Jesus At Bethany
A Poem by St. Therese of Lisieux
I have often wondered what it would have been like for Jesus in Bethany, around some of His closest and dearest friends. I have put together a short course on the topic of friendship, as I am now the Evangelization and Faith Formation (EFF) director for my Knights of Columbus council. In preparing the section titled “Friendship with Jesus,” my mind wandered into meditation on Saints Martha, Mary of Bethany, and Lazarus, and how they would have welcomed Jesus. In fact, the Scriptures relate that shortly after Jesus’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem, it was too dangerous for Him to stay in Jerusalem, so He stayed nearby in Bethany. Although it doesn’t explicitly say, I can easily believe He and His disciples stayed there in the house of these friends of Jesus. In fact, since there is no specific liturgical classification for them (e.g. Martyr or Confessor), I have myself put a “classification” or “designation” on their feastday in the following manner:
July 29th: Sts. Martha, Mary of Bethany, and Lazarus, Friends of Jesus
Although it may seem superfluous, to me it seems essential. Friendship was necessary and good even for Jesus! In His humanity, He not only had friends, but He took delight in them as well. He was even comfortable enough to correct them, to weep at their death, and to stir faith and trust in their hearts. In fact, the way Jesus is told of the sickness of Lazarus was this, “Lord, the one You love is ill.” The one You love…though that seems vague, it is actually very specific to our Lord, for He knew they were speaking of Lazarus. He even stays away from them at a time of great need, which, though He wept at the death of Lazarus, was to be for His greater glory when He raised Lazarus from the dead. (By the way, isn’t it interesting that in the parable, Abraham tells the rich man Lazarus, “neither will they be convinced if someone should rise from the dead,” and He raises someone named Lazarus from the dead, after which John tells us that the Jews sought to kill Lazarus with Jesus because many were believing in Jesus for raising Lazarus from the dead? Their hardened hearts fulfilled exactly the prophecy of Jesus even before His death; talk about blind!) Jesus knew that His delay would not cause a loss of faith toward Him in their hearts; in this way, one could say that Jesus had great faith in them and their faithful, trusting response.
Anyway, for today’s Wednesday Winner, I decided to use a poem from Saint Therese of Lisieux, which is a dialogue between Jesus and His friends at Bethany. She wrote this on 29 July 1895. At the time this poem was written, there was great confusion between Saints Mary Magdalene and Mary of Bethany (which has been the case, so I’ve heard, since the time of Pope St. Gregory the Great). Pope Francis has rectified that confusion liturgically by extending the feastday of Saint Martha to include Saints Mary of Bethany and Lazarus, all three of Jesus’s friends at Bethany. Also, this was originally written in French, so I do not know who the poet-translator was for this English version, but that person did a great job.
MARY MAGDALENE My God, Thy work complete! At last I seek Thy grace. Here at Thy holy feet, To-day I choose my place. From earth I sought in vain For ease, or joy, or rest; Sorrow and weary pain Alone have filled my breast. OUR LORD Yes, Magdalene, rest here, With contrite, humble heart. Men’s scorn no longer fear! Choose thou the better part. Hereafter live in peace, Holy and pure, for Me; And I shall never cease To suffer, child, for thee. MARY MAGDALENE It is too much! My sore And burdened heart will break. Could I be born once more, Or die, for Thy sweet sake! But I have caused Thy grief, For me Thou art to die. How shall I find relief For all this misery? OUR LORD Yes, many, many tears Mine eyes have shed for thee Yet speedily thy fears Shall change to love for Me. Thy soul, made pure again, By one calm word of Mine, In heaven, free from pain Shall live a life divine. MARY MAGDALENE Holy and stainless One! How dare I seek Thy face? What have I ever done To win from Thee such grace? I spurned in other years Thy patient love for me; Now, naught have I but tears To offer Lord, to Thee. OUR LORD Those pure, repentant tears Shine brighter in My sight Than any star appears In radiant glow at night. Than precious pearls more dear Thy contrite heart to-day. O sorrowing soul, draw near! Thy guilt is washed away. MARY MAGDALENE Thou Lord of heaven and earth, What marvelous mystery! Hath nothing, then, the worth To win Thy heart from me? Behold, how full of charms The hill, and sea, and sky, The lambs that seek Thine arms The rivers flowing by! OUR LORD I see the lilies bloom, Unsullied, fair, and white; Yet My large heart hath room For thy heart’s rose to-night. That rose at last has won My choice ‘mid flowerets rare From all beneath the sun I choose its blossoms fair. MARY MAGDALENE The bird’s pure, warbling voice Chants sweetest song to Thee; The rippling brooks rejoice, And praise Thee merrily; The lily of the vale Its perfumes hastes to bring And petals, starlike, pale, Before Thy feet to fling. OUR LORD On ivoried, regal throne, In glorious array, The great King Solomon Is less than these to-day; The daisies in the field Surpass his princely state; And yet to thee they yield, On thee they gladly wait! MARY MAGDALENE A virginal train above, With robes more white than snow, Give thee their constant love, And go where Thou dost go. I, of a blighted life, Offer the end to Thee, From its frail morning rife With bitter misery. OUR LORD I love the fires of dawn, So bright, so pure, so fair; But ah! I also love The radiant evening air. The soul, if it repent, Shall find at last its home, There where the sinless tent, ’Neath heaven’s o’erspreading dome. MARY MAGDALENE The angels there delight To show their love for Thee. Upon their phalanx white Thy blessing ever be! A sinful soul am I, Who naught have merited. Must Thou not pass me by? Is mine the children’s bread? OUR LORD Higher than angels mount, Shalt thou ascend one day! Close, close to Love’s own fount, Shalt thou abide alway! But first, on earth a while In prayer live silently, And thus gain souls from guile To give their hearts to Me. MARY MAGDALENE Oh! with what ardent zeal My heart at last doth burn! What deep desire I feel To give Thy love return! Yet souls to win for Thee, Too weak, too blind, am I. Lend Thou Thy heart to me; — None then shall pass me by. MARTHA Lord, one word I ask! Behold my sister there! Now bid her, dearest Lord, to help me serve Thy meal. She thinks not of my tasks; for me she hath no care; She ought to wait on Thee; for me some pity feel! OUR LORD Dear Martha, hostess kind and good! Why should you thus your sister blame? True, naught she thinks about My food, Yet waits she on Me all the same. MARTHA Ah, Lord divine and dear! ‘tis this surprises me. Ought she not, then, awhile, to cease to dream and pray ? Should she not choose what gift shall be her gift to Thee, Who lavishly dost give to her and me each day? OUR LORD Nay, Martha! listen to My Word! Your faithful, generous love I know; Yet doth your sister to her Lord As faithful love and homage show. MARTHA Deep myst’ries are these words that greet mine ears to-day. I can not help but think, — oh! let me tell my thought! Better to work good works than many prayers to say; — The love I feel for Thee must into deeds be wrought. OUR LORD True, Martha! works are needful here; I came, Myself, to work with care; Yet I would have this truth stand clear; One must transfigure work with prayer. MARTHA I knew that I was right; for, did I idly rest, No charm should I possess in Thy benignant eyes; So I made haste, to serve for Thee, my holy Guest, Some pleasant food, to win Thy praise; — ‘tis all I prize. OUR LORD Generous your ardent soul, and good! Martha, your works show forth your worth; Yet would you know the only food That I desire to have on earth? One single work is needful here! Your sister, biding near My heart, In love’s own prayer, divinely dear, Hath chosen thus the better part. Yes, this the part that is the best! So I declare, and Truth am I. Now, Martha, come and share her rest, Her blessed rest, for Love am I! MARTHA At last I understand! O Jesus, Love supreme, Thy glance hath pierced my soul, Thy meaning now I see. My gifts are all too small, my services a dream; My heart the priceless gift that Thou wouldst have from me. OUR LORD Yes, ‘tis thy loving heart I crave; For this I came from heaven above. The glories ‘tis My right to have, I left, to seek your love, your love! MARTHA Why, then, O Saviour-dear, if I may ask Thee this, Why, within Simon’s house, didst greatly praise Marie? For surely in her life she gave Thee pain, I wis; And stormy days, in her, Thy sorrowing eyes must see. OUR LORD Martha! I understand her heart, By pain and sin and sorrow rent; For souls love much if pardoned much, And sorely, sorely they repent. MARTHA Amazed am I the more by Thy great love and power, For naught know I, dear Lord, of sin’s wild strength and shame. What do I owe Thee, then Who, from my earliest hour, Hast shielded me in peace, and kept me free from blame? OUR LORD A soul kept pure through all its days, — Chief masterpiece of Love Divine, — Should give Me rapturous, endless praise, And wholly and alone be Mine. Yes, Martha, you have charmed My sight, By lifelong, stainless purity; Yet, while your soul is spotless white, Your sister hath humility! MARTHA To win Thy love, dear Lord! through all my life to be, Earth’s honors I will scorn, and all its pomps despise, And Mary’s part will choose, while working still for Thee; Thy love alone shall be of value in mine eyes. OUR LORD Many the souls you thus shall claim From sin’s dark haunts to seek My Face; And you shall bear afar the flame Of faith, and love’s immortal grace. MARTHA AND MARY Thy voice, O Jesus Christ! is sweetest melody, That wins our love to Thee, and sets our hearts on fire. Abide Thou here alway, our Life on earth to be: Abide Thou here alway, our hearts’ supreme Desire! OUR LORD True joy have I at Bethany, Where find I oft a welcome true; And in my Father’s home shall be A wondrous blessing granted you. Yes, you the mystery comprehend That makes drear earth My precious prize; For souls of prayer are dear to Me, A vast reward for sacrifice. Beyond heaven’s joys I prize such souls! Heaven’s glories, one day, yours shall be; My goods your loving prayer controls, Your Spouse am I eternally. Here, faithful friends, ye gave Me meat; But, in the feast at heaven’s board, Ye shall sit down to food more sweet, While on you waits your God and Lord.