Lazarus, a tale of the world's great miracle/Chapter 3
CHAPTER III.
IT had been a bold stroke on his part this bringing the Nazarene straight into the house; for Martha's was a ruling, decided spirit, and she had set her face against offering hospitality to this Man, interested though she was in all that she had heard of Him. There was danger in being in His company. Already the Jews had sought to stone Him, and His presence in their house might mean their own death, or at least suspicion of complicity in His condemnation of the ruling powers, and thus cast a slur upon their house forever. Yet, when the Man of Sorrows stood by the gate, when those eyes, overflowing with grief at the sins of nations, fell upon her, she felt herself reduced to nothingness; even the inmost thought of cowardice and treachery seemed revealed, and the consciousness was born in her that she was, if not in the presence of God Himself, in that, indeed, of one of His most powerful prophets.
Pale and doubting and hesitating at His reception, Jesus stood at the gate, wondering how He would be received; as He has stood at the gate of each human heart, pleading piteously for hospitality, for entrance into the affections, for rest in the souls of men; yet pleading, so often, alas! in vain. There was something so pathetic in His glory and in His silent waiting for admission, that Martha felt overwhelmed. Supposing, after all, that this were indeed the God; how terrible every moment that was not pressed into His service; how unforgivable the sin of hesitation; yet how impossible to receive Him as befitted Him! Bewildered and flustered, she made obeisance to Him, then led the way to the inner hall. It was of tesselated marble, roofed overhead, its walls pierced all round with apertures, that let in light and air. A side door, supported by columns of porphyry, and opening on stairs of Shittim wood, gave access to the garden; for Lazarus was wealthy, and Simon his father, when he had fallen ill with leprosy, had given up to his children almost all that he possessed. The lovely house in Bethany and all his gold and silver and jewels were theirs, and they gloried in them.
As those holy feet stepped noiselessly across the chamber, Martha now was convinced that it was no ordinary man who had entered their dwelling. All the beautiful things she and Lazarus had amassed or inherited seemed shadowy and unreal in the presence of the lowly carpenter. Yet, for all that, she could not sever her mind from the conventional hospitalities of life. She hurried away, while Mary came and cast herself at Jesus' feet, and, far away in inner halls and passages, she could be heard summoning her maidens to bring forth their best, to set before the Lord. But Lazarus and Mary remained by His side, realising how precious was every moment in which their Christ was with them; conscious that He, who could command that the stones be made bread, required no serving, no preparations; only the worship and living passion of adoring hearts.
Presently, Martha, wearied with the task of gathering her maidens together and of hastily preparing what seemed fitting for such a guest, returned; and, finding Mary sitting in silent worship at His feet, cried almost querulously: "Lord, dost Thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone? bid her therefore that she help me."
Oh, how the sensitive Mary winced at her sister's words; to speak thus to Jesus, the Christ! How all Martha's want of spirituality, of enthusiasm, of religious fire, echoed in those words! The world, the world and its silly self-imposed routine, its futile, paltry laws built up by the narrow brains of men to appease their limited demands; the self-seeking satisfactions required by man, who deems himself the ruler of this world, whose little span of life seems to himself a nation's. To those who believed, as Lazarus and Mary now did, what mattered wine or garment or surroundings? One thing only was needful, the Bread of Life such as fell from the lips of Jesus; and to Jesus, what must Martha's words have seemed? To Him, to whom worlds and time and space and life and death were as nothing to the "I am" of Eternity!
How must her words have sounded to such an One? Yet the Christ, in His deep sympathy, pitied the fretfulness her cry disclosed. This woman's eyes were not yet opened. How then could she fathom the depth and length and breadth the majesty of the personality that stood before her? But He saw in all its fulness what we fail to see, the weary anxiety of the woman, the doubting of His justice, if He could see one woman toil thus while another idled. With gentleness and love He answered: "Thou art careful and troubled about many things: but one thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her."
And Mary, in adoring wonder, kissed His feet once more and murmured: "One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after, that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord and to inquire in His Temple. Thou hast redeemed me, O Lord God of Truth."