[10/30/10-11/02/10]

As with Martha, we are given three brief snapshots of Mary by which to know her. It is not much, but it is more than enough. The first time we see her, she is seated at the feet of Jesus, listening to His message. The second time, she is collapsed at His feet, weeping. She weeps for many reasons, but not least because He has come. He is late, but He has come. The final time, she is once again at His feet, this time anointing those feet with the last of her ointment, and wiping them with her hair. There is a certain consistency of action here, even as motivations change.

Go back with me to that earliest occasion (Lk 10:38-41). Mary is praised for having ‘chosen the good part’. What was that good part? Being still? Was it that she was just hanging out? No, that’s not the point at all. It bears constant repeating that God is not pleased by the sluggard. “The soul of the sluggard craves and gets nothing” (Pr 13:4). “The desire of the sluggard puts him to death, for his hands refuse to work” (Pr 21:25). Given these sentiments, it can hardly be that Jesus is praising laziness here. Idleness is not commended. That she chose to be still is not commended. What is commended is that she chose to be still and know Him. Without that vital last clause, the stillness is of no value.

How often do we treat the day of rest in similar fashion? This, of course, assumes we pay any attention to the Sabbath at all, which becomes a rarity. But, if we make of the day simply a day to avoid doing housework, or a day for napping, isn’t it likely that we’ve missed the point? Yes, there is a definite value for our bodies in taking a day away from labors. There is benefit to our spirits in having a break. But, if this is the whole of it, then those benefits profit us nothing. What Mary has chosen goes beyond the break. She has chosen to connect to God, and herein lies the true purpose of the Sabbath.

Mary has chosen to connect to God through His teaching and through His example. She hears what this Jesus is saying and takes it to heart. She sees the ways of His actions and accepts that this is as things ought to be. She is, we might say, a true disciple. We were asked yesterday what it means to be a disciple. This is it! To be a disciple, to hear in this One’s teaching a most excellent way, a way worthy of our every effort to pursue; to see in this Teacher a lifestyle that is to be desired. A disciple looks upon his teacher and thinks, “This is what I want to be.” And having reached that conclusion, the disciple is most thoroughly blessed to discover that this one he would be is willingly teaching him how to be as he would be! Oh, joy of joys! So many would demand entrance exams and steep fees for such access, but not Jesus! He’s giving it away, and here is Mary, ready, willing and able to absorb everything He’s giving.

Mary chose the one thing. She chose to really and fully connect with the Teacher and what He was teaching. Having established such a connection, transformation was made inevitable. This is our story. We, too, have at some point in our lives discovered a connection with Jesus. More accurately, He has established that connection with us, even as He did with Mary on this occasion. You know, if He had opted to fall silent that night, or to shoo her out of what was a men’s discussion group, there would be no story, no good news to draw from that dinner. But, He didn’t. In a very real sense, He chose for her to be there, to be seated, and to be so thoroughly attentive to His words. He chose the connection. Mary was blessed to enjoy the results of connection.

Her transformation began in that moment. If it had not already begun before that point, then when she heard, “Mary has chosen the good part, and it will not be taken from her,” it most certainly did! What we see from that point forward is the progress of her transformation.

If it is not already quite clear, there is this to be understood in Mary: She is responding to a need we should all feel. It becomes even more clear in the second encounter. The moment Mary learns that Jesus is present, what is her reaction? She is instant! She is out the door and making her way to Him. She is in mourning, yes, and that doesn’t cease just because He has come (although, perhaps it should have). But, there is this response: Jesus is here, and she knows how desperate her need for Him. Therefore, she rushes to be nearer to Him.

I have that this models how we ought to feel in our own cases. What do I mean? Well, I would suppose we have all known those moments when we felt with particular clarity that “Jesus is here!” Logically, of course, He is always here. He is omni-present. He never leaves us, nor forsakes us. But, though we understand this to be true, it is not our constant experience of the thing. We are forgetful. We often rather prefer to think He’s not with us right at this moment. It would be embarrassing. But, He is. Indeed, I could argue that it is in those very moments that we most need the Mary example. He is here, and our need for Him is desperate. That being the case, what could be more natural than to rush to Him, to be as close to Him as possible? After all, He is our strength, and we are clearly weak. He is our Savior and we are our own worst enemies. He is our Shepherd and we have been off playing at lost sheep.

Oh! That I might develop a keener, more constant sense of His nearness and of my need! Oh! That I might become more attuned to being at His feet, hearing Him teaching me, and devoting myself to pursuing the example He has set me. God, this has been far from my experience of late. I have been hiding much of myself – as if that were truly possible. I have been trying to keep You in Your particular compartment in my life, that I might use the rest of it as I will, and frankly, the rest of it is getting pretty messy. This is so wrong! This is not as I would have it, and yet it is clearly I who make it so. Teach me, Lord, train me! Achieve that transformation within my soul that I might live a life at rest at Your feet, hearing Your message and acting upon it. Bring me to that place, Lord, for I cannot reach it on my own.

One aspect of Mary’s character shines so clearly as to be impossible to miss. She is a woman of emotional depths, and of emotional intensity. It is very clear that she is one in whom the heart leads. Given the constant contrast between Mary and her sister Martha, a woman led more by mind and reason, it would be easy to slip into a mode of critiquing one or both of the extremes of this ‘what leads’ spectrum. However, my Lord’s own example, would suggest that such critiques do not really have their place in observations about these two sisters. Indeed, I see Jesus pleased with both of them, and why would that be? What else? However imperfect their pursuit of faith, their motivation is of sufficient purity to be pleasing in God’s sight. In other words, it is once again not about how Mary has approached, but why.

This is not to say that God could care less about how we act in His presence, or how we come before Him. After all, He is the same God who went to great lengths describing exactly how each and every sacrifice was to be made, by whom, for what, and how much. He is the same God who dictated to His servants precisely how His tabernacle was to be fashioned, the materials to use, the patterns to incorporate, the dimensions, even the people who would do the fabrication. God cares. He is not pleased with every sloppy bit of self-gratifying pseudo-worship we throw ourselves into. He is not pleased with every building that happens to bear a cross, no each person who happens to wear a cross. He is pleased with those who take His holiness seriously, who take His decrees seriously, who take His love seriously.

Mary, as we see her in these three encounters, is not one to think carefully over the ramifications of her actions. She has not counted the cost, as Jesus elsewhere commands. Yet, Jesus is thoroughly pleased with her. Shouldn’t this tell us something? Maybe it’s just that Mary had no care whatsoever for the cost, so there was no need to count. Maybe. But, I wouldn’t be too certain of that. What is certain is that when Jesus was present, Mary’s heart thrilled. Mary’s spirit thrilled. Why? Because God had already moved in His sovereign way to instill His spirit in her own. It was like calling to like, even as it has been in our own case.

Thus, when Mary sits in grief at the loss of her brother, nothing much moves her. The weeping of those who have come to commiserate with her loss really don’t touch her very much. What can it change? Is all this wailing going to bring her brother back? No. So, she just sits in her grief, and that grief is very deep indeed. But, comes news of Jesus being nearby, and everything is different! However painful her present circumstance, nothing could keep her from going to Him so soon as she has heard He is there. Nothing! Notice that she does not come to Him with the joy of greeting Him once more. No. She is still bound up in her grief. Oh! Note this well! She doesn’t fake it. She doesn’t put on a Sunday face, and tell Him how great everything is going. Granted that in these particular circumstances, it would hardly be a viable mask anyway, but what is true in this extreme ought to be true even in our petty sorrows.

Why do we pretend? Why do we try and show the Lord a stoic face, unaffected by the sorrows of life? He never wore such a face. Indeed, His whole life was one of compassion for those very sorrows. He came that He might more fully know our pain in order that He might more fully address that pain as He continually serves in the office of our One Eternal High Priest. Why, then, do we get it in our heads that we ought not to express our pain before Him? Is it just me? I hope not! Let me take it even one step farther. Why do we suppose that when we gather together with our family in the church we are supposed to make such a show of pretending everything’s great? What is wrong with us?

How do we expect to avail ourselves of the strengthening compassions of our family if we will not so much as admit to a need for compassion? “Everybody needs compassion.” Thus, begins one of the popular songs of the church right now. Yet, none of us sees fit to let anybody know our need. Not even God. No, no, God. Everything’s fine. I’m doing great. Who do we think we’re fooling?

Mary didn’t have this problem. She reaches Jesus and falls apart. Oh, Jesus. If only You had been here! It could have been so different. We could be rejoicing in fellowship now instead of sharing sorrow. Somehow, though Mary speaks almost exactly what her sister had said to Jesus earlier, from her it comes out less as accusation and more as simple sorrow. Maybe this is why Jesus responds with tears, Himself.

This is, as I have commented upon in other portions of study, one of the greater mysteries of the whole event. Jesus knew how the story would end. He knew the purpose in Lazarus’ temporary visit to the grave. He knew it was temporary, something the two sisters did not know. He knew that mere moments from now, mourning would move through awestruck and into rejoicing. So, why is He crying? Why not move straight into action? Perhaps He was looking beyond the day, beyond the later dinner at Simon’s house, and right onward to the Cross. Or, perhaps His Compassion as good as required that He sorrow Himself for the sorrow that Mary and Martha had been required to undergo. Perhaps it was a bit of both. But, Jesus wept.

Something about Mary’s simplicity of heart moved Jesus in a way that Martha’s more reasoned grief did not. See, when Mary acted, there was a certain purity to it. Was it pure emotion that propelled her? Yes and no. It is easy to mistake the purity of her emotions for one who is ‘pure emotion’ in a more negative sense. It is not that she is zeal without understanding. That is a propellant that Scripture rejects. To be led about by one’s passions is offensive to God, and dangerous to self. That’s not Mary’s story, however great the resemblance as our eyes might see it.

Mary, it is true, is led by her heart far more so than by her head. Yet, not in that fashion that draws holy correction. In her, that heart-led character is the outworking of both emotional and spiritual depth. This is what we may misunderstand in those who are kindred spirits of Mary. It has been said that such depths of feeling as Mary contained will lead one to forget oneself. Just so. This is her story in that time of mourning. Her love for her lost brother runs so deep that sorrow will not subside. Likewise, her love for Jesus runs so deep that even sorrow will not keep her from going to Him.

Then, some time later, comes that dinner celebrating this One Who has restored her brother to life. That same depth of feeling that is Mary has not ceased to run, but love for both her brother and her Teacher are now free to flow without the constricting shores of sorrow to hamper them. Does she have some sense of what is coming for Jesus? Well, she has doubtless heard much of what the disciples have heard. Jesus has been trying to prepare them for these final moments, so that doubt will not occlude faith. He is not acting without letting His faithful know what must befall Him. So, yes, maybe there is a bit of sorrow on the shores of Mary’s love. Indeed, it could be argued that it is precisely because sorrow constricts the river of her emotions, that the currents run stronger, faster, propelling her into actions that truly do lead her to forget herself.

That meal, the last look we are given at Mary, is truly a case of a woman who has no thought for herself as she acts. She is propelled into action. Yes, her emotional makeup has a great deal to do with it, but that’s not the whole of it. In studying that dinner, I noted that almost electrical impulse that can sometimes come upon us when there is something God would have us to do or to say. There is that movement upon our physical plant that will not allow us to remain still, to keep silent. There is something that must have its expression. I have no reason to believe this is anything other than the prompting of the Holy Spirit on such occasions. It is so far beyond something that emotions have worked up in a person. Is it emotional? You bet! And, generally pretty messy, too. But, it’s far more than an emotional outburst. It’s the impossibility of not doing. I fully believe this is where Mary was at when it came to that dinner.

She is all but propelled into that room. She has picked up the container from her room. She knows she must. As she makes her way to Simon’s house, it’s likely that even then she is not entirely clear on what she’s about to do. She just knows she has to do it. And, to just barge in on the dinner like that! This just isn’t done! A woman just busting into where the men were at table; it’s almost unthinkable, unless she were serving like her sister was. And, this she is not doing, at least not in ways that men would comprehend. But, yes, she is serving.

I would venture to guess that right up to the moment that she pours that ointment over Jesus’ head, she has been moving under that same sort of compulsion. She is out so far ahead of her own thinking that fear and doubt have had no chance to whisper in her ears. But, as the complaints rise up, and those at table begin to berate her for her wasteful nonsense, it all catches up. No, I have nothing much to back up this theory. But, I will note that Mark and Luke both write of her anointing His head. John has her anointing His feet. I don’t suppose either version is lying. Rather, I have to believe that both are telling their piece of the event, that both of these anointings took place. After all, a pound of perfume is rather a lot. Pouring a semi-liquid substance out of a broken stone container, there was bound to be some left in there after the initial act, surely enough to do His feet.

You see, I’m thinking that what came between His head and His feet was that moment when the electricity of her actions had died down and the criticisms were beginning to register. Suddenly, there is this great doubt engulfing her. What had she done? How would she ever live this down? Were those who rebuked her not right in saying she could have found a much more effective way to honor this One she loved? I would not be that surprised to learn that she did not begin the wiping of His feet with her hair until there was the relief of hearing Him say, “Let her alone!”

In fact, given her state, hearing what followed – “She kept it for the day of My burial” – what dams have just broken in her? She, who had so recently been in the depths of sorrow for the death of her brother and then lifted to such heights of joy at his restoration; what would those words do to her? What? Must my every joy be crushed? You, Lord? Gone to the grave? It’s too much to bear! Isn’t it just possible that this is the very thing that led her to start wiping His feet with her hair? She is wise enough of Spirit to recognize the necessity of whatever it is He must do. Yet, she is human enough to be undone by the sorrow of Him having to do so.

There is another comment made about Mary that I would consider here. “Hers was a rare spirit, doomed often to loneliness and misunderstanding except at the hands of rarely discerning spirits, such as she happily met in the person of her Lord.” In some ways, I think I would put my wife in that same category; doomed often to loneliness and misunderstanding. There is something about the actions of these rare spirits that we are swift to decry as fanatical or fantastical. We are prone to react as those around the table did. What is she doing? Does she suppose this counts as true righteousness? It’s just too much! Others will suppose the whole thing is just for show, a great shout for attention.

Face it, though: who are we to say? Who are we to suppose that our own actions are somehow superior, that our own motives are more pure? One really has to feel for Mary. She is seen at peace and attentive before the Lord, and she is accused of just being lazy. She comes in with this great sacrifice – both in material worth and in self worth – and she is rebuked as a wastrel. Nobody is looking at why she is as she is, why she does as she does. They’re just judging the outward forms. Arguably, they are projecting their own tendencies onto how they perceive her actions. That would certainly be a typical response. If I were doing such a thing, I know it would be for low and base reason, so it must be the same story with her.

But, the fact of the matter neither the effort nor the lack of effort have any moral standing. They are neither good nor evil. The motive is the measure. The why of the behavior is the reflection of the will. In both cases, it turns out, Mary has chosen the one thing that mattered. It’s not the resting at His feet that we should take to be that one thing. Neither is it the anointing of His head and feet. No. The one thing is obedience; hearing God’s leading and following it.

Having spent so many days in contemplation of Mary and Martha, it is almost irresistible to turn to the question of where I am in the spectrum that these two present. It is a question that I suppose is inevitable when we read of that earliest visit with them. Which am I more like? Yet, the reality is that this is the wrong question. Both Mary and Martha are of value in God’s sight, and really, of equal value. Each is pursuing that which God created them to be, and (at least as they mature under His discipleship) each is pursuing that purpose which He has for them by means of remaining attentive to His guidance.

This is the question that really needs answering. It’s not a matter of what am I doing or not doing, it’s a matter of am I doing or not doing for the right reasons? Am I pursuing God’s course for my life, or mine? Am I serving where He would have me, or where I would have me? Really, I suppose these need not be seen as either / or decisions. It’s not as though it is wholly impossible that my own pursuits are those He would have me pursue. In fact, it would be reasonable to suppose that they ought to be largely congruous with one another. If I was created by Him for a purpose, would it not stand to reason that my purpose would tend to attract me?

So, I’ll adjust these questions just a bit. Am I doing what God has for me to do? If so, and regardless of my own pleasures and desires, am I doing as I do for God’s pleasure? This is what is at issue. It is not really that we all need to get wrapped up in what we think of as ministry efforts. We aren’t all called to preach or to teach or what have you. We don’t all need some sort of committee to run or some team to back us up. We don’t all have to be functioning in some wise under the auspices of the Church. We need to be in the Church, yes, by all means! And, we should certainly be active in the life of the Church. But, our primary purpose in God may not really be there. I’m inclined to suggest that it probably isn’t there. Our primary purpose in God may not feel much like it’s God-related at all. Shocking, isn’t it?

I’m struck by this: Israel was not once told to go running about through all the surrounding nations decrying their false gods and promoting the One True God of Israel. They were told that the nations would come. They were not instructed to cast aside all the trappings of earthly life and get so singularly focused on God as to live like monks. They were not, by and large, sent out to stand on the street corners proclaiming the word of the Lord. Mostly, they were called to live their lives, but to do so, as Table Talk so loves to say it, Coram Deo, before the face of God. Live like you realize He’s with you. Live like you think His opinion matters. Act as one who truly understands himself to be what he claims to be. If I am a servant of God, must I not be committed to doing those things He commands me to do? Should it matter to me whether they be great things or small? Whether they be things I think of as ecumenical or things I think of as mundane? No, it should not. What should matter is that He has said to me, “go and do,” and hearing this, I go and do to the best of my ability, with a care to represent Him as fully as I am able in the doing.

So, then: Where am I in that spectrum? Am I, like Mary, willing to give it all if He so much as whispers the request that I do so? This is one of those questions that comes up quite a bit. In men’s group, it has been coming in the form of, “Are you willing to leave your family for Him?” How committed are you? How much in love with Him? Honestly, as the questions have been framed in that book we are looking at, I find they leave me cold. They seem to focus thoughts on the wrong aspect of the matter.

People hear that question, and think, gee! I’m not sure I could do that. But, the reality is, if my family is a godly family and I am a godly man, I find it very hard to suppose that He would ask it. God established the family. God cherishes the relationships that constitute the family. He has, after all, adopted us as His own children! He declares us as spouse to His own Son. These things matter. The question is not would you just walk away from them to chase after God. In fact, under these circumstances, God would hardly be pleased with such a decision. But, if your family is dragging you into things that are clearly contrary to the will of God, whom will you choose, Him or them?

It’s not about whether you’re rich or whether your poor. Each condition has its own pitfalls when it comes to things spiritual. Neither is inherently more holy than the other. What do you do with it? How do you respond to it? This is what matters.

I can never forget the feelings that swept over me as I was writing that song of mine, “Give it All”. What would you do if I said, ‘give it all away’? What if He did? How attached have I become to my stuff? How much of my way of life could I shed, or find myself forced to shed, and still be pleased to call myself His? How much could He harm and I still call Him Lord? Honestly, at the time I was writing that song, it was heartbreaking, because I really could not answer as I would like to think I might have. I could not give an instant assent, fully certain in myself that I would do as He said. I know myself too well.

In a different sense, I am brought face to face with that question as I consider my wife’s health. What would I do if He decided to take her to Himself? Would I shake my fists at Him for depriving me? Or would I rejoice that she had finally come into the full peace of God? I know how I should like to answer that question. I have great concern that the answer would turn out to be far different. I would prefer it if I did not have to find out the hard way.

In the meantime, the question remains, am I prepared to do as He commands without question and without delay? At some level, I think the answer remains no. However, I find that more and more often (unless I am completely fooling myself) I am able to hear Him even in the small things, and to do as He indicates, even if it’s a tad uncomfortable. I have become more willing to be ‘Spirit-led’ as we like to say, to go say the thing that I feel prompted to say, even if there is not that overwhelming electrical surge happening that won’t let me stay silent. I have become more willing to pray as I believe I should pray, even if the words do not convey exactly what the one being prayed for would prefer to hear. After all, prayer is not about what we should like to hear, but about God. I have, under some duress, even become more willing to tell Him what I really think, even when those thoughts strike me as particularly ungodly. I am, then, learning that I am safe with Him. And for that, I am deeply thankful.