Lazarus, a tale of the world's great miracle/Chapter 20
CHAPTER XX.
IN the cool of the garden the reunited family at Bethany sat once more at evening, watching the sunset over Jerusalem. The strangeness of the situation, the great marvel of the resurrection of Lazarus, formed the subject of every conversation.
"Is it indeed thou, Lazarus?" Martha would say in smiling wonder; and he, smiling in return, would turn his face towards the light and answer: "Dost not know thy brother?"
But Mary sat in silent adoration at the wonder of the thing, barely daring to look at her brother, asking no questions, in silent gratitude at this great happiness. All signs of mourning had disappeared. Instead, all through the day, little groups of people gathered outside the gates, clamouring to be allowed to see the risen Lazarus, who, only too glad to be the living witness of the Messiah's power, never wearied in seeing and speaking to the multitude.
The first to come had been Kishish, the physician. None better than he knew that Lazarus had indeed been dead. All that human skill could do he had done to save the life of this favourite, wealthy patient. Nay, more, he had striven with a purpose, for he knew full well what influence his death would have upon the Jews, and how important it was for the peace of Judæa that things should remain as they then were. He had been absent by the bedside of a sick person at the time of the miracle, and had treated the announcement of Lazarus's resurrection with a scorn and derision not unnatural in the circumstances. Yet, when he saw his patient reclining as usual on his couch, a great amazement seized him.
"Who, then, is this Man?" he asked Lazarus breathlessly.
"A Physician of the Soul," replied Lazarus. "One who for healing needeth no medicine and no herb."
"Verily 'tis a wondrous thing," said Kishish. But he too was powerless to believe the simplicity of the act. Rather would he believe that he had been wrong in pronouncing that life had fled; would confess that he had erred, rather than believe. Faltering, failing, presumptuous humanity that can explain nothing, yet fails to believe what it cannot understand! Truly had the Lord pronounced words of verity when He had said: "If they believe not Moses and the prophets, neither will they believe though one came from the dead."
Yes, the great miracle was over, Lazarus alive, the signs of mourning were wiped away. The wailing had ceased, once more peace and gladness reigned in the home at Bethany, and already it seemed as though all that had happened had been a dream. The brain and heart of man lack the capacity to hold so great a miracle; and humanity is so prone to obstinacy that, even when its right course is pointed out, it soon glides back into its old grooves, its old understandings, its old stagnation, and the divine fire in it smoulders dully or goes out. Occasionally, for a space, the flame of faith springs up. At such times the soul is lit up by its flashes. Dark things stand out defined and clear; comfort and warmth and rest are there. But the flame needs feeding. And, alas! the watcher tires, there is no heaping on of fuel, no stirring of the dead embers, so the light dies out.
But, in the heart of Lazarus, faith was awake for evermore; faith strengthened by the evidence of things, not unseen, but seen; to him who had longed to believe had been vouchsafed the greatest blessing of all—to know.
For many days the sisters left him quiet, for there was that in his expression which silenced questioning. Great deputations came from far and wide to question him. Lawyers, scribes, Pharisees, all flocked to ask him what his sensations had been at the moment of his death and what on his return to life. Had he been to heaven and seen the Living God? Had he been to Hades and seen the spirits that await the Judgment Day, or had he been to hell and spoken there with Satan? Each, according to his belief or sect, asked for more knowledge; but to all Lazarus only shook his head and answered: "If I told you, ye would not believe. Ye would say I had dreamed a dream."
Then, one evening, Martha exclaimed fretfully: "Methinks there was little gain in thy death and resurrection, if thou hast naught to tell us."
Naught to show the world? Lazarus took on a look of unutterable grief at Martha's words.
"Thou knowest not what thou sayest," he answered her; and, while he spoke, his gaze was raised to the vaulted heavens, and rested there in patient musing.
Yes, so it would be always. No miracles, no words would ever strike home where revelation had not penetrated. No human power, no earthly preaching, no laws, could ever produce that spark of living fire that came from God direct.
Yes, all know, all understand, where salvation is to be found; 't is a Pool of Siloam awaiting all. And all mean one day to wash in it—when they find the time convenient. All intend to be saved, all believe; but there is ample time; and, meanwhile, there is much to be done, buying and selling, laughing and making merry, decking and feasting, striving for power and place; and, when we reach the pool at last, the angel is not there to stir the waters.
So mused Lazarus, yet it seemed to him that Martha was partly right. Not to tell of his experiences during those four days was to keep back much helpful knowledge—perhaps, even to oppose God's purpose. Yet he had received no word to tell the world. Those four days seemed to him so sacred, so utterly unconnected with this world, that he had not dared reveal what he had seen. For some days he had been dazed with the marvel of it, and there had been no Christ to help or guide him; for immediately the miracle was over the Nazarene had departed to Ephraim, both to escape the multitude and to prepare for His death, which could not be far distant now. Already Jerusalem was filling fast with the inhabitants of the outskirts and the country round, who gathered there to eat the Passover and to purify themselves beforehand.
Many wondered whether the Nazarene, in defiance of the command for His arrest, would come to Jerusalem for the Passover. The Temple was thronged daily in the hope that either He would appear, or that Lazarus would take His place and preach on the subject of his own resurrection. But a great silence reigned as to the whereabouts and actions of Jesus, some going even so far as to believe that the Messiah had taken the place of Lazarus in the tomb, misapplying the words: "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friend."
Who can enter into the sadness of His days at Ephraim, with only the society of His rough, untutored disciples. He had restored Lazarus, but even the companionship of the family at Bethany was denied to Him; it would have been dangerous to visit them, for the Jews, who congregated daily to see the restored Lazarus, would doubtless have followed Him, and told Caiaphas of His whereabouts. Those were days of terrible anxiety to the three at Bethany. Filled with undying gratitude and longing to cast themselves in adoring worship at His feet, they yet durst not move from Bethany, or even send a word of love and reverence. Once more Martha raised her inquiring, half-doubting voice to Lazarus.
"If He be the Son of God, why must He die? Since He could bring thee to life, cannot He save Himself?"
The cry was doubtless prompted more by agony at the thought of the Messiah's death than by disbelief; and in that light Lazarus replied to it.
" 'T is because He is the Son of God that He must die."
"Oh, I would see Him yet again," moaned the loving Mary. "My Saviour, my God, my Christ, my Life, would I could die for Thee!"
And, now and then, it seemed as though across the night there stole the tender words: "I have loved thee with an everlasting love."
Oh, to know that the Son of God was there, and that they were powerless! At these times, Lazarus would go into quiet places and pray, as if his heart would break; and all was gloom and grief within their souls, not for themselves, but for what the Saviour was to endure.
"To think that I, I, Lazarus, a sinner, should live, and that He should die. Oh, gladly would I give each one of my possessions, that once it would have grieved me to resign, that I might die for Him, or, by following Him, spare Him one brief hour of pain."
At Jerusalem the commotion of the people kept increasing. Messengers arrived almost daily at the doors of Caiaphas with the news that they could gain no tidings of Him, and the prisons were becoming thronged with men punished by Caiaphas for not bringing Him.
Strange were the tales that gained report as, one after another, the messengers returned. Some said that Pilate had forbidden his capture, others that many times they had laid hold on Him, but that He had slipped through their hands and seemed to vanish into air. Caiaphas could not fail to see that the latest miracle had weakened his position; and, later, he even meditated the death of Lazarus. He had said truly that all who crossed the path of Caiaphas should be brushed aside. Nicodemus had gone over openly to the Lord. Pilate came no more to the council chamber. Annas was hooted in the streets and pelted with stones. Even threats against the life of Caiaphas had been reported. Several of the Pharisees and rulers of the Synagogue believed in Jesus secretly, while not daring to confess it. Strange stir, forsooth, this Man had made, this carpenter's Son.
And so the days went by, and Lazarus's death and Lazarus's resurrection became matters of the past, swamped by disturbing doubts and fears about the future.
Once more the watchman passed by the house of Caiaphas, but the High Priest closed his ears. The time for repentance, for hesitation, for remorse was over. Satan had claimed this man, and he had been given over to him, as if unworthy of a contest.
"Let the heathen be awakened, let the heathen be awakened," cried the watchman, "for the day of the Lord is near, in the valley of decision, the valley of decision!"