Mary and Jesus

[murphy dee]

Soooooo this took a lot longer than I was anticipating. I'd wanted to post this on Easter, and now here I am a week later. I think my problem was that I got totally stuck halfway through, then I told myself I wasn't going to work on anything else until it was finished. So it was a totally grueling process.

Anyway, enough whining. In spite of the difficulty, I'm proud of how this came out! Ended up quite a bit more dramatic than how I started, but hey, that how it goes.

A warning, though. This story is about Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene. It also involves some romance between them. Nothing heavy or R-rated, but romance just the same. So if that doesn't seem like something you would want to read, or something that might even offend you if you read it, then you probably shouldn't continue.

That said, if you're a "who cares" brand of agnostic such as myself with a taste for the melodramatic, this just might be up your alley.

Oh, and I drew a picture of how I imagined Mary Magdalene - here it is for anyone who would like to see.

Okay, let's do this. All 4000 words of it.

---------------------------------------------

“Hgg’schh!”

Dinner came to a standstill and all eyes fell upon the slender, bearded man seated near the head of the table. He stared listlessly, his skin pale; the twelve other men looked worriedly to one another, until finally John said, “Bless you, my Lord. Are you well?”

“Do you need to rest?” asked Peter.

“Should we bring a doctor?” asked James.

“Is it Mary’s food?” asked Judas, chuckling.

“Hey!” The shout sounded from the other room, and in seconds a bushy-haired woman blazed upon the scene with ladle brandished. “Who said that?”

Eleven pointing fingers sentenced Judas to a good ladle thwack. “Oww! You little—”

“Hhihg’tchh!”

Everyone’s attentions once again shifted to Jesus, and voices rose as they fussed over him.

But Jesus merely sniffled, pardoned himself, and said, “Your alarm is appreciated, friends, though unwarranted. I assure you, I’m perfectly fine.” His confident smile seemed to set their collective mind at ease, and they returned to their dinner.

The remainder of the meal continued on as usual with spirited discussions and lively debates, and even after most men had retired to their own homes for the evening, a few lagged behind, still engaged in conversations. Eventually it grew so late that even the stragglers left, yawning as they went, and then only Jesus held back just inside the doorway.

“Thank you for having us over for Shabbat,” he said to Mary. “They may not all have expressed it in so many words, but the others are certainly appreciative of your continued hospitality.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” she said. Covered in splattered fat and run ragged, she nevertheless beamed with pride at his words. “I hope you’ll all come again soon.”

Jesus laughed a little, though he seemed tired. “You know I can never pass up your cooking, Mary.” He gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “By the way, you have some, uh….”

Mary rubbed her cheek. “Did I get it?”

“Allow me.” Jesus gingerly cradled her face in his hand and thumbed a spot of flour from under her eye. “There, perfect.”

Mary felt as if she were glowing.

Without much warning, Jesus’ nose twitched and he sucked in a frantic breath. He quickly turned his head from her and sneezed into the crook of his elbow. “Hh’schh! Hg’ttchh! Heh…het’schhh!”

“Bless you.” Mary helped to steady him as he struggled to keep upright. “You’re not well at all, are you?”

“I only need some sleep,” he said dismissively and changed the subject. “I plan to lecture at the bazaar tomorrow morning, if you’d like to come and listen.”

“I’d love to,” said Mary, unaware that she was fiddling with the hem of her apron. “Now you get home and go right to bed, you hear me? Don’t make me worry about you.”

Jesus grinned, but a faint hint of melancholy rippled just beneath the surface of his features. “I’ll try my best,” he said, and walked off into the darkness beyond the door.

=+=

“I don’t understand,” Thomas huffed, pacing the market square. “He said he’d be here this morning, but the sun is almost at its apex. Is it possible he’s just not coming?”

Simon shook his head. “No, no, he’ll show. He’s a very busy man, after all. Maybe something came up.”

Mary sat in the shade against a merchant’s stall, popping dried figs into her mouth. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, but she was willing to stick it out a little while longer in case Simon was right.

When the shadows began to stretch towards the east, however, Jesus’ twelve disciples and Mary shared concerned glances. “I think we should go look for him,” said John. “Where would he normally be in the afternoon?”

The men talked it over and decided to split up into groups to search the fishing piers, the shepherds’ fields, and the entire bazaar. But Mary had a hunch. When they left, she took off running in the direction of the poorer side of town, her sandaled feet kicking up dust and pebbles. She passed blind beggars and homely women dressed in gauzy colors and jangling jewelry. The buildings shrunk smaller and smaller until she came to a panting stop in front of a condemned-looking, shambled-together shack of a home.

She knocked. No answer. So she searched around the house and saw a small, circular window covered on the inside by a moth-eaten curtain, but it proved too high to peep through.

Mary grunted as she rolled a barrel from next door in front of the window and stood it up. “Perfect,” she said, then climbed on top. The window was easy to get to now, and she pushed aside the tattered curtain.

There, in the corner on a thin straw mat, was Jesus sleeping curled up on his side. Mary wriggled through the window and landed in a heap on the dirt floor. “Oof! My goodness…” After brushing herself off, she went to Jesus and laid hands on him to test his temperature. He was warm, but not critically so. She sighed with relief.

“Mmn…Mary?”

“I’m here,” she said softly. “It’s all right now.”

Jesus tried to push himself up off the mat, but when his arms threatened to give out, Mary aided him the rest of the way. He leaned back on the wall, limbs limps and exhausted. “I feel…I feel so…”

“Shh, I know,” said Mary, tucking loose strands of hair behind his ear. “Let’s get some food into you. You need your strength.” She scanned the one-room home and found it nearly barren. A sturdy table and chair occupied the corner, made by Jesus himself while still practicing carpentry when he lived in Nazareth. Two or three bowls sat stacked on the tabletop along with a clay mug. There was also an old bucket by the door. But there was no place to build a fire, no place to cook, and no pots to cook in. Mary felt pity swell in her heart. She knew he lived among the poor, but she had no idea he was actually this destitute.

Jesus gripped his chest and coughed weakly. He couldn’t stay here.

“Let’s, uh…let’s get you a drink first,” she said, rising from the floor.

Mary grabbed the bucket as she left and walked down the path a ways until locating a communal well. She turned the crank and lowered the attached weighted pail, and when she heard it make contact with the fresh water below, she cranked it back up and poured its contents into her own bucket.

“Mary!” John and his older brother James bounded over to her.

“Boys,” she said happily, “I’m so glad you’re here. Jesus was home the entire time. He’s fallen ill.”

“He’s sick?” John sputtered.

“Yes,” said Mary, already taking the path up to Jesus’ house. The boys walked beside her. “Please come back with me, I’ll need some help moving him.”

“Where?” James asked.

Mary knew it would be unorthodox, but it was for the best. “I’ll have him stay with me until he recuperates.”

The brothers shared a glance for a moment, then James shrugged and John followed suit. “All right,” said James. “Of course we’ll help.”

Jesus lifted his head, resting it against the wall, as the three of them bustled through the door. His expression brightened considerably upon noticing John and James. “My friends,” he said, his voice small, “what a joy to see you.”

“Oh, my Lord,” John said, kneeling at Jesus’ right side. “I’m so sorry we didn’t come to you sooner, we didn’t think you were—”

“John, John,” said Jesus, hushing him. “There is nothing to apologize…hhih…f-for…hgt’tschhh!” He pulled his knees to his chest and sneezed down at them, spraying the plain ecru robes with droplets of saliva. “Hht’kchh! Hhe…het’tkchhh!”

“Bless you,” chimed the brothers.

Jesus sniffled, his cheeks and nose flushed scarlet-pink. Mary came to him with the clay mug filled to the brim with cool water, which he took and eagerly sipped on. Wiping his mouth and beard, he coughed out a relieved, “Thank you.”

“When you feel up to it,” said Mary, “I’ve asked John and James to take you to my home.”

“Oh, no,” Jesus said. “No, that’s too much trouble, I…I refuse to be a burden.”

Mary locked onto him with a solemn stare. “Think of what you’ve done for me,” she said slowly, deliberately. She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need to. John and James were both fully aware of her past; fully aware of the sin she had been liberated from at Jesus’ hand. “That kind of help…it can never be repaid, I know. But please, let me try.”

Jesus saw the severity in her eyes. “All right, Mary,” he said, and finished his water. “Let’s go.”

=+=

“Gently, gently,” Mary instructed. John and James, with one of Jesus’ arms slung over each of their necks, entered the bedroom and laid him out on the overstuffed mattress. Jesus sunk into the soft linen sheets, his hair spilling across the pillow.

“Th-thank you, boys,” he said weakly.

“Anything for you, Lord,” John replied.

James turned to Mary and said, “We’ll come by in the morning to check on him. But if you need anything from us in the meantime, you know where we’ll be. And I don’t just mean if you need John and me, I mean any of us. Peter, Judas, Andrew, whoever. We’ll all be willing to lend a hand if you require it.”

“I appreciate that, thank you,” she said. It was difficult at times to tell where she stood with the apostles. John and James were usually courteous, but some of the men tended to either disrespect her or ignore her completely. And other times she swore she saw varying levels of envy in their faces when Jesus would speak to her alone. She hadn’t always been a model person, certainly, but he somehow found worth in her; she only wished the rest of them could find it in her as well.

The brothers said their goodbyes and left, though not without some leftover honeyed challah bread as thanks for their assistance.

With them gone, Mary sat by the bed and took Jesus’ hand. “How are you feeling?” she asked. “You must be hungry.”

He tightened his grip on her ever-so slightly. “My sweet Mary,” he said. His red-rimmed eyes were beginning to close. A faint rattle sounded in his chest as he breathed, and he was pale all over save for a spatter of pink on his cheeks and around his nostrils. “I’m going to…rest my eyes. Just for a few…few minutes, I’m so…so…”

Mary watched as he slipped into sleep, brushing her thumb along the inside of his wrist. Then, when he began to peacefully snore, she got to her feet and went to the kitchen to cook him something.

=+=

“Ha…hha…hhah…hatt’ksxchhh!”

Mary nearly dropped the big spoon into the pot. “Coming!” she called, and ladled her soup into a hefty earthenware bowl.

Jesus was sniffling miserably when she came into the bedroom.

“You’ve been out for a couple hours,” she said. “It’s almost sundown. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, I feel somewhat better; more like myself,” Jesus said, though it was obvious his nose bothered him. He sniffed, rubbed, pinched, but still he looked as if he had to sneeze. “And it helps that this bed is so comfortaahh…ahh…ahht’kcchhh! Haa…hah’tschhh!”

“Bless you!” Mary handed him the bowl when he was finished and lit the candles on the bedside table. The flickering orange light danced on their faces and cast their shadows on the walls.

“Thank you.” Jesus stirred the broth, inhaling the fragrant vapors, and ate a mouthful. Bliss erupted on his face as he moaned with delight. “Ohh…this is…this is so good. What is this?”

Mary shrugged and counted on her fingers. “Potatoes, carrots, some jute from the garden, and cloves and cinnamon.”

Jesus couldn’t stop eating, and when he was through he asked for seconds. As he plowed through this new bowl, he suddenly stopped and handed it back to Mary.

“Full?” she asked.

“No, I think I…I have to…” His nostrils arched and his eyes watered. He sniffed, trying to fight off the unwelcome sensation, but in his weakened state it easily overpowered him. “Ha…haa…haat’tkkchh! Hgh’kschh! Hehh…hhegt’scchhh!” Jesus looked to Mary sheepishly, his nose a brilliant red. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I must be getting you sick, too.”

But Mary passed the soup to him again and shook her head. “I’m okay,” she said. “You just worry about getting well.”

Jesus sniffled and smiled. “You’re a true friend to me, Mary.”

She blushed. She didn’t mean to, but it couldn’t be helped. “I hope to always be.”

Jesus’ lips pressed together and he seemed struck by a sudden unpleasant thought. “Mary, what if…what if something were to happen?”

“What do you mean?”

He poked at a chunk of potato with his spoon. “I’m not exactly sure,” he said. “But, would you be there with me regardless?”

Mary searched his expression for any hint of playfulness, but there was none. “Of course,” she said at last. “But nothing’s going to happen to you. You’re going to be fine, right?”

Jesus continued to eat his soup, unable to answer. He was, however, still able to sneeze. “Hegt’tkcchh! Hh…hiit’kkchhh!” Through some miracle, he’d held onto the bowl and kept it from spilling. He wasn’t sure if he trusted himself enough to manage that a second time, so he wolfed down the rest of the soup as fast as he could and gave the bowl to Mary, and just in time. “Hgg’tscchh! Hht’gkchh! Hih...ihhh…heht’tgkkchh! Pardon me…”

“Bless you,” said Mary. “Can I get you something to drink from the kitchen?” She stood and lingered in the doorway.

Jesus sniffled and scratched the back of his neck. “Do you have any wine?”

=+=

“—and all Judas can say is, ‘Hey, these aren’t my sandals!’”

After three cups of wine, with cheeks warmed and tongues loosened, the two of them laughed until they were starting to cry. Mary couldn’t be sure if wine was the best thing for Jesus in his current state of health, but there was no arguing that he appeared in better spirits.

“He never did find his sandals,” Jesus sighed nostalgically, still chuckling.

Mary giggled and poured them both more to drink from a clay carafe. “To life,” they said as they toasted a fourth time.

“So that’s how I met Judas,” Jesus said.

“Can you unmeet him?”

They laughed again, and Jesus wiped mirthful tears from under his eyes.

“Oh Mary,” he said, taking her hand, “I wish I knew you back in Nazareth, we would’ve had a good time togethehh…eigt’kscchh! And I also wish I could stop sneezihh…hh…hihh’gktchh! Hgt’kxchh! Ha…haah…hait’txkscchh!” His full cup jostled with each sneeze, finally dribbling over onto the bedsheets as he finished his fit.

He began to apologize, but Mary stopped him. She set down her wine and gathered the soiled linens into her arms, making a mental note to scrub them later. By the time she returned with a thicker blanket, Jesus had placed his cup on the floor next to hers and appeared to be sleeping.

Mary couldn’t move, transfixed by the angelic scene. Moonlight shone in from the window, filtering through the candlelight as it reached Jesus’ prone form. A delicate blend of soft blue and yellow-orange light mingled upon his skin and wove through his hair. Mary choked back a cry. Perhaps it was the wine, but she had never seen anyone look more beautiful.

When she remembered to breathe, she draped the blanket over him, pulling it up just under his bearded chin. His eyes fluttered open. “Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” she said as she sat on the mattress, sweeping aside one of her thick, dark locks. A balmy, cobwebby feeling coated her mind, and she didn’t realize just how close they were. Another foot or so and their noses could have touched, and she was drifting slowly closer.

Jesus sunk further into the pillow, crossing his eyes as she drew ever near.

“Mary, what are…w-what are yhh…hih…hegt’kkschhh!” He tried turn from her completely, but only made it far enough to sneeze into her shoulder. “Hig’txscchh! Haa…haig’kkxchhh!”

Before he could attempt to speak again, Mary cupped his jaw and pressed her lips to his.

Jesus froze, but in a sobering jolt of adrenaline he returned to his senses. He wrenched away from the kiss, looking back and forth between her dilated pupils.

“Mary, what—”

“I’m in love with you.”

Jesus sucked in a sharp inhale. Her words hung there between them, unable to be ignored. But what could he possibly say?

“Even so,” he eventually said, “we can’t do this. I…can’t do this.”

Mary’s features contorted in horror and panic. “Ohh no,” she groaned, the weight of her actions just now dawning on her. She buried her head in her hands, paralyzed by shame. “No, no, no, no, no…”

“It’s all right,” said Jesus.

She lowered her shaking hands, balling them into fists in her lap.

“You should’ve left me to the Pharisees,” she said, unable to look at him. Jesus reached out to comfort her, but she dodged him and got to her feet.

She left the room and walked into the kitchen where she collapsed in the corner, weeping silently against the wall until fatigue overtook her.

=+=

Mary woke in the middle of the night, momentarily forgetting where she had fallen asleep. The shrill chirps of countless cicadas buzzed from outside and winds rustled the tree branches.

Something felt wrong.

She timidly peered into the bedroom, half expecting to find that Jesus had gone. But there he lay, splayed out on the mattress. He was wheezing and his chest rose and fell erratically. Mary rushed to his side and checked his temperature, gasping when she felt the fever burning like hell on his forehead. “No, no,” she said under her breath, “I thought you were recovering!”

But Jesus was unresponsive and ghost-white in the candlelight.

Getting her pail in hand, Mary burst out the front door and made a beeline for the hand pump at the bottom of the hill. She forced the old rusted lever down again and again, filling the pail with fresh water and then hiking back to the house. She stumbled once and nearly spilled, but managed to get inside, kick the door shut, and bring the water to Jesus.

“This should help,” she said, and she dipped a clean rag into the pail, squeezed, and placed it on his brow. Jesus sighed in his sleep and seemed to relax somewhat, but that did little to ease her apprehension.

Mary dropped to her knees next to the bed and clasped her hands together in prayer.

“Don’t punish him for my mistake, please, Lord,” she begged, fat tears already rolling down her cheeks. “He’s your son. You can’t take him away from us…away from me. Please heal him, make him well again. Take me instead if someone has to pay.”

She prayed as earnestly as she knew how until every candle but one snuffed themselves out. Darkness threatened to crush in upon her. But surely, she thought, if she kept speaking God would eventually listen. He had to listen.

Mary was still a babbling wreck when Jesus gained consciousness. He listened to her desperate mutterings for a moment and then laid a clammy hand upon her mop of dark hair. “Mary…”

She lifted her head from the damp blanket, eyes blotchy and bruise-colored from lack of sleep and abundance of crying. The sight of him filled her full of joy so fast she could hardly process the emotion. A gasped sob was all she was able to manage before throwing herself into his arms.

They stayed there together while Mary slowed her breathing and gathered her wits. “I thought…I thought you might not wake up again,” she said. “And it would’ve been my fault. I forced you into an act of sin. You’re the son of God and I…I…”

Jesus kissed her at her temple. “There’s no sin in what you did,” he said, rubbing his fingers under his nose where her hair had tickled him.

“But you said—”

“Look,” he interrupted, “there’s something you need to know, something I’ve been avoidiihh…hhi’tkscchh! Ha…haa…hatt’ixschhh!”

“Bless you,” said Mary, leaning in. “You can tell me.”

Jesus sniffled hard, crinkled the bridge of his nose, and then cleared his throat. “My Father, he…he has a plan for me. He hasn’t permitted me to know what exactly, but,”—he hesitated to continue—“when I meditate on my future, I get terrible visions. Awful things are going to happen to me, Mary, and I don’t want you to be a part of it. I don’t…I don’t want you too close to me.”

Mary curled her fingers around his. “Is that what this has all been about?” she asked.

“I fear so, yes.” Jesus stared down at the stitching in the blanket. “I feel it would be best not to get further involved. When the time comes, and I’m taken away, I just…I don’t want to cause you any more pain. You’ve been through eno—”

Mary shushed him, pinching his lips together. “You listen to me,” she said. “Don’t think I can be scared off so easily. I’m going to stay by your side no matter what happens, and that’s my choice to make.”

Jesus appeared thoughtful, as if he were mulling over her words, but the look gave way to bleary eyes and twitching nostrils. He sniffed in a desperate noseful of air and sneezed just as Mary yanked back her hand from his mouth. “Igh’txikcchh! Ohh, I’m sorry…”

She grinned. “Bless you.”

Jesus returned the smile, eyes shimmering in the dim candlelight. “Do you mean it?”

“Bless you?”

“No,” he said, laughing under his breath. “Do you mean that you’ll stay? Even if it means I might have to leave you?”

Mary nodded and laid her head down on his shoulder. “You are the son of my Lord, and the man that I love. I won’t ever abandon you.”

The last candle finally withered and died. Her breath felt warm on his neck as he held her close in the black chill of the night. “My Mary,” he whispered, weariness encroaching on the edges of his consciousness. “My sweet Mary. My love.”

She smiled against his skin.

=Epilogue=

The front door opened and morning sun flooded in. John and James stepped over the threshold and looked about. “Hello?” they called. They were a little surprised that Mary had not been tending her garden out back, as she typically did first thing upon waking. Though perhaps with Jesus staying at the house, she decided to wait and do it later.

James popped his head into the kitchen. “Mary?” But she wasn’t there.

John came to his brother’s side, eyes wide with alarm. “You need to come see this.” He led James to the bedroom and pointed through the entryway. “Look there.”

Mary and Jesus lay together on the bed, bodies curled in each other’s embrace, fast asleep.

“Should we wake them up?” John asked.

James patted his brother on the head. “We’ll let them dream a little longer,” he said. “Come on, let’s go.”

End.

Edited May 1, 2011 by Murphy D.

[Anonymouse]

This was totally worth the wait! Nice and long and so well-written.

You describe the sneezes so perfectly from start to finish. I totally love the having-to-sneeze-while-holding-liquid scenario.

Jesus kissed her at her temple. “There’s no sin in what you did,” he said, rubbing his fingers under his nose where her hair had tickled him. ...

Jesus appeared thoughtful, as if he were mulling over her words, but the look gave way to bleary eyes and twitching nostrils. He sniffed in a desperate noseful of air and sneezed just as Mary yanked back her hand from his mouth. “Igh’txikcchh! Ohh, I’m sorry…”

^ Those were my favorite parts. But I loved the whole thing.

Everything was so cute and sweet between the two of them. I can't imagine anyone getting upset over this, I hardly think it's blasphemy. Jesus was a human and it just shows how human he was, to care about Mary like that. The epilogue was especially adorable.

Tipsy!Jesus made me lol. Especially the tail-end of his story about Judas's sandals.

[starpollen]

This was VERY well written. I have been a devout Christian for much of my life (even if not as much recently) and I greatly enjoyed this. You stayed true to character - humanizing Jesus while at the same time setting him apart from his disciples.

Great work!!

[murphy dee]

Anonymouse - Yeah, it's not really blasphemy to me either, but I figured I should play it on the safe side. I mean, in this story I've got Jesus kissing a girl, cuddling in bed, and getting drunk. I'm sure someone's gotta be offended by that. But I'm glad that you liked it and that it was worth waiting for! Last thing I wanted was to hype it up and then disappoint, so that's definitely a relief. Thanks a lot for the kind words! (And lol, I wish I knew what the beginning of the sandal story was...sure sounded funny the way he was telling it.)

starpollen - Oh wow, thank you!! I'm very happy that you enjoyed the story and that you found Jesus to be in character. I was a little concerned about how he might come across, but you've set my mind at ease.

[em4]

What a creative and unique fic!

I was a little unsure if I would be able to "fall" into Jesus' world, but your writing actually made it quite easy. Of course, it never hurts to start a sneeze fic with a sneeze, heehee. But seriously there is something comfortable and easy about your writing and the way you portrayed the characters that sucked me in.

It seems a little odd to compliment Jesus' sneezes, but I liked how you spelt them. Especially the build ups and sneezing mid sentence.

Also, I appreciated that the mentions of Easter towards the end. Poor Jesus and his nightmare-ish premonitions.

I think it's probably obvious I really enjoyed your fic. Great job!

[bangbang]

As a Catholic-raised atheist, I like this story a lot more than I was expecting too. Sneezes were lush (as ever) and Jesus actually seemed so real. And I love Mary's toughness and loyalty, she's great. (And the picture you drew of her is great as well.) And Judas was so lol-worthy. Like, seriously.

But yeah, your biblical "blasphemy" (don't worry about that, btw - it's not like your Jesus is a womanising misanthrope) made me giggle and tingle, so thanks!

[murphy dee]

em4 - There were so many points during the writing process that felt like the gears in my head were rusted and screeching. It's good to hear that my writer's block wasn't apparent in the story, because I totally give myself complexes about that stuff. So thank you!! And it was so fun to write Jesus...I always imagined he would be sweet and good-natured, but authoritative and a little internally tortured. I mean the guy must've had so much on his mind, what with the redemption of the whole world resting on his shoulders and everything. Poor guy.

bangbang - Haha, thank you!! I've always been of the opinion that Judas got dealt a bad hand - I don't think he betrayed Jesus necessarily, I think Jesus asked him to do it in order to set in motion the events that would lead to the crucifixion. But Judas still could've been kind of a jerk. I thought it was funny to make him one, anyway. And Mary's mah gurl, so I really wanted to let her character shine. It would certainly take a special kind of woman to be Jesus' lady.

Edited May 1, 2011 by Murphy D.

[count tiszula]

This is really good! And I should thank you for inspiring me to write my own Easter story...

The Biblical and peribiblical [?] bits are wonderful; everyone in character, all the references, and as you say one of the "Three versions of Judas", or are there more.... But anyway, Judas, the one who held the bag, the one everyone makes jokes about. [Of course Jesus obviously makes jokes about them all.]

Wait a moment though; Mary as cook? "St Martha is our cook" in Mahler.....

[obsessed]

This is so intriguing!

[murphy dee]

count de tisza - Thank you! Ha, I loved your Easter story. I had meant to write something cute and lightearted like you did, but I somehow got bogged down in the melodrama. Ah, c'est la vie.

obsessed - Aw, thank you! I am glad I could intrigue.

Edited May 3, 2011 by Murphy D.

[OnlyInMyDreams]

My first thought when I saw this page was, "Oh my, can I read that?" I'm a Christian, and I'm usually wary of anything written that someone calls blasphemous.

I don't believe there ewas romance between Jesus and anyone during his life here on earth, but, the way you wrote this, it could have been any other group of people from that time period, except for one key thing which I heartily approve of: the way you kept true to their characters. Perhaps not as true as if any one of us had known them all those years ago, but it was almost believable, except for what I wrote earlier about what I believe.

Thank you for a well-written, expressive story. Lots of good sneezes and sniffles and the like. Can never go too wrong with those.