We write first in blood and tears, then go over in ink.

The anniversary of our Lord’s death and resurrection is here and I wondered how I can commemorate it this year. So I will worship God the only way I know how, and that is to tell a story:
Was Passion Week a historical event? Or do people today still meet with the Passion Week? This is a semi documentary with fictional elements. The people are real.

Day 1 – At the Gate
Day 2 – At the Table
Day 3 – At the Garden
Day 4 – At the Court
Day 5 – On the Road
Day 6 – On the Cross

Day 1 – At the Gate

“Hurry, hurry! He’s almost here.” Mr Kaan said over his shoulder loudly.
Mara shrank back. Why did he have to be so loud? At 50 years old, Mara was a decade younger than her husband. Theirs was an arranged marriage. And Mara had served Mr Kaan faithfully since the day she crossed his threshold as a 19-year-old bride. And she had faithfully prepared his last rites when he was bedridden with last stage cancer. But the Healer had ridden past their little town and her husband was miraculously cured.

They reached the gate. It seemed like the whole town had come out to meet the Healer. Mr Kaan elbowed his way to the front of the crowd. Mara detests him. He is sixty but still so obnoxiously healthy. Why was he healed when her dearest bestest sister was carried away by the same cancer? He was a tobacco-sucking, bad-mouthing heathen; but her sister had faithfully served and tithed to the church. Where was the justice?

“Ahh, he’s here.” Mr Kaan sank reverently onto his knees in the dust. Mara cringed. Why did he have to make such a spectacle of himself?

The Healer rode through the gates of the town on the back of a donkey. The crowd went mad with adulation. He looked so humble and yet so kingly all at once. It was so confusing. He was so confusing. What was he doing here? Why does he save some and not others?

The donkey is a little animal. It moves slowly. The Healer passed Mr Kaan, still kneeling in the dirt. The Healer saw his devotee and said, “I will like to heal your wife.”

“Mara? She is not sick,” Mr Kaan said dismissively.

The Healer looked at Mara with his all-knowing eyes. All of a sudden, with a terrific jolt, Mara realised that indeed she was sick. She was infected with a disease that was unto death, and her sickness was bitterness. Still, she hung back.

“Take your husband’s hand,” the Healer told her.

Her eyes widened. She had never been so presumptuous in all the time she had been married to Mr Kaan, not even on the day she had presented him with their firstborn son.
The donkey moved on, not aware that the humans’ conversation was not yet finished. The crowd pressed in around the Healer. In an instant, he was lost to view.

Mr Kaan jumped to his feet, eager to follow his saviour. He had forgotten all about his wife. But Mara detained him by holding onto his hand. “Come home. I’ve made soup for you. There is time enough to find the Healer later. We will go together.”

Mr Kaan allowed her to pull him along. “Why do you think He said you need healing?” he asked. “You look perfectly well to me. But then again, he is the Messiah, he can’t be wrong. Women and the Saviour, who can understand them?”

 

Thank you, insidethebirdcage, qakitchen, IamNotDefined, for reading my Dark Lands poem. 

Say hullo before you go :)

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