Mary of Bethany

Palm Sunday, March 16, 2008

This dramatic piece was collaboratively written by the Reverend Stephanie Spellers, the Cox Fellow for Radical Welcome at St. Paul’s Cathedral, Boston, MA and the Reverend Arrington Chambliss, Associate Rector, St. Andrew’s, Marblehead, MA


Everything aches. My feet, my back, my throat. Everything.

We’ve been marching with Jesus, and now the parade has come to here, to Jerusalem.  One woman just pulled me aside to ask, "Who is this man? I could only smile.  "My sister," I told her, "this is Jesus. He is our governor, our king, our emperor, our lord.

And if you knew what I know, you’d take off your cloak, or take a branch from that tree, spread it at his feet, shout 'Hosanna' and walk with him, too."  No, these crowds may not know him. But we, we know him.  Wait, I’m sorry. You don’t actually know me, do you? My name is Mary.   No not the mother of our Lord, but Mary of Bethany. It was my brother Lazarus that Jesus raised, just days ago.

It was a miracle, the most astonishing we had witnessed. The crowds poured into our house after that.  Everyone wanted to know what it was like to stand  at the open mouth of that tomb and watch Lazarus walk out.   They hung on my every word, and they’ve hung onto Jesus, too.  A man with that kind of power?

Folks want to get as close to him as they can.  But that’s not why I follow him, why I love him.

I love Jesus because even before he walked to that tomb and shouted  “Lazarus, come out!”, he wept with me. All that power, all that holiness, and yet he sat and cried like a child for me and my family and for his dead friend.

And there’s more. I love him because when he listens to you, it’s like he thinks your words are precious; he hangs on every word.   And when he looks at you, you feel like he sees the core of you, the spirit in you.

I love him because every moment with him, it’s like something that was dead inside me has just been raised up.  I love him because he looks at everybody like that, like he wants us to stand up, shake off the cloths that bind us, grab the hand of a neighbor  and all follow him into a whole new way of being the people of God.

His way, we share and sacrifice for the sake of love.   His way, no one hungers or thirsts, for food or for justice,  because everybody finally gets what they need.  His way sends us to any place where people are bound up, and gives us the power to be liberators, healers, lovers, in his name.  His way costs us something. It might cost us everything.

But the cost seems small, compared to this full life you gain, with him.

I love him – and I know this is hard, but I can only say what is true, what I know –  I love him because he really is God among us.

Hearing that… wouldn’t you follow him, too?

And that’s what brought me here, from Bethany to Jerusalem.  Not just the Passover, not to pay homage to Herod who is entering in triumph on the other side of town.  No, I’m on this side, following my true king, the lord of all.

And that’s what I told the woman who pulled me aside.  Of course, she didn’t get it. She laughed. "That’s no king. That guy, your Jesus, he’s headed to a cross."  What could I say? She’s probably right.  There's no way the authorities will let Jesus make a spectacle like this and live to tell.  They were already plotting against him, the religious authorities and the Romans.  When he raised Lazarus, the stakes shot higher.

And now, coming into the city, allowing us to shout “Hosanna” and call him Lord,  riding on a donkey – a not so subtle swipe at the emperor on his white horse.  All that leads to one place: and it does not look good.

You know they put rebels and revolutionaries on a cross to die…..
By coming to Jerusalem, and proclaiming Jesus is our king and the lord of all,  we're practically holding up the target and telling the authorities to take him out.

Can I be honest here, with you, out of the hearing of the crowd? I’m scared.  I look at that damned donkey. It’s a slow animal, but I wish it would move slower.  I wish it would stop. I wish the cross weren’t on the other side of the hill.

If I sound torn, it’s because I am. God, I feel like a madwoman!  Part of me wants to shout to the world, He is my lord, my everything.  But I love him, so I want to jump in front of the donkey, shove it around.   Protect him from the death he courts like it’s his destiny.

I’ve tried to be brave, to understand and tell others why he has to take this road.   But my heart is breaking with every step that donkey takes.