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For many days I can not get the Man’s face out of my mind. His smile still warms my heart, and I long to see Him again. Often I think, if this Man is the Messiah I must find Him and hear His words. One day I get an idea. Next month is the yearly Passover festival in Jerusalem. I will begin making plans to attend. Perhaps the Man will be there. I can hardly wait to find out!
In the City of David a bustling crowd, worn from travel yet eager for excitement, pushes toward the temple court. Tired and timid I hang on the edges, listening for some news of the Man. There is as much commotion in the courtyard as in the street, with trading and bargaining, buying and selling. Goats and lambs bleat, doves coo, angry voices shout, babies cry, and children run around hollering. It certainly is not a place of peace. I think wearily, how much I would enjoy peace and quiet, not just at this place of worship, but in my mind. I am about to ask a temple servant where I can buy a lamb for a reasonable price when I hear a bang on the far side of the courtyard. Because of the crowd of people I can not see what is happening. A murmur of angry voices rise, then die away as another bang occurs. Then, reverberating throughout the temple I hear a commanding voice, “Take all these things out!” I scoot out of the way as merchants and servants herd bewildered animals into the street. Many people, fearful of what might happen next, follow. As the crowd thins and the noisy market sounds lessen I turn to look for the cause of the bangs. I am still trying to figure out what has transpired. Glancing about I spot tables overturned and money boxes lying on the tile floor, the coins scattered. Then I see the Man I’d hoped to find in Jerusalem. With a piece of rope hanging from His upraised hand, His face stern, He certainly looks authoritative.
Again He speaks. “My Father’s house is to be a place for prayer, but you have made it a den of thieves.” I gasp. No one has ever challenged the system or questioned tradition. No one has dared to speak out against this cheating trade at the temple. I decide that this Man will make a great King to enforce right and get rid of wrong.
Dropping the rope the Man seats Himself on the temple steps. Timidly I move closer. I want to hear what He’ll say next. Along with several other women I spread my shawl and sit down, my heart beating with expectation. As I look up the Man’s eyes meet mine and He smiles at me.
“Many of you are tired from traveling, weary from the burdens you carry. Some carry loads upon your hearts as well as those on your backs. You long for release, to experience peace. Come to me and I will give you rest. Let Me take the burdens of heaviness you bare, and in exchange I’ll give you a bundle that is very light in comparison. From my youth I have labored as a carpenter. I have built and smoothed many yokes for oxen teams, fashioning the wood to an exact fit. Now I have laid aside my craft man’s tools, but today I am offering each of you a deal. Yoke up with Me. We’ll pull together and your part will be easy because I’ll be pulling with you. Choose to walk beside Me.”
The Man continues talking but I become lost in my own thoughts. Is it possible that this Man has the answers I’ve been searching for? What sort of invitation is this anyway? For so long I’ve been carrying a burden of guilt and anger. At times I toss all night, restless and depressed. As I think of my past tears spring to my eyes. Right there in the temple I begin to weep. I bow my head and silently pray, “Oh God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”
I feel a hand gently touch my shoulder. Looking up through tear-dimmed eyes I see the Man bent over me, a look of compassionate understanding on His face. “Sister, can we talk?” He tenderly asks. Nodding, I attempt to dry my tears on my dress sleeve as He sits down beside me. A dam of emotion breaks inside me and words come pouring out—my struggles to be good; the emotional battles and wounds of empty relationships; my longing to feel loved and special by someone; my heart’s desires and dreams. He nods occasionally and tells me it is okay to cry. In fact, I see Him wipe His eyes when I describe a painful experience. Never once does He interrupt or give me advice, but when I begin asking questions His reply is, “Meet Me here tomorrow and listen to my words, for they are truth and life and they will give you freedom and peace.” This Man understands what I need and long for. Reaching out His hand He helps me to my feet, then smiling tells me, “I’ll be looking for you tomorrow.”
As I walk toward my Aunt’s house, where I’ll stay tonight, I wonder if I’ll sleep at all, tired though I am. Yet, when I stretch out on the sleeping mat I can no longer hold my eyes open. The next thing I know is the blast of a trumpet calling worshipers to the temple for the morning sacrifice. Rubbing sleep from my eyes I remember. . .the Man had talked to me. No, He’d listened to me. He understood me. A warm feeling envelopes me and I wonder, Is this peace? Today I will find the Man who cares about me. I will follow Him. I want to be with Him for always, to listen to His words, and to find answers to my questions. In that early morning hour I contemplate what Jesus meant when He invited, “Come to Me, all of you who are tired and weary from working, and burdened with concerns and cares. Come to Me for rest.” I had experienced release last evening when we were together, and today I feel rested. Being with the Man has made the difference.
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