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 “Are you crazy? There’s no way you’ll get away with it,” the woman whispered sharply.
“I know it’s risky, but I just can’t take this anymore,” the younger woman replied.
They both looked toward the city as the sun set behind it, one looking with disdain, the other with longing and determination. “I have two children in there, and my husband can’t handle them and his work all on his own,” she said at last.
“We all have family there, but that doesn’t mean we can just risk it all on a whim.”
“This isn’t a whim. I’ve seen men running out of those gates who could only stagger and crawl when they went in.” The woman looked directly into her friend’s eyes. “I must do this. I can’t be imprisoned here for the rest of my life.”
Her friend smiled. “I can see there’s no discouraging you. But let’s hurry and see if we can find some decent clothes for you to wear so people will be less suspicious.”
So Miriam and Sarah looked through their poor quarters and out into the darkening slum in search of whatever linens and cloths they could find that hadn’t begun to turn into rags.
After they got back, and while Sarah was working on the dress, Miriam began to wash herself as best she could. She prayed with all of her heart for mercy from God for the action she was preparing to take. She looked again towards the great bustling city. She could see the windows of the apartments in the city walls, as lamps were being lit. Darkness was coming but light would be ever there to greet them. Miriam dozed off. A few hours later, Sarah brought the dress over to her that she had fashioned from some old, dark blankets they had found earlier. By dawn, they had completed all the necessary arrangements for Miriam’s venture.
Sarah walked her to the edge of their small community, stopped and held her by the arms to look at her. “You could be killed for this.”
“I know. But, if no one recognizes me and I succeed, then it won’t matter at all.”
“I’m afraid I won’t see you again,” Sarah began to cry, tears running down her cheeks.
“You’ll see me again. Some way or another, you will,” Miriam smiled, a tear sliding down her own cheek.
Sarah burst into tears and embraced her closest friend, one of the few women in the slums who would even talk to her. Miriam patted Sarah’s back and then pulled away. She smiled and started to back up out of the light. She turned toward the city, took one long last look at Sarah, and ran towards the huge city gate.
A caravan was arriving and she walked behind some of the livestock, pretending to be their caretaker. Her veil covered all but her eyes, so no one could see who or what she was. Once inside the city, she moved quickly through the streets until she reached the Temple, expecting to find Him there. She did not enter; was careful to not even touch the first step at the entrance, so as not to desecrate God’s holy House.
Many pilgrims were in town, milling around her. Suddenly, there was a stirring from another direction. It came from the garden. People began flocking toward some men who were just arriving as the sun started its ascent. As daylight grew brighter, Miriam could see the cause of their clamor. A thin Man, in dingy, plain-looking clothes, was making His way through the crowd toward the Temple. Other men, probably His disciples, were anxiously trying to push the people away from the Man so He would not be crushed.
Miriam’s eyes grew wide, and she could feel her heart race wildly as she ran towards the crowd. She tried not to touch anyone, but got jostled by the people pressing behind her. She thought to herself, If only I could touch the hem of His garment, I’d be healed. With all her strength she hurtled herself through the people in front of her and fell forward, grabbing His robe as she stumbled to the ground beneath the feet trampling around her.
Then He stopped. She held her breath. She could feel the bleeding stop and a surge of warmth wash through her. The Man turned around and asked His disciples, “Who touched Me?”
A large, rather irritated one replied, “What are You talking about? Everyone’s been touching You!”
“I felt power leave Me just now,” He said looking around.
“Jesus,” another of the disciples said, “We’ve all been bumping into You. Are You injured, maybe?”
“No, it’s not like that,” Jesus replied, still scanning the crowd.
Miriam knew it must be to her He was referring. After all, it was a sin for her to touch anyone, especially a holy Man like him. Trembling, she crept towards Him, as people stood staring at Jesus, wondering what grabbed His attention so. Miriam had to squeeze between some people’s legs because there was no room for her to stand.
Finally, she was in front of Him, and she bowed her head low and prostrated herself at His feet. “It was me, Rabbi. I touched You.” She began to weep, awaiting her judgment.
Jesus only smiled, tenderness filling His eyes. He put His hand on her head and spoke lovingly to her, “Your faith has made you well, Sister.”
She looked up, startled, and then saw the love in His eyes. She sobbed more, but this time in joy. Jesus laughed and said, “Go in peace!”
“Thank You, Master! Thank You so much!” she exclaimed.
Jesus smiled and headed again toward the Temple, as the crowds closed around Him and His disciples once more.
poem by Pam Taylor
e-mail her about it at crackerjacksmaster@hotmail.com |
