This Passover began with a terrible time – much worse than anything I’ve ever
experienced, even before Jesus cured me. It was so unbearable that for a while I was terrified I might spiral out of control back into that dark place from which he rescued me.
Put simply, the Jewish leaders killed Jesus out of jealousy. Of course, they gave other reasons, but those were just a smokescreen. Ever since Jesus began to show them up for what they are, they’ve intended to kill him. And finally, they saw the perfect
opportunity.
Arranging it at Passover meant that the crowd of ordinary but godly people who followed Jesus were all busy getting ready for the feast. And the fact was that none of us really believed the leaders could win against Jesus. They’d argued with him many times and always lost. They’d tried to kill him several times and failed every time. We were sure that would continue.
Yes, I know he told us
plainly that he would suffer, but we all thought his words must have some symbolic meaning. I never dreamed he’d actually be killed, and when I heard that the council had condemned him to death and that Pilate had agreed to their brutal designs, I almost fainted.
I couldn’t believe it was true.
Jesus is kind and generous, honest and consistent, yet our chief priests and the Sanhedrin hate him. So do most of the
Pharisees and teachers of the law. When I was young and didn’t know any better, I believed that our religious leaders were good men. We all did. Those of us with problems assumed they were all our own fault and that our leaders were holier than we were, which was why they were rich and powerful. Over the years, I began to realise that they thought the same thing! They looked down on all of us as “sinners” – which I couldn’t deny that I was. I can’t blame them
for everything, but they certainly helped to convince me that God had given up on me as a lost cause.
It was John the Baptist who started me down the path of repentance. He told anyone who would listen that repenting was urgent because the kingdom of God was near. He convinced many of us who had been living without hope. We repented and tried to live the life he described.
Then Jesus came, and I heard that he
was preaching the same message but could also heal people. I went to see him because I needed healing. Life was almost unbearable. Voices spoke in my head and I didn’t seem able to think any thoughts of my own. I couldn’t even rely on what my eyes saw, since I saw things that others told me weren’t there. Every day was an unending storm of mental agony.
And Jesus cured me. I can’t describe the depths of peace I’ve felt ever
since. Now I’m used to feeling better, but I still remember how each day seemed to begin in anguish long before dawn and go from bad to worse. Life was chaos, and sometimes I endured entire weeks and months where I was struggling just to survive to the end of the day, leaving no detailed memory of any of it.
I’ll never forget the day it all changed – the day Jesus healed me. It was as if a cleansing light had been turned on, driving the
blackness away. Suddenly, life made sense and I knew that with God’s help, my life would soon be under control.
And that’s how it’s been ever since.
Life is full of beauty and joy.
I can’t ever forget my old problems, and sometimes fear creeps in that my joy could fade away, but even that fear is nothing compared with what my life was from day to day in the past. Now, I can think
about it rationally and understand that when Jesus cures someone, they stay cured! And that includes me, and will continue to do so. Of this, I am certain. Jesus often told people when he healed them that it was their faith that had healed them, so it must be true. I wouldn’t walk on water like he can, but I can have complete faith in him. While he’s there.
Which is why it was such a shock to hear that he had been condemned
to death and would be crucified within the hour. We were all in Jerusalem for the Passover feast, but many of us were really there because of Jesus.
Since Jesus cured me, I’ve followed him many places while he has travelled around teaching anyone who chooses to come and listen. Jesus had his twelve special apostles – all men, of course – but a few of us women also wanted to follow him and had the wherewithal to do so. Most of us are
from Galilee and don’t have the immediate demands of a family to attend to. Some are widows, others are married but with families old enough to have left home and husbands willing to let them follow Jesus. Others of us have never married and are free to make our own choices. All of us have made the choice to follow Jesus, even though we know lots of people think we’re just silly women chasing after the latest prophet.
But it really isn’t like
that. It can’t be. Jesus has unshakable self-control and an absolute dedication to the task God gave him.
No woman could ever have distracted him from his work or convinced him that marriage was more important. Not only so, but everyone who knows him, man or woman, knows that he is completely trustworthy, which is why some husbands allowed their wives to follow him without being there themselves. He is Jesus.
We women who follow Jesus spend a lot of time together and do our best to help each other. There are times where Jesus chooses to be alone with the Twelve, giving them special instruction for the challenging work he has for them, but mostly we can join in and listen to his teaching – and we make the most of every opportunity we have. We also do our best to arrange the food for everyone so that he can teach as much as possible to as many as possible. He knows we’ll
help him in any way he needs and he appreciates that. He doesn’t treat us women with disdain and would never, ever, ever exploit us. He is Jesus.
Of course, we wanted to look after him more! If we’d had our way, he’d have taken things a little easier, instead of incessantly driving himself so hard. But whenever we suggested anything like that, he just looked at us and smiled. He is Jesus.
He
worked to a tight schedule and never wasted time, but his idea of what was a waste of time didn’t always match mine. People are more important to him than they are to anyone else I’ve ever met, but his father is more important still. When he needed to move on, not even his love and compassion stopped him. He is Jesus.
We all love Jesus, both women and men. There’s no doubt that if he’d been looking for a wife, he could have found one
without difficulty – but then again, if he were looking for a wife, he wouldn’t be the man he is.
Jesus is an inspiration to everyone who will stop and listen. Jesus makes us feel that life really can be better than it has been. He fills us with a hope for the near future when he is king in God’s kingdom.
And that’s why the events of this Passover were so cataclysmic for us all: you can’t serve a dead
king.
When I heard that Jesus was to be crucified, I and some of the other women hurried to Golgotha immediately. It’s a place of execution – the Place of a Skull, the name means. I used imagine there were all sorts of creepy spirits and devils there when I was sick. Now it’s just an unpleasant centre of suffering, but the most unjust killing the place ever saw was that of Jesus.
The only way anyone
could ever condemn Jesus to death was by using false witnesses and twisting laws. Only evil people would do such things.
When we arrived at Golgotha, we found that he hadn’t arrived there yet. Apparently he was still on the way from Gabbatha, so we hurried towards it, still hoping he’d walked away through the crowd and escaped, as he’s done before. But no, when we met the crowd coming from the pavement, many were shouting his name – some in
support, others cursing him. We stood quietly against a wall at the side of the road and allowed the crowd to flow past us until we saw someone carrying a cross. It wasn’t Jesus, but staggering near him I saw a sight that tore at my heart. I caught my breath and couldn’t help crying out.
Familiar but blood-stained clothing caught my attention first. Then I slowly took in the rest of the picture of Jesus. His head dripped with blood below a roughly-shaped circlet
of thorns. His beloved face was bruised and bloodied, and patches of beard were missing. Those strong, gentle arms were covered with weals and he moved slowly, painfully.
As I took in the details I covered my mouth with my hand to hold back a scream. How could anyone do this to Jesus?
Two men in chains walked near him, each carrying a cross, yet they had not been battered as Jesus had been. I guessed
that they too were to be crucified, but why were they still untouched by brutality when Jesus had been so savagely beaten? I couldn’t understand, and I longed to wipe his brow, tend his wounds, wash away all that ghastly blood.
He staggered on, and the man walking beside him – carrying his cross for him, I guessed – looked as if he’d like to help support him as well as carrying his cross. But the soldier walking nearby wouldn’t let him.
I can’t erase that scene from my mind. I don’t know how long it took for the procession to reach Golgotha. For me, it was a timeless horror that deprived me of any ability to think. I struggled desperately to understand, but nothing made sense. None of it was even faintly possible. Yet it was happening.
We all suffer tragedies at times in our life, but this was beyond mere tragedy. The world needs
Jesus as it has never needed anyone before, yet here he was being brutally, mercilessly hounded to death. And what for? Because he was sinless.
Jesus had helped thousands: cured their sickness, answered their questions, showed them how to live. His enemies had never helped anyone except themselves.
Eventually, I found myself back at Golgotha, and there they crucified him. The Roman soldiers performed
their task with a brutal but impersonal competence.
We women stood and watched from some distance away, still completely uncomprehending. Jesus’ mother was there and I put my arm around her, trying to stand between her and her suffering son, trying to protect her.
