I Am Sarah

By James Davison

This is the entertaining and intriguing account of Sarah, a woman who has been alive for more than a millennium. She fell ill in her nineteenth year of life, died, and was resurrected by Jesus Christ. Pursued by the authorities who view her return to life as an abomination, she has been traveling through history with two others resurrected by Jesus, Lazarus of Bethany, and Elan, the son of the widow from Nain.

After learning that their resurrections conveyed immortality, the three set out to discover why. While Lazarus is intent on preserving the beginnings of Christianity and Elan is happily exploring new geographies, Sarah searches for her life's purpose. Having fought alongside Lazarus and Elan in the Crusades, she now finds her place as a teacher, mentor, and gifted healer. But her new life is soon tested in a way she wasn't prepared to face.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Resource Publications
• Release date: May 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9781666765298

James Davison

James Davison is the author of the nuclear thriller Trinity 3.11, (2019), and the fictional memoir written by the oldest man alive, Lazarus of Bethany, I am Lazarus, (2021). Davison draws inspiration from his years as a journalist, a Public Information Officer in the federal government, and his experience in law enforcement to give his books realism. A native of Louisiana, he is also an accomplished cook, a musician, an avid fly fisherman, and a competitive powerlifter. He and his wife live and work in Virginia.

Book preview

Sarah

Fall AD 1300

Salerno, Italy

I was born and raised in Capernaum, a small fishing village on the northern shore of the Sea of Galilee. That village was also where I died. One day after my death, Jesus Christ raised me from the dead. Ever since that day, I have been alive and in the company of two others who were resurrected by Jesus, Lazarus of Bethany, and Elan, the son of the widow from Nain. Not long after our respective resurrections, we were told the religious authorities wanted to return us to the grave. Fearing for our lives, we escaped Judea and went to Cyprus, where we made a temporary home.

When the apostle Paul arrived there and told us of our immortality, I struggled with what it meant to be immortal. Elan and I were on the cusp of adulthood when we were resurrected, and, sure, he’d been in the Roman Legion, but I was a simple farm girl. With some distance between then and now, I understand that my mind was too young and inexperienced to comprehend what being immortal even meant. This may be why we were given a measure of time to adjust before our lives got, let’s say, more complicated. Still, I wrestled with the question almost daily: Why did this happen to me? Yet the answer to that question was impossible to grasp as the years turned into decades, which turned into millennia.

Our constant battles with the warriors loyal to Saladin during the Third Crusade soon wore thin on me. At the end of a challenging and bloody day, we sought refuge in a cave when it started to snow heavily. Sitting around a fire Elan had built, our breath visible in the chilly air, I knew, in my spirit, that I needed to change my life. Without any effort, I convinced Lazarus and Elan that our time there was finished. We left the Holy Land and once again took to the ocean.

That was when I genuinely was able to reflect on my life. The central issue for me: How did I become the woman I was, and what kind of woman did I want to become? It hit me that Lazarus and Elan had extensive and well-developed personal missions, and I did not.

Lazarus was committed to finding, preserving, and sharing with the world the sacred writings produced by the apostles about the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

At times, Elan was always the dreamer, focused on his desire to be a warrior for the causes he valued. When not fighting, he was obsessed with scanning the nighttime sky, hoping to see God.

After a day of doing nothing, just enjoying life, we sat anchored for the night. As our ship rocked back and forth gently, I felt an emptiness. While reflecting on my life up to that point, I finally figured out who I wanted to be.

The three of us had received significant training in hand-to-hand combat and bladed warfare from Mr. Gao when we lived in Japan. Skills that came in handy over the years as I fended off attackers who mistook me for an easy target. But life as a warrior was not my calling as it was for Elan. I needed something else, a real purpose. Since I had been given a new lease on life by Jesus, why not help others do the same?

Elan and Lazarus supported this new direction. We returned to Italy, sold the boat, and split up, each following our respective paths.

Medical science in 1300 was far from complex and advanced. There had been very little progression from when I took ill and died. It was more like a guessing game and, by the standards of our modern times, seems ridiculous. Got a cut? Let’s put a dung poultice soaked in wine on it. Feeling puny? These twenty leeches will suck that illness right out of you. Or worse, some shaman would appear and start mixing potions for you to consume, trying to remove the evil spirit causing your illness. Of course, if the shaman determined it necessary, you might get drawn and quartered, split on a beam, or burned at the stake. Maybe the leeches weren’t such a bad option after all.

Anything seemed better than what I’d seen tried by so-called healers of the time period. I have mentioned Mr. Gao’s instruction in combat tactics. He came to know of our immortality, which in his mind also made us perfect for treating the wounds his fighters received in battle. Even then, Mr. Gao and his healers knew a slight injury in battle could be fatal at times. While Elan focused on his skill with a sword, I focused on learning the various ways to field dress wounds suffered in battle. My experiences fighting side-by-side with Elan and Lazarus during the Crusades confirmed I was quite skilled at ending a life. My decision to become equally capable of saving one was the easiest I’ve ever had to make.

This new pursuit took me to places where I could observe healers and consider my educational path. Obtaining instruction and training in medicine was not a popular topic for a woman, to say the least. But again, I’d never taken the easy road. I would not let the cultural norms of the times stand in my way. I had confidence that a band of committed women with a passion for being healers preceded me. I just needed to find them.

1

Fall AD 1302

Salerno, Italy

The blue door with ornate carvings, reminiscent of an earlier century, took me back to when true craftmanship was appreciated. As I ran my hand across the beautiful curves, I began to imagine who else may have crossed this threshold and how their lives might have been changed, as I hoped mine might be. A sudden sound in the alley behind me jolted me from my daydream and returned me to the present. With a glance over my shoulder to ensure I had not been followed, I reached up and knocked.

There was an immediate response. Large metal hinges creaked in muted harmony as the door opened. A middle-aged woman appeared, clad in a white dress with thin, horizontal blue stripes tied with a bright blue belt, which hung loosely. A thin veil covered her head and neck. The dress was large and baggy, wrapping her legs and feet. The stripe on her clothing matched one of the colors on the door. She was plain and yet beautiful at the same time.

May I help you, my dear? Are you injured? Do you have an issue with blood, perhaps? Does it not appear normal? Or do you seek counsel on marital bed issues? Perhaps you anticipate a difficult childbirth?

I curtseyed and replied, God save you, my lady. I greet you in his name. No, I am not ill, and I suffer no issues regarding the marital bed (though the topic made me laugh on the inside) nor those related to childbirth (another internal laugh). I have come to your door because I seek knowledge. The Schola Medica Salernitana is well-regarded, and I wish to enter as a student. Your most famous graduate, Trota de Ruggiero, is so renowned as a healer that many who practice the medical arts, be they man or woman, use her texts on midwifery and the female anatomy. I wish to learn and become a healer after her example.

A sad look washed over her face as she shook her head in a way that had been used successfully before, although on someone more capable of being intimidated than I. What I saw was designed to send me away from the school with the beautiful blue door. It was subtle but effective.

This is not possible, my dear. We cannot take in more students as we are full. I would add the government and religious authorities remain skeptical of what we do here. Teaching a woman to become a medical practitioner seems to be beyond the grasp of some men who believe they are in charge of this world. I must say good day, madame, and may God be with you. She stepped back to close the door without further conversation.

I had not come this far to be denied. Using a trick Elan taught me, I put my right foot between the door and the door frame, and at the same time, I reached into a pocket where I had a small change purse and jostled the coins inside.

Money will not change my mind, she added softly, my lady. However, the words were spoken in such a way that I knew; perhaps there was room for negotiation.

Opening the purse, I retrieved five gold coins. Her eyes widened, and she looked past me into the alley. Her movement was done furtively, and I wondered if we were about to be set upon by robbers. A hand shot out of her garment, and with a decisive movement, she grabbed me and pulled me beyond the threshold into an entry room. The door shut, and another woman appeared and slid a large wooden bar into place to block it.

You must be newly arrived. Thieves are always lurking, and if we’re to negotiate a price, we cannot do it in the alley on the cusp of the doorway. They’ll take note of you and waylay you the next time you leave.

I wish one or two of them would! I might let them live.

She squinted, released my arm, and took a step backward, contemplating my face and mulling over the words I had spoken. I opened my hand and a shaft of sunlight coming into the room from a high set of windows illuminated the coins.

How has one such as yourself found such a fortune? You’re not a thief, are you? Perhaps the soldiers will be here soon, looking for the thief who pilfered those from the treasury?

Madame, I assure you, I am not a thief, and no soldiers pursue me.

Reaching out, I opened her right hand, placed the coins in her palm, and closed her hand around them.

I seek no negotiation. I can offer this small token and more, if necessary, to support the instruction you offer. Shall we say I am creating an endowment? I will continue to fund it as long as you offer this educational service to women interested in learning what you teach here. Regardless of what the men of authority, religious or governmental, believe.

She stood silent, her hand opening and closing around the coins. I could tell that she was not going to count them or consider their value. With eyebrows raised, she nodded and relented with a simple statement as the coins disappeared into a hidden pocket.

Tell me your name

I am Sarah, and if you agree to accept me, any funding I provide must be used exclusively for women’s education. This I do in the name of my father, Jarius. He was never cross with me, never lamented that his only child was a female and not a male who might grow up and follow in his footsteps, and become a leader in the temple.

I paused for a moment, wondering if I’d said too much. She appeared nonplussed and waited for me to push forward.

My father always looked out for my best interests, even to the point of . . .

Now I was stuck. I didn’t want to blurt out I had once been dead but was resurrected by the Son of God. I continued. Well, he searched and found a man who saved me from death. As long as this school exists, I will contribute the funding for one woman to receive the same education you will provide for me. Do you agree with my terms?

This time there was no hesitation in her voice.

Yes. Come, Sarah, daughter of Jarius. I am Elizabeth de Luzzi, and I have been here for twenty years. She stopped for a moment, considering a question, then she asked it. Hopefully, you are capable of what you seek. But before we go further, I wish to hear your reply. Are you?

I appreciated what I had experienced of her straightforward nature.

Yes, Elizabeth di Luzzi, I am capable. As time marches on, I am confident you will come to appreciate what I am capable of learning and doing.

Her answer was short and to the point.

Perhaps that is true. I am encouraged by your enthusiasm. Now, come. There is much to learn here. You begin immediately.

As we turned and moved into a dark passageway, I glanced back at the massive door, whose inside shades of blue matched its exterior. Its structure gave me pause, and reminded me of the mythical portal to another dimension that Elan was always ruminating about. With it shut, the world beyond seemed to cease to exist.

Another young woman in garments similar to Elizabeth’s appeared from an anteroom and manipulated several locks on the door. They made satisfying clicks, signifying the locking mechanism had engaged. Elizabeth gently took my arm, although she addressed the locks as we walked toward a passageway that seemed to lead into the interior of the building.

You are an observant one, aren’t you? The bar we place across the door may be easily breached. We use the locks when the door is unattended. You will find that we are somewhat like a convent, though we have both male and female students here. In addition to thieves who would love to rummage through our supplies, others would seek to harm us out of spite or because they cannot find it in their hearts to believe what an educated woman can do.

They’d also be surprised at what this woman can do, I muttered.

Although we have never met, I can say this with some ease, in you is a fierceness that has not been fully revealed to me. Indeed, I have no doubt you are a formidable force, a woman of impressive skills. You will fit in nicely.

She looked over my outfit and I could see in her eyes that it did not pass her mental test.

Come, let’s get you properly dressed. Later, I shall introduce you to the cohort.

I followed her, excited for once about the prospect of learning new things, and about my future.

Finally, I have found the right place for me. I might even be able to stay here a few hundred years, if I am careful, that is.

The people therefore that was with him when he called Lazarus out of his grave,and raised him from the dead, bare record.

John

12

:

17

2

July AD 1426

Studio of Giovanni di Paulo

Siena, Italy

I took a brief leave from the Schola Medica Salernitana, where I was now headmistress, to meet with Italian artist Giovanni di Paulo. I had befriended Giovanni a few years earlier when a relative came to us regarding his illness. Once he had recovered, Giovanni remained an active patron of the school. One day, I had an idea to surprise Lazarus with gifts I knew he’d appreciate. On a whim, I commissioned Giovanni to paint some altarpieces for a house of worship Lazarus frequented. Giovanni sent a courier to the school with a message he was finished, and I should come to judge if the pieces met my expectations. Standing there, looking over the shoulders of my painter friend, I admired the quality of what he had produced.

Giovanni, these are spectacular. The colors jump off the canvas and make the scene seem real.

Yes, I believe it is quite an improvement on what Buoninsegna produced, which I found dull if I may be allowed to offer an opinion of the differences between my work and that of another whose work preceded mine.

But Duccio di Buoninsegna painted his version more than one hundred years ago, I said, trying to give Giovanni some sense of how his chosen field had changed over the last century. Much has improved since his day. There must be many more hues and opportunities for blending, not to mention improvements in canvas and the tools used.

Giovanni nodded his head in agreement.

Yes, you are right, of course. But still, I prefer mine over his. I always felt his work was, well, to be blunt, a bit lifeless and lacking in color. Throughout my efforts in front of the canvas, I have tried to bring life to every aspect of my work. He leaned back on his stool and contemplated his latest. And now, I present the last piece you commissioned. Standing, he raised both arms, offering a full view of the finished painting.

"I give you ‘The Raising of Lazarus.’"

I admired the workmanship quietly. Every sweep of his brush was like a supernatural force had guided his hand.

Simply stunning. The expressions on the faces are wonderful, especially that of Lazarus. I complement your depiction of the clothing worn by Jesus and the sisters of Lazarus, Martha, and Mary. It is quite accurate for the time period. I quickly added, Or so I understand.

Giovanni either did not hear me or decided to ignore my remark.

"As you may know, the Son of God has typically been depicted wearing an outer garment of blue and a red inner garment. In such a combination, blue denoted his divinity, which wrapped around red, the blood of his humanity. Conversely, our Lord’s mother was typically dressed in a red outer garment with a blue