Bethany . . . a Holy Week thought.

Holy Week.

 I doubt that Jesus thought of it that way. Holy, I mean. Jesus visited the Temple first, the place that he might have expected to be Holiest in Jerusalem.  But the temple had been  turned into a market place, a robbers' den.   This was Jesus' first order of business in Jerusalem, to clean up the mess in that place that should have been the most Holy, to turn over the tables, to run the robbers out with a whip made of ropes.

Holy something, maybe, but it sure didn't seem like Holy Week. It did not help  that there were powerful people who wanted  Jesus dead. Some of those people were also at the temple.

Awkward.

 Because that was where Jesus decided to set up for the week.  At the Temple.

Jesus held nothing back. Woe to you Scribes and Pharisees, you brood of vipers. Yep, the gloves were off.  His words infuriated everyone who possessed the power and the desire to see him killed. And yet, Jesus was in absolute control, unstoppable, untouchable for four days. Until he had said what needed to be said.  Every day was filled with a growing tension.

But today I was struck by something else.

Bethany.

That's where Jesus went when he got off work during not-so-Holy Week. Bethany.

 I assume that Jesus was staying at the Bethany home of his friends Lazarus, Mary and Martha.  After all, Jesus had raised Lazarus from the dead.  I suspect that bought him a lifetime of hospitality. A favor that's a little difficult to repay.

Can you imagine being Martha, working busily preparing dinner, while Jesus sat on a stool at the counter talking about his day at the Temple Court, emptying a bowl of olives that were meant for dinner?

Or Mary, standing in the doorway and listening and watching, and worrying,  asking questions,  wondering what would become of Jesus, and maybe all of them?

Or Lazarus, who already owed Jesus his life, sitting with Jesus outside for awhile after dinner, drinking another cup of wine, listening intently, wishing he had something wise he could say or do to help his friend?

Or all of them, as sleep didn't come, kept away by whatever it was that was energizing Jesus, getting stronger and clearer with each passing day,  keeping him talking or asking them about their lives, as if he were soaking in all that he could with his dear friends. And Jesus friends, doing whatever they could to help, even if they had no idea what to do except be in the present.

I  cannot imagine.

We talk so much about who Jesus is to us, to the world, especially during Holy Week.  Teacher and Prophet,  Healer, Lord, Son of God,  Messiah, Savior.  All important to ponder.

And sometimes; like I wrote about a few posts back, we think about who we are in the story of Holy Week.

But wouldn't it be great to be Jesus' Bethany?  To be that place where the Son of God himself chooses to come and be when he is off work.

I am sure Bethany is a perfectly lovely place, but I doubt that Jesus came to Bethany for the local scenery.  He came to Bethany to be with Lazarus, Martha and Mary, his friends who he loved and trusted.

And who loved and trusted Him with all they had that week.

And that is why he came.

Oh to be worthy of being Bethany.


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