WORDS: for good or evil?

     Special moments...

     and life-changing memories.

 As I grow older, I spend more time reflecting on incidents of my childhood. I vividly remember my grandmother sending me a beautiful doll for my birthday. Mum took me to the post office after school to collect the large parcel and told me it contained something I'd been wanting for a long time. That's over sixty years ago, but the excitement and mystery of that moment will always stay with me.  What's your special memory?

I imagine his disciples shared nostalgic memories about Jesus after he returned to heaven.

 

“Do you remember when he healed the little girl?”

“Or the time he cooked breakfast at the beach?”  

 “Or when I sank into the Sea of Galilee, and he reached out and rescued me?”

 “We met him on the road to Emmaus, and he explained the scriptures …I realized he was talking about himself. He is the Messiah!”

 

If you had been in Bethany during Jesus’ ministry, what stirring experiences would you remember with deep affection?

Perhaps Mary and Martha reminisced about Jesus with Luke, the doctor …

 Let's step into John, chapter twelve and imagine the scene with Mary. ...

  “Open the door, Mary. There’s someone knocking again. It’s a struggle to keep up with housework and cooking when we have such a continuous flow of visitors.”

 

I opened it, and my heart leaped. There stood Jesus and his disciples, James, Peter, John, Judas, and all the others. But we loved Jesus visiting us. A while back, we suffered a terrible tragedy, and we sent a messenger to find Jesus. Lazarus was ill, and we hoped Jesus would heal him, but when he didn’t arrive, I couldn’t understand it. After all, he’d healed a sick girl and even raised a widow’s son. Since we knew him so well and we loved him, why hadn’t he hurried to our home to heal our brother?

 

Lazarus died, and my heart was broken. When Martha heard Jesus was nearby, she ran to find him. I sat inside, too grief-stricken to face the wider community’s pity, while our closest neighbors tried to comfort me. Soon Martha returned and whispered in my ear. Jesus was in the next village, and he was calling for me. She’d told Jesus she’d wished he’d prevented Lazarus’ death. I arose and hurried to meet him. They followed me, thinking I was going to the tomb to mourn for my brother. When I saw Jesus, I wept. I couldn’t help it. If he’d come, Lazarus would have survived, and I told Jesus through my tears how disappointed we were with him.

 

Tears rolled down Jesus' cheeks, and we wept together. The Master asked where we’d buried him. We went to the tomb. When he saw the boulder, I saw how much he'd loved Lazarus, but now my brother was dead. But Jesus surprised us all because he asked the men to remove the stone. Martha, my fastidious sister, objected, because four days had passed since we’d buried Lazarus’s body, and the odor would have been unbearable. Jesus didn’t seem concerned.

 

“Didn’t I tell you if you believed you’d see God’s glory?”

 

Jesus raised his eyes to heaven to thank his Father for displaying his might and glory. I didn’t understand what he meant, but I sensed something amazing was about to happen, and I held my breath, awestruck by his commanding presence.

 

 Then he shouted at the tomb as if the dead could hear him!

 

“Lazarus, come out!” My brother emerged from the tomb! They unwound the cloths on his head, arms, and legs and he stood before us, alive and well. I stifled my gasp, and Martha, for once, was dumbfounded.

 

 But the most amazing thing I recall are Jesus’ words to my sister.

 

“I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” John 11:25,26.

 

   His enigmatic words left me bewildered, but one thing became clear. Jesus raises the dead, and I wondered if he would rise from the dead even if the Pharisees, priests, and teachers of the law killed him. I’d seen their unbridled hostility, and I knew he was travelling to Jerusalem for the Passover in six days.

    An idea grabbed my mind, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

I owned an expensive jar of spikenard which I’d been saving for a special occasion. We often use it to prepare a body for burial because this rich golden ointment emits a heavy, sweet, woody fragrance. You can even sense a hint of spice. It comes from the faraway land of India and is very expensive.

    Dare I pour this spikenard on Jesus’s feet while he reclined at the table with his disciples and  Lazarus? I trembled with excitement and fear as I realized everyone would stare at me, and the fragrance would flood the entire house. But Jesus had raised Lazarus, and no words would thank him or his Father for his miraculous kindness.

   Our home was crowded with curious onlookers who wanted to see Lazarus. Despite my racing heart, I knew I had to anoint Jesus’ feet. I found the ointment and waited for the men to recline at the feast. In my excitement, I crouched down and poured it over his feet. Dear, precious Jesus. You always felt as if he was embracing you when he looked into your eyes. Since I’d always loved him, I wondered why I hadn’t thought of worshipping him with oil before today.

Then it occurred to me, in my haste, I hadn’t brought a towel to dry his feet. I slipped my veil onto my shoulders, loosened my tumbling hair over my knees, and his feet. Women never removed their veils in public, but I didn’t hesitate because I was doing it for Jesus, and I could tell he appreciated the gesture.

 

Suddenly, doubts and fear overwhelmed me when I heard that booming voice.

 

“Why wasn’t this ointment sold, and the money given to the poor? It must be worth three hundred silver pieces!”

 

It was Judas Iscariot, the Master’s treasurer. Had I made a monumental mistake? Would Jesus agree with him and scold me for wasting the spikenard? I searched his face for an answer and sighed with relief, for I saw only love and acceptance.

 

“Let her alone. She’s expecting and honoring my burial day. You will always have poor people whom you can help, but you won’t have me.”

 

He’d vindicated me. I should have known he would because I’d learned he was kinder and more important than anyone else I had ever known. After he rose from the dead, we remembered and understood what he’d told Martha. Jesus is the resurrection and the life. Martha and I may die, but we will rise again like Jesus. He’s given us his Holy Spirit and we know he lives within us until he returns to carry us to heaven.

 

As for Judas, he betrayed Jesus and hanged himself. It was a shocking business, but I learned to trust the Savior’s judgment rather than rely on anyone else’s opinion of me. This is my testimony, my eyewitness experience, and it is my prayer you will trust your life to Jesus, the Son of God who loves you and gave his life for you.

 

When Jesus raised my brother from the dead, I knew he came from God, but his own resurrection proved he is God because the grave could not claim him. He promised the disciples he would send the Holy Spirit to us, and his presence has guaranteed Jesus lives in us forever.

Jesus said, "I am the way, the truth and the life." When we endure inexplicable difficulty, when God keeps us waiting,  we don't have to despair! 

Martha and Mary waited, confused and disappointed, because Jesus hadn't healed their brother.

But let's pause and consider: Jesus showed them his true identity through Lazarus' resurrection. It highlighted his own death and resurrection, and Mary worshipped the Messiah with unique faith before Jesus had even died! 

We worship you, Lord Jesus. Thank you for your love, mercy and life in us. Increase our faith, especially while we are waiting on you to deliver us. In your Name, Amen.