Twenty-Three

On their way back to Galilee, they passed through Sychar once again, and the people welcomed Jesus, though he did not stay with them.

When they reached Mount Tabor, Jesus told them to wait at the foot, and climbed the mountain himself with the Rock, James, and young John.

They waited, half expecting something momentous. And something momentous evidently had occurred, because when Jesus and the three others came down considerably later, the three were as if in shock. "What happened?" everyone asked, crowding around.

"We are not to speak of it," said the Rock. "At least, not until . . . something happens which I do not understand." He looked over at Jesus with awe and a kind of terror in his eyes. No one could extract any more from him. Whatever it was they had seen, it made them aware that this man they had been so familiar with was far, far beyond anything they could have imagined.

Thomas consulted Ezra, who said, "I have been able to discover nothing. I tried following them, and it was not possible, I know not why--though I suspect. And they will not speak. They have been frightened out of their wits about something."

What could it be? thought Thomas. Certainly not only "the Rock," but James and John looked at Jesus with a new expression of profound awe. Had Jesus walked out of his human skin for a few moments?

They walked along, by themselves for a change, since the crowds realized they had gone to Judea and were not expecting them back as yet. On the way, they paused, and Jesus, who was acting as if nothing had happened on the mountain, told them, "Attend carefully to this: The Son of Man is going to be surrendered into human hands, and they will kill him; and on the third day after that, he will return to life."

Thomas froze. Then he remembered that Jesus had said something to this effect after Simon had been called the Rock. He had rebuked Jesus for saying it, and received a rebuke in reply. But everyone was so enthralled at the implications of Simon's being their leader that it drove the matter out of their heads. And here it was again. Did he now see that he would not be able to establish the Kingdom, and the other alternative for saving the people would have to be taken? And it would involve his death?

Ezra came over and said, "Did you notice that he said he would return to life 'on the third day after that'?"

"Yes, but what could it mean?"

"Does it not remind you of something?"

"Not offhand. What?" Thomas was too upset to remember much of anything.

"'Destroy this temple and in three days I will rebuild it."

A light dawned. "Of a certainty! So you think he is referring to actually being killed and returning to life 'on the third day,' as he says here."

"It sounds very much like it."

"Ezra, what will I do? What will we all do?"

"Trust, I suppose." He shook his head and went away.

--But perhaps it was just another of his metaphors. It had to be just a metaphor! Dear God, please let it be a metaphor! Perhaps this was what the three on Mount Tabor had been afraid of. But no, judging by their expression, it was not that kind of fear; it had to do with Jesus himself.

Matthew, obviously looking for someone to discuss this with, came up to Thomas and asked, "Have you any idea what this is about? What does Judas say?"

"You mean what he said about being killed? It is certainly something significant, or he would not have stressed it as he has. It sounds" (he nodded, and noticed Matthew recoil) "as if he is saying that the Romans are going to capture him, or perhaps the priests are going to hand him over to the Romans, and they will kill him--or nearly kill him, perhaps, because he says he will come back on the third day after this happens, whatever it is. He said that about returning to life both times, if you will recall, so it is important."

He suddenly recalled the earlier conversation he had with Judas after the first announcement. How could he have forgotten it? "Judas thinks he is actually speaking of being killed--which is something the Judeans would dearly love to accomplish, of course--and he (that is, the Master) thinks he will be able to come back out of the grave; but Judas believes that he is suffering from a delusion there." Dear God, it was so plausible! And if he let himself be killed, and were deluded!

"A delusion! If there ever was anyone who did not suffer from delusions, it is the Master!"

"You must question Judas about it. He has a whole theory worked out--which I confess I do not subscribe to" It made nonsense out of what Mary had told him, which made him breathe somewhat easier. "But it makes for fascinating listening. I myself see two or three possibilities: Either the whole thing is a metaphor for something that makes no sense now but will become clear as events unfold, which is by far the most likely, it seems to me, given all the analogies and stories he has been telling lately," Yes, but was this not just wishful thinking? "or, based on the mounting opposition the authorities are raising against him, he may actually be captured--or handed over somehow--Is there a traitor in our midst?--and instead of simply disappearing as he does, he will let himself be taken, and perhaps imprisoned for a couple of days, until he simply walks free. In that case, 'being killed' is a kind of metaphor for being in prison. I certainly hope it is some such thing." He doubted it. That kind of metaphor was too far-fetched. But actually raising himself up from actual death? It was too absurd to contemplate. Unless he were God, dressed in human skin. But God is a spirit.

"Yes," said Matthew. "Well, whatever interpretation one gives to it, it sounds dreadf--what is this?"

It was evening, and as the group was on the road near Magdala by the "Sea" of Galilee, and Jesus had suddenly shouted "Stop!" at a woman who had just emerged from the shadows, and looked as if she might fall off the cliff.

There was a brief pause, where everything was frozen, and then the woman said, in a rasping man's voice, "What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? She is ours!"

Then the woman slowly approached Jesus, as if she were being dragged toward him. She was incredibly beautiful, and the very picture of innocence. But the voice! Everyone moved aside in fear. This was no garden-variety demon.

" µ !" she said in that same male voice, and Jesus snapped, "Be silent! You will answer only when spoken to, no more; you will speak the truth for once, and only in Aramaic." Thomas wondered what she--it--had said. It sounded like Greek.

"Yes, Master. Good master," answered the voice. It could not possibly be that beautiful woman's voice. She began groveling in the dust like a dog awaiting punishment.

"Refrain from calling me good." barked Jesus. "What do you know of good? How many are you?"

"We are seven, Master, only seven."

"Does she know you?"

"Oh, yes, merciful Master. She invited--"

"You lie."

She cringed and groveled again in the dirt of the roadway, "It was not truly a lie, merciful Master. She did not refuse us--"

"I will engage in no disputations with you. Is she listening now? Can she hear us?"

"Yes, Master."

"She is to know how you entered her. Explain it."

"As I said, Master, she did not refuse us. It was our right, and we were not forbidden, as happens so often with us. She--"

"Stop! In your description of how you entered her, you are to speak in such a way that she alone will understand what you did to her. These others need not know--and are not to know--what she did."

"But it was her cursing God that opened the door. We could not have entered without it, Master. You know that."

"Let that suffice. What she had done and what had happened to induce her to curse God is not to be mentioned. Continue."

"It is only that when she did so, one of us tried to enter and she did not refuse. That is all, Master. And then came the others."

"What did you tell her?"

"Only that she was evil, something that she knew very well, most merciful Master, and whether she wanted to learn what evil really was, so that she could understand what had happened to her."

There followed a rather extended conversation that was completely lost on Thomas, who was too horror-struck at how such a ingenuous-looking woman could be possessed of seven devils of such consummate malice; he could do nothing but look on in shock. His hand went to cover the bladder in an unconscious gesture of self-defense.

Then something the demon said broke through to him, "I cannot lie, Master. I admit that."

"You cannot lie!" scoffed Jesus. "You! You cannot lie to me, certainly, because I know the truth beforehand. I say this, however, so that she will understand that you have been lying to her from the beginning, and so that she will no longer trust anything she thought she knew up to now."

How much confirmation did Thomas need that Jesus was divine? How else could he know such things? But how could Jesus be divine, unless the Hebrew God were like the pagan gods? It was unthinkable. But then how . . . ? His mind kept going back and forth from one horn of the dilemma to the other.

Finally, Jesus broke in on the protestations of the devil-spokesman, "Be silent. I would speak to her now. Allow her to speak."

The woman looked up from the dust of the roadway, with her hand clutching convulsively at a root that grew across a rut. She saw Jesus' face and shrieked in terror. She looked as if she had just peered into the pit of hell.

He reached down and touched her back, and she seemed to change. Her eyes went down to the ground before her face once again; and she fought to keep her gaze fixed there, but in spite of herself, she found herself being raised to her feet by his hand, and standing up. Then she looked at herself, seeming to realize how she must appear, with her eyes modestly cast down in front of everyone like a repentant sinner, and suddenly tilted her head back and stared defiantly straight into the eyes of Jesus. Thomas marveled at her temerity. Clearly, the devils themselves could not do it.

"Do you understand your situation?" he asked calmly, and she reacted at first as though he had stung her; but then immediately regained he insolent expression. She was still strikingly beautiful, in spite of the dust and the state of her clothes.

Jesus looked at her, not paying attention to her obvious attitude, but simply waiting for an answer, which took a long time, before she nodded.

"Do you wish to be freed from them?" came the question.

Again she paused, and a shudder ran through her body. She looked as if in spite she was going to give a flippant answer; but she was looking into his face, and evidently realized that this would not be acceptable.

"I wish to die," she answered, and added in a voice of scorn, "Master." As he opened his mouth to speak, she drew in her breath in terror.

But he merely said, "That is not for me to grant you now. Do you wish to be free of the demons within you?"

Again a very long pause, and then her face changed from considering the question, and she glanced at Jesus with fear and scorn.

"They are lying to you once again," he said. "If I free you, I will send you from me; and you may stay away if you wish. In fact, I will not permit you to return before sunset tomorrow, so that you will have time to consider your life and what you truly want for yourself."

"You will not be doing me a favor."

"Possibly not."

"Then why do you torment me? You have the power. Why do you not simply do it?"

"Because it is your life, not mine."

"And therefore, I must decide! Then accept my hate and do it! I care nothing for what may happen! Do it!"

"You have heard?" said Jesus, but not to the people around him, but to those inside her. "You are to leave her and remain apart from her until tomorrow after sunset, and then you may return only if she permits you. Go!"

She emitted a gurgling sound, akin to what is called the "death rattle," after which she took in a gasping breath and screamed so that the hills rang, as she fell once more to the ground and writhed and writhed like a snake whose head had been cut off, shrieking and wailing with different voices, all in the ultimate throes of agony. Thomas felt he was going to faint.

After an eternity of this, everything stopped. She lay exhausted on the road.

Evidently, the thought came to her that everyone was looking at her humiliation, because she glanced round and suddenly sprang to her feet, staring defiantly once again at Jesus. She tossed her head, and said, "You think you have done a good deed! You think you have saved me! You have destroyed me!"

"Perhaps so," he answered. "That will depend on you. You have a night and a day of peace to consider it."

"Consider what? Who am I? What have you left of me?"

"Whatever there was of you that they left behind. You will find that there is much. You will recognize yourself."

"I doubt it."

"If you refuse to do so, that is your choice, of course."

"So I am to consider my evil ways, and then return and beg your forgiveness, (she spat out the word) now that you have left me this torn piece of rag that I must now call myself."

"Understand this: If you wish to be forgiven, you will receive forgiveness--Do not speak; I am aware that you do not believe it possible. If you wish tomorrow evening to be forgiven, return to me."

"And then I am to learn the conditions you impose."

"The only condition is that you wish it. You must know one more thing. It will not be possible for you to kill yourself before tomorrow night."

"So you would remove from me the one blessing in this curse you have cursed me with!"

"For a time, yes. You are rash, Mary. If I did not, you would kill yourself without taking thought. And you will find that it is not now necessary."

Mary. And this was Magdala. She was the notorious Mary of Magdala! The one that the authorities claimed poisoned the best of the priests and Pharisees, and the one they could do nothing against, since she knew too much about too many!

Then you are master, and I am slave."

"Yes."

"Suppose I refuse to take thought. Suppose I simply wait until tomorrow night."

"I will not force you to do otherwise."

"Do you actually believe that you can control my thoughts? Not even they could!"

"It is of no consequence."

"No consequence! That you think you can control thoughts! That you can forgive sins! You claim that I was deceived by spirits within me, and you practiced magic on me to drive them out! My deception is nothing in comparison!"

"Drive her away, Master!" shouted Simon the Revolutionary. "She herself is ten times the demons you cast out of her!"

"I need no driving, kind sir," she said in a voice of withering scorn. "If the Master will dismiss me, I will leave of my own accord. May I depart, Master?"

"You may go."

"Thank you, gracious Master. Gracious, kind, generous Master! I leave you in the pleasant company of the rest of your slaves!"

So he thinks he can control thoughts--which means he can control thoughts, thought Thomas. Every day was another proof of who he was. If people were attending to what he was doing, he might be able to make them believe that he could transform the whole world. He might. He almost made Thomas believe he could. But when he thought of what it meant, everything he had known up to the time he met Jesus kept saying, "Absurd! Unthinkable!" But conversing with seven devils and driving them out? Absurd. But . . .