Also known as Lazarus

It strikes me that I don't know how to continue my story. It is an incredible one surely, one of mastery over life and death, of the Lord weeping, of love, of trust in God. Yet it strikes me again and again that I have too many words in my head. How to pick the ones that ring most truly? So I take the right words from another man this time:

"On his arrival, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days."

In between the dawn of the fourth and the night of the third, when sadness caved my heart in, I grew despondent. My life, my death, everything was in vain. "Vanity of vanities," says wise Ecclesiastes, "All is vanity." Was it vanity and pride then to think that life and death had purpose? Or was our only destiny ash and clay? Adam, adamaah, clay, earth. How strange it is to think that our bodies are composed of the earth's elements and the breath of God that flutters still in our hearts! And as I walked the tunnel length of my tomb, pondering the mysteries of life, the sun came in through the crack in the stone entrance of the tomb. The soft red dawn became golden light.

"Another morning of mourning," I said aloud, "ba-dum-tush." I walked towards the entrance, looked around the gloom of my grave and where the sunlight struck, saw the dank green moss that had grown fearlessly in the secret crevices of the rock walls. Such an ugly tomb, I thought to myself, and I despaired that my eternity was to be spent haunting these rocks. And yet, I was afraid of the sun, afraid of another morning, afraid to see the people I loved in tears. I shrank from the light because I feared what it would bring.

Then I heard the slip-slapping of bare feet on the parched earth in front of my tomb. "Come quickly! He is here!" A child's voice, shrill, panting. "Yes, wait! Let me put the pails down, MAAARY." This time it was a woman's voice, distinctively hoarse and loud, my sister, Martha. I heard the thudding of wood as she set her pails down with a thump. One of the buckets must have spilled for a thin rivulet of water made its intrusive way into my grave. I remembered the day I had met the man on the hill. Oh what I wouldn't give to taste fresh spring water again!

The water trickled toward me. Instinctively, I moved backwards, but it followed, and when I finally stood still, it stopped to pool near my feet, glinting in the meagre light. I was fed up by then. First my useless death, then the sadness, then the ugly tomb, now water I couldn't touch. I ran out into the morning, away from my despair and fear and anger. Then I stopped short. Martha was talking animatedly to a man, a man whose eyes I knew. He had come at last then, bringing the light with him.

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"Lord,” Martha said to Jesus, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.”

Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.”

Martha answered, “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.”

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?”

“Yes, Lord,” she replied, “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, who is to come into the world.”

After she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary aside. “The Teacher is here,” she said, “and is asking for you.” When Mary heard this, she got up quickly and went to him. Now Jesus had not yet entered the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met him. When the Jews who had been with Mary in the house, comforting her, noticed how quickly she got up and went out, they followed her, supposing she was going to the tomb to mourn there.

When Mary reached the place where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet and said, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. “Where have you laid him?” he asked.

“Come and see, Lord,” they replied.

Jesus wept.

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It is a special feeling to have the Lord of the universe weeping for love of you. I'd never understand that. Israel's God is warrior-like, triumphant and all majesty. But Israel's Jesus, "God-with-us", ah his compassion! The empty space where my heart once was, sagged inward again. I silently said goodbye to my dear friend. I think I had closure now.

They say that the living need closure, to break from their grief, well so did I. And as we moved on to the tomb, I looked back at all who had gathered with fondness. They were my life, but now death was my duty. I took a step to retreat into my grave.
Nothing prepared me for what he said next.

“Take away the stone,” he said.

The people around us looked at each other in astonishment. I heard a few groans. “But, Lord,” said Martha, the sister of the dead man, “by this time there is a bad odour, for he has been there four days.”

Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?”

So they took away the stone.

I ran to be with my body as the stone to my tomb's entrance was rolled away. It was a long way down into the tunnel. I was afraid that people would see my body. I knew it was festering, and the sticky pearls of maggot in my swollen, bloated corpse, I could imagine. I was terrified of what the light would reveal. Even as I ran, the light chased me down, bringing the dirty grime and moss of the tomb's ugly walls into sight.

I heard him praying from a long way off, imagined him looking up as he said, “Father, I thank you that you have heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I said this for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe that you sent me.”

When he had said this, he called in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!”

And I was stuck, trembling and afraid. I heard the awful command in his voice, felt the magnetic pull of my soul to my body. "Lord," I cried out, "leave me be! I have made my peace with death, I am content to stay here."

There was a pause. "Really?" I heard his voice echoing all around me as I cowered beside my dead body.

Amazing! He was the first person who'd heard me speak in four days, and yet I was arguing.
"Yes, really. Why drag me out to the light? People will faint at the sight of me! I am unfit to be seen. I'm probably mouldy."

The Lord sighed. "Oh Laz, look around you."

I did, and I shuddered at the sight of my tomb, dank and hideous. "What about it?"

"You are content to stay here." His voice was wry.

That did it. I couldn't lie very well in the first place, and I definitely couldn't keep up my lie to the Messiah. "Jesus, you make this hard. Alright, no I don't want to stay here."

"Thou shalt not take the Lord's name in vain, Laz."

I made a face. I loved this guy. He made even the dead forget they were dead.

"So what's wrong?"

I hesitated, trying to pick the words most true. "I'm scared. I'm scared of how people will react to me when I come out, and how they'll treat me after they get used to alive-me again. I'm terrified of the heartache and grief I'll have to experience all over again. People will die. Men will have to beg for water to drink. I will turn away from them, feel shame and try to make amends. But nothing can ever be undone. I will grow old and comfortable and my body will rot instead of growing. There is nothing new. I am dead even when I am alive."

"I healed him, you know, the man you met on the hill. He knelt before me, and said, 'Lord, if you choose, you can make me clean.' So I did choose."

And then it struck me, I was only making excuses for myself. I was literally the only thing preventing me from living even as I hovered in death.

It was always fear that stopped me. Fear of being heartsick and sorrowful, fear of not being holy enough to win God's favour, the fear of being shunned. Jesus saw through that though, as he always did. He always recognised me. Just as he recognised the man in the leper, humble and trusting. He saw so clearly, did Jesus. If I had to put my life into anyone's hands, it was him.

It took a long time, but I made my decision.

"Alright. Okay I'm coming out. But I warn you, I might not look very nice. And I might become mean and grumpy when I grow older."

"You'll be fine."

So then I gave in to the tugging sensation and fell into my body. The next thing I knew I could feel again, and smell the mustiness of the cave and each gulp of air was as fresh as spring rain. I cried tears of thanksgiving to the Lord. They were cleansing, healing tears of freedom, and I tasted salt.

They told me I had come out barely moments after he had called my name. I was a bizarre sight: the Dead Man come to life. My hands and feet were wrapped with strips of linen, and I had a cloth around my face.

Jesus said to them, “Take off the grave clothes and let him go.”

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I don't remember much of my walk through the tunnel. I just walked straight, sure of the light beckoning to me. Before I knew it, the cloth was removed from my face, and as I stood blinking in the cool, sunlit air of the morning, I saw him smiling at me. Those lovely, compassionate eyes that held the universe in them.


"I'm glad you're not mouldy," he said.