DRIVEN TO RUN
They called me a 'sinner.' I was branded by the 'righteous' community.
An outcast. Rightfully so I guess. I didn't want anything to do with
them. I didn't even want to try to live as they did, with all their
rules and regulations. I wanted freedom, the freedom to be me, to live
as I wanted, to do as I wanted. I could choose, I wasn't stupid about
what was good for me.
Can you imagine?! Having someone else tell you what to do and what not
to do. And strangers no less! What did they care about my
life...really?! I figured they were just control freaks; busybodies,
bored with their own insignificant lives so they had to try and meddle
with everyone else's life.
And the gall! To say they were representing God, if there really was a
god to represent.
I mean really! Where was he if he really existed?
Oh yeah I grew up with all the stories about how he delivered our people
out of Egypt and all that stuff... you know... the miracles and stuff.
Well if that was all real where was he today?
Where was he in my life? I never saw him or felt him.
Oh, I'd look at animals and trees and birds and things and I'd wonder.
But then I'd look at the people around me.
I mean take for instance my parents. When I was growing up all I can
seem to remember is their anger. They always seemed angry at each other
or angry with me. Always the screaming and the yelling. And if they
weren't yelling they just didn't pay attention. Cold and indifferent...
you know what I mean? I wanted to run away; to hide from their harsh,
biting words and their spiteful, selfish actions.
Oh, in front of other people they'd kind of pretend to be okay, but the
anger and impatience would creep out somewhere. A little nip here and a
little nip there. Always the strife and contention.
But, they were religious. My father was a hazan, the one who leads the
prayer service in the synagogue and my mother rarely missed a Shabat
service.
It was all pretty empty and painful for me. And then on top of it all
they divorced... "some uncleanness" my father said. A couple of months
later he was remarried.
Anyway, to make a long story short... it didn't seem to hold anything
for me. In fact I grew to despise them for the hypocrisy that I saw
continually in them and most of the others in our small community.
I mean every Shabat or at least every feast day everyone would troop off
to the synagogue, but after the service or even during it the women
would be gossiping, the men would be doing the same and talking business
and, or politics.
And during the week... ha,ha,... the yelling, the screaming, the
bickering, the cheating, the divorces. I'm sure you must know what I'm
talking about.
Did you know marriage only hurts if you've been in one? Seems every
pretty young girl ends up in one, I was no different. I had hopes it
would be different for me than my parents marriage and deeper fears that
it would be the same. It was worse. I got into trouble when he hurt me
one too many times and I slept with another.
After being 'put away', I decided I'd make my own way. I'd do what I
thought was good and pleasing. I thought why not choose who I wanted,
when I wanted... no strings attached.
It was a little chancy to live this way, but with Roman rule I felt
pretty protected, especially by some of my Roman 'friends' if you know
what I mean.
You can see now that I hated everything that the religious community
seemed to hold near and dear. And it wouldn't have mattered anyway to
them, they hated me as well, as they often announced to others in the
street as I passed by.
I have to admit, not openly of course, but sometimes their scorn and
rejection would cut deep into my heart, or maybe it just caused all the
other biting, angry and critical words to come up to the surface of my
mind.
Anyway I had a remedy for that. You see I loved wine. It was cool and
calming and lightly sweet, and after one or two glasses it became warm
and comforting, stilling my agitated soul and mind. Sometimes, really
probably often, I'd drink more than two or three... I'd even lose count.
Sometimes I'd have a visitor. I'd like that most of the time because
often I was really haunted by the darkness and the loneliness. I really
liked parties because they were light and lively and I could usually
find someone to be with at the end.
Well then one day a most unusual thing happened. You know Levi the tax
collector? He wasn't liked anymore than me but we were friends. He asked
me to a party he was having at his house. Said he met somebody special
he wanted his friends to meet. So I said, "Okay, I'll be there, wouldn't
miss it."
I went home and got really 'ready' for this party. And off I went
excited about meeting this somebody 'new.' Maybe he'd be somebody I
could get to 'know.'
Well surprise, surprise! Who do I meet in the road coming from evening
prayers at the synagogue, but the ruler of the synagogue and some of his
friends. At first they mocked me, calling me a harlot and other such
things and then they all spit on the ground in my direction. Wow! I was
fit to be tied. What chutzpah! If their wives knew what I knew. I was
so angry I spit back at them and cursed them out.
And then within moments I was at Levi's door. I was still a bit
disheveled but I knew everyone would understand, we had these kind of
things happen quite often. It would be the talk of the party... at least
for a little while.
The door was open. I stepped inside to find a large crowd around the
table, lots of food and drink... Levi was a good host. But some things
were different tonight. There were a number of men who I'd never seen
before at Levi's house, two or three I recognized but had never seen
here before. And then there was this one man. He was kind of in the
middle of it all.
He turned and looked right at me. I mean right at me, right in the eyes.
Now you have to understand, maybe you do already, that I'm not one
that's given to embarrassment, but in that moment I felt uncovered;
naked standing there, but ironically at the same time I felt he loved
me; not like my lovers, different somehow... there was a sweetness. His
eyes seemed to see everything in me and at the same time he wasn't
condemning me for what he saw. There was no hardness there. I only saw
and experienced gentleness and tenderness.
It just pierced through my heart. How could his eyes do that to me? No
one... I mean no one had ever looked at me that way before!
I didn't know what to do. Should I run out the door or should I go in?!
I was stunned.
Then he rose and came over to me. He took my hand in his and led me to
the table where he made room for me to sit right beside him.
I could tell right away he wasn't one of us... 'sinners' I mean. But he
wasn't a Pharisee either. I mean he wasn't all dressed up like one of
them. He had tsit-tsit and a full, untrimmed beard, dressed plain and
simple and clean.
Then he began to speak, often turning and looking again in my eyes. He
was talking about God. Telling us He was our true Papa and that He loved
us and wanted to heal us and make us His own; that He was calling us
back to Himself.
But it was not just his words, although they seemed to wash over me in
such a calming, peaceful way... kind of like the wine but very
different... not numbing.
It was his eyes. They made me feel safe and secure, soft and warm.
I couldn't believe it! I couldn't believe tears were coming to my eyes!
I hadn't cried for years! I'd forgotten how. Even when I hurt and I was
alone I'd gotten to where I couldn't cry, and I'd drink myself to sleep
because I couldn't bear the pain locked up inside me.
Now here I was, tears starting to stream down my cheeks. For a moment I
felt self-conscious of them and tried to brush them away, and then it
didn't seem to matter anymore.
Then he turned and he took my face and pulled me to his shoulder and I
felt all my heart melting... melting... and melting into his shoulder.
It was as if all the darkness fled away; all the emptiness, the
bitterness, the sorrow, the anxiety, the hatred, the feeling driven to
run and run and run. And then I just knew there really was a God and
He'd touched me.
He held me as I sobbed and when I stopped he wiped my face so tenderly.
I felt so different. I felt clean. I mean really clean! I never fully
realized how dirty I'd felt.
Who was this man who touched and changed me? I heard them say his
name... Yeshua. All of a sudden that was the sweetest name I'd ever
heard. All I knew was that I loved him, like a child loves a loving
father... but more than that, more than that. There are no words to
express that love for Him.
Needless to say, I began to follow Him. Wherever He went I followed. And
I began to learn about our God through Him. Now I began to understand
what it was all meant to be... God and us I mean. Like a marriage, the
very thing I had despised but now was beginning to see was meant to be
something beautiful.
But I was changing still. His words were changing me. The way I'd think,
the way I acted were all changing. His words just washed over me again
and again like waves.
His words were real. His actions, the things He did, the way He
lived...it was real! And we, those that followed Him, we were becoming
real, too. I could see it in the others.
And when we made mistakes Yeshua would teach us what was right and He
would forgive us. Such mercy, such forgiving loving kindness I'd never
known! I didn't have to hide my heart, good or bad, anymore. And because
of Yeshua's awesome love and forgiveness for me, I began to feel
compassion and mercy even for those who had hurt me the most. I found
myself wanting to forgive them and wanting to do kind and tender things
for them. Can you believe this?! Even when they continued to revile and
reject me!
Oh, sure it would hurt, but now I took that hurt to my best friend
Yeshua and amazingly He would always have this way of transforming it
into my wanting to return kindness to the one who hurt me! I didn't want
to entertain bitterness in my heart anymore. I'd lived in that prison,
too long!
Then one day they took Him away and hung Him on a tree. What they did to
Him! I couldn't bear it! My heart was to be broken again?!
But then I heard Him say, "Father forgive them for they don't know what
they are doing." And His words washed my heart again.
I saw Him! I saw Him first! Three days later at the tomb. I didn't
recognize Him at first for grief I think. But then He said my name. I
heard His voice and I knew He was alive!
I was there too, when He ascended forty days later.
And ten days after that, I was there when the Spirit of the Holy One
descended upon us in fire on Shavuot.
I'm here to proclaim to all those who are looking for our Messiah that I
have known Him and He is Alive! Forevermore He is Alive!
Just ask Yeshua. It's not so hard if you really need Him; if you really
want Him.
And you will be Alive, too!
With His Love For You,
Miryam of Magdala
Written by a Jewish woman who lived in the same manner as Miryam did,
who also found Yeshua our Messiah and now loves Yeshua and the Torah;
the Living Word of our Papa God.
May You be Abundantly Blessed to find Him as she has!
Email Avram