Wednesday, July 29, 2020 (Memorial of Saint Martha)      (today’s lectionary)
Roll away the stone
The Memorial for Martha … I knew I could be reading about a woman in Civil War times. Martha Grimes, homemaker in Virginia, holding the house together while Wheeler and the boys are away, dying. It’s been awhile since many girl babies were named Martha. I think of gathered skirts and apple pies, and sewing socks, and needlepoint. Still, in Aramaic the name means “Lady.”
Anyway, this is not just a century and a half ago. The Martha story begins and ends in Bethany, just outside Jerusalem, Jesus’ vacation home where the welcome mat was always out. Martha worked hard, made bread, swept up. She lived there with her sister Mary and brother Lazarus. Sometimes irritated with each other, their deeper love knew no bounds. And now, Lazarus was sick.
I wonder how they got word to Jesus. Don’t know, but when he got it Jesus did not come at once, and Martha watched her brother die. What did she think?
I did not sit merrymaking, I bore your name, neither borrowing nor lending.
Under the weight of your hand I sat alone, I worked myself to the bone,
And now, Lord! What????
YOU have become for me a treacherous brook
And I cannot trust your waters.
So Martha wept. Then at last, far too late, she heard Jesus coming and ran to meet him.
Oh, Oh, Lord! IF you had been here
My brother would still be alive
He would not have died.
My heart would not be broken.
She raised her eyes from the ground. She felt sudden hope in her chest. “But … even now?”
Martha hesitated. How could she not? Even as she hears the words inside her, “Ask  Jesus for the resurrection,” she doubts her motives.
Is this only for her, to comfort her sister, to comfort herself, or does she see far into the future and know this resurrection is for us all?
Bring forth the precious, Martha, without the vile
And then it shall be they who turn to you.
I am with you now to deliver and rescue you,
You are about to be freed from the hand of the wicked.
You look into my eyes, and love me, Lord. But I have to look away. I cannot love myself the way you love me. I know my sin. I am ashamed of my sin. Not just Lazarus, but all of us, Lord, we all have sinned and fallen short of your expectations. Of course we die. Do I even deserve to live? The gift of life you pour into us at birth is suddenly stolen. One day we are breathing, but then the next our breath becomes mere air, and we fly away.
Martha, my Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things.
Now there is need for just the one thing, and it will not be taken from you.
Martha looked up again. A deep wave rose in her heart as Jesus touched her cheek.
Let me love you, Martha. You are a child of God.
Do you believe this?
Not for the first or the last time, but this time this was for her, she saw tears flow down Jesus’ face. And as so often happens, her own compassion overcame her pain. She put her arms around him, and he put his arms around her.
I will sing of your strength and revel at dawn in your mercy
O my strength! You are my stronghold, my merciful God.
Neither Jesus nor Martha nor Mary were done yet. Their great breaths calmed them as they clung to each other, and Jesus called out to his Father, to their Father too:
I am the resurrection and the life
Whoever believes in me, even if she dies, she will live. In fact she will never die.
On that day in that moment Jesus called for strong disciples to push the stone away from the tomb of Lazarus. Jesus called out to the creative power of the God of Life.
O my father, you are here. Now show your children the strength of your love. Let your light shine in their darkness, awaken us, and we will follow you together out of this funeral cave. Â Lead us into the dawning day.
No one could breathe now, watching, listening, waiting. But Jesus breathed. In his lungs he gathered strength for a mighty shout.
Lazarus, come forth!
(Jeremiah 15, Psalm 59, John 8, John 11, Luke 10)
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