“Redemption”

by Stephanie Van Wyk

 

What was the cost of redemption? This was the question that had plagued Mary Magdalene since the moment she met Jesus. Taking a portly sack of coins from a hidden cupboard and tying it to her sash, she took a deep breath and walked out into the crowded street, deliberating as she went.

 

Jesus had freed her from her bodily affliction. The fits hadn't come since He touched her. Mary’s whole life had been in submission to seizures of madness, coming upon her erratically. They had brought unceasing humiliation and self-contempt. Many times she had considered ending her life.

 

Mary turned down the street leading to the merchants’ stalls. She eyed each counter, searching for something worthy of her mission. How she had hungered for redemption—not only from demons, but also from sin. Sin had hung upon her like a millstone, weighing down her every step, crushing her when she tried to sleep, making her very soul ache with heaviness. And then He had come, and with just one word and a single touch, it was all over. She had followed Him ever since, drinking in every word He spoke, marveling at every miracle He performed.

 

Something caught her eye at one of the booths, and she drew closer to inspect. Mary reached out to touch it, but the merchant snatched the alabaster jar just as her fingers brushed it.

 

“Careful! You might break it, and then I would have lost a great deal of money. This is a most expensive perfume!” He eyed her haughtily and sniffed. “You could never afford such rare treasure. Move on to a lesser stall, peasant.”

 

Mary gazed at the boorish man calmly. “Is this the finest here?” She needed it to be the best she could give; her Lord deserved nothing less.

 

The merchant laughed. “This is the finest there is anywhere. This is what Pilate’s servants buy for his wife. The Herodians use it in preparation for their lavish feasts. Even Caesar himself is known to purchase it on occasion!”

 

Untying her money pouch, Mary set it on the counter and looked him in the eye.

 

“I’ll take it.”

 

The merchant’s mouth dropped in surprise, but greed lit his eyes as he pulled the sack over, dumping the many coins into his box.

 

“Excellent choice.”

 

Mary took the precious jar and hurried away, wariness swirling within. She was grateful for the freedom Jesus had granted her, but something kept her from complete joy. She knew what it was. She had discovered the cost of redemption, and she wished with all her soul she was wrong, yet she knew she wasn’t.

 

That evening, as Mary sat with the other followers, she kept glancing at Jesus as He talked and laughed around the dinner table. He was unremarkable, yet remarkable at the same time. He wasn't strikingly handsome, but the serenity of His face was always comforting to gaze upon. His hands were rough from years of carpenter’s work, yet she knew how incredibly gentle they could be. His voice was soft now, but she had witnessed the way it could command a crowd, hush any angry word, and make her soul rise zealously within. And He was going to die.

 

Tears burned her eyes as she fingered the small alabaster jar cradled in her lap. The others hadn't understood when Jesus spoke about his impending death, but she had. They didn’t know the cost of redemption, but she did.

 

Her invaluable incense was nothing compared to priceless freedom. You couldn't trade something of lesser value for another item of greater worth. And redemption was beyond price. But then so was Jesus. And that was why He, the meekest of heaven and earth, would have to suffer torment worse than death.

 

Tears were streaming down Mary’s face like rain, wetting the stone of the alabaster jar. A wrenching cry broke free from her lips. Silence filled the room.

 

Mary looked up, a hot blush rising in her cheeks as she realized everyone was staring at her, including Him. The disciples whispered amongst themselves, no doubt concluding the spirits were upon her again. Mary ignored them and looked into Jesus’ eyes. The emotion she saw there was mysterious to her but enough to give courage. Trembling, she rose.

 

Sobs racked her body with each step, but she kept going. She needed Him to know she understood what He was going to do, that she was extremely grateful for His coming atonement and inexplicably sorry that such a bargain was necessary. She didn’t deserve His sacrifice. No one did. Yet He was giving it freely, out of pure love.

 

With shaking, cold fingers, she brought out her gift. Sinking to her knees before Him and removing His sandals, she broke the jar at His feet. Everyone gasped in astonishment as the room was instantly filled with what seemed to be the scent of heaven.

 

Mary’s tears mixed with the precious perfume as they fell upon the travel-worn feet of Jesus. She bent and wiped them with her hair. He hadn't moved throughout the entire ordeal, but 5 she could feel the power of His gaze upon her. The room was still. The only sound was that of her soft weeping.

 

“Why was this jar not sold and the money given to the poor?” a voice rang out sharply, causing Mary to flinch as she recognized the voice of Judas. “It would’ve easily gone for three hundred pieces of silver.”

 

Mary held her breath, not moving, still bent in a bowed position before Jesus. Would He understand why she had done it, or would He say she had wasted her gift and been foolish with her intentions? Part of her wanted Him to say that this was a waste, that she had been wrong, and that there was no need for anyone to die. Yet the other part of her knew better, and she silently prayed that He would interpret her intentions correctly. Jesus still hadn't said anything as she dared to look up into His eyes.

 

What she saw there took her breath away. His eyes were aglow with tender love, and they shimmered with unshed tears. He reached out and took her hand, comforting her, though she had come seeking to comfort Him. Instantly, Mary knew He understood all that she had brought before Him.

 

“Leave her alone. She is anticipating and honoring the day of My burial. You will always have the poor with you, but you will not always have Me.”

 

Tears continued to cascade down Mary’s cheeks. An odd sense of victory and defeat swirled within her. For though He understood her intentions, He also affirmed something else by accepting them.

 

Jesus, Messiah, Wonderful Counselor, the Prince of Peace, the Son of both God and man, was going to suffer the most heinous of miseries, then die the most despairing of deaths. Like 6 Mary’s alabaster jar, He would be bought, broken, and poured out for the cleansing of not just one person, but the entire world. The cost of redemption would soon be paid in full.

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                                                                            "Victorian Drive"

                                                                       by Dominique Richardson

 

My Creator - the one Who made my seed, Who is eternal – planted me for a specific purpose, a specific person. As I traveled through the wind, an all too familiar wind, I began to feel the power that I possessed; although it may be minute in the grand scheme of all Creation, still I was certain of one thing: my existence is important. 

It was a rainy day, the day that I was born. Rainy and foggy, yet I could feel the weight of my destiny already upon me. I had just left my home – blown in a new direction by the heavy draft sweeping through the sheets of rain. 

 

My home, a grassy lot filled with others like me, was located about three blocks away from where I was planted when it all happened, Victorian Drive. I was lucky to be so close to where I used to be; there were many of us that were scattered many miles away from our home. 

 

On Victorian Drive, my new home, there were already rumors flowing about me, just as I began to be noticed; it was evident, they didn’t want me here. Even the significance of my existence is being debated upon. 

“It’s a nuisance,” they have said. “It’s sucking the life out of the rest,” they complain. 

 

I have a secret for you: I’ve also heard them say the same thing about each other. They’re very judgmental, the ones that choose who stays and who goes – passing without so much of a glance in our direction. How did You make us both? I think so regularly. It’s almost as if they’ve forgotten about Him. Almost as if they don’t know why we were all sent here to begin with. They’ve set us apart because He gave them dominion over us, but do they not acknowledge the significance in His smallest creations anymore? 

 

I started to think of them all as the same. Then I met her. 

 

I stood there erect, as I always did, waiting for my time to be reborn when I heard her voice for the first time. 

 

“Come on, Maverick,” I hear her call in a sweet-sounding voice.

 

I would see her seldomly. Some weeks I didn’t see her at all. I don’t know much about her but there was a kindness in the way she walked. Maverick is rowdy and destructive at times, but still she found patience with him. Patience in the way she spoke to him; in the way she led him; in the way she waited for him and in the way she would sit down in the grass with him. I don’t know much about her but I do know that she was present. Present in the way she carried herself. Present in the way she talked to the others across the street. Present in her familiarity of others like me, but also presently with Him. I don’t know much about her, but I do know this: she was the reason why I was there, on Victorian Drive. She was why I was planted. 

 

Seeing her was like a breath of fresh air; feeling her presence was like being with Him again. She was different, I knew that for certain, but there was always a heaviness that surrounded her. I used to see the same heaviness covering the others, like a film over their beings. This heaviness, the enemy of all Creation, varied in how it loomed over her in the same way that rainy day clouds do. Some days it would be a mile away from her, but other days it was as close to her as her shadow. Those days scared me – I didn’t want to lose her shine, I didn’t want to lose her contradiction to what that heaviness stood for, and I didn’t want to lose her; she was my purpose. 

 

I knew my time was coming to a close soon, I could feel it. I could sense it in my roots, in the stem that held me up, in the seeds planted on top of me. I knew it was my time. 

The next day that I saw her, the heaviness was in her eyes. It happened. Exactly what I was fearing was coming to fruition. I knew in that moment, it was my day – the day in which my purpose would be fulfilled. 

She was upset, I didn’t just see this in the heaviness in her eyes, I could see it in the way she walked. I could see it in the way she addressed Maverick. I could see it in the way she ignored the others on the opposite side of the street. I knew then that this heaviness was Sorrow. I’ve seen it encompass the others before, sucking the life out of them until they’re gone. I knew He wasn’t going to let that happen to her, though. I knew it like I knew the certainty of His existence, like I knew of His goodness, like I finally knew the exact purpose of my life.

She forgot to look both ways before crossing over to my side of the street and I held my breath. She was closer to me now. She walked over to me and the others like me. She stopped inches away from us and stood directly over us; studied the cloud of seeds that grow on top of us; kneeled down, ever so gently, and chose me. Her hand was soft, but her eyes were covered in Sorrow.  She held me up, still staring at my seeds, and brought me with her down the street. 

One foot. Two feet. Three feet. 

 

We were traveling together. She was a connection between He and I that allowed me to feel at one with Him – like I never have before. I didn’t expect this to happen, but I also didn’t foresee what was to come next, either. 

 

She stopped – we were inches away from the stop sign. It was almost as if she was realizing where she was for the first time that day. She slowly lifted me up and held me close to her face. 

I could tell that she was noticing just what I was and Whose I was, which was familiar to her. She closed her eyes and I could feel her talking with Him. The way her eyelashes fluttered and the way her face contorted; it’s was a deep conversation she was having with our Creator. 

 

She opened her eyes and this time, the Sorrow was gone. There was no residue of it being there, not one trace of its existence at all. 

Then, without hesitation, she held me up. 

 

Out at arms-length I could feel the familiar wind sweeping through and for a moment we stood there staring at each other but not seeing anything but Him.

Then – one seed. Two seeds. Three seeds. 

 

I was being reborn and I realized that my existence was more important than I could have ever imagined. 

He used me that day to bring life back into her eyes. He used me to help her realize the Sorrow that was beginning to fill her. He brought us together to help her feel the connection that we had with Him. It was a day that I will never forget. It was the day that wiped away the Sorrow. It was a good day to be reborn. It was a good day to be a dandelion.