The Redeemer (18 page)

I wondered if Jesus ever had second thoughts about giving Peter the keys to this new kingdom. It never occurred to Peter to ask for more information because he was so certain of things he knew nothing about. That’s why he made such public blunders, like trying out his new authority by bossing Jesus around.

One day we were near Jerusalem where Jesus was teaching about the kingdom. The people were captivated by His words.

“Did I mention He gave me the keys?” Peter bragged to an old fishing partner who was in the crowd.

“You don’t say? And what do the keys open?”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s what you do with keys, open locks.”

“Oh, well,” Peter shuffled, “these are a different kind of keys. They bind and loose things.”

“Like what kind of things?”

“Look, you’d have to be close to Jesus to understand.”

“You have no idea, do you?” The friend chucked and moved on.

John and Matthew came over to join Peter just as a man came pushing his way through the crowd and calling out to Jesus in an urgent voice.

“Rabbi, I bring an urgent request from Your friends Martha and Mary.”

My ears perked up, because I remembered those women and their brother as some of Jesus’ closest friends.

“What is it?” Jesus asked as the man made his way forward.

“It’s Lazarus; he’s sick. He may not last the night. Martha wants you to come right away.

“Tell Martha not to worry,” Jesus said. “This sickness will not end in death. It is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it. Tell her I’m coming.”

Oops. I bet You didn’t mean to say that if You don’t want anyone to know who You are yet.

I thought we would be leaving right away since we were less than two miles from Bethany, where they lived, and we could easily make it by late afternoon. I knew Jesus would be anxious to get on the road, so I expected Him to tell the disciples to start disbursing the crowd. Guess what He did instead?

He kept right on healing people—business as usual. He didn’t so much as mention Lazarus to the boys and stayed in Jerusalem several more days.

He must have realized His mistake in tipping His hand to the messenger about being God’s Son and changed His mind about going.

Wrong. A couple of days later He called everyone together and told them about Lazarus.

“Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I am going there to wake him up.”

Oh, I see. You thought the messenger said Lazarus was asleep instead of sick. That’s why You’re in no hurry.

“Do you think that’s the best idea, Lord?” asked James. “If he’s sick and sleeps, he will get better.”

“Let me say this another way; Lazarus is dead.”

“Let us also go, that we may die with him,” Thomas said.

“Now there’s an idea,” Peter snapped sarcastically.

“Do you always have to be so melodramatic?” John asked as he punched Thomas on the shoulder.

Jesus led the way, and by the time we got to Bethany, that same messenger came running out, but only to tell us that Lazarus had died.

“We thought You would come quicker. He’s been in the tomb for four days. There’s no need to trouble Yourself now.”

Mary and Martha were in their house with dozens of relatives and friends who were mourning Lazarus’s death when they got the word that Jesus had arrived.

“Martha,” one of the cousins said softly, “He’s right outside the gate.”

Martha was on her feet and out the door before anyone else knew what was going on. She ran up to Jesus and took hold of His hands.

“Lord, I sent word to You days ago. Where have You been?”

“I said I would come.”

“That’s great—late, but great. Lazarus is dead.”

“What do you want me to do, Martha?”

“Even though he’s gone, I know that God will give You whatever You ask.” She paused for a response that didn’t come. “So go ahead; ask.”

“Your brother will rise again.”

She dropped His hands and put hers on her hips.

“I know he’ll rise again in the resurrection at the last day—with all the rest of us—but I was hoping for something more immediate.”

“I am the resurrection and the life. Anyone who believes in Me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in Me will never die.”

“Got it. Now can You just…”

“Martha, focus. Do you believe what I said?”

“Yes, Lord, I believe that You’re the Messiah, the Son of God. That’s why I know You can still do something.” Martha folded her hands and closed her eyes. “Go ahead.”

“Where is Mary?” Jesus asked.

Somewhat annoyed, Martha opened her eyes.

“She’s back at the house. Shall I go and get her?”

Jesus nodded, and Martha hurried off to get her sister.

Mary was lying on the sofa with a cold compress on her head, surrounded by sympathizers who dabbed her tears and held her hand.

“The teacher is here,” Martha said, taking the compress and dropping it into a washbowl. “He’s asking for you.”

“I’m dying from a broken heart,” Mary wailed into the shoulder of a sympathetic aunt.

“Later,” Martha said as she took Mary by the shoulders, made her stand up, and adjusted her headscarf. “You can die later. Now get yourself together and come with me.”

The relatives followed the sisters as they ran back to the spot where Martha had left Jesus. When Mary reached the place and saw Him, she fell at His feet and cried out.

“Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died.”

When Jesus saw her weeping, He knelt down beside her and wept right along with her. Then all the others started crying.

The remarkable dynamic that had just taken place was lost on everybody except me. If I had any doubts that Adonai had become an ordinary human male, they were erased in that moment. I’ve studied human beings for centuries and long ago learned how two different women in exactly the same circumstances can cause a man to respond differently depending on the personality of the woman. Martha was a firstborn daughter, strong, responsible, accustomed to taking charge in a crisis. No man ever opened a door for Martha or helped her carry in the groceries. Mary, on the other hand, was not only younger, but she was also dainty, never carried a sack of potatoes in her life, and was accustomed to people taking care of her in a crisis.

Martha said to Jesus, “If You had been here, my brother would not have died.” Jesus responded with a theological rebuttal.

Mary said to Jesus, “If You had been here my brother would not have died.” Jesus knelt down and wept with her.

Get my point? Same question, same circumstance, different women evoking completely different responses from a male—never mind being second person of the Trinity.

Jesus helped Mary to her feet and turned to Martha.

“Where have you laid him?”

“Come and see.”

Martha led Him to the tomb with Mary and her entourage of sympathizers following close behind. They soon arrived at a cave, where a large stone blocked the entrance.

“Take away the stone,” He said.

“But Lord,” Martha said, holding her nose, “by this time there is a bad odor; he’s been there four days.”

“Make up your mind, Martha. If you want to see the glory of God, Lazarus has to come out.”

“You heard Him. Obey the man,” Martha ordered. The men carefully rolled the stone away, then ran back a few feet and grabbed for their noses.

Jesus looked up and said, “Father, I thank You that You have heard Me. I say this for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe.”

Then Jesus called in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!”

No one moved or said a word.

“I hope this works,” James said in a low voice to Thaddeus.

I held my breath like the rest of them, but not from the odor as much as from the sheer stress of it.

Suddenly, we heard the shuffling of feet as the dead man stumbled out. His hands and feet were wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth was around his face. The people retreated farther back, scared to death at the sight.

“Take off the grave clothes and let him go,” Jesus commanded.

I got a little closer to see what a person who’d been dead for four days looked like. I wanted to ask him where he’d been all that time; had he been to Abraham’s Bosom in Hades?

Ever since Samuel dropped in at the house of the witch of Endor so many years before, I’d been waiting for someone else to come back from the dead. Yes, I’d seen Jesus raise a few people, but they were newly dead. I wanted to see someone who’d been dead long enough to go to Hades and return. Satan said no one could escape from Hades and had never believed me when I told him that it was Samuel I saw that night. Here was the chance for evidence in any court. If the man walking out of the tomb was the same Lazarus who died and lay buried for several days, he could be my chance to prove my point to Satan. Not that being proven right had ever advanced my status one iota with him.

As quickly as I stepped closer to Lazarus, I stepped away. He was fragrant. If anyone in the group had been suspicious as to whether the man they were unwrapping had been dead or faking it, one whiff and all doubt vanished.

Lazarus seemed a little dazed and befuddled, but as people got used to the odor and started shaking his hand and hugging him, he regained his equilibrium and appeared genuinely pleased to be back among the living.

“This calls for a party!” someone shouted out.

“Come to our home for dinner,” Mary offered. “Martha is a fabulous cook.”

Seizing the invitation, the crowd made its way back to the house commenting on how hungry they were. Jesus and the disciples went into the parlor along with the other men while Martha went to the kitchen. They settled in, choosing mats to sit on and taking their places around Jesus. After washing up and changing clothes, Lazarus came and lay down on a sofa, exhausted from his trip back from the dead.

I wandered into the kitchen to see what we were having for dinner. Martha was a whiz of efficiency as she made salad, peeled apples, and cooked a pot of soup all at the same time. I wondered why no one was helping her. Lazarus was barely over being buried for four days, so he was not expected to assist. But where was Mary?

Martha scurried through the many tasks involved in putting together a last-minute supper for thirty people as she called out for her sister.

“Mary, where are you? A little help, please.”

Martha picked up a tray of bread and was passing through the door between the parlor and the kitchen when she stopped suddenly and almost dropped the whole thing on the floor.

We found Mary.

“Young lady!” Martha gasped. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Martha set the tray down and hurried into the parlor. I was right behind her.

Mary was sitting on the floor in the middle of all the men, right at the feet of Jesus, completely unaware of the scandal she was. Her sister was aghast at such unladylike behavior, and truth be told, some of the men looked uncomfortable as well. Knowing Jesus would not chastise Mary in front of everyone, Martha tried to rescue Him from the situation.

“Mary, you’re bothering Him. Come in the kitchen and help me.”

“I won’t,” Mary pouted, grabbing hold of Jesus’ sleeve.

“Lord, tell her to come into the kitchen and help me.”

Mary looked like she might cry. Jesus looked like He wished He were someplace else.

“Lord,” said Martha, pulling on Mary’s arm.

“Lord,” whined Mary, pulling on Jesus’ arm.

“Martha, Martha.” He motioned her to come closer and said softy, “I know you’re worried about how this looks, but if you fuss at her, she will start crying, and then it will be worse. It’s better to just let her stay here.”

“But what will people think?” she whispered.

“I can handle it,” He said.

She popped Mary once with the dishtowel and went back to the kitchen.

Turned out, Martha was right. Jesus may have been fine with it, but some of the other men were not. Even one or two of the disciples looked disconcerted, especially Judas. After a few minutes, Mary got up and left the room. I heaved a sigh of relief when she left, although I knew she wouldn’t have stayed with the men much longer anyway. Like I said, I know human women very well.

If Martha was the victim of first-born daughter syndrome, then Mary had the princess-in-distress equivalent. Princesses love to be in the center of the conversation, so long as the conversation is about them. If the subject changes, as it had when Jesus started talking to the men about the kingdom, the princess gets bored and leaves the room. Everyone assumed she went to help Martha in the kitchen, but I wasn’t sure.

When I heard the bedroom curtain swish open and smelled the scent of flowers, I knew Mary was back. Fully in touch with her free child and unaware of the boundaries she frequently crossed, she came gliding into the room with a large bottle of perfumed oil. Before anyone could call Martha to the rescue, Mary uncorked the bottle and poured the whole thing on Jesus feet.

The men were shocked.

Then it got worse.

She unwound her long, dark hair and used it as a towel to dry His toes.

Jesus saw her behavior as innocent adoration. Some of the others saw her as a wanton woman.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Judas scolded as he attempted to pull her away.

“Leave her alone,” Jesus replied.

Mary laid her head on Jesus’ feet.

“Martha!” I yelled as I went into the kitchen to get her. “Come right now!”

She was emptying the flour sack into a bowl when I tugged on her apron and insisted she follow me. I know she didn’t know I was there, but she seemed to sense something was amiss.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

When she saw Mary’s hair undone and her head lying on Jesus’ feet, Martha plopped down in the nearest chair and pulled the flour sack over her head.

“Do something about her!” Judas demanded, grabbing the sack off Martha’s head. “Do you see what your sister is acting like?”

“You know, I could use some air,” said one of the guests, jumping to his feet.