Three Women and One Man - Don Hanley’s blog #38

For nearly two weeks, I pondered Mary’s question about whether the role of women had changed for the better since Jesus had walked around in Judea. Luckily, it took me that long to come up with a partial answer, and that night, I dreamt that I would be back in the flower garden with Mary and John.

Again, Mary greeted me warmly and said, “Well, my century-hopping friend, what did you come up with about the role of women over all these years?”

“I’ve given it a lot of thought, and there have been some changes, but it has been very slow. And has taken all these years. As you know, in your time or, I should say, in this time we are sitting here, women are often treated about the same as slaves. The big difference is that women can move more freely than slaves. For example, I heard that you and two other women were present when and where Jesus was crucified.”

Immediately, I was sorry I brought this up as Mary turned ashen, and tears began to flow down her cheeks. I started apologizing, but she held up a hand with her palm facing me and murmured, “Please don’t say anything. Being reminded of that horrible day always saddens me deeply. After over two or more years, I think of that day, and tears come. I believe it is rather like a prayer that I need to clear my mind, so do not think that it is you who have hurt me.”

“Would you please tell me what you experienced that day? The true believers of my time believe that Jesus died for our sins. It would help me if you would tell me what you think or maybe what Jesus would probably think of that.”

Mary looked up at me like I had lost my mind. She wiped her tears and said, “I see you are serious! I think that is pure nonsense. What kind of God, especially as we believe, a God who is also our Heavenly Father, does a thing like that? He would not create us and everyone and everything and then send us a wonderfully enlightened man to tell us that we are capable of creatively loving Him and all His creation and then kill him in one of the cruelest ways ever known. Surely, Don, you do not believe that." She stopped speaking and with a startled look added, "Do you?”

“No, Mary, I do not believe that.” I did not want to add to her grief by saying that it was still being taught by Christian ministers and even was taught to me when I was preparing to become a Catholic priest.

She seemed to relax and added, “I was so puzzled that day, and I still am, by the fact that John, here, was the only male friend of my son who joined me and two women that day. I asked one of the Roman soldiers if he had a mother and if he would like her to be present when he was dying. That question seemed to awaken him from what had appeared to be a kind of stupor, and he looked at me for the first time and nodded. I then asked him how long my son, Jesus, would hang there before he finally expired. He said maybe as long as two or even three days. I asked him how he or someone could make it shorter.

Without saying a word, he took his lance and made a deep cut in my son’s side, and blood spewed out. I cried then just as John, you, and I are crying now, for as long as Jesus’s blood flowed from his body.” As she told us her anguishing story, she and John looked distraught as they sat there. My dream-guiding angel thought I had done enough harm, and I vanished. Now, please . . .

Open and nurture your heart and contemplate this and other menus, but do not eat them.