Time marched on and so did the people as they began to exit the house in their groups of twos or threes etc.. - signaling that this dinner party was more or less officially over. In the midst of all this came Martha out of the kitchen, arms filled with empty trays, bowls and small water pots; in which she handed most off to her sister Mary and her brother Lazarus, as well as several older children who were standing there too.

She was determined and undaunted by having to squeeze around and step over disciples who were either too lazy or stubborn to get out of the way. Jesus met her about midpoint through the crowd, in which they exchanged a few words while (much to my surprise) she wrapped her free arm around His neck and kissed Him. After this, she tucked her water pot back under her elbow and continued on her way as if nothing of worthy consideration had transpired. Just a simple act of love and gratitude for the assistance He'd given her earlier.

"Huh?" I mumbled in amazement as she rallied a few of the trays back from Lazarus, since he was the next in line to say good night. After the two men hugged and kissed each other, the youngest boy ran over for a departing cuddle. He was soon followed by the older kids.

I wonder if these are Martha's children? I pondered a minute, as I watched the girl jumping around her aunt after coming back from Jesus. The expression on Mary's face caught my attention, when I noticed she was looking at Martha with almost a scowl. What's that all about? I questioned, scratching my head; as I always thought it was Martha who had the problem with Mary?

Evidently there is more to the dynamics of this family than meets the eye. I realized as Lazarus walked past his sisters to take the young'ens outside, while Jesus stood watching Mary's reaction to all of this. His curious expression caught her attention, but only for a moment before she abruptly turned away and followed her brother out the door. Obviously she wasn't real happy with Jesus either. I chuckled as Martha let out a sigh of frustration. Jesus consoled her with a pat on the shoulder and a few last words before she too exited into the night.

Well, wasn't that...thought provoking? I mumbled as I turn around to find myself a seat. Could it be I wasn't the only one in history whose desire for Jesus went a little beyond redemption? I laughed with an ironic sort of scorn as I simply leaned against a wall, seeing how all the seats were taken at the moment.

The only difference between me and Mary though, was that I knew better. At least I had history that told me what was going to happen. Poor Mary only had her loneliness and a fading hope for something that was never to come to fruition. She looked sort of jealous of Martha? I let out a chuckle as I considered that Martha must have been at least 15 years Jesus's senior. Maybe those really weren't her kids, maybe they were her grandkids? I started to giggle as I realized that I was only basing my conjecture on two minutes of interaction that probably was out of context in the first place.

Either way, I sighed with one last laugh, as I thought of all the conversations this evening and how it was curiously amusing to me that the 'kitchen help' (Martha) was the only woman I'd seen have such a personal interaction with prominent Guest of the banquet. Although the more I thought about it now, I could recall many people both male and female poking, patting, sleeves pulling and even hugging Him. All this physical contact seemed almost inappropriate to my puritanical, yet erotically obsessed American mindset.

Regardless, this little exchange left me in somewhat of a quandary; for even though it didn't seem that out of context for Middle Eastern culture, it was still bothersome. Yes, I've seen many men and women of these desert lands show public displays of affection for others, they just never crossed the gender barrier.

Funny how it is, I wondered as I thought back on all the Bible passages where it recorded women touching Jesus. What really are the social norms and morays of this civilization - the citizens of the kingdom? I began to seriously ponder as I questioned why these things were recorded in the first place? Was it because hugging the beloved Master was so unusual, or rather for the sake of societies like mine? I let out a cynical giggle as I found it pretty ironic that such a 'repressed' community had one over on the era of supposedly 'sexual revolution' I lived in.

Oddly enough, I found it intriguing that none of the apostles were even watching. No one else seemed to be paying much attention and I started to wonder about that too? Did all the talking to... strange women standing at wells, gentiles, lepers and dead bodies Jesus did; make the disciples acclimated to His accessibility, or was there actually a spiritual truth here I was missing?

Could it be that the loving kindness of God is far more willing to literally handle us to heal us, than I ever dared imagine? I wondered as I recalled the previous afternoon when Jesus literally picked me up off the ground. A chill ran through my body as all these questions kept milling around in my head. I let out a sigh for I felt like crying as I remembered Martha, who had long since left of the house. The last shall be first and the first shall be last?

About 20 minutes... left the house; and even the disciples had exited to the front yard, with the exception of John and Phillip, who appeared to be staying the night. Mary Magdalene was nowhere to be found, but Simon and several of his children stood in the entrance of the narrow hall that led to the kitchen. Jesus wandered back inside and upon seeing these huddled masses went over and hugged and kissed them. It was a tearful moment and I wiped my face as I stood and observed how this near stranger had reunited a family by literally delivering Simon from death itself.

What a great miracle that really would be. I sighed as I leaned up against the wall thinking of my own family, who was riddled and shot through with all sorts of social problems and lapses of moral judgement. For a person who believed God could fix anything, boy was I lacking in faith! I began to realize, as it seemed I could feel my soul sliding into my feet. I plopped down on a now vacant bench amongst scattered pillows, a blanket and a couple of square mats that sort of looked like Muslim prayer rugs; as the vague echo of a 20th-century song "Be the Lord of my Past" filtered through my mind, before I even noticed someone had said good night to me too.

I could feel the kiss on my forehead as I quickly glanced up and looked around. The room was now empty except for Jesus who was nigh on exiting the front door. My heart soon joined to my soul in my feet as I felt like I was about to fall off this rustic settee.

A well of confused emotion begin to surface - again! What was happening to me? I wondered. Was I actually lovable? I heard the curious question echo in my head. No, it must've been a mistake; especially after what happened this morning. I grimaced, as I'd figured Jesus would have never tried that again! I began to sniffle as I could feel the tears trickling down my face, while I watched this mysterious 'lover' for a moment or two just as He left the house.

"Wait a minute!" I mumbled in a half cry as I jumped to my feet and hurried outside. I could see a few of the disciples walking down the dusty path followed by Jesus who was jogging up behind the unsuspecting bunch.

"Where are You going?" I heard my own voice ring through the air as I ran after them.

They all stopped and turned around as I came up to Jesus who was pointing at the house; I presume with some instruction that I should go back inside. But me, being the disobedient mortal 'man' that I'm am; didn't listen. No, instead I scurried up to Jesus and threw my arms around Him. "Good night to You too!" I said just before I kiss the side of His face.

Needless to say, I learned real quick that doing this in the presence of all these men was a big cultural no-no. And whoever it was who sought to teach me that lesson; also learned real quick that you don't try to hit a 20th-century American war veteran.

"Am-oz'san saw-an" I heard a voice laugh as I let go of the twisted arm of the poor unsuspecting soul laying on the ground before me groaning in pain. It took a minute before I realized I'd been referenced as the member of an ancient race of female warriors. No, I was not an Amazon woman who'd altered her anatomy so it wouldn't get in the way of her bow. I began to chuckle as I patted my right side, just to make sure I still had two breasts.

Not Amazon: American - but close enough!

I looked down at the ground as this rather humiliated disciple got up and cautiously inched away from me. "Sorry Pete." I mumbled the only thing I could think of, although I was pretty sure he wasn't Peter.

I glanced over at Jesus, who was in the middle of saying something to the others before He turned to me.

"Yeah, uh... think I'll go back in the house now." I... (sort of) nervously shrugged; for I didn't know what else to do. I really was sorry he'd gotten hurt; but man don't come running up to me swinging just because I did something ya didn't like. I pondered a minute or two as I held out my hand to the injured disciple in a gesture of apology.

Strangers don't shake hands in this culture either. I realized, as it seemed Jesus had to explain my intent before... embarrassed apostle lent an apprehensive hand. It was a little awkward for everyone as I looked at this disciple's face in the fading glow of the receding moon.

Strange men and women don't look each other in the eye either, but this I already knew. I let out an apologetic sigh as I could see he and everyone else around here (including me) we're having some difficulty overcoming our own cultural biases.

"Peace bro." I finally smiled as I held up two fingers before turning to leave. I stepped around Jesus and waved good night before I headed back into the house. He politely waved back

The expression of thoughtful intrigue that seemed glued to Jesus's face remained stuck in my mind. Even He looked a bit shocked and... fascinated?; by this stranger from some other planet? I chuckled indecisively as I considered how very different (yet exactly the same) our worlds really were. Strange as it was, I thought about how Martha kissed Him and He kissed me. I don't know... but maybe these private acts of affection we seemed to share, were even a stretch for the Son of God? I considered as I thought of little old Martha and her motherly hug. After all, Jesus was somewhere in His 30's and I am a lot younger than Martha.

I thought about Mary as I cautiously crept through the front room on my way back to my sleeping mat. Was she really angry at Martha for kissing Jesus? 'Martha, you had your man, ya even got five... grandkids?' I smirked. 'This one's mine.' I chuckled as I pondered what might have been going through Mary's head. Or maybe she was angry at Jesus for letting Martha kiss Him? I giggled a bit more. Or maybe the real problem was that He let Martha kiss Him but wouldn't let Mary kiss Him? I laughed again. But than again... twice He's kissed me... and actually let me kiss Him...? I pondered a bit, as I considered myself to probably be far more inappropriate than Mary would have been. Why should I be so special?

I took a deep breath as I made my way back in the dark, to the room where I'd taken a nap earlier. Low and behold, the mystery what happened to Mary Magdalene was now solved; for she and some other person were laying on the mat across the room sound asleep. Who is that? I wondered as I crept to the window and moved the curtain back to let in some moon light. There next to Mary was one of the teenage girls I'd seen earlier this evening. Is that her daughter? I wondered as I tried in vain to get a good look at the both of them in the dark. I stood by the window a minute longer.

Guess it'll have to wait till morning? I finally decided as I laid down and felt around for my satchel full of the 20th century. I wanted my Walkman. I tried not to cry over this ironic time warp I was apparently stuck in. I'll get home eventually. I kept trying to reassure myself. I will. I will. I'll either get home, or I'll wake up! I let out one last sigh and closed my eyes.

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