Napkins

The first sunny springtime day fills the clothes hanging on the line with a scent from heaven, refreshing the heart; long awaited all winter.  Clothes dried at the hearth have their own smell: that woody, homely flavor that reminds us of the darker days of winter.  No matter what, folding them is no chore, but the doorway into precious memories.

 

Napkins, towels and linens spill from a basket on the floor beside Mary, where she sits, the first napkin folded and pressed against her breast.  She is unaware of how long Joseph has been standing in the doorway smiling at the beauty of her.  The” baa – baa” of a baby lamb floats in through the window on a warm spring breeze.  The bleating sound disturbs her reverie and a smile reshapes her wistful face as she looks up to meet Joseph’s gaze.

 

Joseph kneels beside her and kisses her softly.  He plucks a napkin from the basket. Holding it up, he looks at it, smells it and says, “It smells like love.”  Then, quickly he folds it twice, into a smaller square.  “What’s this?” he questions, taking the napkin she is clutching from her hand, “You have folded the corners together to make a triangle the way. . .”

“. . . the way he always did.’’ she finishes for him.

“But Mary,” he softly chides, “How many dozens of times did you go back and refold Jesus’ triangle napkins to make a square?”

She lovingly touches the napkin in his hand.  A tear slips out and she says, “But I miss him!” Joseph gently wipes the tear away with the triangle napkin.

 

 

 

The day’s warmth has been displaced by a cold spring rain that has worked its way beneath Joseph’s cloak and into his robe. Mary’s hands are still and her face seems to be drawn by the sagging flame.  Needles now immobile, the tiny garment emerging from the yarn is not thoroughly defined.  Joseph introduces a slender stick of red cedar kindling into the flame and transfers the light to the wick of the brass oil lamp waiting on the table by her left elbow.  Kneeling beside her he holds the lighted wood for her to blow out the flame, the sweet smoky scent is almost like incense. She runs her fingers through the gray hair at his temple and says “You are all wet!  What have you been doing?” 

He grimaces and says, “It is getting harder to catch a lamb, now that I am getting older.” 

She laughs.  Gripping the rough wool at his neck she says, “You are not getting older!  You are just well seasoned!  But you ARE all wet.  Give me this cloak so I can hang it by the fire.” She spreads the garment on a rack while he stirs the coals and puts a log on, bringing the fire back to life.

 

She says quietly, “So we are still planning to go down to Jerusalem tomorrow?”

 

“Yes. I have no choice; all the arrangements need be made so that Jesus can have the Passover feast with his disciples without any disturbance.”

 

Mary grasps the points of the needles in her left hand to count back to where she slipped a stitch and asks him, “Where do you think he is now?”

 

 Joseph hesitates for a moment.  Breathing out, he barely whispers “Mmmm, Ahhh, Bethany” He then looks at her and says clearly, “He should be in Bethany with the family of Simon the leper.”

 

 She shudders and stares into the fire and asks to no one in particular, “Why does he always have to go near that disease?  Hasn’t it done enough damage to us…to him already?”

 

Joseph turns to face the fire.  Holding out both hands he explains to her gently, “It is the safest place for him at the moment, with the holy days approaching.  The Pharisees won’t come near him in the home of someone who is considered to be unclean.” 

 

“Pharisees! Pharisees! Always Pharisees! Why can’t they leave him alone! Why must he always argue with them and call them such horrible names!  He knows they are going to kill him!”

 

Joseph softly says to her, “We’ve been over this before.  It IS why he came.  Without His death there is no resurrection, remember… He is the resurrection.”

 

“He came to me first!”

 

 “He is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.

  Before he came to us, He is always the one and only Son of God.”

 

 “It seems so cold, so wrong.  To have it all planned… to go straight into the arms of death.”

 

“We can’t question that part!  We just have to accept and trust that he has to see it through. Only he knows when it is finished”.

 

 

 

Joseph is caught up in a torrent of activity –

The upper room, Gethsemane, the Judas kiss.

arrest, trial, Herod, Pontius Pilate

mocking scourging crown of thorns

cloth rips

nails pound

blood

and pain

and tears.

 

 

… Mary is forced  to wait and try to comfort her soul in the company of her friends. Martha and Mary of Bethany are there with Mary Magdalene.  She and the other ladies in Jerusalem spend time in prayer and wondering where Jesus is.  Hers is the lot of all women: to hurt and love and wait and hope until the time comes when they all converge.  There is still more waiting until, at last, the day and the hour has come.  And there he is, hanging in the midst of apathy and pathos; the rattling dice on the seamless robe and the cursing soldiers.  The companions of Jesus in death are common criminals who send up the screams and groans of their blasphemy amid the malice of sin.

 

Finally, what her head knew to be true -though her heart could not accept- was hanging before her.  How could His words, “I will be lifted up and all men will be drawn to me,” have meaning when death is death?  She hears those words ringing in her ears- ringing -the ringing sounds of the hammer- hammering nails into his hands…his feet.  He sends her away with John and there is no more waiting.  Darkness closes in.

 

 

There is a pain, a fear, an emptiness beyond understanding…so encompassing that you know there is a fine thread between sanity and madness.  You touch the thread and wonder if madness truly offers relief.  Your heart is unraveling!  Fascinated by the unraveling – your life unraveling – all of history unraveling.  The unraveling is choice and you don’t know- at that very moment -which one you are choosing- one or the other.  Time has no meaning.

 

 

Mary dreams frustrating dreams- drawing water with a sieve instead of a ladle.  Baking pies, but pulling out empty shells from the oven.  No matter how quickly she knits, the same amount unravels from the bottom.  Mary Magdalene is waking her to eat while it is still dark.  The younger woman grasps her hands in both of hers and calls to her, “Mary! Mary! We have much to do.  The sun is almost up and it’s the third day!”

 

The long shadows of dawn made seeing difficult in the garden.  The women were inside the tomb before they realized the stone had been rolled away.  Mary Magdalene held the brass lamp aloft to reveal the grave clothes at one end of the slab and the neatly folded napkin that had covered his face at the other.  His mother sinks to her knees as light dawns in her heart.  She touches the napkin and caresses the creases and begins to laugh and cry at the same time.

 

 “He has folded the corners together to make triangles, the way He always did!  HE’S ALIVE!”

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