Six years ago, in the spring of 2006, I played the role of Mary, the sister of Lazarus and Martha, in my church's Easter pageant.
Six years later, in the spring of 2012, I will, once again, play the role of Mary, the sister of Lazarus and Martha, in my church's Easter pageant.
I was nervous when I got the email with the cast list. The role that I've wanted to play for 12 years was not in the pagenat this year, but there was another role I would've liked to have. Secretly, I've always wanted a role that would allow me to sing, but I've never gotten one. And I think part of the reason why is I have yet to come to a place where I could accept a role, perform it and sing my heart out, and be completely satisfied if I received no praise whatsoever. I still look for validation from others that I am a good singer and so I subconsciously seek opportunities to showcase that and receive affirmation. And if that was the case, I wouldn't be performing the role for God's glory — which is what the Easter pageant is all about.
For those of you who don't know, I go to a rather large church. For as long as I can remember, each year, IBC has put on an Easter pageant. I'm not talking some dinky little thing with kids dressed up as sheep or anything. These are legit productions with a three level stage, legit first century costumes and over 100 people on stage. People come from all over the place to see these pageants. We have a team that writes the script every year, so while the general idea of the story is the same each year, there's always a unique and different spin on it.
Admittedly, when I was cast in the same role I received six years ago, there was a twinge of disappointment. A twinge of, "Are you kidding me?" A twinge of frustration.
And then a smack in the face. (Not literally.)
For years, the person of Mary of Bethany has fascinated me. She only shows up three major times in Scripture — at the home of Mary and Martha in Luke 10, at the death of Lazarus in John 11, and in her home in Bethany in John 12.
Something I noticed as I began to examine these occurrences further was that each time Mary shows up in Scripture we find her in the exact same place — at the feet of Jesus.
There's this question often asked in the Christian faith: "Are you a Martha or a Mary?"
This refers to the account from Luke 10, when Jesus is at the home of Mary and Martha. Martha is rushing to and fro, trying her best to keep everything running smoothly while Mary simply sits at the feet of Jesus and listens to Him speak. Finally, Martha gets fed up with her sister and thinks she's about to call her out totally embarrass her by bringing up the matter with Jesus. But instead of a triumph, she gets a smack in the face. (Again, not literally.)
Jesus tells Martha that Mary "has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her" (Luke 10:42, NIV).
Mary's choice, to sit at the feet of Jesus, to be with Him, to hear His words and thoughts, was a better thing. It was better than all of the running around and preparing that Martha did. In other words, seeking is better than service.
Not to say that service is a bad thing or that it should never be done. On the contrary. But when service begins to take the place of seeking, that's when it becomes a problem.
I've always been a server, a Martha. I like to be busy. I feel a sense of accomplishment when I have a lot to and I get it all done. I feel valued when there are 15 things to do and I'm the only one that can do them. I feel needed and like I have a purpose.
In some respects, the role of Mary this year will be much like it was six years ago for me. Once again, the death of Lazarus will be portrayed. I will clothed in black and run and fall at Jesus' feet, exclaiming through sobs that if He had only been there, my brother would not have died. And I will watch in amazement alongside my sister Martha as my brother comes back from the dead.
Six years ago, that's where my role ended. But this year, there's more. And the thought of the next scene makes me excited beyond belief.
You've all probably heard (or read) me talk (or write) about Beloved ministries at some point. I went on multiple Beloved retreats during my time at CNU. But there is one moment in particular that stands out and to this day, I get goosebumps when I think about it.
It was Saturday night of the retreat. Lori, the founder of Beloved, stood in the front of a room. It had been an emotional and draining day for many of us. But it had also been beautiful and freeing. Lori stood in the front of the room, a Bible in her hand. She read the story from John 12. The account of Mary of Bethany anointing Jesus.
The account is simple. About a week before the Passover, Jesus and the disciples were eating at the home of Mary and Martha. It is noted that Lazarus was also present. In the middle of the meal, as Martha serves, Mary steps out into the room. She walks over to Jesus, pours a pint of pure nard on his feet and wipes his feet with her hair. Judas freaks out. He questions why the perfume wasn't sold and the money given to the poor.
Jesus responds, "Leave her alone."
I had read this passage probably a hundred times before that night in the spring of 2008. But Lori stood there, tears streaming down her face, as she held that Bible in her shaking hand and exclaimed, "LEAVE HER ALONE."
Jesus knew something that Judas didn't know. Jesus knew something that Martha, Lazarus, the disciples and anyone else in the vicinity didn't know. He knew that Mary's heart was fully focused on Him. He knew that Mary loved Him more than life itself. He knew that Mary loved him more than all of the comforts in the world. The nard she poured over Jesus was worth one year's wages (John 12:6). Chances are, that's all Mary had to her name. So she essentially took all that she had in the world, broke it and poured it over her Savior. Regardless of the consequences, regardless of the perception, regardless of anything else. She had one thought and one thought only: Jesus.
Jesus knew that and He knew that what she was doing was far better. And so, though she was looking for no validation or reassurance at her decision, and probably expected none — more than likely all she expected was ridicule — but she got reassurance from the one person she knew mattered. Jesus didn't stand by and let Judas and the disciples make Mary feel ridiculous for her action. He knew that she knew that their opinion didn't really matter, but he also knew that it would still be hard. And He stood up for her. He fiercely protected her, as a lover protects His beloved, and said, "Leave her alone."
I want to be like Mary. I want to want nothing more than to be at the feet of Jesus. I want to be so trusting in my Savior that I am willing to give up all I have in the world to please Him.
And that's the little smack in the face I got from Jesus this morning. He didn't let me wallow for more than about three seconds before He stopped me and said, "Hold up, girl. You've always said you want to be more like Mary. Well, here's your chance."
These next couple of months will be exciting. They'll be exhausting and draining and frustrating at times. But the end result will be beautiful. The end result will be me on stage with many other friends who love the Lord sharing His story. The only story that really matters. And I am so excited. I'll likely be blogging a lot in the coming months about the things I'm learning about myself, my Savior and life in general as a result of this role and the study I will begin to delve deeper into the character of Mary of Bethany, so look out for those posts.
Guess it's time to brush up my ability to spontaneously burst into tears. We'll see if they let me stay blonde this year... :)
