Psalm 46:
God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea.
...Selah. Forever.
7.21.2009
7.13.2009
Practicality
So I've been trying to work my way through the new testament in a year. As can be expected, I'm sorely behind at this point (about 9 weeks I think), but its because I keep stopping and mulling over sections or specific verses before I go on.
I was recently reading an overly-familiar story of Lazarus being raised from the dead. Good stuff, all around, and this time, the whole story seemed to center more around Martha than Lazarus. As you can probably guess, I identify with Martha. She's practical. She's got things to do. She worships in action, in compassion and in providing for the needs of those around her. Mary's great and all, and I admire those who sit at the feet of Jesus and calmly stare into his eyes, hanging on every word. But I'll bring some knitting or sketching if you please, while I sit at His feet :) I'm kidding, but you get the picture. (JenAnn knows I can relax, it just usually involves taking up most of someone's floor :)
So right about the middle of the story, we see Martha, who ran out on the road to meet Jesus. That's right, Martha, not Mary, sitting at home, weeping. Martha, obviously in tears, face blotchy, stomach growling, wearing ripped mourning clothes and tired as all get out from running to meet him after crying for three days, says, truthfully, to Jesus, that if He had just been there, her brother would not have died. She hopefully adds, betraying her deep trust in this walking God, "But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask." She hopes. Maybe blindy -- she's never seen someone raised from the dead. but she hopes.
As they weep together, Jesus explains that its okay, Lazarus will be out walking around in a minute. She, completely in context, mistakenly assumes He means the final resurrection. Still with tears running down his face and matching liquid on hers, He makes it plainer, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?"
Of course she believes this. Her brother was one of Jesus' good friends. Her sister worships at his feet and stares, wide-eyed, at his every word. He has come to save her world, to save her soul, but not to save her brother's earthly life. But maybe...
That well of hope suddenly shoots up, but she quells it down. Her brother is dead. She saw him. He's behind a massive stone of the family tomb. His body is decaying. It's been not just hours, but days.
Still, she does believe in Jesus. So she answers Him truthfully, ""Yes, Lord," she told him, "I believe that you are the Christ,[b] the Son of God, who was to come into the world."
So they walk to the tomb. To mourn, the sisters (Mary eventually came along) assuming that they were just going to mourn in person, as it were. Jesus is still crying. They are still crying. Everyone, really, is still crying, the pain of losing a loved one is still so fresh.
Then Jesus asks some of the heftier men standing around (crying) to push away the stone. Mary, wordless, watching what her Beloved Lord would do, is still as a statue. Martha, struggling with teh hope that tries to overwhelm her, makes one last try at practicality, what she is so very good at: "by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days." True story. Rotting flesh, I assume, is both pretty strong and pretty sickening.
Both women are crying harder now, out of fear. Out of trust. Out of the impossible.
Jesus, however, is done sniffling. His voice rings out, loud enough, it develops, to wake the dead. There is no doubt that He knows what He is doing.
And the miracle happens. Their brother winks at them from behind his bandages. He does a little jig and hugs Jesus like the brothers they are. Mary cries, somehow, harder, but also laughs. Martha stops crying. She is shouting. She is whooping for joy. She is dancing, and spinning, and laughing and okay, maybe still crying a little. Jesus is still. He sees the celibration. He is a part of the celebration. And the tears come again - as He sees His precious children not only see, but believe. As He unites a family for the work God has called them for. As He gets to see His friend again, gets to grant life, the very thing He was made for from the beginning. The tears slip down his dusty and tanned face, but He smiles through them. And then, He joins the dance, praising His Father Above for the healing power that is before all time, in all time, and beyond all time.
Anyway. Sorry, got caught up in the story there. Martha. Practical. I was struck by the juxtaposition of her declaration of absolute faith, the so obvious desperate hope in her eyes, and the very practical observation that Lazarus is very, very dead. It doesn't make sense that she would say one thing, and after walking a half a mile, would say another. We realize she is ever-practical, but she is also committed. Why say one thing when she will lose her belief moments later.
Because she did not believe the impossible. She did believe in the Christ. She knew Him as only a few intimate friends did. She knew His step, His scent, His hands and His smile. And she believed, without question, in the time of her life that was the most grief and pain-filled she had ever known. God is Sovereign. Praise be to God.
But she did not believe the impossible. She believed in the known. She hoped. Oh, how she hoped. But she did not believe, not with everything she had, not beyond the limits of her sight or her mind or her human-born strength. She believed in what she knew. But she didn't even step into the realm of believing what she didn't know.
I pray that I can believe in what I don't know. For the Glory of God, so often, is displayed in ways that go far beyond what I know, and are weaved into a magnificent plan that I could never have dreamed of. Lazarus is alive. Jesus is alive. God is on His throne.
I was recently reading an overly-familiar story of Lazarus being raised from the dead. Good stuff, all around, and this time, the whole story seemed to center more around Martha than Lazarus. As you can probably guess, I identify with Martha. She's practical. She's got things to do. She worships in action, in compassion and in providing for the needs of those around her. Mary's great and all, and I admire those who sit at the feet of Jesus and calmly stare into his eyes, hanging on every word. But I'll bring some knitting or sketching if you please, while I sit at His feet :) I'm kidding, but you get the picture. (JenAnn knows I can relax, it just usually involves taking up most of someone's floor :)
So right about the middle of the story, we see Martha, who ran out on the road to meet Jesus. That's right, Martha, not Mary, sitting at home, weeping. Martha, obviously in tears, face blotchy, stomach growling, wearing ripped mourning clothes and tired as all get out from running to meet him after crying for three days, says, truthfully, to Jesus, that if He had just been there, her brother would not have died. She hopefully adds, betraying her deep trust in this walking God, "But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask." She hopes. Maybe blindy -- she's never seen someone raised from the dead. but she hopes.
As they weep together, Jesus explains that its okay, Lazarus will be out walking around in a minute. She, completely in context, mistakenly assumes He means the final resurrection. Still with tears running down his face and matching liquid on hers, He makes it plainer, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?"
Of course she believes this. Her brother was one of Jesus' good friends. Her sister worships at his feet and stares, wide-eyed, at his every word. He has come to save her world, to save her soul, but not to save her brother's earthly life. But maybe...
That well of hope suddenly shoots up, but she quells it down. Her brother is dead. She saw him. He's behind a massive stone of the family tomb. His body is decaying. It's been not just hours, but days.
Still, she does believe in Jesus. So she answers Him truthfully, ""Yes, Lord," she told him, "I believe that you are the Christ,[b] the Son of God, who was to come into the world."
So they walk to the tomb. To mourn, the sisters (Mary eventually came along) assuming that they were just going to mourn in person, as it were. Jesus is still crying. They are still crying. Everyone, really, is still crying, the pain of losing a loved one is still so fresh.
Then Jesus asks some of the heftier men standing around (crying) to push away the stone. Mary, wordless, watching what her Beloved Lord would do, is still as a statue. Martha, struggling with teh hope that tries to overwhelm her, makes one last try at practicality, what she is so very good at: "by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days." True story. Rotting flesh, I assume, is both pretty strong and pretty sickening.
Both women are crying harder now, out of fear. Out of trust. Out of the impossible.
Jesus, however, is done sniffling. His voice rings out, loud enough, it develops, to wake the dead. There is no doubt that He knows what He is doing.
And the miracle happens. Their brother winks at them from behind his bandages. He does a little jig and hugs Jesus like the brothers they are. Mary cries, somehow, harder, but also laughs. Martha stops crying. She is shouting. She is whooping for joy. She is dancing, and spinning, and laughing and okay, maybe still crying a little. Jesus is still. He sees the celibration. He is a part of the celebration. And the tears come again - as He sees His precious children not only see, but believe. As He unites a family for the work God has called them for. As He gets to see His friend again, gets to grant life, the very thing He was made for from the beginning. The tears slip down his dusty and tanned face, but He smiles through them. And then, He joins the dance, praising His Father Above for the healing power that is before all time, in all time, and beyond all time.
Anyway. Sorry, got caught up in the story there. Martha. Practical. I was struck by the juxtaposition of her declaration of absolute faith, the so obvious desperate hope in her eyes, and the very practical observation that Lazarus is very, very dead. It doesn't make sense that she would say one thing, and after walking a half a mile, would say another. We realize she is ever-practical, but she is also committed. Why say one thing when she will lose her belief moments later.
Because she did not believe the impossible. She did believe in the Christ. She knew Him as only a few intimate friends did. She knew His step, His scent, His hands and His smile. And she believed, without question, in the time of her life that was the most grief and pain-filled she had ever known. God is Sovereign. Praise be to God.
But she did not believe the impossible. She believed in the known. She hoped. Oh, how she hoped. But she did not believe, not with everything she had, not beyond the limits of her sight or her mind or her human-born strength. She believed in what she knew. But she didn't even step into the realm of believing what she didn't know.
I pray that I can believe in what I don't know. For the Glory of God, so often, is displayed in ways that go far beyond what I know, and are weaved into a magnificent plan that I could never have dreamed of. Lazarus is alive. Jesus is alive. God is on His throne.
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