[ p. 322 ]
CERTAINLY three, and perhaps four, Marys played a part in the life of Jesus Mary his mother, Mary called Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James and Joses : “John” tells also of a Mary, wife of Cleophas. Of these the most significant in the life of Jesus the teacher and Messiah was Mary Magdalene, Mary from Magdala, a city on the western shore of the Lake of Galilee.
Concerning Mary, the mother of Jesus, the synoptists are adamantine. Their witness that she was opposed to his ministry during his lifetime cannot be shaken. Charity and probability alike lead us to suppose that her opposition was the opposition of a mother filled with loving fears for the dangerous courses of her son; and that the Pharisees, by working on her fears and her piety, induced her to the vain attempt to take Jesus back to his home in Nazareth. Probably they told her of his blasphemies in Capernaum; and she, poor [ p. 323 ] woman, was only too eager to believe that her son was merely mad. “He was always a queer boy”—one can hear her saying apologetically to the great men of religion. “Do not do anything yet Let me try to get him home.”
The conduct of Jesus’ mother during his lifetime can be explained as the natural behavior of a simple, loving and pious peasant woman; and Jesus’ sternness towards her as the sternness of a loving son, compelled to choose between his affection and his destiny. The pathetic tragedy of Jesus and his mother has been re-enacted in little many times in human history between a pious mother and a son with a mission. But the fact remains that the mother of Jesus had no part in the life of his which concerns the world, and no part even in his death. From the beginning of his mission to the end of it Jesus had neither brothers nor mother. She was not standing by the Cross ; perhaps she was weeping in Nazareth.
But the other two Marys were among Jesus’ most ardent followers. They belonged to a group of faithful women who followed him in Galilee, went with him from Galilee up to Jerusalem ; who, when all his disciples had fled, watched with an agony of [ p. 324 ] their own the agony of their Master on Calvary, marked the spot where his body was laid, and went to tend it lovingly when the Sabbath was past. Of these loving and faithful women, who, according to Luke, were many, we know the names of Mary of Magdala, Mary the mother of James the less and Joses; Joanna the wife of Chuza, one of Herod’s officials; Salome, the mother of James and John; and one Susanna. Some of them were women whom Jesus had healed of daemons or diseases. They ministered to the needs of Jesus and his disciples out of their means.
Of these the greatest, in many senses, was Mary of Magdala. From her Jesus had cast out “seven daemons.” Whether that means she had been most grievously afflicted in mind, or that she had been a great sinner, there is no means of telling from the phrase itself. But the phrase is a strong one. Mentally or morally she had been in a desperate condition, and Jesus had cured her. She followed him with a devotion as desperate as her past condition.
In the Gospel narratives she always appears at the head of the devoted women : she was the chief among them. The certain facts we know of her [ p. 325 ] are few: that she came from Magdala in Galilee, that Jesus cast the seven daemons out of her, that she followed him to Jerusalem, and that she played the lovely and familiar part in the days of his agony and death. That is all we know definitely of Mary of Magdala. Of these facts one little one is worth insistence: she was the head of the three women who went, when the Sabbath was past “and bought some spices in order to go and anoint the body of Jesus.”
But there is in the Gospel of Luke another Mary—or one whom Luke thought to be another Mary—than any of these, Mary the sister of Martha, of whom Luke tells the exquisite story, which cannot be fixed either in place or time.
As they were journeying he came into a village. And a woman named Martha received him into her house. She had a sister called Mary who sat at Jesus’ feet and listened to his word. But Martha was distraught by having so much to do. She came forward and said :
‘Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do everything by myself? Speak to her and make her lend a hand,’
The Lord answered :
[ p. 326 ]
“‘Martha! Martha! You are worried and upset about a host of things ; but few are necessary—perhaps only one. Mary has chosen the better portion, and it shall not be taken from her.’ ”
The glimpse is lovely. But there is no more. So far as the pure historian is concerned, what we know of Mary the sister of Martha begins and ends with that story. The rest depends upon “John” and “Jlm” is not a credible witness. But “John” was not only a religious genius : he was also a great artist His intuition, or his guess, must be considered.
“John” had before him the synoptists—or at least Mark and Luke—in some form or another when he wrote his Gospel. He treated his material with the freedom of genius. He identified Mary the sister of Martha with the woman who shortly before the betrayal anointed Jesus’ head ; he also reduced the disciples who protested against the extravagance to one disciple and identified him with Judas Iscariot. It is what any artist, having the story of Mark before him, would long to ‘do. But Mark gives no authority. “John’s” boldest act of all—if we except the whole creation of his great book—was to identify Lazarus, the purely [ p. 327 ] imaginary figure of Luke’s parable with the actual Simon the Leper at whose house in Bethany Jesus was lodging when the woman anointed him ; and to make Lazarus the brother of Martha and Mary. This was a stroke of true creative genius: thus Shakespeare might have handled his materials : but the result is not history, but imaginative art.
The last identification does not concern the historian. The raising of Lazarus is a miracle deliberately invented by a religious genius. The relation between Martha and Mary, who were real people, and Lazarus, who was an imaginary character in a parable, is not one over which the seeker of fact need linger. But the identification of Mary the sister of Martha with the woman who anointed Jesus before his death in Simon the Leper’s house at Bethany must give one pause, by reason of its intrinsic plausibility. The identification was an act, so far as we can tell, of the free spirit : there seems no reason to suppose that “John” was in possession of any tradition in this matter. To the eyes of the literary critic it is but a part of the invented Lazarus legend, and lies under the same suspicion.
But once made, the identification imposes itself, [ p. 328 ] not by reason of “John’s” historical authority (for he possesses very little), but by the power of its own intrinsic beauty. Psychologically it is perfectly fitting that the otherwise unknown Mary of Luke’s story should be the woman who did “the lovely thing” to Jesus. Psychologically it is perfectly fitting that the woman who anointed Jesus’ head before his betrayal should be the Mary of Magdala who went out early in the morning of the third day to buy spices to embalm the body of her dead Master. The identification is impossible to resist If Mary the sister of Martha was the woman who anointed Jesus’ head, then Mary the sister of Martha was Mary of Magdala. That is not a logical argument; but it is, in a very precise sense, a psychological argument.
But the probabilities do not end there ; for Luke, who tells the story of Martha and Mary, does not tell the story of the anointing of Jesus’ head. In its stead he tells a story which belongs to a different period in the life of Jesus : how Jesus was asked to dine by a Pharisee called Simon.
“And entering into the Pharisee’s house, he reclined at table. And lo ! there was a woman in the city, a sinner, who knowing that he was in the [ p. 329 ] Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster phial of myrrh, and standing behind him at his feet weeping, began to wet his feet with her tears ; and she wiped them with the hair of her head, and went on kissing his feet and anointing them with the myrrh.
And the Pharisee who had invited him said to himself: ‘If this man were a prophet he would have known who and what the woman is who touches him.’
“Jesus answered his thought and said :
“ ‘Simon! I have something to say to you.’
“ ‘Master, say it!’ said Simon.
“ ‘A certain lender had two debtors. One owed him fifty pounds, the other five. Since they had not the money to repay him, he forgave them both. Which of them will love him the more?’
“Simon answered : ‘I suppose the man to whom he forgave the most’
“Jesus said to him : ‘You have judged right. ’’
“And, turning towards the woman, he said to Simon :
“ ‘You see this woman? I came into your house : you poured no water on my feet. But she wetted my feet with her tears and wiped them with her [ p. 330 ] hair. You kissed me not; but she, from entering, has not ceased to kiss my feet You did not anoint my head with oil; but she has anointed my feet with myrrh. Therefore I say to you : her sins, her many sins, are forgiven because she loved much. He to whom little is forgiven, loves but little.’
“And he said to her :
“ ‘Your sins are forgiven.’
“And his fellow-guests began to say to themselves: ‘Who is this that forgives sins also?’
“But he said to the woman :
“ ‘Your faith has saved you. Go, enjoy your peace.’ ”
Again a lovely story; but obviously it is a totally different story from that of the woman who anointed Jesus’ head unto burial. In Luke’s mind, however, they have been partially fused together. He gives this one and not the other ; and this one happens in the house of a Pharisee called Simon ; the other in the house of Simon the Leper. Evidently there were two stones. Luke knew one well, the other only vaguely; Mark knew the other well, this one not at all. Both are distinct stories : both have the beauty of truth, the truth of beauty written on them.
[ p. 331 ]
Again it is impossible to resist the conclusion that they are two stories of the same woman, and that the woman is Mary of Magdala—one who sinned much, one from whom seven daemons were cast out, one who loved much. Surely they are the same woman. One cannot refuse the identification. If we accept it, the whole story of Mary of Magdala falls into a harmonious pattern.
It was in the city of Magdala that Mary met Jesus. Matthew tells of Jesus’ returning in the boat from his secret place in the mountains to a place on the western side of the lake called Magadan. Mark calls it Dalmanutha. Some manuscripts of Matthew write definitely Magdala. Suppose it was Magdala, for time and place cohere. It was during one of Jesus’ “descents” into Galilee.
There Mary, the great sinner, the woman of the town, heard Jesus tell of the Kingdom of God, how not they who were righteous, but those who would turn and be changed, should enter into it. She heard, as countless millions of sinners after her have heard, and forever will hear, the wonderful news of a loving God. “There is more joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth than over the ninety and nine that need not repentance.” [ p. 332 ] That, when all is said and done, was the most wonderful declaration of the nature of God that man has ever made. On the day those words were said the world began to change, in a manner not cognizable by science; on that day forgiveness began to be a faculty of the human soul. Perhaps Mary of Magdala heard him say, perhaps it was she who remembered, the words that have eased millions of hearts :
“Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me ; for I am gentle and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light”
“Rest unto her soul.” The great sinner sought and found it The seven daemons departed from her, by the power of Jesus.
She heard that he was at dinner in a house in the town. She brought her phial of perfume of myrrh, the precious possession of the courtesan, and stood behind Jesus, weeping, as he lay on the couch beside the table. Her tears fell on his feet. She wiped them with her hair. She kissed his feet again and again, and poured the perfume over them. She said no word : there was nothing to say.
[ p. 333 ]
She loved much, because she had been forgiven much. As desperate as her condition had been, so desperate was her love. And once again she heard the unbelievable words : “Your sins are forgiven. Go into peace.”
She lived with her sister Martha. The courtesan of the East does not hide her head, or live in exile from her family. With her perfumes and her lovers she had fared easily. Martha had been the woman of the house. And it remained the same, now that Mary had entered into peace. Jesus came into their house and Mary sat crouched at his feet listening to the words of the divine man on whom her new, transfigured power of love was set. And Martha appealed to Jesus to tell her to lend a hand. What Jesus bade her, that she would do. And Jesus would not. He answered :
“Martha ! Martha ! You are worried and upset about a host of things : but few are necessary—perhaps only one. Mary has chosen the better portion, and it shall not be taken away from her.”
What was the one thing that was necessary? There can be but one answer: it was love. Necessary in the profoundest sense: without love and love’s understanding, no one could enter the Kingdom. [ p. 334 ] Necessary perhaps also to Jesus the lonely man. He who had put away mother and brothers felt the comfort and the need of simple human love. Through love he could be understood.
He accepted the love of Mary. She followed him on his. bitter journey to Jerusalem. Through the power of her love she understood what the minds of his disciples could not understand : that his love of mankind was driving him to offer himself deliberately to death as a great sacrifice for men.
On the eve of his sacrifice, she beautifully bethought herself of her former gesture : then she had anointed his feet, now she would anoint his head. He had become for her the Christ, the Anointed One: by her hand he should be anointed to his destiny. She bought an alabaster phial of oil of spikenard—a royal perfume at a royal price—and came to him where he lay at table in the house of Simon the Leper. She broke the phial and poured the precious oil upon his head. Some of the company were vexed. They grumbled at what seemed to them the wanton waste. They said the essence might have been sold for twenty pounds and the [ p. 335 ] money given to the poor. And they turned upon Mary with angry words.
Jesus said :
Leave her alone. Why do you trouble the woman? She has wrought a lovely work upon me. For you have the poor always with you, and you can do them good whenever you will ; but me you have not always. She has done all she could. She has anointed my body beforehand for my burial.
“Yes, and I tell you this: wherever the good news shall be proclaimed throughout the world, men shall speak of what she has done in remembrance of me.”
A lovely work—a thing of beauty. It is the only recorded instance of Jesus’ use of such a phrase, or such a thought. He spoke beauty, saw beauty, was beauty ; but this once alone did he speak of it. The sheer perfection of her gesture was a language he could understand; perhaps she had learned it from him. She had learned, through love and his example, to do what she could perfectly. No living creature has ever done more than that Of no single one of Jesus’ disciples could so much be said.