Ghosts of the Shephelah, Book 2: Miryam Meira Magdalene

By James K. Stewart

Miryam Meira Magdalene is the second in an exciting new four-part series titled Ghosts of the Shephelah. Miryam will take you inside the life story of Jesus, from a woman's perspective. It will reveal Gabriel's nervousness; enlighten how the census saved Mary from a possible stoning; expose the need for faith in our endeavors; suggest another reason for the betrayal; uncover the real reason Pilate had Jesus crucified; describe the monstrous way in which crucifixion drains life from the human soul; and explain how Jesus did, in fact, spend three full nights in the grave and rose on the third day as prophesied. Miryam speaks from her heart as she reflects upon an unfortunate early life, tells of her salvation, and helps you to realize just how much God loves creation. Hearing the biblical information in story form, voiced by a female disciple, brings the eyewitness account to life in a way that will touch your heart. Not only will you journey with Miryam and the disciples, you will learn why Jesus' body could not be touched after sundown. Miryam's faithful witness will both shock and surprise you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Resource Publications
• Release date: Jan 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9781666792652

James K. Stewart

James K. Stewart is a retired Presbyterian minister who has always believed that the Old Testament has helped him to understand the vital necessity of Christ Jesus. His many life experiences of construction worker; scuba instructor; screenplay writer and writer/director of many theatrical productions; and, in his retirement, golfer, have given him an in-depth appreciation that people--all people, regardless of race, creed, or color--suffer and enjoy the same human experiences.

Book preview

Introduction

Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Mary, one of the many Ghosts of the Shephelah. Actually, my name isn’t really Mary, it’s just that Bible translators, for some reason, for which I am not sure, began calling me Mary and it stuck. My parents named me Miryam Meira Magdalene as I was a blood-line descendant of the Hebrew family who founded the village of Magdala in Galilee more than one thousand years earlier. In essence, the meaning of the name Miryam, is rebellious. Meira, means, one who gives light and Magdalene means tower, if that makes any sense to you. At any rate, I was always aptly named Miryam, the rebellious one. Now that my spirit haunts the shephelah in search of those who seek the truth of our past, my sisters and I have reverted back to our birth names. O yes, I do believe you may have already met my two best friends in the after-world, Deborah, whom we call Bee and Adina, the gentle one. Mine is Miryam, but you can call me Mary if you wish.

I didn’t really get to know Yeshua from Nazareth until months after my first personal encounter with him. It happened when I finally summoned the courage to enter a Pharisee’s courtyard and anoint the feet of the one who had driven seven demons from a friend of mine. Following that encounter, my life was changed forever. Unlike my friend who had been plagued with convulsions for years, I was just your good old fashioned, run of the mill, sinner. Not only had I heard that this new prophet on the scene could heal, he was also reported to have forgiven many sinners, much to the disgust of our religious leaders.

You should know that the meaning of the name Yeshua, in Hebrew, means Yehovah is salvation. As with my name, Bishop Jerome, late in the fourth century, changed Yeshua to Jesus, (so it wouldn’t sound Jewish). He derived the name from the Greek word for anointed one, Iesous (ee-ay-sooce). However, like me, we were Jewish of the line of David and proud of it. My unfortunate circumstances in life, and the love in my heart, did not matter to the Pharisees. To them, it was clear, I was a sinner. It didn’t matter that my parents had died when I was young or that my husband Yoel, meaning, God is willing, had been crucified by the Romans for inciting insurrection. It didn’t matter that our property had been confiscated and I was thrown onto the street. At forty-one years of age, I was a homeless widow. Guess what, those good folks in the synagogue I had supported all my life, were not doing a very good job of caring for widows or orphans. In my poverty, I’d been beaten, abused, raped and cast out of the community as insane.

Now, you may begin to understand why it falls to us, the poor, the abused, the sinners, to allow our spirits to roam the shephelah, the lowlands between Beersheba and Megiddo, passing on the events we experienced through life. My story begins, not at the beginning, but the end, or should I say, the new beginning. After two years of faithfully serving Yeshua and his disciples; after the heart wrenching horror of the crucifixion; after running with a heart bursting with joy to tell the frightened disciples in hiding that Yeshua was risen; I was met with the loud jealous voices of disciples shouting LEROS. For those of you who do not know Greek, the word means, that which falls to the ground from the back end of a bull.

From horrific pain, to exhilarating jubilation, to the heart wrenching pain heaped upon me by the disciples I’d come to love, I walked away from their hiding place, never to see them again. On a hill, overlooking the gravestone that angels had rolled away, I sat enduring my very own one-woman pity party. Opening my eyes, and much to my surprise, a man in a brilliant white gown sat across from me. It was him, Yeshua, my Lord and my Savior. He didn’t speak, but I could hear him as plain as day. With my heart comforted, my soul was able to forgive those, who just moments before, I’d begun to hate. I was at peace. With words from no audible source still echoing in my mind, my Lord called me to follow the desire of my heart. I knew exactly what he meant. I wanted to learn all that I could about the life of my savior and I knew that my fate, my inevitable destiny, was not to be taken into heaven, at least not until all people came to believe in the Lamb of God, who came to take away the sins of the world. Again, his heart felt request echoed in my mind, Please Miryam, find my mother and tell her of my death and resurrection, that she may find peace. At once, I gathered my belongings and left for Nazareth in search of the mother of the Son of God.

Finding my namesake was more exciting than I could have imagined. Her name was Miryam, the same as mine, and I knew instantly why God had chosen this strong rebellious woman to be the mother of my Lord. It was an immediate bond. Miryam had birthed God’s son into the world and I, Miryam Meira Magdalene, had witnessed his life, his death and his resurrection from the bowels of Hades. This is our story. From his mother and his faithful disciple, to you.

Chapter 1

The Birth

Mixed emotions are difficult to record on parchment. Imagine breaking the news to a mother that her son had been crucified and then immediately telling her that you had not only witnessed his resurrection from the grave, but had spoken with him. When I first met Miryam, the mother of my Lord, she sensed that I had come for more than a friendly visit. She knew I had come to convey the news of her son’s death. Inviting me to sit at her table, Miryam began boiling a strange leaf that traders had brought from a faraway land. After getting to know each other, over this strange new drink she called teh (tea), she began the story of her son, the man who changed the world.

Not long after her fifteenth birthday, Miryam was betrothed to a young man named Yowceph, meaning, Yehovah has added. He was strong and handsome. Unknown to anyone, she had admired him for years. Their betrothal did not come as a surprise as she was not willing to chance her fate to a father picking some old widower or worse, someone she did not like. Miryam sat her mother down and gave her strict instructions to make her father think it was his idea to pick Yowceph as her husband. We laughed for a few moments at the thought of just how easy it was. Nonetheless, the betrothal was announced and the night of the spring full moon was set as the time. Invitations were sent to friends in the area and