The Spirit That Moves Mountains

Mary Magdalene - Chapter 12

Being a Jewish woman under Roman rule was no easy task. Also, being married to a man considered a blasphemer made it an even tougher experience. Being under Roman rule with a "blasphemous" husband who was recently executed was awful, particularly from the perspective of someone other than Jeshua and me.

Upon my journey back from seeing Jeshua, my heart was filled with love, but I noticed my mind was wandering all over. My thoughts were unusually busy compared to the mind-peace I had experienced most of my life. The events of my husband's arrest, trial, beatings, and eventual crucifixion disrupted my peace well beyond the level I had expected.

I smiled briefly at the memory of Jeshua's telling me that his death would be the greatest forgiveness lesson for me to overcome. Even with that, I was still unprepared for how unsettled I felt and how hard it was to find the place of peace to which I was so accustomed.

While I allowed my thoughts to run in many different directions, I called on the Holy Spirit to come and heal my mind.

"Holy Spirit, come," I whispered. Normally that alone would do the trick but not today. I thought, I choose love and peace instead of this, which helped a little bit.

Just then, my mind fixated on the moment Yeshi's side was pierced with a spear, and my body gave an involuntary shudder. This was how it was with forgiveness—certain people, experiences, or reactions just arose. The frequency and depth of impact to the heart was dependent on how much healing remained.

I was wise enough to understand this would be a process that would take however long it would take until my mind was completely healed. I gave myself permission to feel the pain but also to remember it was all a dream that I'd created as I picked my way across the rocks back toward the city.

Thoughts can be disrupted at times by looking at the surrounding world. I saw the sun moving its way above the horizon. I heard birds chirping and circling the walls of the city of Jerusalem. People were fluttering to and fro in the streets, and their calls filled my ears. Mixed smells of the heating desert, cooking fires, human waste, and exotic spices hung in the air. It was all so familiar. I reminded myself that it was all a dream I'd created.

I allowed the rest of the thoughts to melt away as the love and warmth in my heart returned. This was me. I had returned.

I ended up in one of the largest Jewish neighborhoods of the city, which had become a temporary home since Jeshua and the other disciples arrived for our final time together.

All at once, the memories of being with Jeshua came flooding back as a wall of regret and guilt. It was an unexpected tsunami of remorse. I sank to my knees as tears leapt from my eyes.

My thoughts were flying. Why didn't I just stop him and take him out of here? Why did he leave me like this? What are we going to do now? I am lost.

I let all of the anguish flow, not trying to get in the way but letting it run through me. I knew it would subside, and eventually it did. I forgave even this moment of sadness and feeling alone and separated.

After regaining my composure and wiping my eyes, I continued my walk toward our friends.

The smoothed-over stone caressed my sandaled feet as my walk came to an end. I climbed the stairs to the room our friends occupied.

I paused, looked around, and gently rapped on the door, expecting someone to open it quickly. Instead, I was greeted by silence. After knocking louder, I could hear a chair fall over, followed by sharp, admonishing shushing sounds.

At once, I understood that my friends were scared and expected the worst—probably Roman soldiers bursting through the door to arrest them all.

"Brothers and sisters, it is Mary. Please let me in."