighter and laughed. Her welcome was as warm for Martha, though the two women had never been on good terms. If she noticed our hesitation, she did not comment on it.
Leading us into her private quarters, she summoned servants to care for us and ordered food for us.
Throughout the lavish meal, Mary talked joyfully about Jesus, whom she called Rabboni, and the women and children who had taken refuge in her home. “Carta was a servant to Marcus Longinus. Jesus healed him from a terrible injury. Now he’s helping me here.” There were 136 souls living within the walls of Mary’s villa. Some women escaped abuse from husbands.