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PASSAGES REFERRING TO BETHANY IN THE SACRED NARRATIVE.
PASSAGES REFERRING TO BETHANY IN THE SACRED NARRATIVE.
Luke X. 38-42.—“And He entered into a certain village: and a certain woman named Martha received Him into her house. And she had a sister called Mary, which also sat at Jesus’ feet, and heard His word. But Martha was cumbered about much serving, and came to Him, and said, Lord, dost Thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone? bid her therefore that she help me. And Jesus answered and said unto her, Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things: But one thing is ne
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I.
I.
Places associated with great minds are always interesting. What a halo of moral grandeur must ever be thrown around that spot which was hallowed above all others by the Lord of glory as the scene of His most cherished earthly friendship! However holy be the memories which encircle other localities trodden by Him in the days of His flesh,—Bethlehem, with its manger cradle, its mystic star, and adoring cherubim—Nazareth, the nurturing home of His youthful affections—Tiberias, whose shores so often
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II.
II.
The curtain rises on a quiet Judean village, the sanctuary of three holy hearts. Each of the inmates have some strongly-marked traits of individual character. These have been so often delicately and truthfully drawn that it is the less necessary to dwell minutely upon them here. There is abundant material in the narrative to discover to us, in the sisters, two characters—both interesting in themselves, both beloved by Jesus, both needful in the Church of God, but at the same time widely differen
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III.
III.
As yet the home of Bethany is all happiness. The burial-ground has been untraversed since, probably years before the dust of one, or perhaps both parents had been committed to the sepulchre. [8] Death had long left the inmates an unbroken circle. Can it be that the unwelcome intruder is so nigh at hand?—that their now joyous dwelling is so soon to echo to the wail of lamentation? We imagine it but lately visited by Jesus. In a little while the arrow hath sped; the sacredness of a divine friendsh
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IV.
IV.
Is the absent Saviour not to be sought? Martha and Mary knew the direction He had taken. The last time He had visited their home was at the Feast of Dedication, during the season of winter, when the palm-trees were bared of their leaves, and the voice of the turtle was silent. Jesus, on that occasion, had to escape the vengeance of the Jews in Jerusalem by a temporary retirement to the place where John first baptized, near Enon, on the wooded banks of the Jordan. It must have been to Him a spot
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V.
V.
The messenger has reached—what is his message? It is a brief, but a beautiful one. “ Lord, behold he whom Thou lovest is sick. ” No laboured eulogium—no lengthened panegyric could have described more significantly the character of the dying villager of Bethany. Four mystic words invest his name with a sacred loveliness. By one stroke of his pen the Apostle unfolds a heart-history; so that we desiderate no more—more would almost spoil the touching simplicity—“ He whom Thou lovest! ” We might thin
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VI.
VI.
“ Our friend Lazarus sleepeth. ”—The hopes and fears which alternately rose and fell in the bosoms of the sisters, like the surges of the ocean, are now at rest. Oft and again, we may well believe, had they gone, like the mother of Sisera, to the lattice to watch the return of the messenger, or, what was better, to hail their expected Lord. Gazing on the pale face at their side, and remembering that ere now the tidings of his illness must have reached Bethabara, they may have even expected to wi
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VII.
VII.
The sounds of lamentation had now been heard for four days in the desolate household. In accordance with general wont, the friends and relatives of the deceased had assembled to pay their tribute of respect to the memory of a revered friend, and to solace the hearts of the disconsolate survivors. They needed all the sympathy they received. It was now the dull dead calm after the torture of the storm, the leaden sea strewn with wrecks, enabling them to realise more fully the extent of their loss.
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VIII.
VIII.
Martha’s tearful utterances are now met with an exalted solace. “ Thy brother shall rise again. ” It is the first time her Lord has spoken. She now once more hears those well-remembered tones which were last listened to, when life was all bright, and her home all happy. It is the self-same consolation which steals still, like celestial music, to the smitten heart, when every chord of earthly gladness ceases to vibrate. And it is befitting too that Jesus should utter it. He alone is qualified to
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IX.
IX.
How stands our faith? These mighty thoughts and words of consolation—are they really believed, felt, trusted in, rejoiced over? Christian, “Believest thou this ?” [13] Art thou really looking to this exalted life-giving Saviour? Hast thou in some feeble measure realised this resurrection-life as thine own? Hast thou the joyful consciousness of participating in this vital union with a living Lord? In vain do we listen to these sublime Bethany utterances unless we feel “ Jesus speaks to me ,” and
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X.
X.
Martha can withhold no longer from her sister the joyful tidings which she has been the first to hear. With fleet foot she hastens back to the house with the announcement, “The Master is come, and calleth for thee.” Mary hears, but makes no comment. Wrapt in the silence of her own meditative grief, “when she heard that, she arose quickly and came unto Him.” The formal sympathisers who gathered around her had observed her departure. They are led to form their conjectures as to the cause of this s
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XI.
XI.
With a bounding heart, Mary was in a moment at her Master’s feet. She weeps! and is able only to articulate, in broken accents, “Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.” It is the repetition of Martha’s same expression. Often at a season of sore bereavement some one poignant thought or reflection takes possession of the mind, and, for the time, overmasters every other. This echo of the other mourner’s utterance leads us to conclude that it had been a familiar and oft-quoted phras
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XII.
XII.
The silent procession is moving on. We may suppose they have reached the gates of the burial-ground. But a new scene and incident here arrest our thoughts! It is not the humiliating memorials of mortality that lie scattered around,—the caves and grottoes and grassy heaps sacred to many a Bethany villager. It is not even the newly sealed stone which marks the spot where Lazarus “sleeps.” Let us turn aside for a little, and see this great sight. It is the Creator of all worlds in tears!—the God-ma
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XIII.
XIII.
They have now reached the grave. It was a rocky sepulchre. A flat stone (possibly with some Hebrew inscription) lay upon the mouth of it. In wondering amazement the sorrowing group follow the footsteps of the Saviour. “Behold how He loved him,” whisper the Jews to one another as they witness His fast falling tears. Can His repairing thus to the tomb be anything more than to pay a mournful tribute to an honoured friendship, and behold the silent home of the loved dead? Nay; He is about, as the Lo
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XIV.
XIV.
Man—short-sighted man—often raises impossibilities when God does not. It is hard for rebellious unbelief to lie submissive and still. In moments when the spirit might well be overawed into silence, it gives utterance to its querulous questionings and surmisings rather than remain obedient at the feet of Christ, reposing on the sublime aphorism, “All things are possible to him that believeth.” In the mind of Martha, where faith had been so recently triumphant, doubt and unbelief have begun again
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XV.
XV.
The stone is rolled away, but there is a solemn pause just when the miracle is about to be performed. Jesus prays! The God-Man Mediator—the Lord of Life—the Abolisher of Death—the Being of all Beings—who had the boundless treasures of eternity in His grasp—pauses by the grave of the dead, and lifts up His eyes to heaven in supplication! How often in the same incidents, during our Lord’s incarnation, do we find His manhood and His Godhead standing together in stupendous contrast. At His birth, th
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XVI.
XVI.
The moment has now come for the voice of Omnipotence to give the mandate. The group have gathered around the sepulchral grotto—the Redeemer stands in meek majesty in front—the teardrop still glistening in His eye, and that eye directed heavenward! Martha and Mary are gazing on His countenance in dumb emotion, while the eager bystanders bend over the removed stone to see if the dead be still there. Yes! there the captive lies—in uninvaded silence—attired still in the same solemn drapery. The Lord
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XVII.
XVII.
Once more we visit in thought a peaceful and happy home-scene in the same Bethany household. The severed links in that broken chain are again united. How often in a time of severe bereavement, when some “light of the dwelling” has suddenly been extinguished, does the imagination fondly dwell on the possibility of the wild dream of separation passing away; of the vacant seat being refilled by its owner the “loved and lost one” again restored. Alas! in all such cases, it is but a feverish vision,
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XVIII.
XVIII.
We have just been contemplating a beautiful episode in the Bethany Memories—a gleam amid gathering clouds. Martha , Mary , and Lazarus ! With what happy hearts did they hail the presence of their Lord on the evening of that Jewish Sabbath! Little did they anticipate the events impending. Little did they dream that their Almighty Deliverer and Friend would that day week be sleeping in His own grave! These were indeed eventful hours on which they had now entered. The stir through Palestine of the
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XIX.
XIX.
The hosannahs of yesterday had died away—the memorials of its triumph were strewed on the road across Olivet—as, early on the Monday morning, while the sun was just appearing above the Mountains of Moab, the Divine Redeemer left His Bethany retreat, and was seen retraversing the well-worn path to Jerusalem. Here and there, in the “olive-bordered way,” were Fig plantations. The adjoining village of Bethphage derived its name from the Green Fig. [29] Indeed, “fig-trees may still be seen overhangin
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XX.
XX.
The evenings of the two succeeding days seem to have closed around our adorable Lord at Bethany . We may still follow Him in imagination, in the mellow twilight, as He and His disciples crossed the bridle-path of the holy mountain from Jerusalem to the house and village of His friend. Much has changed since then; but the great features of unvarying nature retain their imperishable outlines, so that what still arrests the view of the modern traveller, in crossing the Mount of Olives, we know must
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XXI.
XXI.
What saddening thoughts are associated with our final interview with a Beloved Friend! He was in health when we last met; we little dreamt, in parting, we were to meet no more. Every circumstance of that interview is stored up in the most hallowed chambers of the soul. His last words—his last look —his last smile—they live there in undying memorial! Such was now the case with the disciples. They had their last walk together with their beloved Master. Ere another sun goes down over the western hi
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XXII.
XXII.
The Lord has ascended. The disciples are left alone in wondering amazement. The bright cloud which formed His chariot had swept majestically upwards—till (dimming on their view) the gates of heaven closed on Him, who, a moment before, had been breathing upon them farewell benedictions of peace and love. Are they to be left alone? Terrible must have been the feeling of solitude on that lone mountain-ridge, as the voice of mingled Omnipotence and Love was hushed for all time. “Alone, but yet not a
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XXIII.
XXIII.
The time has come when the disciples must leave the crest of Olivet and bend their steps once more to Jerusalem. Ah! most sorrowful thought—most sorrowful pilgrimage! Often, often had it been trodden before with their Lord’s voice of love and power sounding in their ears. Often had it proved an Emmaus journey, when their hearts “burned within them as He talked to them by the way and opened unto them the Scriptures.” But He is gone!—that voice is now hushed—the well-loved path, worn by His blesse
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