The Prodigal Daughter: Mary of Magdala

By J. Clarke McIntosh

Where is the mandate dictating that the study of Scripture should be onerous or stodgy? Historical fiction is one of my favorite genres of literature because it entertains, teaches, and conveys truths, often much better than non-fiction. The Prodigal Daughter combines the lives of Mary, the sister of Martha and Lazarus of Bethany, and Mary Magdalene, the repentant harlot. Though some question whether these Marys were the same, I believe they were. This story is about a “nice girl” who falls into harlotry, regains her footing with the help of a friend, and then finds grace in Jesus. The book covers many of the events of Jesus’ life, particularly his death and resurrection, and touches several events from the early church. The book also gives a plausible reason why Jesus, the Galilean-carpenter-turned-rabbi, has such close friendship with an apparently affluent family in Bethany. The book struggles through a wide spectrum of human emotions, describes many adventures in Jesus’ ministry and in the early church, and, of course, contains a love story. The book centers upon grace and our response to it. Only those who are recipients of grace will inhabit the New Heaven and the New Earth. Without God’s unmerited favor towards us, we die. Because I have experienced amazing grace in my life, in many ways similar to what Mary experienced, I hope my writing will provoke others into exploring the grace that God lavishes upon us.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Dec 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781647509217

J. Clarke McIntosh

J. Clarke McIntosh is a medical missionary in Sudan and South Sudan, where he has been for more than a decade. Though he has no formal theological training, he has been a student of the Bible since he became a Christian as an adolescent. The material for this and other of his books arose from his personal daily devotions. He says, “Being in Sudan has actually been a boon for my writing. I am convinced that the cultures and practices of Sudan are much closer to those of Biblical times than what we know in America. Also, when I am not in the hospital, I have few distractions, so I have more opportunity to write and edit my work.”

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Chapter 1: The Return to Bethany

Bethany! This small village on the outskirts of Jerusalem had been the subject of my dreams for so many years that I could hardly believe I had finally arrived. Though travel is safer than a generation or two ago, I had begun to believe I would never make my pilgrimage to Bethany, the site of so much of my family history. My siblings, cousins, and I have lived our whole lives in Joppa on the shores of the Great Sea, hundreds of stadia away from the childhood home of my father and aunts. Stories of Bethany had flowed from their lips that were fascinating, amazing, breathtaking, putting them in the center of some of the most amazing events of Israel’s history, but our parents also suffered greatly, particularly my aunt Mary. If their stories were to be believed, Bethany had been the site of events that transformed not only the history of my family but also the church. Had my father, my aunts, and uncles really been at the epicenter of the greatest events of mankind? The question had begun to haunt me. The answer could potentially solidify the foundation of the heritage from which to fashion the stepping stones I required as I contemplated entering manhood. Fortunately, the opportunity had arisen for me to connect with that heritage, bringing me here to see Bethany’s streets and homes, visit the sites, meet the people that helped mold the preceding generation of my family, and through them shaped me.

My grandfather, Philip of Magdala, died before my birth, but I have heard many stories from his life. There were some shadowy issues around the death of his father and him subsequently leaving Magdala, the center of his early life; the details remain murky, even to my father and aunts. Philip came to Jerusalem as a single young man flush with the money he needed to restart his mercantile adventures and anxious for new beginnings. He chose Bethany over Jerusalem to the surprise of all the merchants in the area, but in retrospect, his choice seemed prescient. He prospered far more in Bethany than there was any reason believe he would have in Jerusalem. Though Bethany is a quiet village in the vicinity of Jerusalem, the accounts I heard of my family’s years there were anything but tranquil. Our family suffered more than its share of tragedies, though those tragedies shaped our family into who we are today. Having reached maturity, I needed to connect with those stories and see how they would affect me and possibly propel me to become the man I needed to be.

I am Thomas, the firstborn of my father, Lazarus. My father and aunts moved to Joppa before my birth as an adventure of faith; I have lived in that seaport town all my life. Growing up in the port of Joppa on the Great Sea was idyllic, and I would not change my place of birth if given the chance, but so many of my earliest memories center on stories I repeatedly heard that took place in Bethany. The vivid accounts of my father, aunts, and uncles filled me with the desire to visit this village so vital to the lives of my family. Through tragic misfortunes and fortuitous meetings, my family was transformed from prosperous merchants to adventurers willing to forsake all in obedience to God. It was a legacy I needed to investigate and perhaps embrace.

Having passed my eighteenth birthday, I felt compelled to get an objective appraisal of the stories I grew up hearing. How would those stories affect my own path in life? Family stories often attain exaggerated significance because they affect us and those we love. Though I was not really skeptical—I love and trust my family—I needed to hear the stories from a different perspective, someone outside our family who witnessed the events, and therefore could offer a more objective rendition. Were the stories of my family’s time in Bethany of inflated importance, or were my father, uncles, and aunts truly as involved in the life of Jesus and the early events of the church as I had heard? From my earliest memories, I heard stories that placed my father and my two aunts at the center of events and controversies during Jesus’ time on earth, but were they true or exaggerated by a personal perspective? As I said, the question had begun to haunt me.

My quest to Bethany was to lead me to Elizabeth, the perfect foil for my dilemma. Elizabeth was a former servant of our family who initially worked for my grandfather and continued to work for and live with the family until a couple of years after their move to Joppa. She was also my aunt Mary’s primary confidant, and since in all the stories, Mary seemed to play a central role, I concluded that if anyone could answer my questions, Elizabeth could. She had experienced it all and had been impacted by the same stories, but she was not related. She knew my family’s history better than anyone, even my own father and aunts. If I could find her and persuade her to relate her version of those events, I could get the perspective I needed at this critical juncture of my life.

To understand the importance of the questions I contemplated, I need to give a broader perspective of my heritage. I am a Jew. We are a small race of people crammed with proud traditions. Our patriarch was Abraham, probably the greatest man who ever lived other than Jesus. He had two sons: Ishmael and Isaac. Ishmael went on to become a great nation, but God’s favor was on Isaac, the son of promise, born to Sarah long after the normal time of conception. Isaac foreshadowed the great child of promise, the Messiah, who would come to redeem his people. Isaac also had two boys, twins named Esau and Jacob. Esau was the firstborn and, therefore, the legal heir, but God favored Jacob, put his hand of blessing on this younger son, and changed his name to Israel. His sons became the 12 tribes of Israel. Judah was the patriarch of our clan, and King David was one of his progeny. Under King David, Israel was perhaps the greatest nation in the world, but because of sin, we lost God’s favor. The golden era of Israel’s history ended after Solomon—King David’s son—and the nation divided. Neither nation was ever as strong as Israel had been under David. After repetitive rebellions, the tribes of the northern kingdom were taken by Assyria and lost. Judah and those who remained loyal to King David and his descendants survived another hundred years or so, but then we sinned in much the same way as our brothers to the north. The result was that Jerusalem (including the temple) was razed, and we were taken into exile to Babylon for 70 years. Yet though we had done much to anger God, he continued to show his favor to us. God actually brought us back to Judea and rebuilt the nation and Jerusalem (including the temple) through Nehemiah and Ezra. But from antiquity, throughout our often-tragic history, particularly from the time of the division of the nation, all good Israelites looked for the coming of the Messiah to bring us back to the blessedness of God’s favor.

At present, Israel is a small nation dominated by the accursed Romans. Admittedly, there are some advantages to the Roman occupation. Travel is safer because the Romans have built roads and frighten the bandits, but it galls me to be under their rule. Their rulers are harsh, petty men and the descendants of Abraham have little say regarding the governing our country, the land promised to Abraham’s descendants.

Yet even during this dark era of Roman occupation, God has remained faithful to Judah and blessed us in the best way possible; he sent the Messiah, the Christ. Ever since the sin of Adam resulted in his forced exit from the Garden of Eden, God promised to make things right through the seed of the woman—the Christ. Therefore, from antiquity, the event for which all good Jews looked was the coming of the Messiah. Over 400 years passed between the return of the Jews to Judea and the fulfillment of that greatest promise, the coming of the Christ, but now that great event has taken place and my family, according to the stories I heard, knew the Messiah firsthand. They were closely entwined in many of the wondrous events of his time on earth. Emmanuel—God with us—happened when they were young, and according to the stories of my childhood, my father and aunts knew him as a friend and were involved in many of the greatest events of his ministry. However, were the stories I had heard true? Could my father and aunts truly have been intimate with the Christ? Were their lives really as entwined with the Messiah as our family stories suggested? The question had begun to haunt me, for if true, it meant my father and my aunts were friends with the greatest man in the history of Judah, probably the entire world. Their stories implied that I had a great heritage, but I needed outside confirmation.

Ostensibly, my journey was to Jerusalem on an errand from our church in Joppa. My father and uncles are elders and teachers in three congregations in town. Though Joppa is in Judea, we are on the coast of the Great Sea, one of the busiest ports in Judea. And though I am an exception to the rule, most Jews do not trust the sea—even those who live next to it—so the majority of sailors, even in Joppa, are Gentiles (non-Jews). Indeed, at any given moment, up to half the population of Joppa is Gentile. There was a new question in the church concerning Gentiles and observing the Law. Seven representatives of the various churches were sent to petition leaders in the Jerusalem church to help us settle the dispute, and despite my youth, I was chosen as one of the seven because of my family connections.

Though I agree with my father and uncles that the question to be settled is vital, my real goal in making this journey was to meet and talk to Elizabeth, the messenger with inside information who could tell me what I needed to hear. My parents and family understood my struggles and approved of my goals. Indeed, they were as anxious as me to renew ties to this family friend. My aunt Mary told me, There’s no one from whom to hear our family history better than Elizabeth. She knows everything—she was always my confidant, so she can give you all the particulars about me, but she also knows more details about our father and mother than any of us. Besides, she’ll fall in love with you, and you’ll reciprocate. When Elizabeth got my letter, she responded that she shared our excitement and could not wait to meet me.

As the site of the great temple, Jerusalem was the center for pilgrimages for all good Jews, but I had never been. Jerusalem is Ariel, the city of David, the jewel of Judea, so as a good Jew, I had always longed to see her, but I was amazed and somewhat horrified when I entered her gates. Jerusalem has beautiful buildings and impressive architecture, particularly the temple. Though I knew that the temple was in its third phase, a mere shadow of its glory under Solomon, she was by far the greatest building I had ever beheld—I can only imagine what she must have been like when Solomon was king. However, much of the rest of Jerusalem I found oppressive. The streets were narrow, the buildings far taller than those in Joppa, the press of people far greater than anything I had ever experienced. The sensation I experienced was being in a strange kind of prison without walls, bound by the crowds that engulfed the streets and pressed upon me, blocking my progress. What horrified me most, however, was the squalor. The people, animals, food, wares were jumbled together into a blur and buzz that assaulted all the senses, particularly the senses of hearing and smell. Joppa has its rough areas, particularly at the docks and fish market, but most of Joppa is open, and the pervasive aroma is of the sea. Is there anyone who does not love the smell of the sea? In Jerusalem, the stench arose from the intermingling of grime and sweat, rotting produce, animal waste, swarming insects so that I was perpetually verging on nausea. After five hours in Jerusalem, I was glad that my grandfather had the foresight to open his shop in Bethany, giving me an excuse to leave the great city and plan to spend the majority of my visit in more pleasant environs.

Bethany is a lovely village about eight stadia outside Jerusalem. It is open, like Joppa, though its houses are nicer. The streets are wide, and most homes have a garden, a luxury few in Jerusalem or Joppa seem to have. Bethany is in the rolling hills, not the real mountains as around Jerusalem, and it is surrounded by pasture land. There are no large buildings in Bethany; it is a quiet community of farmers, shepherds, and traders who work in Jerusalem, but prefer to live in this quieter nearby community. Upon my grandfather’s coming to the area from Magdala, the word on the streets was that he would open a shop in Jerusalem. Many nice families lived in Bethany, but except for the produce market, they shopped in Jerusalem. My grandfather’s novel plan succeeded beyond all expectations. Many considered his store to be superior to any found in Jerusalem. My father was also the proprietor of that store for many years. And now, I was in Bethany, reconnecting with my father and grandfather’s legacy and looking for their shop, seeking to meet the woman my grandfather hired to care for our family.

Grandfather’s store was not difficult to locate. When my father ran the store, it was the largest in town and one of the largest in the area, and it has continued to prosper even after he sold it. The store delineates the center of the village, so Elizabeth promised to meet me there. In her letter, she described herself as an old lady, gray and plain. I will be wearing a blue dress on the day we meet, but aunt Mary had given me a better description. I don’t doubt she’ll have grayed and gained weight, but I always thought Elizabeth was beautiful. She has lively, dancing eyes, a ready smile, and quick, small, active feet. She is just a bit shorter than me, and her hair has beautiful curls. She’ll be bouncing everywhere. She’ll probably recognize you before you see her because you look so much like Lazarus, but if she doesn’t, it’ll be because she’s hugging someone or deeply engrossed in conversation. True to Aunt Mary’s words, as I entered the store, a lovely, spirited woman a few years older than my mother and aunts skipped over and grabbed my hands.

You must be Thomas, said Elizabeth, studying my face and then hugging me and kissing my cheek when I assented to her assertion. At first, I thought I was 20 years younger, and I was looking at Lazarus. You’re amazingly like him—not just your face and physique; your mannerisms and movements are just like your father. How is he? And Martha and Mary? How are they doing?

They’re all doing well, I replied, reciprocating her warmth and returning her hug and kiss. Martha has four children and Mary six. I have three brothers and a sister. They all send their love. I’m the envy of my siblings and cousins because of this visit, and I have to warn you—I may be the first of a wave of our family members making the trek to Bethany.

Why didn’t they all come? beamed Elizabeth. We could’ve found room. Oh, how I would’ve loved to see my family, for so I regard them and their children. Are they never to return to Bethany? It seems like such a pity. There were some hard times here—no one can deny that—but the family of Philip of Magdala were the first citizens of Bethany, the highest rung of society, and I think everyone in Bethany would be thrilled if they did come back. Well, perhaps some of the Jewish synagogue officials might be slightly less than cordial, but the people of Bethany would be ecstatic to have the children of Philip of Magdala return, even if just for a visit.

My father and aunts have often spoken about that possibility, I replied a bit more soberly, but they’re kept extremely busy; the church, their work, parenting. And from the reports that drift down to Joppa, I doubt the synagogue leaders would be any happier to see them now than before. However, the truth is I needed to come to you by myself. I’m struggling with some issues, so I needed to talk with you alone—to hear from your lips the stories about my family and our heritage. The stories we heard around the table put Abba and my aunts in the center of Jesus’ activities in Bethany and Jerusalem, but I struggle with how much validity to give to those tales, so I want to hear it from someone not related. Are the stories far-fetched or exaggerated? They seem too wonderful to be true. Do you mind telling me about those years and about my family?

Elizabeth smiled reminiscently and pinched my cheek. You really are the spirit and image of your father. Then as if recalling why I came, she shook her head and said, There’s nothing that would give me more pleasure than telling you about the grand heritage you have. Let me assure you, no matter what they have told you, your father and aunts couldn’t have exaggerated their roles. Indeed, knowing them as I do, I’m sure they downplayed their significance, but they were in the vortex of all that occurred. Had you not made the request, I don’t think I would let you get away without me telling you the stories about my children, for though I have several nephews and nieces upon whom I dote, in many ways, the children of Philip of Magdala were my family. But let us go to the house. This will take days for me to tell, so I hope you have come prepared to stay. As you know, I continue to manage the house for visitors to the city, so it should be no problem for you to stay in your own grandfather’s house for a few days.

Elizabeth led me through the village to a large, well-maintained house. Like many of the houses, it was a stucco home on one level, but with places to sit on the roof. The house was larger than most. The gardens around the home were ripe with grapes, tomatoes, dill, peppers, and there were several olive and fig trees in the yard. The house and grounds appeared to be in perfect trim.

There were several men staying in the home at that time—church leaders from Judea, Greece, and even Asia who came to be taught from the elders and apostles in Jerusalem. Among all these foreign dignitaries, I felt like a local, being from only a few hundred stadia away. Elizabeth was in charge of the house, though she had two nieces living with her who did much of the work. She had also told everyone who I was: the grandson of the man who built the house, and she mentioned my father and aunts, so I was received as someone with status.

Elizabeth gave the nieces directions for the preparation of supper as I found my bed. Afterward, she led me to the courtyard. The niece named Mary brought us some wine, unleavened bread, and herbs, and we sat down under the largest of the olive trees to talk. I will attempt to repeat the story as Elizabeth told it to me because she is a gifted storyteller and kept me enthralled throughout the narrative.

Chapter 2: Elizabeth’s Narrative Begins

Your grandfather, Philip of Magdala, was the height of respectability, the first citizen of Bethany. Because Bethany is a small community with little flux, he was always known as Philip of Magdala even though he spent most of his adult life here. His father before him had been a merchant in Magdala, a fine store with a good reputation, and Philip had managed the enterprise with his father, but a freak uprising in Magdala resulted in the death of his father. He gave me some sketchy details and never spoke to anyone else concerning the details of that event, but as the dust settled, Philip sold the store and moved to Judea, in the vicinity of Jerusalem. He had shaken the dust of Magdala off his clothes, but he was destined to always carry that history in his name. Despite the untoward events surrounding his exit, Philip was able to sell the store at a good price, so when he arrived in the area, he had money, ambition, and no ties. The conventional wisdom was for him to set up his mercantile enterprise in Jerusalem, but Philip was anything but conventional. He saw the potential of a store in Bethany which carried nicer goods because many of the nicer, wealthier families live in that community.

After setting up his house, his first two moves were to hire me, a 15-year-old novice, to keep his house and be his assistant, and to travel to Joppa. Being the third of eight children, my parents were thrilled to have me hired out and making money. Philip gave me a series of tasks to do to get the house and store ready and then embarked for Joppa, where he met Benjamin, a young trader just as ambitious as himself. After a brief acquaintance, they cast their lots together. The result of their cooperation was that Philip was able to gather exotic goods at great savings, enabling him to set up a first-rate enterprise in Bethany. He had great business savvy, a kind of sixth sense, and with Benjamin, he was fortunate in most of his speculations. There are times to take risks, and there are times to be safe, and the real entrepreneur can distinguish between them. I can hear him saying that now. Within three years of coming to Bethany, Philip had the most profitable store in the region. Not only did he capture all of Bethany’s business, but his draw began to encroach on the business in Jerusalem and many of the surrounding villages. He somehow knew what the community wanted or how to guide them into buying what he procured. He speculated at Benjamin’s suggestions, taking the risks that Benjamin thought were likely to pay off. His failures were rare; his successes numerous. He was dubbed Solomon by his neighbors and his rival businessmen. He introduced new types of cooking ware and different styles of clothing; his innovations were virtually always successful.

Though he spent little time at home in those early years, Philip treated me well. As his profits increased, he hired a former Greek slave Stephan to help with the business and with an eye on tutoring his children in the future. Therefore he had Stephan give me lessons those first few years. I would come in the mornings, make breakfast, clean the house, and then Stephan tutored me for about three hours. Then we headed to the store, where I cleaned, and Stephan assisted with the books. Many evenings Philip, Stephan, and I conversed over the evening meal that I had prepared for the three of us. Philip often quizzed me in my studies and seemed to enjoy watching me grow in my understanding and maturity.

Never had I been treated in such a way; never had I garnered such attention from a rich and handsome man. To be honest with you, I fell hopelessly in love with your grandfather, though I knew I was reaching for Mars. Philip cared for me, but not that way. He had to know how I felt, but he never made light of my affections or even acknowledged that he could read my emotions. However, I do think that Philip is the main reason why I never married—I never met another man who could hold a candle to him—well, your father is a special man, too, but that was different. Your grandfather was the best man I ever knew until I met Jesus, and that is the truth. But though he was good to me, he had his eyes on a better matrimonial match.

His prowess in courting matched his mercantile skills. Rachel was the most desirable young woman in the vicinity of Jerusalem or the surrounding area. She was tall, willowy with gently curling long black hair. Her eyes were a deep blue, very unusual and utterly captivating. Her complexion was light, almost like a Greek, and her neck made you wish you were a sculptor. She was quiet, almost shy until you got to know her, but she had a quick mind and easily held her own in intelligent conversation. Her beauty and amiable disposition were beautifully complimented by her father’s wealth. Her father owned the largest herds of sheep and goats in Bethany and had one of the three or four finest vineyards in all Judea. When Philip married Rachel, he acquired her share in her father’s wealth and became the exclusive distributor of his father-in-law’s wines. Yet, despite the economic advantages in the match for Philip, he truly married Rachel for love.

In the eyes of other suitors, Rachel could read the lust for the properties and connections the marriage would obtain for them; in the soul of Philip, she saw a man who longed to knit his being with her. Her parents were pleased with Philip’s business sense, economic security, and the trajectory of his business; Rachel was captivated by his heart.

If I could not have Philip, the match I would have made for him would have been Rachel, whom I adored. When I met her during their courtship, I was instantly drawn to her gracious person. After the marriage, she was as good to me as I had hoped—more of a companion than the matron of the house. By that time, I had grown proficient in reading and writing, and Stephan tutored us together. He assigned us to read and tell stories together, like the Greeks, and it became a favorite past time for us. When the children grew old enough, Stephan turned his attention to them, but Rachel and I continued to read together and tell stories. She encouraged me to tell the stories so that I became somewhat proficient. It may be one of the reasons I have bored my nieces and nephews with so many of my tales. Rachel confided in me all her desires and secret longings. Though I never confessed my love of Philip, I think she knew; she also trusted Philip and me and knew that we would never hurt her. Rachel was frail, but she was a wonderful woman. During those years together, she was closer to me than any of my sisters.

Their marriage had everything they desired except longevity. Their openness during courtship matured into a beautiful relationship to witness. They were truly one flesh for the six years of their married life, but Rachel’s death shook Philip to the core. He could not conceive of remarriage. At one point, I thought his affections might turn toward me, but later as I came to see, he would never be interested in me in that way; after that fashion, I contented myself in being the mother to his children. Many times in the past, I had stayed in the house, usually when Philip was out of town, but I moved into the house after Rachel died, temporarily initially, but it evolved into a permanent arrangement. Rachel and I had co-managed the house, more of along the lines of sisters than matron and servant, and after her death, I endeavored to manage the house and treat the children in a way that would please her, following the pattern we had established.

Martha was the firstborn, but she seemed to share little of the amiability of her parents. Even as a toddler, she was strong, independent, even bossy. Though she loved her mother, she was not a cuddly baby with either of her parents and certainly not with me. As the years advanced, her characteristics evolved in accordance with her age, but she did not really change. From her first steps,