Mary was greatly disturbed and pondered what she was hearing. What exactly were these people expecting of Jesus? These people acted like children playing flutes, expecting Jesus to dance to their tune. They could talk only of the signs and wonders her son was performing, but retained nothing of the lessons he taught. They were eager to see Jesus perform miracles, greedy to eat bread that cost them nothing, hopeful to see their enemies crushed and humiliated.
Her son hadn’t been born to do what men wanted, but what God willed.
How would Jesus do it? Mary wondered. How would her son bring redemption to these people who wanted to be entertained as much as the Roman mob did? If Jesus didn’t do what they wanted or expected, they would turn on him.
Mary felt a cold chill down her back. Hadn’t Jesus’ own brothers turned on him when Jesus hadn’t done as they wanted or expected? Could she expect more from strangers?
When they reached the gates of Jerusalem, Mary overheard someone say that the Nazarene was heard to be at Bethphage. “Let’s go and join him there,” she said to her children. “Let’s find your brother and stay with him.”
“He may need us,” James said, looking as concerned as she felt. As head of the family, his opinion swayed the others. Simon and Jude were excited about the stories surrounding Jesus, as eager as everyone else to see what he could do, rather than hearing the word of the Lord and obeying it.
Before they had gone far, they heard shouting: “Praise God for the Son of David! Bless the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Praise God in highest heaven!”
The swell of voices grew until it was deafening. Mary’s heart beat faster and faster as she hurried along, knowing they were welcoming her son into Jerusalem. The day had finally come for Jesus to be proclaimed the Messiah! She saw him coming up the road, surrounded by followers waving palm branches and crying out his name. Men and women were throwing garments down for him to ride over. Others were stripping branches from trees and spreading them on the road.
There were so many, Mary and her children could not get close.
“It’s Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth in Galilee,” people were saying around her.
“Not a prophet,” she wanted to cry out. “He is the Son of God! He is the Messiah!” Overcome with excitement, Mary left the others and hurried along the outer fringe of the crowd along the road, crying out, “Jesus! Jesus!” She tried to keep pace, but lost sight of him as he entered the city. The crush of people drew her through the gates after him.
“Mother!” James called, pushing his way through the throng until he reached her. Shielding her, he drew her aside until Joseph, Simon, Jude, and the others caught up, and then they fell in with the multitude following Jesus.
“He’s going to the Temple,” Mary said, breathless. “He’s going to declare himself!” Bumped and pushed, she was pressed forward through the streets of the city. They had almost reached the steps of the Temple complex when she heard shouts and saw wealthy merchants and priests darting out, covering their heads. Doves and pigeons flew out from among the Temple’s columns and out across the city. Sheep bleated and ran among the crowd. She thought she heard Jesus’ voice echoing: “Don’t turn my Father’s house into a marketplace!”
“What’s happened?” people were crying out.
“He’s overturning the tables of the money changers and those who are selling sacrifices!” someone called back, laughing.
“The Nazarene is driving the money changers out with a whip!”
James’s face was pale, Joseph’s strained. Simon and Jude wanted to get closer and see. Her daughters and their husbands looked alarmed by the mass of people pressing from all sides to get inside the Temple complex to see what was happening.
“If there’s a riot, the Romans will come,” James said. “And then what will happen to him?”
Mary scarcely heard. The Passover week had begun, and the Lord had said to remove all leaven from their houses. Once, years ago, Jesus had said he had to be in his Father’s house—the Temple. And now, he was there, sweeping the evildoers out.
“Everything will be all right now,” Mary said, tears of joy running down her cheeks. “The Day of the Lord has come!”
* * *
By the time Mary and her family reached the corridor of the Temple, Jesus had gone. Everyone was seeking him. “He’s gone back to Bethphage,” some said. Others said he would go to Bethany to stay with a man he’d raised from the dead.
Exhausted, Mary went to Abijah’s house and stayed with her relatives. Teary, she sat silently listening to their excited speculations about Jesus and what he might do next. She wondered where Jesus was, if he had managed to find a quiet place to collect his thoughts, what his plans were, and how long it would be before she could join him. Closing her eyes, she thought back over the many Passovers she and Joseph had spent with Jesus. Once before, she had been separated from her son.
She felt at peace again, for she knew Jesus would return to the city in the morning, and she would find him in the Temple.
* * *
Mary sat all day in the women’s court, hoping for a glimpse of her son. She prayed and watched men and women come and go, hearing clearly their heightened talk.
“The Pharisees say he casts out demons by Satan, the ruler of demons.”
“But the Nazarene said a home divided against itself is doomed.”
Priests stalked along the corridors, saying, “We ask for a sign, and he dares call us an evil and faithless generation!”
“Mary!” When she turned, she saw her sister running toward her, arms outstretched. They embraced, laughing joyfully.
“My son,” Mary said, tearfully, “how is my son?”
“Oh, he’s wonderful. You must come and listen to him, Mary. Are your sons here? your daughters?”
Her sons had come to the Temple with her that morning, and left her at the entrance of the women’s court while they went off to find Jesus and speak with him. She could only hope they would listen more than they talked.
“Come,” Mary’s sister said, her arm around Mary’s waist as she drew her toward a gathering of women. “I want you to meet my sisters.” She introduced her to Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Joseph, as well as others who had followed Jesus from Galilee. Each told Mary the story of how her son had saved her. Mary Magdalene had been possessed of demons while others had been sick or blind or hopeless. Mary wept with them, sharing the joy she saw in their faces.
Surely Israel would embrace her son as these women and the disciples had done. The Temple was filled with those who wanted to see the hope of Israel and hear the word of the Lord. Israel would repent and be united in devotion to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
“How terrible it will be for you teachers of religious law and you Pharisees. Hypocrites!” She went cold at the sound of her son’s anger. “For you won’t let others enter the Kingdom of Heaven, and you won’t go in yourselves.”
A low roar of voices was heard around her as Jesus walked among the pillars, his anger clear in his body and face. “You shamelessly cheat widows out of their property, and then, to cover up the kind of people you really are, you make long prayers in public. Because of this, your punishment will be the greater.”
Her heart beat in fear, for she saw the rage growing on the faces of the men he confronted. They shouted at him, but Jesus’ voice carried. “Yes, how terrible it will be for you teachers of religious law and you Pharisees. For you cross land and sea to make one convert, and then you turn him into twice the son of hell as you yourselves are.”
She saw her sons, their faces pale and taut with fear. They were afraid of what people would say. She saw it in the way they looked around them, and then at her, beseeching. She could almost hear them plead, “Do something, Mother. Stop him before we are all banned from the Temple.”
Her own cheeks were on fire as Jesus cried out in anger against the hypocrisy of the priests and elders. Everyone knew what he said was true, but no on
e had dared speak of it so boldly. Her heart hammered as she stared at Jesus striding along the corridor. Where was her quiet son, the one who sat meditating on Scripture beneath the olive tree in the yard at Nazareth, the one who sat soaking in the readings of the Torah at synagogue, the one who walked the hills above Galilee, praying? Her body shook at the power in his voice, for she was certain that if Jesus called for the stones of the Temple to fall, they would.
“You are careful to tithe even the tiniest part of your income, but you ignore the important things of the law—justice, mercy, and faith. . . . Blind guides! You strain your water so you won’t accidentally swallow a gnat; then you swallow a camel!”
Mary had never seen Jesus angry, and she trembled at the sight of his wrath. He stood facing the rulers, his voice filled with authority and carrying through the corridors to the very heart of the Temple, though he did not shout as they did.
“Snakes! Sons of vipers! How will you escape the judgment of hell? I will send you prophets and wise men and teachers of religious law. You will kill some by crucifixion and whip others in your synagogues, chasing them from city to city. As a result, you will become guilty of murdering all the godly people from righteous Abel to Zechariah son of Barachiah, whom you murdered in the Temple between the altar and the sanctuary. I assure you, all the accumulated judgment of the centuries will break upon the heads of this very generation.”
Jesus lifted his head and wept. “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones God’s messengers! How often I have wanted to gather your children together as a hen protects her chicks beneath her wings, but you wouldn’t let me.”
He faced the rulers once again, pointing at the scribes and the black-clad Pharisees with their prayer shawls. “And now look, your house is left to you, empty and desolate. For I tell you this, you will never see me again until you say, ‘Bless the one who comes in the name of the Lord!’”
Jesus turned and strode from the Temple.
For a moment, there was complete silence, as though all life had departed with him. And then there arose angry voices. Men shouted at one another, shoving, pushing. Mary saw her sons withdraw. The women with whom she had been talking scattered, rushing to the pillars and trying to follow their Master.
Mary was cut off, bumped, shoved. By the time she made it outside, her son was gone.
* * *
Her children surrounded her when she arrived at Abijah’s home, exhausted and depressed. “I couldn’t find him. I walked to Bethphage and back, but I couldn’t find him.”
“If he’s wise, he’ll stay out of sight and leave after Passover,” Abijah said grimly. “No good can come of what’s happened. The leading priests and other leaders of the people are at the court of the high priest, Caiaphas, right now, talking about Jesus.”
“I thought the people would riot after Jesus spoke against the Pharisees and scribes,” Joseph said. “Everyone was shouting, one against another.”
“Where could he be?” Mary said.
“He’s probably lodging with one of his leper friends or a prostitute. Your son seems to prefer their company to that of his own family.”
James’s face reddened. “And if he did come here, would you welcome him, Abijah?”
“Not now! I’d sooner house a scorpion than him in my house. He’s offended every Pharisee and Sadducee and priest in Jerusalem!”
“May the Lord open your eyes and ears to the truth.” Mary covered her head with her prayer shawl and wept.
* * *
Mary slept fitfully, dreaming of Jesus in the Temple. He was crying and raising his hands to heaven as men shouted in anger around him. She awakened, her heart pounding wildly. The room was dark. She rose and went to stand outside, wondering if it was only her imagination that made her think she heard angry voices in the distance.
All was silent.
Yet, the sense of oppression increased.
Where was her son? Surely, a mother sensed when something was terribly wrong. She was afraid. Oh, Lord, why will you not speak to me as you did to Joseph? She covered her face. Who was she to make demands upon God? She should have gone with Jesus the day he left Nazareth. She should have walked down that hill with him and never left his side. She should have left James and Joseph, Simon and Jude, and her daughters and their husbands in the hands of God, rather than trying to convince them Jesus was the long-awaited Messiah.
Oh, Lord, don’t let it be too late. Help me find him.
Dressing quickly, she went out. She headed for the Temple, praying with every step that God would bring her alongside her son again. When she came up the Temple mount, a man ran by her, weeping loudly. She turned sharply, for she thought she recognized him. He was one of Jesus’ disciples.
“Judas!” she called out, retracing her steps. “Judas! Where is my son?”
He fled into the darkness.
* * *
Mary found a man dozing against one of the huge pillars of the Temple. When she asked him if he knew where Jesus was, he yawned and said, “They took him last night from the Mount of Olives.”
Her heart raced in fear. “Who took him?”
“They all went up after him: the leading priests, the other leaders, and a Roman cohort. They took him to Caiaphas and have been giving testimony against him all night. They took him to Pontius Pilate a little while ago.”
“But why?”
“Because they hate him and want him executed.” The man raised his head, his black eyes boring into her. “The Law requires that a blasphemer be stoned to death, doesn’t it? And since we no longer have the authority to kill our own, we must plead Roman indulgence to do it.”
Mary drew back from him. She had seen him before, but where? How long ago?
The man stood slowly, the movement reminding her of a snake uncoiling. “They will kill him, Mary.”
Her body went cold. “No.” She drew back farther. “No, they won’t. He’s God’s Anointed One. He is the Messiah.”
“He is the great I Am,” the dark man mocked. “And he is going to die.”
“Jesus’ disciples will stand with him.”
“His disciples?” The man threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing in the Temple. He looked at her again with a feral grin. “They all deserted him. They’ve run like rabbits and gone underground into their warrens.”
“I don’t believe you.” She shook her head, backing away from him. “I won’t believe you!”
“Jesus stands alone. Go see for yourself. Go and watch the work of my hands.”
As she fled, she heard his laughter.
* * *
A throng was gathered before the judgment seat of Rome. Mary saw the Pharisees clustered together like black crows near the front, talking among themselves. Pilate was sitting on the judgment seat, speaking with one of his officers. He waved his hand impatiently and the doors were opened. Mary drew in a sharp gasp when she saw her son and another man hauled forward. Jesus’ face was battered and bruised, his mouth bleeding. He stood looking out at his people, his wrists chained together like a criminal. Sobbing, Mary tried to push her way through to him, but was shoved back. “Jesus!”
Pilate spoke loudly to the multitude, explaining that it was the Roman custom to show clemency to one prisoner of their choice during the festival season.
“Which one do you want me to release to you—Barabbas, or Jesus who is called the Messiah?” The guard nearest the governor leaned toward him in protest, for Barabbas was a notorious Zealot and enemy of Rome who had ambushed and slain Roman soldiers.
The crowd cried out, “Barabbas!”
“Jesus!” Mary cried out.
“Barabbas! Barabbas!” others shouted.
“Jesus! Jesus!”
An officer came out to Pilate and whispered in his ear. The governor frowned heavily and looked at Jesus.
The leading priests and other leaders turned to the crowd, moving among them. “Jesus is a blasphemer. Will you let him live? You kn
ow what the Law requires, what God demands.”
“Barabbas!”
Pilate waved the officer away and stood, holding his hands out for silence. “Which of these two do you want me to release to you?”
“Barabbas!” They wanted violence and bloodshed. They wanted rebellion and hatred against Rome. “Barabbas!”
Pilate held out his hand toward Jesus. “But if I release Barabbas, what should I do with Jesus who is called the Messiah?”
“Crucify him!”
“Why? What crime has he committed?”
“Crucify him! Crucify him! Crucify him!” The multitude was turning into an angry mob, and Roman soldiers moved into position, waiting for Pilate’s command to disperse them. But he didn’t. He motioned for his slave, who carried a bowl of water to him. Then the Roman governor washed his hands, mocking the assembly of Jews who took such pains to remain clean. Drying his hands, he called out, “I am innocent of the blood of this man. The responsibility is yours!”
And Mary heard those around her cry out angrily, “We will take responsibility for his death—we and our children!”
“No! Don’t do this!” Mary sobbed. She reached out toward Jesus as the Roman guards turned him roughly away.
* * *
The angry crowd milled around, waiting to see the crucifixion, cheering when the doors were opened again and Jesus and two others were ushered out by Roman guards. Mary felt the blood drain from her face, and her chest tighten with anguish. A crown of thorns had been shoved down on his head, causing rivulets of blood to run down his face. His face was ashen with suffering; his back was bent over beneath the weight of the cross he dragged down the steps.
“Blasphemer!” People spit on him as he passed, their faces twisted and grotesque with hate. “Blasphemer!”
“Jesus!” Mary cried out, and saw her son tilt his head slightly. He looked straight at her, his eyes filled with compassion and sorrow. “Jesus,” she sobbed and tried again to get closer to him, to reach out to him through the crowd. He passed by, whipped by the Roman guard when he stumbled and fell to his knee and struggled to rise again, and jeered by the mob eager to see him suffer and die.