The Life of Jesus: Chapter 23
They met Mary again in Magdala. The noise of the crowd alerted her. She came through a doorway, and her face lighted up when she saw Jesus. “Master,” she said, and she ran toward them, her dark hair blowing around her face and her cloak flying.
“She is beautiful,” the younger James murmured to John, and John grinned at him.
“She’s too old for you,” he whispered.
“I didn’t mean,” James began in an indignant whisper, but John elbowed him to silence.
“Are you staying long?” Mary asked Jesus.
He was smiling at her, and he reached out with the back of his hand to touch her cheek. “Not long,” he said. “Passing through on our way to Jerusalem.”
Her smile faltered, and he said, “Perhaps you could come with us.”
She threw herself into his arms and began kissing his face and beard with all the enthusiasm of an ardent puppy. Laughing, he pushed her away. Several of the women of Magdala had stopped to watch. All were smiling.
They spent the night in Tiberius with Chuza and Joanna, and the next morning crossed the Jordan to the road that ran south along the river’s east bank. They camped under the stars and woke early the next day to continue their journey, Jesus walking in front with Peter on one side of him and Judas on the other.
“What’s the plan?” Judas asked him. “Tell us what we can do to help.”
“Go with me to Jerusalem,” Jesus said.
“But you’ll be arrested,” Peter objected, not for the first time.
“I think so. Arrested. Tortured. Executed.” His face was grim.
“But why?”
“I’m not sure why. And I may be wrong, even now. I hope I am.”
“You’re not the only one,” Peter muttered. He quickened his pace, wishing to avoid further conversation on the topic. As he walked, he brought each foot down hard, stinging his soles. It brought him a certain satisfaction, and he smiled grimly.
Jesus was sitting on a rock, making a lunch of dried figs and a small loaf of bread. He looked up as Salome approached, one arm hooked through that of each of her two sons. Jesus smiled. “Yes, Salome?”
She stepped forward abruptly, releasing James and John and kneeling on the ground in front of Jesus. His eyebrows climbed his forehead.
“Yes, Salome?”
“My lord,” she said.
His face worked as he tried to suppress a grin. “You want something,” he said. “What is it?”
“Lord, my sons James and John have followed you for some time now,” she said. “Have they not served you faithfully and well?”
Jesus looked over her head to meet James’s eyes, then John’s. “They have,” he said. “Faithfully and well.”
“Could you ask for two better servants than these?”
“I could not,” Jesus said.
“Then grant it that when you come into your kingdom one of my sons may sit at your right hand and the other at your left.”
“Do you have a preference?”
She looked up, unsure whether or not he was taking her seriously.
“Salome,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I do. I’m not asking for them lives of opulence and sloth, only challenges worthy of them.”
Jesus looked past her to James and John. “Are you up to facing the challenges I’m about to face? Can you drink from the cup I drink or undergo the baptism I must undergo?”
John looked at his brother, who nodded positively. “We can,” James said, and John turned his face again to Jesus.
Jesus raised an eyebrow.
“We can,” John said.
Jesus smiled. “Yes, I think you can - that you will.”
“Then my request?” Salome quavered, still bending low before him.
“Is, regretfully, denied.” Jesus stood, brushing the crumbs from his tunic. He took Salome’s arm and helped her to her feet. “What you ask isn’t mine to grant,” he said. “The seats to my right and left belong to those for whom my Father has prepared them.”
Philip and Nathaniel, who had overheard the entire conversation, drifted away to join the other disciples. “Can you believe it?” Nathaniel said, after repeating Salome’s request and Jesus’ response. “Those young puppies thinking they’re the greatest among us.”
“It was their mother,” Andrew said. “You know how mothers are.”
“And Salome is more of a mother than most,” Peter said, nodding.
“They were right behind her,” Philip said. “You have to believe they put her up to it.”
“He turned her down. That’s the important thing.”
“Why did he, do you think?” Philip asked. “Who is the greatest among us?”
Andrew looked at Peter.
“Peter?” Philip said.
“Jesus said his faith would be the foundation of his kingdom.”
“Of his church,” Nathaniel said. “Didn’t he say church?”
Philip couldn’t remember. “Is he planning to be king or high priest?”
“Both I think,” Peter said.
“He was just using Peter’s faith as an example,” Nathaniel said. “Because Peter was the one who first said he was the Messiah. But any of us could have said that.”
“Perhaps,” said Andrew. “But not any of us did.”
“So who do you think will sit at his left? You, as Peter’s brother?”
James and John joined them, and everyone fell silent.
“He could make worse choices,” said Peter, eventually.
“Like who?” Judas interjected. “Like me, for instance?”
“What are you talking about?” John asked.
“Like you don’t know.”
“For instance,” Peter said to Judas.
Judas’s mouth curled in a sneer.
“Where is Jesus, anyway?” Matthew said. “Has he gone off again and left us?”
After a somewhat frantic search, the younger James spotted Jesus walking along the road nearly half-a-mile ahead of them.
“There he is,” he said, pointing.
“Where? I don’t see him.”
“He just went behind those trees.”
Peter gathered his robe about his waist and took off running. Andrew, with a quick look at the others, pulled up his own robe and ran after him. They all followed, even Matthew, still rather portly, his heavy, white legs shining in the noonday sun.
They caught up to Jesus in a bunch, all of them sweating and blowing hard as they fought to catch their breaths. Jesus looked around at them in apparent amusement.
“You went off and left us,” James said. He glanced at a small band of travelers, heading toward them along the Roman road with their families and pack animals.
“We’ve got ground to cover,” Jesus said. “No time to spend in pointless debate.”
The disciples looked at one another.
“What were you talking about back there, anyway?”
None of them answered him.
“Rest assured that it is as difficult for a great man to enter the kingdom as it is for a rich man.”
The north-bound caravan had pulled abreast of them. A small, piping voice interrupted Jesus, saying, “‘Scuse me.’”
“It is, in fact,” Jesus continued. “Impossible.”
“‘Scuse me,” came the voice again, more insistently. A boy mounted on a small donkey nudged his way past John into Jesus’ field of vision.
“Yes, son?”
“Are you Jesus? My daddy says you’re Jesus, the prophet.”
Jesus smiled, his happy expression a stark contrast to the frowns of several of his disciples. A man in a worn cloak pushed toward the boy and grabbed his donkey by the bridle. “Sorry,” he murmured, bobbing his head without meeting anybody’s eyes. “Nuri, you’re making yourself a nuisance.”
“He’s not a nuisance.” Jesus lifted the boy off the donkey and up onto his shoulders. “Nuri,” he said. “Meet Peter and Andrew and John.” He inclined his head toward each of them in turn.
Each nodded.
“Great men all of them,” Jesus said. “Thus all handicapped in their efforts to reach God’s kingdom.”
The three disciples shifted their feet uncomfortably. Behind them, Judas scowled.
“What’s handicapped?” the boy said.
“Encumbered with impediments,” Jesus said.
“With what?”
Jesus laughed. “Actually, Nuri, the lesson is for them rather than you. By the way, that’s a fine donkey you’ve got there.”
The boy nodded. “I walk most of the time,” he said. “But sometimes my feet get tired.”
“Sometimes my feet get tired,” Jesus said. “I wish I had such a fine donkey to ride on.” He swung the boy back astride the donkey. He smiled at the boy’s father. “I’m sure you’re proud of him.”
A tentative smile flitted briefly across the man’s face. “Yes, we are.”
“I’m afraid your party’s leaving you,” Jesus said, pointing.
The man started, then made off after them, tugging at the donkey’s reins. Soon the rise in the road hid him from view.