So I saw into the chamber of death, and through the clouds of thick incense, Smedia, lying upon her funeral bier, very white of complete death. Beside her utterly bowed as Salome, and many burning candles and many faces. And then I saw Him, Fulvia. Then I saw Jesus. Scarcely did He seem a man to my first sight, nor yet a person. Tho His face and hands, His very garments, were those of them about Him, rather He as some presence, some undefined feeling as of the very loveliness of love itself.
Suddenly I saw Jairus throw himself upon his knees before Jesus. He cried, “Lord, my daughter is dead. Say but the word and she will be healed.” A shudder ran through my frame; my very soul hung upon his words. Then Jesus took Smedia by the hand and said, “Arise.” Fulvia, she obeyed Him.
She rose. Her eyes opened upon us all. Slowly her face flushed with life. She looked into the eyes of Jesus. Then she threw out her arms and cried: “Why mother!”
I did not know I had fallen upon my knees, but presently I was aware of the trampling crowd. There were shouts about me, but so strangely few of joy, and these alone from the household. More were of hate, and many hissed. I turned desperately every which way to try to get Jesus, but the crowd crushed me down the steep stair, and tided me farther and farther until I sobbed with despair. For now I knew I could not ask Jesus to heal Pilo.
So they pushed me through the shouters of hate, and the Pharisees, who called Him loudly, “Blasphemer, hater of Caesar.”, until I was forced into a little passageway roofed with gourds. And there I heard a cry. It will ring forever in my ears. “mother, mother!”
Through all the multitudes sprang Pilo in my arms. Pilo, erect and firm, without sickness in him. And more, nay more, he dragged no ithered foot. My Pilo leaped, walked, danced, all sound. His feet were lovely as his face. Pilo, my son made whole.
Before I had asked of Jesus He had heard. More than I had asked, He had granted. O Fulvia!
Now I must struggle to write you of what follows. My words are difficult. Beyond Pontius’s pride in Pilo made whole, beyond his love for the boy which sprang new born from out the very cheers of the soldiers, for Pilo was now a very marvel of sport and joy. Pontius must satisfy his own mind, for the heart he reckoned not.
“There is some trickery here.” he said. “This man is but a carpenter and without education, and I am a man of learning. I must search the matter closely before you or yet Pilo may see again this Jesus.”
And into his doubt crept also fear, and, very closely following, his ambition. Herod said unto him: “Beware of this Nazarene. He is dangerous to us. He would make Himself King here. I have information from inside.”
And Pilate wished to be further appointed at Egypt, and would be thought well of by Herod and so by Caesar. We went with Herod that Spring into the deep sea, nor did we return until Paschal time of the Jews was at hand. This famed feast yearly gathered together at Jerusalem numbers from all the tribes of Israel to offer sacrifice.
The day before their feast Pontius said to me: “The fates are against your Jesus of Nazareth. A price has been put upon His head, and before eventide He will be delivered up to the chief priests.”
“But father, you will save Jesus, of course.” When Pilo said this easily, Pontius put the boy away with Mata to the hills, for he would not look into his eyes. Nor would he allow me even converse that day with any outside, but bade me severely to keep to my woman’s court. He looked haggard, desperate with uncertainty.
To be continued on 4/14/17
Lisa Y life coach
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