Mary Magdalene, Tuesday 16 May

Thomas left before Jesus was awake.  Enough was said last night for us all to realise Jesus has a big choice ahead of him in the next few days.  We both want what’s best for him.  My heart says stay with me and be a good husband, while my head says take your chance and show the world what you can do.  Tom’s head says be a good husband while his heart says take your chance while you can.  The scales are pretty evenly balanced: on one side a heart, a head, a soul mate and pleasing God as a family man; on the other a heart, a head, an old mate and pleasing God by teaching his people.

Jesus hardly spoke all day.  He went fishing again but came back with hardly anything, thank goodness.  The place stinks enough already.  I watched him moving the jetty around, staring out to sea and casting the net in different directions, and it looked as though he was praying at one point, but he didn’t have much luck.  He did very well yesterday but it was probably just chance.  He doesn’t see it like that though.  He believes in destiny and his place in the scheme of things, so extraordinary events become normal and it’s everyday normality that requires explanation.  I’m starting to sound like Thomas.  It was fun meeting him again last night, and I find his odd ideas about God and demons not being the cause of everything quite refreshing.

“I need to find my true home,” Jesus announced eventually after we had eaten in the evening.  We’d had fish again.  This was good (the progress with his thinking, not the fish, although the fish was some of the finest I’ve tasted as it happens.  I had separated out the good stuff – bass and bream mainly – to eat now while it was still fresh and was going to dry the rest).  I was prepared to wait for a considered decision.

“You have to decide,” I said.  “There’s always a home for you here, but if you need to be in Nazareth, that’s your choice.”

“No, you don’t understand.  The Saviour of the Jews has no home.  Not in Magdala, and certainly not in Nazareth where they call him names.  Maybe the Saviour of the Jews must hope to find his home in Heaven one day.  The Saviour of…”

“I’ll make you a packed lunch in the morning,” I interrupted, disturbed by the way he was carrying on.  “If you leave nice and early you’ll be at your mum’s by nightfall.”

“Well if that’s the way you feel, I don’t want to outstay my welcome,” he said, “but I forgive you.”

Sometimes the man can be insufferable.  I told him my period was starting and moved into the guest room.

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