Martha In Bethany

Sandalled feet are bustling;
Work-creased robes are rustling;
Fingers fidget, fustling;
The Teacher has arrived.

The cushions plumped, and placed just so,
The oil jars tidy, in a row,
And fragrant herbs, because you know
The Teacher has arrived.

The charcoal's glowing hot enough,
But will the fillet lamb be tough?
Or barley bread be coarse and rough?
The Teacher has arrived.

I burned my thumb, and got a blister;
Told the Teacher, "Listen, Mister,
Sitting there's my lazy sister."
The Teacher had arrived.

And did He offer me support?
He offered nothing of the sort.
I felt that somehow I'd been caught
The moment He arrived.

My Jesus near my sister lay
On cushions I had placed that way,
Just right to listen, learn and pray.
Yes, Jesus had arrived.

I felt my fists knot up and clench
As Jesus blessed the idle wench.
My heart was torn, a cruel wrench,
Since Jesus had arrived.

I thought that He would bring me calm,
Instead, I felt some strange alarm.
I'm close to Him, He can not harm.
My Jesus has arrived.

My home is His, my heart is too.
I really thought I'd thought things through.
But Mary's heart was truly true.
Our Jesus had arrived.

This poem was a finalist in the September 2016 poetry contest