Another day in Jerusalem..

From the Jerusalem woman:
Yesterday I worked at my loom finishing a piece of cloth for a customer. The cloth is for the wedding dress of a rich gentile woman. My cloth is soft and fine, made from cotton grown in the Galilee. As I took the cloth off of the loom so I could finish the edge, I caught my hand on one of the hooks. I didn't know it was bleeding until I saw the bright red drops on the fine fabric. I cried out and covered my hand with my apron. I caught the fabric and carried it to the bucket of water slipping the part with blood on it into the water. As I bandaged my hand, tears came to my eyes. It wasn't that my hand hurt or that I had soiled the fabric; I realized that the tears have been close to my eyes since I saw the man Jesus. I know he is going to die and I want to meet him. But I am a foolish woman!

I wiped the tears on my apron and finished bandaging my hand. I then carefully washed the corner of the fabric as best I could. The blood left the slightest stain which was very obvious to me, but then, I knew it was there. I finished the edge of the fabric and folded it. I had hardly put it down when the door to my shop opened and the gentile woman came in. I hoped she would buy the fabric quickly and leave, but instead she talked incessantly about her daughter's wedding - the food and wine they were going to serve; the flowers that would adorn her hair...on and on. Then she picked up the fabric allowing it to unfold. "What's this?" she asked looking at the still damp edge. "Oh, I replied, a bit of water..." "But," she continued, hardly giving me a chance to explain, "it's got a stain on it." "Oh," I replied, "but it's very small." And then the truth came out of my mouth, "I pricked my hand on a hook and just a drop of blood fell on the edge..." The woman dropped the cloth as if it were poison. "Your blood is on this cloth? The cloth for my daughter's wedding? I cannot possibly take it with a Jew's blood on it! You will have to weave another piece." I stepped back as if the woman had hit me. The woman continued in anger demanding that I weave another piece but I simply said, "No." After several more difficult exchanges she left the shop. I refolded the fabric and sat down. Why did I tell her the truth? Why not a lie?

I left the shop quickly and went back to the gathering place at the city gate where I had been the day before. There were even more people than before. As I sat watching the pilgrims come into the city for Passover, a woman sat down beside me. "It's getting crowded." "Yes," I replied, "I wish it were over." The woman looked at me and said, "You sound sad." "Yes," I replied, "I suppose I am. I don't like the festivals. I have no family here and I'm not very religious." We sat in silence for awhile. She touched my arm and said, "My friends and I are going to celebrate Passover together, will you come and join us?" Perhaps she saw the surprise in my eyes. "It's quite alright, we're from Bethany and we wish to gather with our teacher to celebrate the feast. There's always room for another and besides we will mostly be in the kitchen." "Your teacher?" "Yes, his name is Jesus and we...." I grabbed her arm before she could finish. "Jesus! Your teacher is Jesus?" She was calm as if she were used to such exclamations. And then she began to tell me about him. Soon she stopped herself: "Why don't you come for Passover to hear him?" I don't even remember going back to my shop, but soon I was at my loom, the events of the morning far away. I am going to get to meet Jesus...