Chapter
Five
MARTHA felt she had been sleeping for days, but when she awoke in her own room, she found she was still dressed in her dirty, stained dress. The nightmare of being awake flooded her mind with its very own special horror.
Martha guessed by the sun's low, afternoon pink glow that it had to be about the tenth hour. "Lazarus must be buried before sundown, or the decay will begin," she said aloud as she raised herself up from her pallet with a sudden start of realization.
The door to her room opened, and Mary appeared with a basin of fresh water. Seeing that her sister was sitting up, she gave a small sigh of relief and said, "Oh, Martha, you have awakened. Good! I was about to get you up as it is time to..." Without finishing, Mary put the basin on a wooden chest, and then helped Martha up off the pallet and out of her tunic.
Holding the garment away from her, Mary observed, "It is so crusted with soil, it could stand alone." Then, with the tunic still at arm's length, she hurried out the doorway.
Martha washed and drew enormous strength and refreshment from the cool water. She dipped her towel in and out of the basin, letting its coolness bathe the fire out of her face, her body, and her soul.
From the closet Martha found clean undergarments, her best black tunic, and her opaque black veil. Carefully she dressed, and as she finished, she brought out from a drawer her dark maroon sash and tied it around her waist.
When Martha surveyed her dress, she caught a glance of her hair in the polished bronze mirror and knew it was beyond even Mary's help. Quickly she undid it and was giving it a hurried
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brushing when she heard a new commotion above the mourners' wailing. Something was happening in the kitchen area. She could not tell what. Martha divided her hair in three sections and expertly plaited it into one thick braid. By the time she had wound the braid at the nape of her neck and secured it with several pins, Mary and Naomi, followed closely by Joseph, almost tumbled into her room.
"What is it?" she mumbled, still holding one pin in her mouth.
"It's the boys, Aaron and Jude. They have returned." explained Mary.
"Oh, good," Martha said matter-of-factly as she put away her hairbrush and wiped up the remaining drops of water from the basin.
"At least Jesus will be here when we bury Lazarus," Martha said and then became puzzled because she sensed something was amiss.
"Why are you standing here? Why are you not meeting him? Go fetch him! He is our guest," Martha charged. Sometimes their lack of hospitality was a deep thorn in her flesh. Stamped clearly on Martha's mind was the memory of the large feast she had given for Jesus and his disciples. She had been well cautioned about her thoroughness in serving that night and yet she still maintained that nothing should disturb the common courtesies of hospitality.
When none of them moved, Martha commanded, "Go and greet the Master as he comes."
"That is just the problem." Mary shook her head as she spoke. "He is not here. He is ... is not even coming."
"Not coming?" Martha stared at her sister. "What do you mean — not coming?"
Without waiting for an answer, Martha pushed past them, out her doorway, across the short hall, toward the cooking area and called out loud and strong, "Aa-ron and Juu-de, come here!"
She needn't have yelled. They were standing in the middle of the room, their tired, dirty, and obviously tear-streaked face turned up, awaiting Martha's predictable scorn. That they had failed in their adventuresome mission was one thing; to face Mistress Martha and explain was quite another.
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"Well?" Martha bent over with hands on her hips and searched their faces.
"We went up across the Jordan and into Perea as you told us, and we found the Master," Fatigue and fear raised Aaron's voice a tone higher than usual.
"We went to three villages before we found him!" Jude offered as argument in their behalf, as they desperately wanted to please her.
"Did you go to him straightaway and give him my message?" demanded Martha.
"Yes, we did!" It was Jude for the defense again. "And it was not easy! His disciples, many other men, and a whole group of Pharisees were all crowded in around him. We pushed through anyway and asked permission to speak with him."
"But did you give him my exact message?" Martha questioned.
"Yes, Mistress Martha," Aaron bowed his head wearily. "I said, 'Master, that one you love is sick.'"
"Well?" Martha pushed.
"Mistress, Jesus did not say anything. He just sat down on a stone courtyard wall, bowed his head, and covered his face with his hands."
Then Jude picked up the story.
"Andrew knelt down beside Jesus and said, 'Our friend Lazarus has been sickly since he was a babe. Will he die now?'"
"Yes, go on. What did the Master answer?" Martha pressed impatiently and bent closer to catch each word.
Aaron continued, "Ah, Jesus just looked up at Andrew and then to all of us he said that the purpose of Lazarus's illness was not unto death but for the glory of God. Then he stood up and said, so everyone could hear, 'I, the Son of God, will receive glory from this situation,' " Aaron's shoulders squared a bit as he repeated Jesus' words.
"Oh, that is just fine!" Martha fairly snorted. "Our brother is dead — not ailing, but dead — and Jesus says his illness will not end in death, but in glory?"
Her thoughts whirled within her. Jesus always talks in riddles
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and rhymes. I wish he would speak plainly. I wonder if I shall ever understand him. I do not know why he speaks as he does!
Returning her penetrating gaze to the boys, Martha prodded again. "What happened next?"
"Nothing," Aaron gestured helplessly with his palms turned upward.
"Nothing?" exploded Martha. "Just like that? Nothing? Did he not give you a message for me or speak personally with you boys?" Her eyes were wide with incongruous wonder.
"Oh," nodded Aaron, remembering. "He bade us eat and sent us on our way back, but he did not send any message or say if he would come at all." Martha's expression had not changed; so Aaron added, "We did our best, Mistress Martha."
"I think it was Master Andrew," Jude volunteered, "who asked Jesus if they would all come directly to Bethany, and Jesus just said, 'Not now.' "
Martha silently opened her mouth and formed the words "Not now?"
What does it all mean? She shook her head as her exasperated thoughts kept coming. We love Jesus. He is our friend. We have asked nothing of him before. He is such a puzzling, mysterious friend, her thoughts surged on. He is godly and quite literally filled with heavenly power like the prophets of old. Yet he walks among us, eats with us, and is so amazingly human that I sometimes cannot envision him as the Messiah. Then, aloud, to cover her hurt, Martha blurted, "He is such a mystery?"
Mary, still standing in the doorway, said softly, "My sister, our Lord must have his reasons."
Martha whirled around and, shaking her head at Mary, flung out, "Oh, yes, I am confident he has his reasons, but just to try to make any sense out of it! I wager even you, sweet Mary, cannot figure why he has not come to aid us or comfort us in our sorrow!" Martha's words were seething with the fires which were burning inside her breast.
Even as she spoke, Martha silently observed that the fires within her seemed to burn hotter and more frequently than ever before. It was a trait she did not like in herself. I seem to be angry from sunrise to sunset, she reflected, almost startling herself.
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She mentally shook herself free from the guilt of it, assuaging her soul by thinking, The Lord knows I've sufficient reason to be angry! But still the fires and hurt did not ease or go away.
The sound of the mourners' weeping and wailing in the main room of the house returned Martha's sense of priorities back into focus. Quickly she assumed her rightful leadership position and pushed down her heated thoughts and searing hurts.
In spite of herself, her condition, and her frustration, Martha had the presence of mind to realize that the boys standing before her were tired, hungry, and still wearing their dirt-clogged sandals. Once again her high sense of hospitality won over her feelings. Almost roughly she steered Aaron and Jude to some wooden stools and began working loose the crusted leather straps of their sandals.
When she handed their shoes to them, she said pleasantly, "There now, you go with Joseph and get washed. Aaron, wash that blister on your heel and rub it with oil. Then bind it up with a cloth." To both boys, she continued, "After you've changed your tunics, come back inside. I'll have Naomi get you some barley soup and bread. I'm sure you are both weary; so after you've eaten, you may take your rest." She ruffled their hair and dismissed them with, "You did well and earned the rest."
Out the door they went, but Martha, catching Joseph's arm, said, "One moment, please." He stopped, turned, and faced her.
"I just realized, we will have to rearrange the bodies in the tomb if there is to be sufficient room. We will have to use the ossuary. After you help the boys, I'd like you to take several men," she motioned her head toward the courtyard, "and transfer the remains of my mother from the stone bier to the ossuary."
Joseph nodded his head in understanding and knew what he must do, but he felt a flush of relief when he heard Martha add, "And I shall come with you."
Later, as the boys were eating, with Mary and Naomi hovering over them, Martha, Joseph and several men left the house. The men carried the small carved stone ossuary box up the hill to the family tomb.
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Josiah Ben Jochanan's tomb, or sepulchre, as some called it, was a private burial place befitting the distinguished family. It had been dug out of the rocks on the side of the hill.. The stone covering the entrance was shaped roughly like a door. The stone cutters had left it naturally rounded on top, but it was flat on the bottom to keep it from rolling. They had chosen a rock deeper than a man's arm in thickness. It took four of the strongest men in Bethany to move the massive stone aside.
Martha smiled sadly in spite of her sorrow when she heard one man softly curse and say, "I think it would be easier to move two sleeping camels than this thing."
When the stone gave way to the men's insistent pushing. Martha stood straight, with head up, waiting for the dank, musty air, which she knew would float out to fill her nostrils.
The men stood mutely by the side of the entrance while Joseph took Martha's arm, and the two of them entered the sepulchre.
The inside of the tomb was exactly as she had remembered it: small and square in design with large hewed-out niches in the walls and two benches, one on either side of the entrance. The smaller wrapped figure on one bench was her mother; on the other side, her father.
As she stood looking at the bodies, Joseph left her for a moment, and when he came back, he and another man carried the ossuary inside. They set it down and carefully lifted off its heavy stone lid.
"Which one?" Joseph looked at Martha, not remembering.
"My mother," she said, pointing to the body. Then slowly the two men gathered the fragment of cloth and bones off the bench and with respect and tenderness, placed them in the ossuary. When the lid was securely in place, they lifted the box and carefully placed it in one of the niches.
With the bench ready for the newest body, Martha sighed, shook her head in resignation, and then walked with the men to the house for Lazarus. It was a quick, silent trip down the street to her house.
When they reached his room, Joseph and two men placed the wrapped and covered body of Lazarus on a narrow wooden
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frame which was latticed together by leather straps. Using this as his bier, they carried Lazarus out of his room. Mary joined them, and down the stairs they went, past many tearful faces, out into the courtyard. Then, with most of Bethany's village people following close behind, the procession slowly made its way up the steep hill to the sepulchre.
Martha and Mary, their black mourning veils securely over their heads and faces, walked arm in arm a few paces behind the bier. Their anguished tears ran unobserved and freely down their faces. They had always known this sad day would come; yet neither was really prepared for the cold hand of sorrow which tightly clutched their hearts.
At the tomb there was no ceremony or burial ritual. Lazarus's remains were simply placed on the prepared and waiting bench. The Rabbi Ben Isaiah offered a short, open eyed prayer ending with "Almighty Jehovah, give us understanding hearts and merciful wisdom in our time of deep sorrow."
The sisters bent over, touched his form to say their final good-byes, and then stepped out of the tomb without a backward glance.
Joseph and several other men groaned and strained against the massive stone, but with a final heave, the stone settled into place. As the men dusted off their hands and clothes, it marked the end of the funeral and signaled the time for the villagers' condolences to be voiced.
Martha heard them; yet she didn't. It was as if what they were saying was all muffled and subdued. What she could really hear, loud and clear, was her own overwhelming questions about Jesus. Why did he not come and heal Lazarus before it was too late? Why?
Hannah's arm was around Martha's shoulders. Dorcus had one of her arms; Ruth, the other. All three women were saying all the comforting things one always says at times like this, but Martha shut them out and could only question, Why, why, why?
As the procession wound its way back down the hill, the rabbi pushed in between the women to take both Martha's and Mary's elbows in tow.
"You know I am a Pharisee," he said, over the crying and
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moaning of the mourners. Yes, the women automatically moved their heads up and down.
"Then, you know I believe in personal immortality. I believe in the resurrection and that we shall see Lazarus again." His voice had a funny kind of cheerfulness in it — almost as if he were saying the words so that he might be reassured.
Martha peered out at him through the blackness of her veil.
"You'll see..." Rabbi Ben Isaiah went on. "You'll see him on Judgment Day, and the whole of Josiah Ben Jochanan's family will be restored."
Neither Martha nor Mary responded. They simply walked along, each wrapped in her own cloak of confusion, aware only of the gaping holes in their lives because of their losses. online books christian books
