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The Bethany Tales

By Bryan Canter

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Part One: The Harlot's Tale (A Story of Bitterness)

A cock crowed in the distance, and Mary’s eyes fluttered open. Light seeped around the edges of the curtain that flapped in the gentle breeze, causing dim shadows to dance across the room. She heard the shofar sounding its doleful call and was struck by a strange thought—the priests would be offering the morning sacrifice in the temple.

For a moment, Mary forgot where she was, until she rolled over and bumped against the man sleeping beside her, his stale breath tinged with the odor of last night’s cheap wine. Why was she here anyway? She cringed and turned her face away from the putrid smell, away from the man, away from the life he represented. Slowly, she started to edge herself out from under the covers. She knew better. It was against her own rules to stay in one of her customer’s secret places. Her Roman clients’ hideaways might be safe enough, but not a Jew’s. And yet it had been late, and she was tired, and…

Suddenly, the door was thrown open. Mary winced at the bright light. Then hands were grabbing her roughly and yanking her out of the bed. Frantically she clutched at a sheet to cover herself with as several men jerked her out of the house and into the street. She looked back to the man lying in the shadow of their sin, her eyes pleading for help, but she received only a snide grin in reply.

Mary began to cry out, and one of the men struck her across the face. “Shut up! Not one word out of you.”

“But what—“

Another hard blow cut her words short and turned them to a whimper.

“I said keep your mouth shut!”

What was happening? Why were they doing this? Fear flooded her mind.

Everyone knew there were prostitutes in Jerusalem. The officers normally turned their heads and looked the other way. Very commonly, the powerful men of the city—the governors and the priests—didn’t just turn their heads, but rather chose to indulge themselves in the delights she had to offer. A quick glance told her these men all wore the garb of pharisees and scribes. And yet, she could recognize several of her own customers in the crowd of men forcing her down the street.

Her mouth throbbed from where she had been hit, and she winced in pain as her bare feet were dragged across the uneven cobbles. Desperately she searched for someone who might come to her aid, but the few people on the streets in the early morning dawn scuttled quickly away.

When they shoved her through one of the Huldah Gates, Mary realized that they were taking her toward the temple. Panic raged through her mind, causing her whole body to tremble with fear. Even though people usually turned a blind eye to the prostitutes in the city, she knew all too well what the punishment for adultery was. This angry mob of men meant to stone her to death on the temple steps! Why? What had changed? What had she done to enrage them like this? Everything was happening so fast.

All of a sudden, the mob came to a halt and thrust her down to the ground at the foot of the temple steps. She curled into a ball on her side, pulling her knees to her chest, and choked on the dust and the tears.
A small crowd was gathered nearby, listening to some rabbi. They turned to look at Mary and at the angry men who surrounded her.

Then a man clothed in the garments of a priest emerged from the mob and addressed the rabbi. “Teacher, this woman has been caught in adultery. She was caught in the very act. The Law of Moses commands us to stone such women. What do you say?”

The crowd grew silent. Mary stole a glance up at the rabbi. He just stood there, quietly eyeing the surly group of men assembled before him. Then he took a step closer to her, stooped down, and began writing in the dust with his finger. Through her tears, Mary could not make out the letters that he traced there. Was it the sentence of her condemnation?

The whole crowd grew agitated. They began beating rocks together in their hands. The murmurs grew louder and more fervent. Someone in the back shouted, “Get out of the way or we’ll stone you along with her.”

The priest raised his hand against the mob to hold them at bay. Then he turned to the rabbi and hissed, “Well, answer me! What do you say?”

The rabbi stood and faced them all. His voice was calm and very confident—as with authority. “He who is without sin among you, let him be the first to cast a stone.”

A tremor convulsed through Mary’s body. She covered her head with her arms to ward off the hail of rocks that she knew would certainly come. She could almost begin to feel them pelting her from every side. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the stones to rain down. But then several moments past, and she felt… nothing. All she could hear was her own rapid breathing and the pulse pounding in her head. Finally, she forced her eyes open and saw the rabbi once again kneeling beside her, once again writing in the dust with his finger.

Mary glanced back over her shoulder to see the last few men drop their stones and turn to leave. What was happening? Why didn’t they stone her?

Through blurry eyes, she looked at the rabbi. She could barely even see his face through the tears, but he spoke to her with a voice of gentleness and compassion. “Young woman,” he said, “where are your accusers?”

Mary turned her head to see who was left. There was no one there. The angry mob had dispersed. The men with the stones were all gone. Only the teacher’s disciples remained—them, an empty courtyard, and a gentle breeze, blowing away the dust and erasing the rabbi’s scrawled words.

His compassionate voice drew her attention back once again. “Does no one remain to condemn you?”

Mary hung her head and diverted her gaze to the ground. “Lord,” she whispered, “there is no one.”

The rabbi reached down and lifted her chin so that he could look into her eyes. Tears streamed down Mary’s face. She could taste their salt mixing with the sharp tang of blood on her lip. The teacher bent down, reached out his hands, and lifted her gently from the ground.

“Neither do I condemn you,” he said. “Go and sin no more.”

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