SHAVUOT
I am Maryam. Twice I have been shamed and twice
God has lifted me up. In my old age now, but still
They come to see me, talk to me, ask me questions.
What is it like to be the mother of Yeshua, who died
And then was alive again?
Twice I have been shamed,
Twice an outsider, no better than a goy, a stranger
In Israel. Now I sit in the sun but for how long, Lord,
How long?
My name is Maryam but secretly, in private,
I call myself Ruth because I always dreamed that I
Would be accepted into Israel and not be ashamed.
Explain, he says. Explain. I will. I will tell you my shame
And my ingathering. My double shame. And my double
Harvest of God’s love. Listen to Maryam, who is Ruth.
All the way to Capernaum the days had been filled
With sickle-swish and the harvest song. I had
No desire to sing. Mouth full of death’s ashes,
Choking me. Back home the barley was in the barn
But I could not sing. My own Passover lamb bound
And butchered but the messenger of death
Had not gone past my roof. He had stopped
At my house and smeared me with lamb’s blood.
My lamb. My beautiful lamb. My son. My son.
Veiled in grief I hardly heard, didn’t understand
What they were saying, when they came to tell me
About an early morning encounter by the lake.
Besides I didn’t need a ghost story. The death
Was real enough without a tale to take away
The pain. Go away, I said. Go. Go. Go.
These were the days between the barley
And the wheat. Fifty days of ingathering
Between Passover blood and Pentecost bread.
Days to remember Ruth, who worked for
Her man. Ruth, the foreigner, the outcast,
Migrant worker in a strange land. Ruth,
The one who said: “Where you go,
I will go. Where you stay, I will stay.
Where you die I will die, and there
I will be buried.”[1]They came to Bethlehem
And the other woman said, “I left full,
But I come back empty. God has taken
Even what I had and left me with nothing
But bitterness and tears. Here at Bethlehem
At the time of the harvesting of the barley.”[2]
I heard them talking. The men. Whispering
At night or while mending nets. They were
Quiet when they saw me but I heard. Yeshua.
Always talking about Yeshua. Then silence,
As if they spoke of my shame and would not
Let me hear. God has taken even what I had
And left me only tears and bitterness, here
At Capernaum between the barley and the wheat.
One night I dreamed. I was at the threshing floor;
The place forbidden to women, where the men
Dance the grain into the barns. And I
Was dancing too. Dancing the grain under my feet,
Dancing the dust into life. And next to me
Yeshua danced. And he was crying and so was I.
But laughing. Between the steps and the stamps
He was singing – “Where you go I will go,
Where you are, I will be. When you die,
I will be your life and you will be buried in me.”
Next morning I told the men we were going
To Jerusalem. “What for? they said. “For
Shavuot,” I told them. “I wish to make
The offering of two loaves prescribed
In the law.” They laughed. “You will come
With me,” I said. They stopped laughing.
They could see I meant it. Meant to go.
They objected. We’re too busy. You’re
Too old. It’s hot. We can’t go back there.
We might be recognised. “We are going,”
I said. And they knew I meant to go,
Just as Naomi and Orpah and Ruth
Went home, though empty of hope.
I baked the bread myself. Two small barley loaves,[3]
Not wheat: set free, I had not yet received
The teaching.[4] Wrapped them in an old cloth -
A coat Yeshua once wore. I carried those loaves
To Jerusalem for the first-fruits feast of Shavuot
Through fields white and ready for the sharp sickle.
For I am Ruth and my man waits at the threshing floor.
We did not go to the Temple. We went to the Mount
Of Olives and sat on the hillside. And I did not offer
My barley loaves to the Temple: we shared them,
Along with a skin of wine. I Maryam, mother of Yeshua,
Broke the barley loaves and gave a piece to each
Of those who had left Jerusalem with me at Passover,
Empty of God, of hope, of life. But now we are back.
I broke the bread and as they ate it
I began to sing: “Where you go I will go,
Where you are, I will be. When you die,
I will be your life and you will be buried in me.”
One by one they joined in. Soon we were dancing
And singing, and we were filled.
My bloodied lamb had become our barley bread.
We ate and were filled.
So we danced that Shavuot, at the end
Of our fifty days, at our Pentecost,
Danced on the threshing floor and were filled.
Were filled.
1
[1] Ruth 1:16
[2] Ruth 1: 21-22
[3] Cp John 6:9
[4] Passover is the festival of setting free; Shavuot the festival of receiving the Torah (teaching)