Supper at Bethany by Marilyn Wray |
John11 and 12 In the voice of Mary of Bethany I loved Jesus. I knew he was very special, and although our family anticipated with joy his every visit, I knew he was a man for all the people. I also knew that he had a ministry as the son of God that would someday take him from us. I could hardly bear to think of it, but I knew it would happen. He had told us, and it was only a matter of time. I remember that day when we were beside ourselves in grief. Lazarus, my brother, was so sick, and the doctors couldn't help him. We knew that Jesus could, but he was away teaching, and Lazarus died. When Jesus returned Lazarus had already been in his tomb four days, and he found us upset and crying. He was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. When he saw the tomb, he cried as well. Jesus loved Lazarus, but there were those who questioned why Jesus hadn't prevented his death in the first place. Knowing Jesus and the way he cared for us, I knew there had to be a reason. Then after praying to God, his Father, Jesus asked for the stone to be moved away from the entrance to the tomb, and called "Lazarus, come out!" Lazarus emerged alive. Even with his burial cloths still partially wrapped around him, he looked wonderful to our eyes. We were overjoyed at this miracle. Jesus had become so popular. Wherever he went large crowds gathered, miracle healings happened and his teachings told the truth about God's love and forgiveness. We hadn't ever heard that kind of teaching, and I had heard rumours that the chief priests and elders were meeting in the temple of the high priest, Caiaphas, to decide what to do with him. They were jealous of him and had become corrupt in their religious practice. They were the religious leaders, and Jesus' teachings and miracles questioned their religious authority. So, they plotted to kill him. Such bigots! I couldn't bear to think about the kind of agony they would inflict on Jesus while proclaiming their piety. Six days later Jesus returned to Bethany where he dined with us. Lazarus was there along with some of the disciples. Our home had become a safe place for the disciples in the middle of a political atmosphere that had become deadly. We heard more and more about death threats to Jesus. I had some of the best perfume bought for the funeral of Lazarus. It seemed right to me to use it on Jesus. My love for him was mixed with my fear for what I sensed would happen soon. So I wanted to use it to anoint him. God was really directing me. Slowly and surely I walked into the dining area where Jesus was reclining. I began by pouring the perfume on his head and then his feet wiping them with my hair. People were shocked silent by my boldness. The fragrance of the perfume had filled the air, touching everyone, and leaving a message of God's presence. Jesus looked at me receiving the anointing with a look of love and understanding. The perfume would stay with him as though he needed a reminder of his Father's presence during the following days of his ordeal. Then the silence was shattered by a crude voice, "Why wasn't this perfume sold and the money given to the poor?" Judas, of course! I could never trust Judas Iscariot. He was the money manager for the disciples, but he seemed so shifty, and I had heard rumors that he was a thief. He no more thought of the poor than did Caiaphas. I could never figure out why Jesus chose him to be a disciple. But whenever I protested, Jesus would calmly explain that he loved him and that he had his part to play. This time, however, Jesus stood and faced him, "Leave her alone. It was intended that she should save this perfume for my burial. You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me." Unusually harshly rebuked, Judas, in stunned silence, got up and left. We had all stopped breathing at such an outburst and reaction. Our dinners were no longer private affairs, and a large crowd had gathered outside. They asked to see Lazarus. They seemed to need proof that he did rise from the dead. I remember feeling sad and afraid because I knew how unpopular Lazarus would be with the chief priests. I feared for his life, and my fears were well founded. In fact the chief priests were plotting to kill him as well because, on account of him, many people were going over to Jesus and putting their faith in him. It had become totally unsafe to be known as a believer. Was this why Jesus cried? The story foretold by the scriptures was not only going to be about his suffering and death but about Lazarus and many others that would follow. Believing was not for those who wanted an easy time. We were entering the Feast of the Passover, normally a time of celebration of God's deliverance of our ancestors from the Egyptian pharaoh. However, instead of celebration, we waited in fear of our own rulers and our own priests. And I was a woman who loved and had to stand by, watch and grieve not totally understanding how I was a part of another kind of God's deliverance. |
