Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Martha: A Good Friday Reflection

It was many months ago that Jesus first came to our house for a visit. I was so nervous--I wanted everything to be just right for this great teacher. I worked for days to clean the house... and then, as the day of his arrival approached, I worked from dawn to dusk preparing food and making sure that everything was ready. While I was busy working in the kitchen, my sister Mary was sitting with the men--sitting at his feet and listening to his teaching. Here I was, trying to make sure the stew didn't boil over while I was cooking bread over the fire--but could Mary be bothered to help me? No.

When I said something to Jesus about it, he chided me... and told me that Mary had chosen the better thing. Despite all the hard work I had done, all the preparations, all the things I had tried to do for Jesus, he would have preferred that I sit at his feet and listen to him talk. I guess I learned that day that Jesus cared more about me as a person, than simply what I could do for him. He'd rather have friends--than have good food. He loved me for who I was... not for what I could do.

Well, you know what happened a couple of weeks ago... our brother Lazarus was sick. We called Jesus to come quickly, but he didn't come in time. Now it was my turn to chastise him--"Jesus, if you'd been here," I said, "he wouldn't have died." Well, of course, you know the rest of the story--Jesus had them roll back the stone and called Lazarus to come out. But not before he asked me that tough question, "Do YOU believe this?" he said.

Do I believe that Jesus is the resurrection and the life? Sure. But I still didn't understand. Lazarus was in that tomb for four days already--he was really dead...he had probably started to smell bad. I couldn't believe that Jesus wanted them to roll back the stone. But sure enough, Jesus not only said that he was the resurrection and the life, he really was.

In the midst of that whole thing, there's one thing that sticks in my mind so vividly: Jesus wept...more sincerely and more violently than I'd ever seen anyone weep before. Since that day, I've often wondered why he was so upset... but I wonder--perhaps it is because too often we loved him--not for who he was--but for what he could do for us.

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