When Jesus Wept - By Bodie Page 0,98

my arm. “I have to ride back now. It’s not good for either of us, or for Jesus, for me to be seen entering the city with you. I probably won’t be able to visit you again until Passover is done, but you can send Peniel to me if you need me. You know I’ll do whatever I can.” With that the centurion remounted the war stallion.

“Shalom, Marcus,” I said.

“Shalom,” he returned. “Keep a crowd around him at all times. No lonely places. No small groups. Understand?”

“I understand. We’re going first to my home in Bethany. After that … we’ll see.”

My home in Bethany was too small to accommodate all those who wanted to see Jesus. I reminded Mary of the healing of a crippled man in Galilee. His friends took apart the roof slates so the paralyzed man could be lowered into the presence of the Lord.

It was not practical to take off our roof, so we accepted an invitation from Simon the Leper to use his home for the feast. Even Simon’s sprawling estate overflowed with guests. My sister Martha was in her element, bustling about. Simon’s wife graciously moved aside to let Martha take charge, assisted by Jesus’ mother.

Martha ebbed and flowed like the ceaseless tides, ordering tables and chairs to be rearranged. She dashed off to the kitchen to supervise Delilah’s cooking, then sent Samson back to our storage shed for beeswax candles. She ordered Carta, Tavita, Patrick, and Adrianna about as if dispatching reserve troops into battle. She was in constant motion but remained entirely unflurried.

Mary and I kept out of her way. Since Jesus was the guest of honor, we stood beside him, welcoming all the rest.

It occurred to me that we two were good representatives of his ministry.

Jesus had said of himself: “I have come that you might have life and have it abundantly.”

In my case he had restored my physical life. After four days in the tomb I was dead, dead, dead. No one argued about that. Many had seen me dead, seen me entombed, and then seen me not only alive again but healed and restored to perfect life.

With Mary I recognized the other side of Jesus’ touch: healing the soul. Mary’s soul had been blighted, like a vine so diseased that it would never produce good fruit. Normally it would be ripped out of the ground and burned before it infected others.

But just as seemingly lifeless vines in the dead of winter await the touch of the sun, so it was with my sister. The touch of the Son had brought her new life and given it to her abundantly. She had always been beautiful; now she was radiant. She was gracious, kind, compassionate. If she had been self-centered before, all those useless canes had been cut away. Now she was entirely other-centered and most gentle to hurting souls.

I noticed a large stone flask protruding from the pocket of Mary’s apron. When I asked her about it, she waved away the query. She turned to greet another arrival, brought forward by Simon to greet the Lord. The house was packed with souls that had been hurt. Many were crushed by life’s winepress until Jesus turned their injuries into a fragrant vintage of hope restored.

Zadok, the muscular former chief shepherd of Israel who had been present in Bethlehem at Jesus’ birth, was also there. With Zadok were his three adopted sons, Avel, Ha-or Tov, and Emet, who had once been one of the Jerusalem Sparrows.

Zacchaeus the tax collector was there, the much-maligned businessman from Jericho. He was part of the newest vintage from the Lord’s winery since he had only met Jesus two days earlier.

At the Lord’s elbow stood Peniel, beaming at everyone, recording names on a wax tablet and listening attentively to every remembrance. His bright, shining eyes reminded me of one who was missing at this gathering: Centurion Marcus Longinus. The Roman had warned me that he could not seem to be too friendly with Jesus. “If I can serve the Lord and remain a soldier, it’s better if I keep some distance,” he had said. “The Lord knows I love and honor him. He will understand my absence.”

Martha summoned us all to the meal.

As was the custom, the men reclined around a large, horseshoe-shaped table. We lay on our sides on couches, with our heads toward the center and our feet toward the walls. The women and children ate in a separate room, but they moved among us,