Chapter Twelve

NEVER, in any portion of her mind's eye, could Martha have ever pictured the turn of events that fateful Sunday morning or the years that would follow.

   The sun was cresting Bethany's hills when Martha pushed through the side gate, startling Naomi so badly that she dropped a small load of firewood she was carrying.

   The sickening sight of such an abused face and such a tiny bundle, so precariously clinging to life, drove all thoughts of mundane household chores to an immediate halt. Naomi hurried into the house practically tripping on Martha's sandals.

   "Deborah," Martha called as she laid the child on a low table in the cooking area, "see to Naomi's firewood and fetch me some clean linen cloths."

   Martha gingerly unwrapped her veil from around the boy. Naomi's old eyes widened in horror.

   "We will need a large basin of warm water."

   Naomi remained statue still. She was unable to hear or understand anything in those moments.

   Martha reached over and touched her shoulder.

   "Naomi, the water you are heating for porridge, please, go get it. We need to wash him."

   Martha's words and touch finally penetrated, and Naomi hurried out the door.

   Then, together the two women spent the first hours of the morning washing the child and tending to his raw wounds.

   Slowly Martha was aware of her brother's absence, but when she questioned Naomi about his whereabouts, Naomi just shrugged her shoulders and offered, "He left soon after you and Mary this morning. I watched him go. He went in the direction

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of the vineyards. I think he wanted to be alone; so I did not speak or question him."

   "I see," Martha said, and then turning her full attention back to the boy, she whispered fiercely, "Whoever had this child tried to rid themselves of him by beating him before they threw him at my feet."

   Naomi nodded sadly, "Yet, he was not abandoned like so many. At least they cared, in some small way, to throw him at a passerby," Naomi reflected.

   The morning was almost spent, and the sun was high above them by the time Martha moved the little bag of human flesh and bones from the cooking area into her room. Tenderly she laid him on her pallet and marveled that in spite of the bent and twisted legs and the continual oozing of pinkish pus from his eye, underneath his borrowed, oversized tunic, a little heart thumped along at a slow, steady pace.

   "You are alive, little one, and you will be well!" Martha spoke the words of soothing encouragement over the feverish, sleeping child.

   A few moments later, as she was on her knees beside the boy changing his eye dressing, she heard Mary's voice behind her.

   "He is alive, Martha!" Mary cried.

   Had Martha looked up she might have grasped the full significance of Mary's statement by the glow on her sister's face, but Martha continued changing the boy's dressing.

  "Yes, I know," Martha answered, without looking up. "Naomi and I cleaned him, although it was a very difficult task. Now he is still very sick, but he is alive."

   "Martha, you didn't hear what I said." Mary shook Martha's shoulder and turned her face upward.

   "He is alive." Mary's voice was clear and deliberate.

   "I heard you, dear sister, and I am just as pleased as you are. I know the child will live and his wounds will heal. Now, tell me, were you able to find the tomb alright?" Martha got up and covered the boy with a linen coverlet.

   "I mean Jesus, Martha. Jesus is alive!"

   Martha stopped, dropped the cover, and, turning, looked straight at Mary and questioned, "Jesus? Jesus is alive?"

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   "Yes, Jesus. He is not dead. He is alive!"

   Martha took three slow, deliberate steps toward Mary, and with both hands on her sister's shoulders, she asked with quiet urgency, "You are positive of this? You talked with him?"

   "Well, no. I didn't speak directly to him, but I am quite sure I saw him."

   As if the wind had suddenly disappeared from a boat's sails, Martha's voice was flat with disappointment. She smoothed her hair back with both hands and said, "We are both very tired. I can see how going to the tomb has been a terrible strain on you. I should have never insisted on your going..."

   Mary shrugged off Martha's explanation and with a small show of defiance said, "That's just it, my sister. I went to the tomb, but he was not there."

   "Not there?" Martha gasped, and then blurted out, "What have they done with his body?"

   "No! Listen to me," Mary cried, and taking both Martha's hands in hers, she said, "Joseph's servant Amon took me to the garden, pointed out the path which led to the tomb, and then he left. I followed the path, and when I came around some trees past a small bend in the road, the open tomb was in front of me. I wondered why the entrance stone was way off to the side and down the hill a bit. The whole idea of going into the tomb frightened me so, Martha. My bones were like melted wax within me. But  I was determined I would go in. I have never been so afraid in all my life!"

   Impatiently Martha interrupted, "You said he was gone? Was the tomb completely empty? Did they move his body to one of the niches or perhaps to another tomb?"

   "Martha, he was gone, but the tomb was not empty."

   A few moments of shocking silence hung between them before Mary continued. "Two men were sitting very still on the side benches. I jumped with fright when I saw them, but I didn't run or leave them. Without my asking, they read my inner thoughts because one said, 'He is risen from the dead as he said he would.'

   "I was so awestruck I don't know if they said anything else. I

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only know I left the tomb and wandered up the path to a high place in the garden.

   "I was trying to sort it all out in my head when dimly through the tree branches and back down the hill a few paces I saw a woman sitting on a garden bench. She was crying and sobbing into the folds of her skirt. I was going to go to her, because I remembered you said Mary Magdalene or Jesus' mother might be there. But just then a man approached her, and they talked."

   "Was it Jesus?" Martha hardly dared to ask.

   "His back was to me; so I really don't know except that the woman fell to her knees, and I could see her face as she looked up at him. It was Mary Magdalene, and her face was a picture of pure joy. Martha, the man had to be Jesus."

   "What happened then?" Martha eagerly questioned.

   "Well, it looked like Mary tried to kiss his hands, his feet, or maybe just the hem of his garment. I'm not sure. But he stepped back and said something quietly to her. Then Mary got up and ran down the hill out of my sight."

   "Didn't you go to him?"

   "Yes. Immediately I ran down the path, but my skirt caught on a bramble bush, and by the time I freed it from the thorns and resumed my descent, he was gone. The stone bench was empty. The path, trees, and flowers were quite still. No one was there. So I came home."

   "Then you don't really know if he is alive or not?" Martha's words were gentle, but firm.

   "The man had to be Jesus," Mary replied stubbornly. "Besides," Mary continued, "all the way back home this morning, I kept remembering that he has always told us what would happen. Jesus said in so many ways and so many times, that he would die."

   "But did he ever say he would raise himself up again?" Martha countered.

   "Yes, I think maybe he did." Mary's eyes were glittering with new excitement. "Remember, he said the temple would be destroyed, and that in three days it would be raised up?"

   Martha nodded somewhat slowly.

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   "You and I and Lazarus and I'm sure most of the disciples took it for granted that he meant the temple buildings in Jerusalem, but what if he meant his own body? It's been three days now since his crucifixion. What if he was talking about himself?

   Oh, that I could wholeheartedly believe all of this, Martha sighed to herself as she ignored Mary's logic and guided her out of her room and into the great hall.

   Mary's gift of discernment led her to say, "Martha, why do you find things so difficult to believe?" We have seen Jesus, with our very own eyes, raise Lazarus from the tomb after our brother had been dead for four days. If he could do it for someone else, is it not possible he could do it for himself?"

   "Yes, I suppose so," Martha said cautiously. She looked over at her sister. A small golden shaft of sunlight from a latticed window was playing games in Mary's hair, and her face, though puzzled, was exquisitely beautiful.

   You have always found it easier to believe, Martha thought as she looked at Mary. You hug each day as if it were your long-lost friend. I cannot do that so readily. I accept the days as they come, but I prefer to keep them an arm's length away while I examine them.

   Martha was about to logically explain her reluctance to believe when both women were interrupted by the banging noise of the front gate. They ran to the door, out into the courtyard, and came face to face with a very agitated Andrew and a wide-eyed, speechless Lazarus.

   Both men were breathless, for they had traveled the last steep hill on a dead run, under the full heat of the midday sun.

   "You.... will not believe what... has happened," Andrew managed to gasp.

   Try me, thought Martha somewhat sarcastically.

   "It is true then?" Mary cried before Andrew could catch his breath. "He is alive? I knew it. I knew it!" Now she was jumping up and down and clapping her hands.

   "Yes, dear friends, Jesus is alive!" Andrew picked Mary up in one effortless move and swung her around the courtyard, laughing and shouting.

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   "Andrew," Martha called up sharply. "Andrew, have you seen him with your own eyes? Have you talked with him?" She waited for his confirmation or denial with both hands on her hips.

   Andrew didn't stop his dancing nor did he put Mary down. He called over his shoulder, "Mary Magdalene saw and talked to him. Then Peter and John went to the tomb, and it was empty."

   Martha shook her head impatiently and shouted, "An empty tomb does not mean someone lives. It only means the tomb is empty!"

   Andrew stopped whirling Mary and faced Martha, saying, "I tell you, woman, he is alive. Jesus is alive!"

   Martha looked over at Lazarus. "What do you say to all this?" she charged loudly.

   Lazarus's smile was as broad as his face would allow. He shook his head. "Martha," he said, putting his arm around her shoulder, "Martha, I am the last, the very last person on earth, to doubt Andrew's words. I am living proof that this Jesus, this Son of God, has power to do all things. It is not possible for me to doubt, for I have been rescued and restored. He is alive, dear sister. You wait and see."

   Oh, dear Lord, Martha breathed, how I wish I could believe it to be true. Her thoughts pounded along with her heart within her.

   Later that afternoon Andrew left to find and join the other disciples. Martha had no heart to say her farewells; so she was glad Lazarus had spent time at the gate speaking privately to Andrew.

   The afternoon and evening was a confusing series of events. People came and went. Martha divided her time between talking to excited friends and neighbors, listening to all kinds of wild rumors, and tending the sick, fevered boy.

   Even Claudius came. Martha's overly taxed and weary mind took in his account. But when she questioned him on her important query, she found he had not actually seen Jesus either. He had only talked with the soldiers who guarded the tomb.

   "I cannot understand it!" Claudius had exclaimed as everyone crowded around him. "I know all of those men. They

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are brave soldiers. They would never shirk their duties. I have even fought side by side with two of them in battle. Yet, they say they 'fell asleep' while on duty, and that when they awoke, the seal was broken, the stone moved aside, and the body gone! I fear they know more than they are willing to divulge. And I strongly suspect someone, perhaps the old foxes of the Sanhedrin, has sealed their lips with a substantial bribe."

   Martha thought the night and all the incredible things she was hearing would never end. Finally, she escaped to the silence of the rooftop, and settling down on the wide edge, she pondered all she had heard that day.

   Then slowly, very slowly, even without her really knowing or understanding it — acceptance came. Quietly she said to the night, "My Jesus is not dead. He is alive."

   It was a knowledge that did not sweep over her soul and with flashing joy as it had with Mary, Lazarus, and Andrew, but one that came softly and gradually. The assurance that he was alive came like an early-morning mist which glides and steals over the hillsides unnoticed by anyone. Martha didn't see it coming until the truth of Jesus' resurrection completely covered her.

   Then, with only the moon and the stars as her companions, a flood of peaceful joy filled her whole being, and before she had positive proof of his resurrection, she let her relief and happiness mingle with her tears of gratitude.

   Between sobs she talked to the night.

   "Oh, Lord, I wanted to believe you were alive. I really did. But so many confusing, puzzling things have happened lately. I feel we've been living in an upside-down world.

   "You know me well, Lord, and nothing has made sense to me this spring.

   "Forgive my doubting, practical heart. You have made me, and you know my limitations."

   Martha remembered the psalmist's words, "Oh, Lord, you have examined my heart and know everything about me," and she smiled with the comfort they brought. He knows me, she said, and as she thought about God's forgiving, knowing love, some of the guilt she felt for having been so reluctant to believe was eased.

   Martha's mind moved from "He is alive" to the next issue; so

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out loud to the sky she asked, "What does it all mean? Where do we go from here, Lord?"

   Only a screech owl answered, but it didn't seem to matter. Martha rose from the roof ledge, dusted off her skirt, and left the roof wearily and with a deep inner gladness warming all the rooms of her soul.

   Andrew came the next day. "I must speak to Martha," he said to Mary as he entered the great hall.

   "If you are here to convince me that Jesus is alive, you have come on a useless errand," Martha said cheerfully as she crossed the floor to greet him. "I know, here," she said, as she placed her hand above her heart.

   Andrew responded with a beaming grin. "Ah, I knew you were having a hard time yesterday; so I came back to tell you that I have seen Jesus." He tapped his eyebrow and continued, "With my own eyes."

   "Tell us everything!" Mary begged in a breathless whisper.

   "Where were you?" Martha's question rang of practicality.

   Andrew sat down on the couch and motioned for Martha to sit beside him. Mary plopped down on the floor in front of him, and Lazarus pulled a chair closer to them all.

   "When I left here yesterday, I went back by the main road. Philip, James, and John were heading this way to find me; so we all went back to Jerusalem to search for the rest. It was a difficult task, because we were not sure what the Jewish leaders would do to us if we were discovered, and none of us had any idea where the rest of the disciples were.

   "Finally, with Joseph of Arimathea's and Nicodemus's help, everyone was found except for Judas Iscariot and Thomas. I don't know where Thomas is, but I'm sure he is around. As to Judas Iscariot, there are terrible stories raging about him. None of us have seen him since the Paschal Supper. We fear the rumors are true and he is dead.

   "We needed a secret place to meet; so we gladly accepted Nicodemus's offer of a large room. He owns one which is above some shops in Jerusalem.

   "It was while all ten of us were eating a spare and hastily gathered meal that Jesus came."

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   "Then he looked the same as before the ..." Martha didn't use the word crucifixion, but Andrew knew what she meant.

   "Well, yes and no. It was Jesus, and we had no trouble recognizing him; yet almost everything was different or changed about him."

   "Like what, specifically?" Lazarus leaned forward in his chair as he asked.

   "In the first place," Andrew's face showed a hint of a smile, "when we first saw him, he was standing by us in the room, although he had to come through a locked door to do it."

   Lazarus shook his head.

   "What did he look like? Had that changed?" Mary asked.

   "Yes, he was changed." Andrew lowered his eyes and studied the carpet beneath his feet. "His wounds were... they were, unmistakably the Master's. He showed them to us so we would not fear that he was a spirit and would be able to believe that it was really him. But it was his face which was the same, yet different, all at once.

   "Even when I first saw him at the Jordan River with John the Baptist, I was struck by the majesty of his face, but now that he has accomplished his task, I've seen the truly majestic face of a king."

   "What did Jesus say, and what happens now?" Martha's curiosity was getting the best of her.

   "Jesus spoke of our preaching the Gospel everywhere to everyone. He said, 'As my Father has sent me, so send I you.'

   "All of us struggled with the joy, amazement, and incredibility of the whole night. For we knew what we were seeing and hearing; yet it was all so farfetched in the light of everyday events. At least I know one thing, and that is we are all going to Galilee. I'm sure Jesus will tell us much more when we get there."

   "Do you think Jesus will come here, to Bethany?" Mary wistfully asked.

   "I cannot say, for I know nothing of his plans."

   Andrew looked over at Martha and said quietly, "I must be leaving now, but I wanted to come back today and tell you of him. I also wanted to say my farewell to you, before I go to

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Capernaum. Ah, to all of you," he added.

   Martha dropped her head, so he would not see her disappointment. She stammered, "I... I shall miss you. Perhaps the Lord will send you back to work here in Bethany or Jerusalem?" She asked the last question hopefully.

   Andrew reached over and took her right hand in his and said, "I do not know how or where we disciples will serve the Lord. Nor do I know when I shall return to this special house. I just want you to know I feel..." He did not finish the sentence, for he saw Lazarus's and Mary's eyes open wide with more questions.

   Quickly Andrew turned from Martha and said to Lazarus, "We leave now for Galilee, but I shall ask the Lord about your desire, and I'll get word to you somehow."

   With an abrupt and hasty farewell he was gone, and Martha, turning to Lazarus, asked, "What was that all about?"

   Mary quickly interjected, "I think I can guess." Then directly to her brother she said, "You want to be a disciple of Jesus, don't you?" His answer was an affirmative nod.

   "I see," Martha said aloud to Lazarus, and then, to assure him of her approval, she added, "Blessed be the name of the Lord."

   Two Sabbaths passed. Martha and the others heard nothing factual nor did they see Jesus or any of his men. Only one rumor was put to rest, but that concerned Judas Iscariot.

   It seemed it had indeed been Judas who lurched past Martha and Mary like an angry, drunken man the night of the Paschal Supper. Then after he betrayed Jesus with his salutation of "Rabbi, Rabbi, hail," and his kiss, Judas compounded the evil of that night by ending his own life viciously and without mercy. No one in the house of Martha could speak openly about it; so they closed their minds to his name and deeds.

   A few mornings after the third Sabbath, Martha rose right at dawn to check the restless stirring of the boy Lazarus.

   She was pleased with the way his eye wounds were healing, and physically he seemed stronger each day. It was the dark memories which seemed to plague him at night that she had no medicine for.

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   Maybe some warm tea will soothe his troubled mind, she thought, and she left him to brew some herbs.

   It was barely light outside, but she kindled the fire in the courtyard and hung a pot of water above it to heat. Then Martha went back inside and took down her treasured pots of herbs and spices from a cupboard shelf. When she felt she had found just the right blend, she placed them in a pottery cup and went outside for the water.

   Just outside the doorway, Martha dropped the cup, and it fragmented into tiny pieces at the feet of Jesus.

   "My Lord!" Martha gasped.

   "I'm sorry I frightened you, dear Martha," he smiled, and in the fresh new light of day, she could see it really was him and immediately her fear left her.

   "Here, sit down." Jesus led her to a wooden bench beside the servant's quarters, and he sat down beside her.

   For a few moments neither of them spoke, and the cool, clear day was still except for a rooster's brave announcement that morning had come.

   "Oh, I am glad you are here, Master," Martha finally breathed out.

   "Yes, I am, too. This is a beloved place for me," he said, his eyes taking in the back courtyard surrounding the brick ovens and open cooking fires. Then abruptly he asked, "Tell me, you have found the boy I sent?"

   "Ah," said Martha with understanding, "so it was you who allowed me to find him. Yes, I have him here. His wounds and afflictions are grievous, but I'm taking care of him. In fact, that was to be a beneficial tea for him." She pointed to the broken cup and smiled.

   "Let's go see him."

   They moved silently into the house, through the cooking area, hall, and into her room. Martha pushed the tapestries back from the window, and the sunlight warmed the room.

   Jesus knelt down beside the sleeping boy and smoothed his hair. The boy stirred, opened his good eye, and turned his head to see who touched him.

   Softly Jesus talked with the child, but Martha could only hear

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snatches of words. Her vision blurred with tears when she saw a little hand come up out of the quilt to touch Jesus' beard.

   Then gently Jesus helped Lazarus to sit up, and the boy's legs dangled grotesquely over the side of the pallet.

   Without getting off his knees, Jesus said to Martha, "I don't want you to miss the path I've planned for you, Martha."

   She didn't know precisely what path he meant, but her spirit was willing; so eagerly she said, "Master, I shall follow any path to which you lead me."

   He turned his head away from her and back to the boy. Then, as he massaged the boy's legs with both his large hands, he asked, "Martha, will you feed my lambs, like this little one?"

   "You know I will," she answered, her face wet with tears.

   Jesus did not reply. He helped the boy to lie down, and then, covering him up, he looked down at the child and said, "Martha, to such as these, belongs the Kingdom of God."

   They walked out of the room, and Martha inquired, "Shall I wake the others? They will want to see you."

   He shook his head no and whispered, "I will see them and you, too. Later. Do not call them. In fact, you had better go and make the child his tea. He will be needing it."

   Martha glanced behind her down the hall to the open doorway, and when she turned back to say her farewell to Jesus, he was gone! He had vanished as instantly as he had appeared.

   Even  Mary will not believe all of this, she thought.

   Then the same improbable song she sang on the day with Andrew — the day she believed — began to stir within her, and she hummed the melody all the way out to the pot in which the water was merrily bubbling itself away.

   By the time she cleaned up the broke pottery, fixed a new blend of herbs, poured the hot water into the cup, and let it set awhile to cool, the sun was fully over the hills. Also her song was no longer a hum, but a loud, full-blown solo to the morning, the oleander blossoms, and some very startled birds.

   Naomi peeked curiously around the corner, and when Martha saw that her old face was gathered together in a frown, Martha cracked cheerfully, "Should you be wondering,  I am making a joyful noise unto the Lord."

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   When Martha entered her room with her cup of hot tea, for the second time that morning she dropped the cup and it broke — splattering pottery, water, and herbs all over the floor.

   The young lad was standing by his pallet looking down at something he'd never seen before — straight legs. Just below his tunic were two regular little knees; below that, two regular little legs; and at the bottom, on the cool stone floor, two regular feet.

   Martha fell on her knees beside him, and holding him close, she buried her head in his shoulder.

   Not long after that amazing morning, scores of people saw Jesus, talked with him, ate with him, and as Martha herself witnessed, were utterly awestruck to see him leave.

   Aaron and Jude had burst into the house yelling, "Jesus is coming here. He is on his way up from the main road." But instead of coming to her house, the small crowd of people turned the other way and went up toward the hills.

   Martha and her entire household eagerly followed. Then, after a few brief words, Jesus ascended before their very eyes in a cloud of glory above the green-carpeted hills of Bethany.

   He parted from them promising his return. So with one hand shading his eyes from the bright glory which surrounded him, and waving with the other, each of the small band of believers — wondering what it would all lead to — stood gazing up into the heavens long after he had gone.

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