Lazarus, a tale of the world's great miracle/Chapter 26
CHAPTER XXVI.
ONCE more the multitude pressed round the Nazarene, keener than ever to hear the words of one who had performed the great miracle they had all been longing for. All the circumstances—too the fact that the body of Lazarus had lain four days in the grave, and the publicity of his resurrection, had impressed their minds with an assurance in the Messiah's power that seemed unshakable. But to those who believed, each word was fraught with the approaching grief of separation; to His disciples and a few besides, each phrase that fell from Him thus held for them an added tenderness and pathos and would be treasured with the greater care. In a short time they would have to live their lives without the sweet presence that had sustained and guided them. His words would be their only guide through this world and, through death, to life eternal. There were tiny children, too, who were growing up, whom Jesus loved. The message would have to be handed on to them in all its purity and all its hope.
The crowd was waiting. The Nazarene stood ready to deliver once more the message from the Father; never wearying of His mission, ever appealing to them to lay hold of true happiness in this world and their salvation in the next. Then two disciples advanced with reverence, and, plucking at His sleeve, they murmured something in His ear. And when the Lord turned round, a group of Greeks was seen approaching.
"They would have speech with Thee," said Philip.
He greeted them, as He did every one, with divine courtesy and love, yet a spasm of pain passed for a moment across His brow, as He answered His disciple: "The hour is come that the Son of God shall be glorified?"
"What meaneth He?" asketh one of another; and Mary, anxious at the look of pain that contracted the Saviour's brow, bent close to Lazarus, and, in terror-stricken accents, gasped: "Surely they come to take the Lord?"
But Lazarus reassured her. "Be not troubled, sister," he replied assuringly, "they are but Greeks, who seek to learn the truth."
"God be praised," said Mary; "but why, then, doth the Master say: 'The hour is come'?"
Then, with sadness inexpressible, Lazarus answered: "The hour is indeed near at hand, and the coming of these Greeks doth signify its nearness; for all nations shall bow down and worship Him together. As Caiaphas hath prophesied, so shall it be; God shall gather together all the children of God into one place, and all divisions shall be ended. The middle wall of partition shall be broken down, and all nations linked together in one common faith. Surely the coming of these Greeks is the first sign that the death of the Master is at hand."
Great tears welled to Mary's eyes. She understood now the grief that rested like a shadow on His face; and, while she listened to His words, that one after another struck her heart with the certain aim of arrows shot from one who had the cunning of the bow at his finger ends, yet her thoughts dwelt anxiously on the future, with a thousand ponderings.
But suddenly Lazarus ceased to speak, for the thrilling voice of the Nazarene arose in words that were addressed to all multitudes and all nations; words that to those who understood them set forth the great news of His impending death.
Surely the poor, wan face, the lips that never laughed, told their own tale of the secret griefs and temptations of the Man of Sorrows; griefs and temptations more gigantic than could be conceived by mortal man, the temptation to use His power to set aside grief and sorrow, to reject death, while yet accepting them.
At last He cried: "And what shall I say? Father, save Me from this hour. But for this cause came I unto this hour."
Then, as if to defy fate and unbelief, temptation, fear, insult, torment, He raised His face, sublime in its gentle gravity, towards heaven, and, with a voice that breathed with faith and love, He cried: "Father, glorify Thy name."
Then, although the day was fine and bright, and no cloud hung across the heavens, was heard a thunder-clap, then another; yet to some it sounded not wholly like a thunder-clap, so that those standing nearest to Jesus said, "An angel spake to Him; I heard the voice. Methought I heard the word glory." And Lazarus and John and several others affirmed that a voice had called out from heaven, "I have both glorified it, and will glorify it again."
At the words of His Father an expression of radiant gratitude came over the visage of the Nazarene; and, to leave no doubt in their terrified minds as to whether it was thunder or the voice of God that spoke, He said: "The voice came not because of Me, but for your sakes. Now is the judgment of this world: now shall the prince of this world be cast out. And I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto Me."
These words, mystic and ambiguous to many, filled the soul of Lazarus with dismay. How could he live this new life without his Master? His own death and resurrection seemed to have done little towards making people believe. The prospect of his renewed life without the supporting presence of the Christ, to be ended, in all likelihood, by an agonising death, seemed almost more than he could bear.
Then some of the Pharisees and chief rulers, who believed but durst not confess it, lest they should be cast out of the Synagogue, approached Him with the questions that were their endless stumbling-stones; questions of that law which had so wound itself round their hearts and brains that it seemed to stifle spiritual life.
"We have heard out of the law that Christ abideth forever; and how sayest Thou that the Son of man must be lifted up? Who is this Son of man?"
Did the world then mean to spin out its years to the end of time without ever coming any nearer to its God, that the presence of the Son of man was so difficult to grasp? Could they understand a Christ, but not a perfect man, not a suffering, tempted, sympathising sorrower?
And Jesus answered almost with a cry, one last appeal to them to try to believe while yet they lived.
Was it all to be of no avail, this mission upon earth? The wearying thirty years? The miracles, the awful death? All wasted, all poured out for naught? Was the sacrifice of the Creator for His own creation to be in vain?
"Yet a little while is the light with you. Walk while ye have the light, lest the darkness come upon you: for he that walketh in darkness knoweth not whither he goeth. While ye have the light, believe in the light, that ye may be the children of the light."
Then, wearied and disappointed, His heart heavy at the future of horror these people were preparing for themselves, the Nazarene walked through the crowd, and, as if by magic, disappeared.
"Surely He hath been caught up," said some, "for, though we look down the road, we cannot see aught of Him. Therefore said He, 'If I be lifted up from the earth.' "
But, notwithstanding this fresh miracle, notwithstanding the voice from heaven, still very few believed in Him as the Christ that should have come. It was as Esaias the prophet had said, "He hath blinded their eyes, and hardened their heart; that they should not see with their eyes, nor understand with their heart, and be converted, and that I should heal them."
Then, while the wondering crowd was debating, squabbling, pondering, scoffing, musing, working itself up into violent dissensions such as religious matters ever breed—about the Messiah's disappearance, the voice that so vibrated with truth and suasion, the intensity of whose reality no man could fathom; the voice, that those who had once heard it would never forget, rose in a long and bitter cry, like the dying warning of an eternal farewell:
"He that believeth in Me, believeth not in Me, but in Him that sent Me. I am come a light unto the world, that whosoever believeth in Me should not abide in darkness. And if any man hear My words, and believe not, I judge him not: for I came not to judge the world, but to save the world. He that rejecteth Me, and receiveth not My words, hath one that judgeth him: the word that I have spoken, the same shall judge him in the last day. For I have not spoken of Myself; but the Father which sent Me, He gave Me commandment, what I should say, and what I should speak. And I know that His commandment is life everlasting: whatsoever I speak, therefore, even as the Father said unto Me, even so I speak."
Clear, distinct, like drops of tinkling water fell the words, piercing as nails, leaving no doubt, no want of emphasis behind them, enhanced by all the mystery of an unseen voice; but they fell as water falls on rocks, but to splash up again and glance off. An unmoved nation passed silently along the road, unconscious of the priceless value of the light that was gradually flitting away, and of the darkness that would soon envelop them eternally with a gloomy mantle damp with the sweating of horror of a people re-awakened all too late.