Mary couldn’t get over the fact that her brother rose from the dead. She knew for a fact there hadn't been a breath of life left in him after they embalmed him, wrapped him in strips of cloth, and laid him in the cave which was the large family tomb. She stood in the doorway watching Lazarus converse easily, and even chuckle some with the men who had come from far and wide to see this miracle. Mary slipped into the room and stood for a moment before her older brother. He made room for her on the bench provided, but first she touched his beard and stroked his sleeve to remind herself that he was really real. Lazarus ruffled her hair.
“Don’t worry, sis, I am alive and well. The Lord did a genuine miracle in my body, and I won’t vanish anytime soon.”
At that Mary snuggled down beside him. She heard several sniffs of disapproval. After all women were supposed to keep very much in the background and certainly should not touch a man, even their own brother, and especially not in public.
A stone-faced Pharisee started to sharply rebuke her, but just then Jesus walked into the room and immediately a hush came over them all. Her sister Martha hurried to bring him the best chair which had been reserved for him, and he graciously accepted. Someone else urged him to tell one of his stories—a parable he called it, so he did. Everyone listened intently, struggling to catch the secret meaning that was so often hidden in the words he said.
Mary’s eyes were riveted to his face. Not only does the word he says have a way of warming her heart, but it was something much deeper. Only a few dark, pain-filled days ago Mary had been in the throes of the despair caused by feelings of keenest rejection. Her only brother had died. She could have accepted it more readily if Jesus had been there. Jesus was her, nay the whole family’s dearest friend! They had sent a messenger with fleet feet in plenty of time to tell him Lazarus was sick but he hadn’t come. Not even he had he not arrived in time to offer comfort and (what she secretly had hoped ;) healing, but he hadn’t come at all! Sick of heart, Mary could scarcely be moved from her reclining position to even eat a bite of food.
And now not only had Jesus arrived, but he had restored her brother to life. Mary snuggled a little deeper against Lazarus’ side, and he stroked her hand. Mary felt tears welling up in her eyes once more and spilling over, but for once they weren’t tears of grief and loneliness. Jesus, she thought in her mind, I will never forget how you wept. Now I know how hard it must have been to keep away from us in our deep need. You knew how we would be suffering, and it hurt you terribly, but you wanted to give us a marvelous gift. Impulsively Mary slipped off the bench and before Lazarus could guess what she was about to do, she went over to Jesus and adoringly gazed into his face. Mary dropped to her knees and laid her head on his lap, and Jesus gently caressed her luxuriant tresses just like her Daddy (Abba) had done before he died. Her tears continued to roll freely, and Mary dabbed them with her head covering which had slipped around her shoulders.
“Jesus,” she whispered, not wanting to interrupt the flow of men’s voices. “Jesus, oh, how I love you. Thank you. Thank you.” He lightly stroked Mary’s head, and overcome with emotion, she let her falling tears trickle over the beloved feet, then feeling deeply honored, lifted each one in turn and wiped them with a lock of hair. That still seemed like an inadequate way to show devotion so Mary darted out of the crowded room. In a moment she was back with a vial of her sweetest smelling perfume which she lovingly poured on Jesus feet. After she dabbed at the overflow with her hair, she looked up and drank deeply from those wonderful eyes.
This is the final installment of a story i wrote based on the rising of Lazarus from the dead. Find it in John 11 in the Bible, and in other scriptures.
“Don’t worry, sis, I am alive and well. The Lord did a genuine miracle in my body, and I won’t vanish anytime soon.”
At that Mary snuggled down beside him. She heard several sniffs of disapproval. After all women were supposed to keep very much in the background and certainly should not touch a man, even their own brother, and especially not in public.
A stone-faced Pharisee started to sharply rebuke her, but just then Jesus walked into the room and immediately a hush came over them all. Her sister Martha hurried to bring him the best chair which had been reserved for him, and he graciously accepted. Someone else urged him to tell one of his stories—a parable he called it, so he did. Everyone listened intently, struggling to catch the secret meaning that was so often hidden in the words he said.
Mary’s eyes were riveted to his face. Not only does the word he says have a way of warming her heart, but it was something much deeper. Only a few dark, pain-filled days ago Mary had been in the throes of the despair caused by feelings of keenest rejection. Her only brother had died. She could have accepted it more readily if Jesus had been there. Jesus was her, nay the whole family’s dearest friend! They had sent a messenger with fleet feet in plenty of time to tell him Lazarus was sick but he hadn’t come. Not even he had he not arrived in time to offer comfort and (what she secretly had hoped ;) healing, but he hadn’t come at all! Sick of heart, Mary could scarcely be moved from her reclining position to even eat a bite of food.
And now not only had Jesus arrived, but he had restored her brother to life. Mary snuggled a little deeper against Lazarus’ side, and he stroked her hand. Mary felt tears welling up in her eyes once more and spilling over, but for once they weren’t tears of grief and loneliness. Jesus, she thought in her mind, I will never forget how you wept. Now I know how hard it must have been to keep away from us in our deep need. You knew how we would be suffering, and it hurt you terribly, but you wanted to give us a marvelous gift. Impulsively Mary slipped off the bench and before Lazarus could guess what she was about to do, she went over to Jesus and adoringly gazed into his face. Mary dropped to her knees and laid her head on his lap, and Jesus gently caressed her luxuriant tresses just like her Daddy (Abba) had done before he died. Her tears continued to roll freely, and Mary dabbed them with her head covering which had slipped around her shoulders.
“Jesus,” she whispered, not wanting to interrupt the flow of men’s voices. “Jesus, oh, how I love you. Thank you. Thank you.” He lightly stroked Mary’s head, and overcome with emotion, she let her falling tears trickle over the beloved feet, then feeling deeply honored, lifted each one in turn and wiped them with a lock of hair. That still seemed like an inadequate way to show devotion so Mary darted out of the crowded room. In a moment she was back with a vial of her sweetest smelling perfume which she lovingly poured on Jesus feet. After she dabbed at the overflow with her hair, she looked up and drank deeply from those wonderful eyes.
This is the final installment of a story i wrote based on the rising of Lazarus from the dead. Find it in John 11 in the Bible, and in other scriptures.
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