One On One: 100 Days With Jesus--PASSIONಮಾದರಿ

Mary and John at the cross & the One who is our life   

“Did it have to be like this? That’s what I thought as we stood there with Him,” Mary said. “It was the most painful, confusing, profound moment of my life.”

John nodded. He had no words at the memory. Even now, 11 years later, he grieved those hours again when he stood with Mary and watched Jesus die. 

The fresh news that James has now been murdered—beheaded like John the Baptist—flooded John with emotion. It was 44 A.D. Ephesus. Far from Jerusalem. Far from the cross, yet in a heartbeat, John was back there. Recently, he brought Mary to Turkey to escape Herod Agrippa’s death-grip on Galilee. They got out just in time. His brother did not. 

James, the other “son of thunder,” would be the first of their group to die for the Lord. James would be fine with that, John smirked. If tonight his brother sat across from him, he would be the first to volunteer to die. Peter would fight him for the privilege. And what’s this other news from home? Peter rescued from death row by an angel? Of course, he was (laughing). 

But in the bittersweet memories, John’s spirit struggled. It was death, after all. First, his Lord. Now, his brother.

Never had John seen death like at Jesus’ cross. Tortured in spirit and body, Jesus’ flesh turned inside out. So grisly John feared he would vomit on the spot. He just focused on Jesus’ face and kept eye-contact with Him as much as he could. And he looked after his aunt, Mary.

So, this is the sword, she had said. “I’d worried for years what the old man in the temple meant. But when I stood there, I knew,” Mary's fist bounced off the table. “ . . I didn’t know how to pray, you know? I begged for the life of my innocent son. But I knew somehow—really since Gabriel told me about Him—that it would be this way. Didn't Isaiah the prophet say Messiah would suffer? I just wanted it to be different.”

“Still—in all His agony, He thought of you,” John touched Mary’s arm. 

“Dear woman, here is your son,” she whispered. 

“And here is your mother,” John finished. “A gift to us both.” They sat in the quiet. “Did you have any time with Him when He returned?” 

“Yes, brief, just the two of us. It was after we all left Jerusalem. He showed up one Sabbat back in our old house in Galilee. All the family was gathered for dinner. I was out back getting vegetables from storage. I turned around with my peppers and tomatoes and there He was, sitting in His favorite spot on the wall. Just like the million times we sat back there and talked.”

“What did you say to Him?” 

“At first I had no words, I could only cry and laugh and hug Him. I looked at His scars, I told Him I was sorry for trying to keep Him from Jerusalem. I knew He was about His Father’s business; He always was. I was just selfish, just being a mother, wanting Him near me . . . I thanked Him, too. I’m still trying to understand it but, He died for me that day, too, to pay for my sin, as He said. He came to save me, too. 

“I was the first to love Him, John, but He loved me even before that. I was the first to hear His words. I was the first to share His suffering. All those years, no one except Joseph and I knew who He was. And then when Joseph was gone, only me. 

“I had Him all to myself for a little bit. Of all people, I knew He was so much more than we knew. Everything I’ve learned since confirms it. When I think of that horrible day in Jerusalem, I see God’s Son and my son, my Savior . . . and my Lord. He is my life, John.” 

“You were His first disciple,” John smiled.

“Yes, I guess I was.” Then quickly, “He liked oranges. When we sat out back, He’d pick one off the tree and we’d share it and talk. I smile even now when I smell oranges.” 

Tomorrow: One on one with Jesus and a thief