My Friend Lazarus
I had come to comfort the sisters. Their brother had succumbed to a brief illness and they were very distraught. I had not seen any of the siblings in a number of years. We grew up together. At one time, their brother, Lazarus, and I were good friends. But growing up into adulthood put distance between us. I must confess, I didn't make any effort to take the two day journey, from my home to theirs, while Lazarus was still alive. In my guilt, I took care of pressing business and set off for Bethany after Lazarus had passed.
I arrived on the morning of the fourth day and went directly to the tomb. I was fairly certain both sisters had been there before my arrival, along with some other close family members and friends. I wasn't sure if I wanted to face them just yet. I knew most of those friends had probably paid a visit to Lazarus during his sickness. I felt another wave of remorse for not having been here to add my support.
After a moment of thought I began my walk toward their home. A house of hospitality. That is how I would always think of my friend's home. Martha, the older of the sisters, always made sure each guest was well served. Mary, on the other hand, loved to sit and listen to the conversations flowing around her. As sisters, they were so much alike, yet different in that aspect.
As I neared the house I heard a commotion coming from the opposite direction. Martha was running ahead of a small group of people. She was calling to Mary, who I gather was inside the home. Mary came out into the late morning sun, and ran to the small group of men and a couple women, who were following Martha. Mary went to her knees before a tall lean man who seemed to be leading the group. Even from where I stood, I could hear her sob.
I had no idea who the man was. But, like I said, it had been years since I came here in friendship. That thought flooded my soul with more guilt. My eyes filled with tears. I watched this man, a stranger to me, but obviously not to them, gently lay a hand on Mary. If I am not mistaken, I think he also wept. I brushed away a tear from my own cheek as I witnessed the scene.
I moved closer to the group, mingling in with the mourners who had grown silent. They seemed to be expecting some revelation. Perhaps this man was expected to speak eloquent words that might sooth the pain. The silence was eerie. I felt the lack of noise had a purpose.
Then, in the quiet moment, I heard the man's voice. "Where have you laid him?"
Martha joined Mary, and the two led the newcomers back toward the tomb. I joined in behind, listening to those who had been traveling with the man. One of them said the stranger's name was Jesus. It meant nothing to me. They said he was a good friend of Mary, Martha and Lazarus. The realization weighed on me. Guilt festered. I was too busy with my self-absorbed life to journey to the home of a sick friend. What manner of beast was I?
"Roll away the stone."
We were there, back to the place where my guilt first weighed down my shoulders. He had spoken the words that brought me from my stupor. The sisters protested, but this Jesus insisted. I froze where I was standing, prepared for the stench of a decaying body, which had been laid in a tomb for four days.
"Lazarus, come forth!"
Another cluster of senseless words latched onto my attention. The open pit stared back at the onlookers, mocking the impossible. Then, in the mouth of the tomb, in the dark void of the deep, a body, bound in a burial shroud, appeared from the shadows.
One of the men beside me, who had been with this Jesus, recited a psalm, "He lifted me out of the pit, set my feet on rock and gave me a firm place to stand."
I wasn't sure what I had just witnessed. Perhaps a miracle. Perhaps a trick on the senses. Should we run to Jerusalem and announce what we had seen, or should we hide this truth from those who preach their own self-righteousness. I wanted to shout to the heavens, but suddenly I felt very small beneath the gaze of the one God. I did not deserve to be here, standing by the tomb of a dead man, a dead friend, brought back to life, focused on my own guilt, while a stone had been rolled away from the gates of death.
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