Chapter Thirteen

THE first year after Jesus ascended, the family in the house of Martha and the people of Bethany resumed their lives in a tentative way. Always they kept a watchful eye for Jesus, and they lived alertly, ready to leave everything in the event of Christ's return.

   They talked of nothing else and reminded each other daily that Jesus promised to come back and take the believers back heavenward with him. A feverish excitement ran through their veins, and they searched the skies continually.

   Even Martha was caught up in "Jesus watching." She managed to carry on with her household duties and tended to the needs of the boy, Lazarus, but she had her own private theory about Jesus' return. Martha was sure it would be on the Sabbath; so with each Friday's sundown, she went up on the roof to be the first to see him.

   "You'll see," she had said to Mary, who questioned her as they prepared the grapes ready to become raisins on the drying trays one morning. "Jesus will come back after he has had a few weeks in heaven with the Father. You'll see."

   But as the weeks turned into months, Martha began to have doubts. Then Mary remembered Jesus' story about the fig tree and about its budding blossoms which mean spring is come. So they reasoned that since Jesus followed that story by saying he would return, then he must have meant he would come back in the springtime.

   However, by the time buds became blossoms, the sheep were well into their lambing, and the hills had turned their first bright verdant spring green since he had left them, there was still no

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sight or sign of him and everyone was forced to move their predictions further into the future.

   One Sabbath Simon spoke privately to Lazarus outside the synagogue. Both Martha and Mary waited down the road under an olive tree, their ears straining with curiosity. Expectantly they watched Lazarus come toward them.

   "Simon has remembered something about Jesus' return," Lazarus explained as they walked the short distance home.

   "He suggested that since Jesus told us all that no man would know the hour of his return, perhaps it is not wise or even right to keep setting our hearts upon Jesus' imminent return this spring or even this winter. Simon's exact words were, 'Perchance it is better to live expectantly, knowing in our hearts that he will come back someday. But in the meantime, we should grow into obedient and loving people until he does return.' "

   "His words do make sense, Lazarus," Mary said. "For Jesus said to work, for the night is coming, and he also said we were to occupy until he came back."

   So they mutually agreed to stop setting a time for Jesus' return and to go about the business of living watchful lives, pleasing to God.

   From that day forward Martha's favorite bit of rhetoric, which she quoted often, was "Let us all bloom where we are planted!"

   Martha became so caught up in her daily tasks in Bethany and so desirous of doing God's will that when Andrew sent a message requesting a time alone with her to talk, she jumped, with the speed of a gazelle, to some erroneous conclusions. She was sure Andrew wanted to tell her he was about to settle in Bethany, take a wife (preferably her), and teach others about the risen Messiah in Bethany and perhaps even in Jerusalem's temple.

   She could hardly contain her gleeful heart!

   The week before Andrew's visit, Mary added to Martha's enthusiasm, because she made all sorts of comments about making a special wedding gown for Martha, and even once suggested that Martha and Andrew have a double wedding with her and Claudius. The sisters stayed up late into the night making happy plans.

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   Martha found herself pacing the floor the hour before Andrew arrived, and she was slightly dismayed that her demeanor was about as calm and mature as that of a flighty young girl.

   Martha saw him at the gate long before Mary or Lazarus, simply because she had spent all morning searching the road.

   "Andrew!" She ran to meet him. He had been to his home in Bethsaida for several months.

   "Shalom, dear Martha," he said, grinning broadly, and he gave her a heartwarming hug.

   "Ah, I see you have been fishing again," she said, taking both his hands in hers and greeting him in high spirits. "Your face has been burned by the sun and wind of the Galilean sea." Martha chatted happily as they walked arm in arm through the courtyard.

   Andrew bid Mary and Lazarus a good morning and heartily embraced them both. Then, seeing that young Lazarus was shyly peeking from behind the couch, he called with his eyes twinkling, "Surely that boy who hides over there is not the scrawny, bony little fish I once saw lying all folded up on his pallet like he had just been washed up on the beach — is it? No, of course not! Why, that one could not stand, talk, or flap his tail! Now, this boy is different. Come, let me see how strong you have become!"

   Almost instantaneously a rapport began between them. The boy approached shyly around the couch and let Andrew pick him up. He settled down confidently and comfortably on Andrew's broad knee.

   "Andrew, you have a marvelous way with children," Mary observed with admiration.

   "He always has," said Lazarus. "It was Andrew, you remember who once found the boy with the loaves and fishes for the Master."

   Martha thought her already full heart would burst with pride, seeing the tiny boy on the big man's lap.

   Nothing will separate us now, Martha thought. We are so good for each other.

   It was later that night, after they had eaten and laughed together, the boy had gone reluctantly to his pallet, and Mary and

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Lazarus had discreetly removed themselves that Andrew and Martha finally were free to talk.

   They went up to the rooftop — Martha's feet barely touching the steps for the buoyancy of her joy.

   She would always remember that the night had never been so indescribably beautiful. It was as if the moon, stars, and fresh jasmine-scented wind, beamed and breathed their blessings down on them as they sat on the wide edge of the roof's outer wall.

   "Martha," Andrew began, "I have given much thought as to what I should be doing until our Lord returns. It seems to me that one of the most important things I ever did in my life was to bring men to Jesus. Now, in the year since our Lord has gone, I have searched my soul to discover how I may serve him. Over and over it comes to me; I must continue to do as I have done since I met Jesus — bring others to him."

   "Oh, yes," Martha cried. "You are a chosen man, and God's hand is upon you."

   "Our Lord told us," Andrew continued, "to go everywhere and proclaim the Good News." Then, with a great deal of hesitation in his voice, he said, "Even to the uttermost parts of the world."

   Martha smiled, not really hearing what he meant, and she said, "How wonderful of you to leave your home in Bethsaida. The Good-News message is sorely needed here, and Jesus did say Jerusalem first. This is the right place to begin, Andrew, right here."

   He released her hands, stood up, and walked a few paces from her. With his back toward her, he said softly, but with genuine authority, "There are some good men who are responsible for Jerusalem, and they will carry on here." He turned and faced her. "This is not my place, Martha. I feel the Master would have me go out beyond."

   "Beyond what?" Martha asked, as calmly as she could.

   "I don't know. Perhaps Cappadocia, Bithynia, Galatia, or even Scythia."

  "Scythia?" Martha said, harshly pronouncing the name like it was a disease, and her hand and flew to her throat. "Andrew, tell me

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you are not even thinking of such a place. The Scythians are barbarous people — no, worse than that! They live in the depths of barbarity. They will reject you and our Jesus, and you will have wasted precious time."

   "Martha...." He sat down beside her. "Years ago Philip came to me about some Greek men who wanted to see Jesus. Philip felt, as you, that the Greeks would reject Jesus or that Jesus, because of the way the Greeks lived, would reject them. But I knew here," he said, as he put his fist over his heart, "without hesitation, that Jesus meant his Gospel for everyone. Forgiveness is for every race, every city, and every nation; so I took the Greeks to Jesus. I was right then, and it is right now that I go beyond this country and preach the Good News."

   Martha was devastated, but she managed to say placidly, "If you go alone, I fear the work will be too overwhelming. Are you planning to go alone or will you take someone with you?"

   "I don't want to go alone," he answered. "In fact, that is what I must speak to you about."

   Hope, like a small bird, sang and beat its wings against her breast.

   Andrew took a fresh grip of her hands, and looking directly into her eyes, he said, "Both Lazarus and I have been praying as to what the Lord would have us do."

   "Lazarus?" she cried and pulled back to more fully scrutinize his face.

   "Yes. We told no one, as we wanted to be sure of the Lord's will. But the time for a decision has come; so, after many months of prayer, I have asked Lazarus to go with me. Since he cannot be a disciple, he wants to preach the word of truth."

   Martha gasped in unbelief. "You asked Lazarus?" she asked with considerable dismay.

   Quickly he answered, "Yes. Right after Jesus left us, Lazarus told me he felt the burden to preach; so we agreed to pray over this, and we have, all this time. This afternoon I asked him to join me. He said my invitation was an answered prayer. Besides, I'm sure you don't need him here."

   It was some time before she found her voice, and as she remembered later, she never did say the wisest words.

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   Andrew searched her face and then asked, "Are you alright?"

   "No, I'm not alright." Martha turned her head away from him. Her bluntness startled him.

   "I am not well. In fact, I fear it's leprosy, which at this moment is creeping over my bones, and if it is, you had better leave this roof at once!" She bowed low and made a sweeping gesture toward the staircase.

   Andrew admonished sternly, "Now, stop that teasing and be serious. It is alright that Lazarus go with me, is it not?"

   "Yes, of course it is." Martha was trying to stop the hot, smarting tears which were stinging her eyes.

   He took her hands in his and said softly, "I'm sorry, Martha, but I do not understand why you are so upset."

   "Oh, Andrew," she said, freeing her hands from his grip. She turned away from him so he would not see her tears. "It's just that a silly dream of mine has been shattered tonight. I was wrong to even dream it... but I thought you... we .... Oh, Andrew, I've been so foolish...."

   Then, not because of what she said, but how she said it, Andrew suddenly put it all together and understood.

   He walked over to her, turned her around, and very gently kissing the top of her head, he confided, "It was not a silly dream, nor are you a foolish woman. May I tell you a secret?"

   She had no resistance. She nodded.

   "I have cherished you since the day you sailed into Bethsaida with your Uncle Judah, so long ago. Peter 'helped' you out of the boat by roughly jerking you to see how you would take it. It was his way of testing you. I liked you instantly because you held your head up high, and you did not cry out or complain. I said to myself that day, 'There is a girl who is sturdy and reliable. Not even a strong wind could push her around or cause her to complain.'

   "I have loved you these past years. Why, I even loved you when you spilled barley soup all over me." He laughed and hugged her close to him.

   Then, directly into her ear, he whispered seriously, "I've taken no wife, for I have never found a woman who could match your goodness or your strength of character."

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   Martha challenged, "But you are going away and not with me, but with my brother, Lazarus...." She pulled back and looked up at him.

   Taking her by the shoulders, Andrew explained, "Yes, I asked Lazarus to go, but the decision has not been an easy one, nor has it been made hastily. As I said, Lazarus and I have spent many hours in prayer over this.

   "I have prayed and walked the beaches of Galilee many nights. I have given serious consideration to what the Lord would have me do, and I am like a man possessed, Martha.

   "I must go and spread the Gospel, or I will shrivel up and die. And I must go without you, at least for now.

   "I dread taking a wife on a ship which may sail in rough or uncharted waters. To expose a wife to heathen people is too risky, and I have thought much about the heavy responsibility which settles on a husband. I may not be able to take proper care of a wife."

   "I could take care of myself," she said stubbornly.

   "Oh, I don't doubt that for a moment. But while I am convinced I should go, and I am ready to lose my life in a foreign port, if it's required, I am not willing to ask you to risk yours."

   With quiet resignation Martha knew who had won the battle; so she spoke without bitterness, but a trace of sadness could be clearly heard. "When will you and Lazarus leave?"

   "If we have your blessing, we will leave right after the next Sabbath."

   "So it is settled then," Martha said, looking up into the black velvet sky. "I will have them for only three more days," she said to the brightest star, "so I had best make the most of it."

   To Andrew she said, "You have my blessings — both of you — although it is the very last thing I want to give. If I had my way, I'd keep you here — all safe and snug until our Lord returns. But ...."

   "Martha," Andrew tilted her face toward his, "You are truly a woman of God."

   She pulled away and uttered a short, "Ha. Don't give me too much praise or credit, for it is only a small part of me that releases you and Lazarus," she retorted somewhat cynically

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and with a shrug of her shoulders.

   As they left the private intimacy of the rooftop and came down the stairs, Martha paused, turned, and took a long, loving look back up at Andrew's face in the lamplight.

   It was good she did, for other than precious glances the next few days and hastily written, rather garbled messages given by someone in a passing caravan, it was their last real touch for several years.

   God graciously favored the work of Andrew and Lazarus with a special harvest of souls. First in Cappadocia and then, finally, in Scythia.

   Martha had to admit that even though the Scythians were more "barbarous than barbarians," going there has not been a waste of time as she had once stated.

   "Each day a few more believe," Lazarus's latest message read. Martha rolled up the precious papyrus scroll and placed it on the table for safekeeping before she took it to read to Mary in Jerusalem.

   In those years everything seemed to happen so fast, Martha recalled.

   Not many months after Lazarus and Andrew set out, Mary and Claudius were joined together in marriage with Rabbi Ben Isaiah presiding over the traditions of the day.

   It was a beautiful wedding, accentuated by the glowing beauty of both the bride and groom; but it was not a wedding of high-spirited people and joyous musicians as Martha's marriage to Benjamin had been. Only a few close friends and neighbors were invited, and the wedding feast was given in dignified manner but with an aura of subdued grace.

   Claudius was still a Roman legate — a fact some people of Bethany could not tolerate. Harder still for some of the Jewish believers was Claudius's own belief in Christ.

   "We will never accept a Roman as a true believer," some of their neighbors had said scornfully. But Martha, remembering Andrew and the Greeks, rose loftily above all the talk and saw to Mary's wedding with enthusiasm, both hands, and a happy heart.

   In spite of vocal opposition, the marriage seemed to grow

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even better as the days went on. Claudius and Mary settled in a small house on the outskirts of Jerusalem, and its close proximity to Bethany gave Martha and Mary many chances to visit back and forth.

   It was always hardest for Martha to return home to Bethany. The house was empty, and even with Naomi and the servant girls and boys, its chambers held only shadows of old memories.

   Martha began to see clearly the face of loneliness. Its unwanted presence was clearly defined in her mind, for it stared bleakly out at her from the silent rooms and hallways.

   She would have wallowed and drowned in a deep pool of self-pity had it not been for a still, small voice she heard one morning.

   Martha had left little Lazarus with Naomi and walked down to her place of thinking, in the grove-garden.

   There, amid the feathery, gray green branches of the olive trees, she first heard it.

   Her heart stopped for a moment, and then with incredible power it pounded in rapture.

   It was Jesus' voice. He has returned, Martha thought.  Laughing out loud she said, "And it is not even the Sabbath." She spun around expecting to see him directly behind her.

   However, except for a small brown sparrow who cocked his head and studied her cautiously, there was no one around.

   "I heard you, Lord," she called to the garden. "Where are you? Where do you hide?"

   She craned her neck and bent down to search under the low hanging tree branches to see if by chance he was sitting on the grass. But she could find no one.

   "Martha, the Kingdom of God is here. I told you I'd never leave you. My Spirit is here now, and it is He who speaks."

   "But, I cannot see you, my Lord," she countered.

   His voice was as she remembered it — warm, and clear. His words were as she remembered also — about a path.

   "Look closely to the path you tread, Martha, for I do not want you to lose your way."

   "Lose my way, Lord?" she questioned him and was mildly amused to think she would get lost on such familiar ground.

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   "Lord, I know this garden path so well, I could run it at night without a torch and never make a misstep or stumble."

   "It is not the garden path I speak of," he answered and then, ignoring her comment completely, he asked, "What are the desires of your heart?"

   "My desires? Let me think...." And then remembering the face of loneliness and feeling the lump which stretched her throat in a dull ache, she said, "I suppose because of so many losses and with so many dear ones gone, I would desire this lonely life I lead to end, to have my house filled with people again, and to feel in some small way that once more I am needed by someone. I am alone now, Lord, you know."

   It wasn't a laugh, but more like a low chuckle she heard, and then he said pointedly, "Martha, I told you I would never leave you. You are lonely now, but you are not alone.

   "If you seek after me with all your soul and with all your being, and delight yourself in me, I will give you the desires of your heart.

   "The desires of my heart? But how can that be? My house is empty. My soul yearns for them, but they cannot or will not return,"  Martha cried.

   "I shall fill your house with many people, and you will minister unto them, just as you did for me. Remember, Martha, you gave me more than a cup of water or a night's shelter. You shared your whole house with me, and your generous hospitality refreshed my soul many times.

   "Now I want you to open your house to others and love them as I have loved you. Then the desires of your heart, dear child, will be granted. Don't miss the path I have opened for you."

   "Oh, Lord," Martha was almost in panic, "how will I know to whom I should minister or serve? And how will I know that right path?"

   He did not answer, and the stillness was broken only by the harsh, shrill cry of a swallow that swooped low over the garden.

   Martha left the grove-garden and walked, deep in thought, back to her house. She kept asking herself where, or how, the Master would fill her house.

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   She didn't wonder for very long, for an incredible thing happened.

   A few mornings later, Naomi left the courtyard to sweep the dust and debris off the front steps and came back carrying not only her broom but a basket. She lifted the cover in the basket and Martha exclaimed, "There's a baby in there! Whose is it?"

   "Ours, I think," Naomi dryly commented.

   Martha peered down at the tiny infant boy, and smiling broadly, she said, "I feel like Pharaoh's daughter finding the baby Moses in the bulrushes. First there was Lazarus, and now this. Am I to care for this one as well?" Martha addressed her remarks to no one in particular, because Naomi was already carrying the basket to the kitchen area.

   "Yes, you are to care for him and the others," the still, small voice within her answered.

   The others? she wondered.

  Martha never fully understood exactly how she acquired so many children, or so quickly. But suddenly, from the most unexpected corners, they came. Most of them were mysteriously deposited during the night at her front gate, and soon she discovered she had no time or strength to ponder her loneliness.

   Within a few weeks her house was filled again, and to Martha's slightly jangled nerves, the house rang with babies' cries and children's noisy merriment.

   One night as she checked the sleeping little people, she thought, I know it is a most commonplace practice for most unwanted babies to be thrown in wells, left in barrels, or abandoned in the streets and alleyways. But these, dear Lord, have been rescued. Help me not to fail of these little ones.

   Martha found it all very difficult to explain to others. No one in all Bethany had ever heard of anyone gathering up the helpless, homeless children and caring for them.

   Even Rabbi Ben Isaiah asked, "What are you planning to do with all these?" He pointed to Lazarus, who clung to the back of her skirt and to three other children who were in varying degrees of distress.

   She reached behind her and ruffled Lazarus's hair. "I don't

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really know, Rabbi. I guess I will feed them, try to heal their wounds, and love them in Jesus' name."

   Even Hannah discreetly voiced her uneasiness with Martha's newly founded activities by voicing tactfully, "I admire your courage in housing and feeding these pitiful remnants of humanity, but you cannot hope to save all the children of the world who are diseased or discarded in a basket on your doorstep."

   "That is quite true, dear Hannah," Martha answered, "but, I assure you, I have found what I must do, and I will carry on in the best way I can with the little ones he sends me. I am not caring for them out of some high-handed desire to do good works, but simply out of my love for Jesus."

   Hannah's believing heart digested Martha's words, and then, as she pulled a towel around her voluminous middle, she said, "In that case, I suspect God will crown all your efforts with success, and if He does, who am I to deter you in any way? I think the best way I can show you my loving approval in this is to begin with the morning baths!"

   Picking up twin girls, as if they were small sacks of grain, Hannah marched off toward the cooking area and the water basins, leaving a bemused but delighted Martha behind.

   After that, a part of each day found Hannah playing grandmother with the children, her cheeks flushed and shining with the pleasure of serving again.

   "He has truly given me my heart's desires," Martha said to herself one morning as she washed and dressed. "And never has my cup of life been so filled and running over!"

   She dried her face and slipped a clean tunic over her head.

   "Blessed be your name," she whispered to the still, small voice within her.

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