Chapter Thirteen
T
he five of them departed the synagogue and returned to the home of Peter and Andrew. Joanna’s mother had awakened that morning ill and had lain all day on her bed, sick with fever. She was clearly in discomfort as involuntary whimpers issued from her mouth. The lines in her face betrayed her better than threescore years. She was a woman whose entire life was characterized by humble, quiet service to others. Ever since she had lost her husband, she had lived with Peter and Joanna. She was fortunate. Many widows had no family to accept them and they ended up begging in the street.
Peter’s house boasted several rooms clustered around an open courtyard, an architectural pattern followed more or less throughout the village. Owing to the warm days in summer, the family slept on mats spread on the cool stone pavement in the courtyard shade. During rainy season, it was back into the surrounding rooms. The oven was set in the courtyard and it was here that Joanna baked and cooked. It was here also that her mother lay, under the open sky. Jesus spoke to her as he and his friends gathered about where she lay, “Tell me how you are feeling, gentle mother?”
“Flushed,” she responded weakly, “as if my body were burning up inside . . . very tired.” Peter sat down next to her and took her hand. Joanna touched a cool washcloth to her forehead. The elder woman smiled in wan gratitude.
Jesus did not sit. Instead, he bent over and lifted her other hand. “Come,” he said. “Get up. It’s time you felt better.” The moment his hand touch hers, she knew something was happening in her body — something akin to coolness flowed over her. At first, it hurt to try to rise. The strength just wasn’t there. Then she made the attempt to do as he said. Jesus pulled her hand and lifted her arm. She stood dizzily holding on to Jesus lest she feint. Joanna was not sure what was happening. She did not know whether to stop Jesus for fear that her mother was too weak, or just remain quiet, realizing that something wonderful was taking place.
“Feel better?” said Jesus as the woman stood on her own regaining her balance. She touched her forehead with her wrist.
“Yes,” she said. And then breaking into a broad smile, “Yes! Much better,” with genuine relief. The fever was gone. Her strength returned. She felt like a girl. “Yes,” she said again. “I feel deliriously better.” And then characteristic of Joanna’s mother she said, “Here, let me get you something to eat.”
Joanna attempted to stop her, “No, mother, let . . .” but Peter motioned her to let her mother do as she intended. Joanna’s love for her mother wanted nothing more than to assist her, to do for her, but it also helped her to realize that the older woman felt completely expunged of illness and wanted nothing more than to prove it by doing what she always did — assist others. And so she did. Jesus acted as if nothing were more natural and routine than to accept a plate of fresh figs from her hand.
