The Secret Disciple

By Mark Penderghast

There met him out of the tombs a man with an unclean spirit, who lived among the tombs; and no one could bind him anymore, even with a chain…. And Jesus asked him, "What is your name?" He replied, "My name is Legion, for we are many." --Mark 5:29 

The Secret Disciple offers a riveting and plausible alternative version of the advent of Christianity, based on a close reading of the gospels. This religious mystery story comes to the startling conclusion that the risen Jesus was in fact Legion (Jeremiah), the “secret disciple.” 

If you are among those who have always questioned the story of the resurrection or wondered about the family of Jesus, this book is for you. 

WHAT OTHERS ARE SAYING

The Secret Disciple retells the Christ story in beautiful language, demystifying the resurrection miracle and envisaging Jesus as a true prophet of his times whose demon-haunted follower, Jeremiah, becomes his most devoted disciple, with startling consequences.  Readers also meet narrator Mary Magdalene, thick-headed Simon Peter, and James the younger brother of Jesus.  A magnificent and fascinating read. --Bill Schubart, author, The Priest

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Apr 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9781620069387

Book preview

Mary Magdalene

It cannot be long now before I die and join Jesus, Jeremiah, Simon Peter, James, and all the other disciples, sitting at the feet of our heavenly father. I am older than any other follower of the Way, my skin wrinkled and leathered like a dried fig, my body, too, shrunken like a fig. The time has come to put my things in order in this small room I occupy in Magdala, looking out on the ever-changing face of the Lake of Genessaret, the small body of water we grandly used to call the Sea of Galilee, lately renamed the Sea of Tiberias by those self-important Romans. Regardless of what it is called, the lake looks the same as it did when I looked out this window as a child. But so much has happened since then, so much has changed, for good and ill.

My mother used to say that I was her mystery child. Ah, my pretty one, what goes on in that little head of yours? she would tease me. I would never answer. I just smiled at her. What secrets do you keep that would explain everything to me? She would sigh, slitting open another musht fish, scraping out its guts, and throwing it in the brine. Perhaps you know why God has set this burden upon women, to slave from morning till night. Perhaps you can explain the moods of the waters and the seasons. Perhaps you understand the whims of the Romans and tetrarchs, the endless arguments of the Pharisees and Sadducees. Maybe you will be our first woman prophet. And she would slit open another musht.

I would just smile. I knew she was mostly talking to herself, keeping her mind off the tedium of her work, merely teasing me. Yet it was true that I kept my secrets. No one knew that I had a secret cave near the lake where I kept my pets—lizards missing legs bitten by some predator, two-headed frogs deformed from birth, sparrows with broken wings. I nursed them until I could let them go, or until they died and I added them to my little graveyard, each body topped by a special rock.

No one knew that I had a secret place up in the mountains, where sometimes I was sent to find a stray goat and tarried longer than necessary. I loved it up there, on the heights that seemed to command the world, where I could see all of Galilee and its sea glinting in the sun. It was cool and barren and clean there. And when I reached my adolescence, my demons didn’t like it there and so for once were quiet.

Of course, they were the greatest secret of all, at least until I could hold their voices inside no longer. I was possessed by seven demons, one for each day of the week. I didn’t call them that as a young child. I thought they were just voices inside my head, perhaps kindly spirits. Unlike Jeremiah’s demons, who threw him violently about, bruising him and making him cry out, mine were quiet, I might even say friendly. They whispered to me. Look, Mary, look at that lacy spiderweb. Imagine what a lot of work that would be. Would you like to hear what the spider is thinking as she spins? That was Applias, who often wanted my attention when I was supposed to be helping my mother. And there were six others. Sometimes they spoke only to me. Sometimes they carried on a spirited conversation with one another, distracting me, particularly when my father asked me to do something.

Only when I turned twelve did they begin to interfere and call me names, much as my father did. Hopeless one! Papa would say. You who have ears but do not hear! I have been calling for you loudly and you do not answer, lost in your dream world. Perhaps you are possessed. God will never love such a one. Even with your looks, you will find only a worthless man if you cannot work.

Soon after that, I met Jeremiah. It was the day my father sent me alone, as a kind of test, on a boat over to Gergesa, where I was supposed to negotiate for sardines with the local fishermen. He made me repeat the same message over and over to make sure I had it: Greetings from Magdala! I am Mary, daughter of Asher the fish merchant. I am sent for your best sardines at the best price.

As I entered the marketplace, still mumbling these words to myself, a large woman was beating a boy while townspeople and children formed a circle to watch and mock. I’ll beat those demons out of you! she screamed. God have mercy on me, why did I ever agree to take you? You are accursed, a pestilence, a canker on the face of the earth. And all the while she hit him with her great cudgel, while he tried to dodge the blows.

I thought she would murder him. Blood flowed down his face. I found myself running through the crowd, shouting, Stop! You will kill him! Surprised, the woman turned towards me, and I thought she would hit me, too. You! she hissed. Stay out of this! This is family business. I am his aunt. He is possessed by demons, and this is the only way to tame them.

The crowd stilled. A child at its outskirts yelled shrilly, She’s a witch! Run! Suddenly Maressol, usually one of my quiet demons, roared out of me in an angry voice that tore through my throat. You want to confront a demon! Look into your mirror, you hag! She let her nephew go and came after me, screaming, I curse you and all that you do. May you be possessed, too! This whole generation is demonic! I fled, the crowd scattered, and I jumped onto a boat just leaving for the other side of the lake. I never negotiated for any sardines, and my father finally gave up on me completely. I realized then that my voices were in fact demons who possessed me, and they grew bolder and louder.

But here is not the place to go on about my demons. I only meant to explain that I am good at keeping secrets and always have been. I have already written my story. That will come later. Suffice it now to know: Mary of Magdala can keep a secret for years and years.

So when Jesus took me into the mountains to meet Jeremiah that early summer morning, the year before he died, he knew that he could trust me. Mary, he said, summoning me out of the dark, holding a single candle. He held me by the shoulders and looked directly at me in that way he had when he was about to say something truly important, I need you to do something for me.

I was fully awake now, having shaken out of a deep sleep. Anything, Master, I thought. I would jump off a cliff for you. I would give up everything for you. You have but to ask. But aloud I said only, Yes, what is it?

Then he seemed to lose his focus. He