We just loved having Jesus come over – Bethany is a really lovely place to live – we’re just close enough to Jerusalem to feel we are at the centre of things, but far enough away to live in peace and quiet rather than amongst the constant throng of pilgrims in the city.
The point is this – Jesus didn’t often come alone – normally it meant an extra thirteen for dinner and that’s not always easy at shortnotice! Not that I minded – in fact I sort of had a private pact with myself to make every one of his visits better than the last. I suppose you could say I just wanted to be the perfect host.
But that isn’t so bad is it? Our Greek neighbours two doors down tell me that Zeus – the king of all their gods is also the one that represents hospitality – that’s how important sharing meals and giving a welcome is to us Mediterranean people.
Well Jesus came down one evening – typically without much warning and we welcomed him with open arms – as we always do. But after greeting each other with Shalom I just had to get a wiggle on. I did my best, you understand, for him – my very best – but that evening nothing seemed to go right. Perhaps I wasn’t in the best frame of mind and truth be told my sister Mary was really getting to me.
We’ve always been close but different and that night things seemed just to come to a head. I didn’t mean it to – but perhaps it had been building for a couple of weeks – I want so much to make everything special when we have guests and I just can’t get my head around Mary’s more laid back attitude – I mean wouldn’t you want to serve fresh olives rather than yesterday’s?
Well that evening I went indoors to prepare the food and I really thought for once she might have followed me and lent a hand, couldn’t she understand for a change the pressure I was under – but no – she lingered outside with the men! When I went to offer Jesus and the other guests some lemon water there was Mary sitting at his feet just listening to him speak. It all seemed so intense – so important – as if this was the place to be that evening – not getting the meal ready, not putting your back into it – but to sit and listen. That’s what Lazarus does when he visits the local rabbi – sits at his feet and listens - it’s not the way Dad, rest his soul, brought us girls up. After Mum died I knew what I had to do – I had to run our home, that’s me – that’ what I do. But Mary – she doesn’t get it!
Now, on reflection – because I’ve calmed down since all this happened last week – perhaps I was just a little jealous of her that evening – well, who wouldn’t be. For two hours she sat with Jesus – talking, laughing and listening – for two hours I was fuming but couldn’t say anything in front of the guests – just rehearsing in my mind over and over what I’d say to her once everyone was gone.
It really got to me –her behaviour. As I stirred the stew and sliced the pomegranates my mind was all over the place.
He must have noticed because with such firmness yet gentleness Jesus just said to me as I called everyone round the table for dinner: ‘Martha, Martha...’ I think he had to say it twice! Once to break through my distraction and the second time to enter my mind.
He quietly said to me that Mary’s way was neither disrespectful nor uncaring – he thanked me for all the effort I’d put in at such short notice – but didn’t I realise that Bethany for him was special not just because of my freshly baked bread but because our house was the closest thing he’d got to a home.
Suddenly my heart melted at his words and his appreciation. I think people have taken his words to me since as a sort of stinging rebuke – but I never heard them like that. It was the way he said ‘Martha Martha’ – with such compassion.
Maybe I have to deal with this jealously thing with Mary. I think I need to realise that neither of us has a better temperament than the other – we’re just different – and different is good! And I will admit this – that sometimes I get so worked up about everything being just right that I can forget what really matters at a meal is not just the food but the table talk, the togetherness of it all.
I sometimes think we do that with faith too – so much emphasis on getting the ritual right that we forget what we are really here for.
So – I suppose it wasn’t the best comment left in anyone’s visitor book – but it’s the one everyone remembers about the day Jesus came for a meal at our house in Bethany.
You know I think Jesus really loved being around us and that night I – well maybe I could have served up yesterday’s olives – he wouldn’t have minded!
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