Being Me- Luke 10, John 11-12

I'm sitting on these little character sketches like a hen on eggs.
Hatching is very much anticipated but the wait makes me wonder if anything living will emerge.
Today it dawned on me that I've been writing: "If I Were's" when I'm not.
I'm not John the Baptist.
I'm not the woman at the well.
Duh!
No wonder there's no rumble in my nest of ideas.
So today I pick Mary. I like her. I relate to her.
Not the Mother of Jesus- Mary, but Mary who sat at Jesus' feet-
 I like to sit at His feet.
Mary who poured out the expensive perfume-
I'm always trying to think of what I have to offer Him.
Mary, whose brother died and was risen-
I've certainly seen things come to life in me and around me, things I thought beyond hope.
Mary, who Martha thought should get off her duff and wrestle a chicken into a pot-
I have been lazy, and I'm sure people have wondered what I'm doing sometimes!
And I most definitely avoid cooking if I can.

But I do have to give it to Martha, hard worker that one...and assertive:
"Jesus tell my sister to help me."
"Jesus if you had been here this wouldn't have happened."
Martha is admirable but she may have scared me...

If I were Mary

I heard my sister banging around in the kitchen, Martha had many wonderful qualities but self-control was not one of them. Guests like to eat, that's true, but Jesus wasn't just any guest!
And I have strengths as well, but cooking...
Cooking could wait!
As much as I hated feeling the pressure of my sister's expectations and her distress,
 Jesus won.
Then she came storming into the middle of our little circle and in front of everyone humiliated me!
Basically calling me lazy and accusing Jesus of not caring for her trouble.
I kept my mouth shut, internally defending my choice to sit and listen and learn.
Jesus calmly (and I have to say compassionately) put Martha in her place.
He actually defended me and the fact that I wasn't running around...like the chicken Martha would have preferred me to be serving up!
Instead of reprimanding me, Jesus refused to take the moment from me and encouraged Martha to come join us.
I loved it!
I just yearned to be still and hear from Jesus. There was plenty of time to deal with the details. This time-was HIS time.
I loved Jesus so dearly I could have sat there at His feet all day...
gotten some rest and sat back down the next day.
If it were up to me, everyone could figure out their own food.
I just wanted to save my energies for this: the words of Jesus, The Word.
And I did learn; following and listening
and Jesus visited us often.
But when my brother Lazarus became deathly ill and we sent for Jesus, He didn't come.
I was so desperately confused. One day lapsed into the next and Lazarus faded away from us.
How long did Jesus wait? Why?
What kind of love was this to have the power to heal and not
heal?

So I sat in my grief, while friends gathered around and stared at me helplessly. I just wanted to be as alone in my house as I felt in my heart.
I didn't want to hear from them, didn't want to answer any more of their questions.
Where was my friend-
Jesus?
I heard the door creak and glimpsed the rustle of Martha's skirt.
Where was she going?
Then a whisper of Jesus' name.
Now?! He comes now?
Please! Why bother?!
I just couldn't bear to look at Him.
And thought "He can just keep all of His shmoozy lies to Himself."
With a friend like that...
Martha came back in, leaning closely and with uncharacteristic tenderness she whispered,
"Your teacher is here and asking for you."
Those words popped the bubble of my emotions, releasing me, propelling me even!
I ran to Jesus and collapsed.
Sobbing my gut wrenching bewilderment to Him.
And Jesus cried with me.
My friends took Jesus to the tomb and when Jesus asked for the stone to be moved, Martha warned Him how long Lazarus had been in there.
I just stood by, gaining back my composure and wondering what He could be thinking...trying to read His dark expression, his reddened eyes.
Again Jesus addressed Martha directly, correcting her word with His.
Jesus then, lifted His face to Heaven and thanked God for hearing Him; but what had He asked?
The next moment I knew. I knew what He asked and I knew why He'd waited.
Jesus called
and Lazarus, my dead brother walked out of the blackness, bound.
"Unbind Him" Jesus commanded.
And as they stripped the layers of filthy rags, something came unbound in me as well.
My heart and head felt as if I would fly into shards across the barren earth.
I was never the same. None of us were.

About a week before we celebrated Passover, Jesus came again. and again I was over-whelmed with emotion. Again I couldn't frame it,
couldn't contain it
...I wanted just to be with Him but simply sitting at His feet was somehow no longer enough.
"What can I do for Him?" I asked myself.
The best I could think to do was give the best that I had, an expensive perfume.
If I thought more about it, I may have changed my mind; so without further consideration
I poured the whole thing upon Him.
Not having slowed for ceremony or towel, I used my hair to wipe His feet.
Judas, always thinking of money, was disgusted.
He took up where Martha had left off in critiquing how I loved Jesus.
"Why was this ointment not sold to help the poor?"
And once again Jesus responded, "Leave her alone, let her have this moment. Let Mary, be Mary."

And I will be,
for Him.