My Friend, My Saviour: Mary of Bethany - Ruth L. Snyder

My name is Mary. You may know me as the sister of Lazarus and Martha.

I heard many rumours about Jesus, the carpenter's son from Galilee—the stories he told, how he stood up to the Pharisees, and how he healed people. But I didn't meet him in person until my brother invited him to our place for dinner.

I sat at Jesus' feet and listened. I wanted to find out who this Jesus really was. Martha didn't appreciate my choice. She thought I should help with the meal preparation. But that's another story.

After that first visit, Jesus visited many times. I loved to hear his stories. Jesus' love and patience amazed me. Jesus called me his friend!

One day Lazarus became sick. No matter what Martha and I did, his condition worsened. We sent an urgent message to Jesus, "Lord, the one you love is sick," (John 11:3). I thought he'd come right away. But he didn't.

Lazarus died.

I wept. For four long days.

Then Jesus came. And he wept.

I thought he was too late.

But he wasn't; Jesus raised my brother from the dead. What power! Many of my Jewish friends and I understood he was the Messiah, the Promised One. I couldn't wait for the day he took the throne and put the Romans in their place.

Then, I heard more rumours. The Sanhedrin was plotting to kill Jesus. How could this be? Didn't they understand who Jesus was?

Six days before Passover, Jesus came to visit. We honoured him with a dinner. I wanted everyone to know that Jesus was worthy of the highest honour, so I opened my precious bottle of nard perfume and poured it all over Jesus' feet. Then I wiped his feet. With my hair.

My actions outraged one of his disciples. Jesus told Judas to leave me alone. "It was intended that Mary should save this perfume for the day of my burial. You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me (John 12:7-8).

I pondered. What did Jesus mean? He would be King. Wouldn't he? Why was he talking about burial?

The next day, Lazarus, Martha, and I hiked to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover. We were in the crowd that welcomed Jesus as he rode into Jerusalem on a donkey. Palm branches waving. Cloaks on the road. Shouting. Celebrating our King! It was happening. Finally! We would be free.

The disciples invited us to share their evening meal with them. After the meal was over, Jesus stood and washed our feet. Then he became troubled. He told us one disciple would betray him. He said he would only be with us a little while longer. Jesus shared many things I didn't understand.

What did this all mean? If he was our Messiah, why would he go away without becoming King?

The next day, I heard the chief priests and Pharisees had arrested Jesus. Some said the leaders paid people to give false testimony. Surely everyone would see through the scam?

I asked where Jesus was. Jerusalem was in an uproar. Finally, someone said Pilate was rendering a verdict. I shoved my way through the crowds. Running. Frantic for information.

"Here is your king." It was Pilate. He understood!

"Take him away! Take him away! Crucify him!" I gasped. What were these people thinking? Were they going to crucify their king? My friend? The Messiah?

The crowd parted. Soldiers came, dragging Jesus. I hardly recognized him. Thorns. Wounds. Blood. He struggled to walk under the weight of a rugged cross. My heart broke. This couldn't be happening.

I followed the crowd. Where were they taking him?

We trudged step by step to Golgotha. Pounding. Nails. Blood. I watched in horror. Soldiers crucified my friend between two criminals.

Jesus was innocent. Didn't the crowd understand Jesus was our king? It seemed like Pilate was the only one who got it right. He prepared a sign reading, "Jesus of Nazareth, the king of the Jews," which the soldiers fastened to the cross.

I wept. Jesus raised my brother. He was powerful. Why didn't he save himself? The tears wouldn't stop.

I heard Jesus say, "It is finished."

"With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit," (John 19:30).

Nothing made sense anymore. My hope died.

The first day of the week, Mary Magdalene invited me and some of her friends to go to the tomb early in the morning with spices. That was the least I could do to show respect for my friend.

We arrived at the tomb; it was open. Empty! We ran and told Simon Peter and the other disciples.

What could this mean? Where was his body?

Later that day, Mary Magdalene told me she had seen Jesus. He told her to tell us that he was returning to our God.

Could it be? Was he alive?

That evening, Lazarus, Martha, and I joined the disciples. We met in a room. Door locked. There were rumours. Soldiers said the disciples stole Jesus' body. We were afraid.

Suddenly, there was Jesus, standing among us. "Peace be with you!" (John 20:19-20).

He showed his hands and his feet. Then he instructed us to share his message with others.

It was really him. Jesus was alive!

I remembered what he taught us. He told us he was the Lamb of God. He said he came as the ultimate sacrifice for sins. My sins? Then I understood. I believed. Jesus forgave me.

He is more than my friend. He is my Saviour.

InScribers Review: Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World

Review by Sharon Espeseth

Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World: Finding Intimacy with God in the Busyness of Life 

by Joanna Weaver

In the spring of 2003, I was headed to my sister Joan's place for a retreat. The busyness of life and the nemesis of clinical depression was catching up with me for a second time, even though I hadn't fully realized it. It seemed everybody else and everything in my life was tilted like a cap askew on my head. Being somewhat of a perfectionist, I wanted things to get back in order.

On the way to Joan's I stopped at a Christian bookstore to use a gift certificate getting dogeared in my purse. The book I wanted wasn't available, but a red sale sign for this Mary and Martha book almost poked me in the eye. The sign and title piqued my attention. Reading a few clips, I chuckled to myself.

How's this for openers? "Have you ever tried to do it all? I have, I do, and I probably always will. It's not only in my nature; it's also in my job description--and yours too. Being a woman requires more stamina, more creativity, and more wisdom than I ever dreamed as a young girl." The author sounded like my best friend having a chat with me.

Everyone is aware of the Mary/Martha dichotomy and sometimes we even take sides. Weaver points out that, although we may giggle about being a Mary or Martha, most of us would like to worship like Mary, to read our Bibles and pray, but it seems like just another item on our list. Instead we listen to the Martha who keeps bossing us around, telling us we need to do the laundry, clean the toilets, cook supper, help the kids with homework, bring sandwiches to the funeral. As they say, "A woman's work is never done."

Throughout the book, Joanna (We're on first name basis now!) shares her foibles, which seem amazingly like my own. Although I have been a perfectionist for most of my life, I am far from perfect. I want to learn from someone who has struggles similar to mine.

Joanna explains how Satan gets at us through distraction (i.e. busyness), discouragement, and doubt. In the tenth chapter of Luke, the doctor records that Martha was distracted "by all the preparations that had to be made." Then as now, the Martha in us thinks so many things "have to" be done, and done well. Joanna talks about weariness overpowering us. Then discouragement "breaks down our perspective and defenses." We say and do the wrong things. We feel "useless, hopeless, and abandoned." This was certainly where I was at that day in June ten years ago.

You will get a kick out of Ms. Weaver's description of Martha making the perfect meal. This wasn't any hash thrown together. Then Martha asked Jesus, "Don't you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself?" We can't help feel that Jesus may have been hard on Martha and that Mary should have been helping.

The writer points out that neither of these women was perfect, but Jesus loved them both as they were. Still he loved them too much to leave them that way. Joanna talks about worry, fear, control issues, perfectionism, taking on too many jobs, all of the things we so innocently do. Through her personal stories, humour, scripture passages, and page-turning writing, we discover that the kingdom of God is a paradox. "While the world applauds achievement, God desires companionship," she says. "The world clamors, 'Do more! Be all that you can be!'" But our Father whispers, "Be still and know that I am God."

By following two other short clips about Mary and Martha later in the gospels, Weaver shows that these two completely different woman underwent a holy makeover. As she says, "It is impossible to be in the presence of Jesus and not be changed." I believe that God spoke to me through this book and gave me grace to change. Although I still fall back on my old ways, I believe it is hard to read this book without making changes in your life.

Sharon E. Espeseth lives in Barrhead with her husband Hank. She is a mother of three adult children and two sons-in-law and Nana to six grandchildren. Sharon currently serves as the Liaison for InScribe Satellite Groups.

Mary Had a Little Blog – Ramona Heikel

One of my favorite scenes in the Bible is where Jesus validates Mary’s choice to stop working and sit at his feet to listen. He tells Martha that her sister has chosen the better way. If Mary had a blog, I would follow it, because I’m sure we come from the same heart-place. I am not a talented hostess who thinks of getting fresh flowers or gracing the room with potpourri, but I do pray for my guests before they arrive.

Perhaps one of Mary’s posts would be something like this:

Today, my friends, for some reason I seem to have my head in the future. Perhaps this is just an escapist mind set that helps me cope. As you all know first-hand, it is not easy to be a woman who finds more satisfaction in religious pursuits than her household tasks.

I’m sure there will be another Martha in the future that obsesses over housekeeping and decorating, as my sister does. Most women will admire her and, who knows? She may even be known throughout the land for her amazing talents and perfectionism: “Martha, steward of the beautiful abode!” My prayer is for the women in that future who feel guilty for having no interest in such things, and for failing to achieve the Martha-steward standard. I pray, Lord, that you would honor women who spend more time listening to you than swapping lentil recipes.

Give these sisters of mine freedom to pray to you, alone and in groups, instead of shining those copper pots one more time. Encourage them to continue to draw near to you often, even as they go about their tasks. And one day, Lord—even though I would be afraid to speak this aloud, especially around Martha—I pray that you would change society’s attitudes about women. Let women be permitted to spend their time and talents studying, and not only studying the scriptures, but many other subjects. Let it be acceptable one day for women to write—even teach—about Jesus.

I think of Elizabeth who mentored another Mary, the mother of Jesus. I can imagine in the future another Beth, more studious; a Beth more well-known; a Beth more filled with the Spirit to strengthen women. Even 2,000 years from now, I know that Jesus will still be delighted when his daughters sit at his feet and listen to him!

Posted by Ramona
www.happilywriting.com

[Ha ha—did you catch my little "personalities puns"? If not, click here and here.]