The last six days of our Lord's life on earth were what the Jews called the Passover, and what we now call Holy Week. He spent those days arduously in Jerusalem, but at night, as we have seen, He walked to Bethany, a distance of two miles, and there slept. It was a hurried and complex existence, not unlike the lives of those millions who, in our own times, go forth in the morning on foot or by train or tram to earn their bread, returning home weary at night. Amid that stress and strain, He did not once lose touch with faith and prayer and Scripture.
That little village of Bethany is not mentioned in the Old Testament. It has not interested either the prophet or the historian, nor does it attract the pilgrim. It was no temple nor synagogue that drew Him thither, but a family of two sisters and a brother, who made Him welcome, and with whom He felt at home. Martha and Mary and Lazarus were not among the apostles and martyrs. They did not rank as clergy, ministers, missionaries, monks, or nuns. They did not at that time give up houses and lands and business for His sake. But, of their substance and their thought, they provided for Him somewhere to lay His head. In loving them, with a natural brotherly affection, He added His sanction to all noble friendship and kindly hospitality. Bethany offered to Him everything that is possible on earth--of boundless devotion and intimate understanding. He was invited into the family. If He had turned aside from saving us, He might have spent there a long, happy, and valuable life. We talk much of what it cost Him to leave His Home on high; let us not forget also the wrench which parted Him at the last from Lazarus and his sisters.
Martha's ideal was service. She was an organizer. Her love expressed itself mainly through the material. In Mary of Bethany, we see woman not only as a housewife and worker at committees and sewing parties, but as a living soul. She found time to sit at our Lord's feet and listen. Listening, she believed Him. She realized, better than anyone else, that this was His farewell visit. She was like a sister bravely bidding good-by to a brother home for his last leave. She did not seek, like Peter, to hold the Saviour back. She accepted His word that He must die. And with a courage that will comfort many of her sisters to-day, she lavished her wealth upon Him freely, not reserving her spices for His burial, as we sometimes reserve our wreaths, but letting Him know while He was yet alive how much He was to her.
The Alabaster Box
Some friends have kindly written to me about the incident of the alabaster box, and I think rightly. The subject is not free from difficulty, but it seems clear that our Lord was thus anointed, not once, but twice. On the first occasion the woman was a sinner of "the city," possibly Capernaum, possibly Nain. The host was Simon, a Pharisee. The objection raised was not the value of the gift, but the character of the giver. On the second occasion, the host was Simon the Leper. The place was Bethany. The woman was Mary, whose sister Martha was serving. The objection raised was not Mary's character, which was stainless, but the waste of the ointment. Here is, I think, a clear differentiation, and I am not concerned to press the tradition, which is not confirmed by any direct statement, that the sinful woman was, in fact, Mary Magdalene. For a comparison of the two incidents is sufficiently wonderful without dramatic embellishment. Here was Mary of Bethany, in the beauty of her holiness, content to display the same repentance, the same adoration, as the most tempted, the most despised of her sex in the cruel world beyond her sheltered home. And here was Judas, grudging the Friend with whom he had been associated for years the gift which, in itself, did not arouse any criticism from Simon the Pharisee, a casual acquaintance.
Our Lord assured Mary that hers was the better part, which should not be taken away from her. At our meals, we think so much of the food, so little of the table talk; yet it is the talk which is eternal. The time was at hand when no one, not even Martha, would be able to minister to the bodily needs of the Saviour, but when none the less we all may sit at His feet and listen. It was trouble that tested the contrast between these sisters. When Lazarus fell ill, both of them sent for Jesus. When their brother died, in both their hearts there arose the thought--remarkable in its complete reliance on His power over disease--o that it would not have happened if He had been there. But Martha hurried forth to meet Him with her complaint. When He promised her that Lazarus should rise again, she argued; and by mentioning "the last day," limited His present power, acknowledging that He could heal the sick, but not believing that He could raise the dead.
Between Mary's conduct and our Lord's there was, on the other hand, an exquisite correspondence. He had waited two days where He was. She on her side sat still in the house, not going to Him till He called her; when--unlike Martha--she fell at His feet and uttered her sincere doubts only as part of her worship. To Martha, our Lord had to reveal Himself as the Christ of God, drawing from her that confession of faith. Mary's worship was spontaneous; and what troubled Him was her sorrow, not the obscurity of her belief. Faced by the dominion of death, with its dreadful accompaniment of tears, He groaned in spirit; He also wept. When David lost his friend Jonathan his grief was impotent, and for his son Absalom he would have died, but could not. David's greater Son, faced by the same situation, shared the sorrow, but stood forth in majesty as the Resurrection and the Life. In the person of His friend, He conquered death. The home at Bethany that He entered was simple, but none the less did He reign there, in omnipotent splendor, as Lord of this life and of the life to come.
"At the Table with Him"
Lazarus behaved with the discretion of a loyal humility. Owing his life to Jesus, he did not boast, or ask to be included with the Twelve--still less seek to be the greatest. We only read of him that he sat at meat with Jesus, so enjoying the company of the Highest. But his mere presence was a difficulty to the Rabbis. Here, while these men sought to kill their Messiah, was this same Messiah raising His friend from the dead. It dawned upon the Sanhedrin that Christ is not crushed until all who believe in Him, to the very humblest, are slain. He does n6t work by the majority--His power and His Gospel are safe while one true disciple breathes on earth. They did not worry about those who had a passing knowledge of Him; the only disciple who counted in that crisis was the disciple who had tested His uttermost power. The Twelve, still of worldly mind and ambition, had not yet become formidable. But Lazarus, the harbinger of resurrection, must be slain, if possible, a second time.
For, as one reads the records of these days, one gains the impression that our Lord was not an Individual, leading a revolt against established authority. We feel that He was actually King; and that the rebellion was not His, but the Jews'. Of His Kingdom there was no end. In Lazarus, He was vanquisher of the tomb. In Simon the Leper, He conquered plague. The blind and the lame came to Him, and again He healed them. The fig-tree which failed in allegiance to Him withered. We sometimes think that His teaching was spread evenly over the three years of His ministry. But at least half of it, as recorded, was reserved for those three days of rule in Jerusalem. His output of mind and soul surpasses comprehension. He entered the city royally. He cleansed the Temple. He dealt with the fig-tree. He worked miracles. He poured forth parables--of the vineyard, the chief corner-stone, the marriage-feast, the virgins, the talents, the sheep and goats. He mourned over Jerusalem; He prophesied her doom. He foreshadowed His Second Coming. He denounced the scribes and Pharisees. All their questions He answered. While He spoke of the faith that removes mountains, He did not forget the widow's mite. The world, wrote John, could not contain the books that might be written of what He said and did. Indeed, the heaven of heavens is not enough for His library. And when Pilate wrote over His cross that He was King of the Jews, it was the truth. For those few days nobody could resist Him. He had no army, no navy, no police, no palace; but He was, none the less, supreme. And supreme He remained until the end.