Lazarus, a tale of the world's great miracle/Chapter 39
CHAPTER XXXIX.
SO all was at an end; the Son of God had come and gone, and few had known Him; salvation had been purchased for the world; to be the hope in life, and the solace in the hour of death, of countless thousands yet unborn. The reason for living had been given to humanity. The priceless object of His incarnation had been achieved. The agony of death the martyrdom of life, were over. The great Spirit, released at last, had flown back to its Father.
Torn as they were with grief, the mourning women could not but rejoice that His long night was ended and, faithful to Him in His death as they had been in His life, they now thought only of how best to honour the divine Body they loved so well.
Now that the great agony of watching Him was over, their thoughts turned to Lazarus. Was he, too, now in prison, following in the anguished steps of his beloved Master? With what joy they saw him appear with Joseph, to help them in taking down the body of their Christ! Nicodemus, grown fearless through remorse, helped too, and soon the sad procession wound round the hillock of Golgotha to the garden in which Joseph had hewn out a tomb. How tenderly they bore that lacerated body to its resting-place, the women ever pressing forward, if the beloved head rolled from side to side, or one arm hung over ever so little. They would give Him, dead, all the loving care they fain would have lavished on Him living. With what love they washed the body, then anointed it with the sweet spices brought by Nicodemus! With what gentle, reverent touch they wound round those sacred limbs the finest linen that could be had! In death no one disputed Him with them. He had lived as a carpenter, they might bury Him as a King. It was nearly dark when they had finished their solemn task. The two Marys knelt down, intending to spend the night in prayer, while Lazarus and the disciples watched. A great stone had been rolled before the sepulchre by the disciples.
Meanwhile Martha, ever anxious over household matters and mindful that she had been away from home two days, wended her way to Bethany, both to set matters in order there, and also to prepare fresh spices with which to fill the sepulchre on the Sabbath morning; for they knew not of the guard that Pilate had placed to forbid all access. On her way home in the darkening evening she was joined at intervals by friends, sympathisers, and the curious, all echoing in the cry which consumed her inwardly: "Dost not fear now for Lazarus also?"
Could she, she wondered, bear the loss of the one she held so dear? Would it not be doubly hard, now that all the world seemed slipping from her with the death of Him who had been her support so many months? Then suddenly an idea flashed on her, and she turned in at the gates of Jerusalem, instead of taking the outer road to Bethany. Through the silent streets she walked, and past the Temple, till she reached the door of the house of Caiaphas.
Here she asked to be admitted to the presence of Rebekah, little guessing in her ignorance, poor woman, the fatal consequences that would follow.
She found Rebekah standing by the window, her favourite attitude, looking out upon the crimsoning sky. Her face was troubled, yet no remorse was in her gloomy heart; only a wondering that Lazarus should have disdained her, should have preferred even the death of his Friend to making her his wife; for, in her narrowed vision, she failed to see the world's salvation in the Saviour's death.
On hearing that Martha wished to see her, she was but slightly moved; yet who could tell what wonders might still come about? Fear, that incentive so powerful with the Jews, might have driven Lazarus to seek her help. Thus does a small mind measure others by its own dimensions.
"I would speak with thee," said the somewhat authoritative voice of Martha, for Rebekah had not even heard her entrance. "I would ask a favour for one thou lovest."
Ah, she had been right! Rebekah turned and frowned.
"What dost thou crave?" she rejoined haughtily; "for I am not one given to kindness."
"Thou knowest that the Master is dead." "The Master? which, whose Master?" interrupted Rebekah. "Meanest thou the Nazarene?"
"Even so," said Martha.
"Well, say on."
"And it is rumoured amongst the Jews," went on Martha, her task becoming more difficult as she became conscious of Rebekah's want of sympathy, "that they will also take my brother Lazarus and crucify him." Here her voice trembled.
Rebekah thought for a moment; then she shrugged her shoulders. Yet she had a liking for Martha.
"How can I help thee? What is thy brother to me? How can I stay the Jews?"
"But thou dost love him," urged Martha gently, repeating what to her had become the very essence of truth, that to love much was to overcome every obstacle.
I did love him," the other answered, shrugging her shoulders, "but, since he doth not love me, it mattereth naught to me whether he be alive or dead."
"Yet surely love needeth but to love," urged Martha, little knowing how wide the compass she embraced, imbued as she was with the Messiah's teaching. "Love desireth but to love."
"That is new teaching which doth savour of the Galilean doctrine," replied Rebekah. "Of such a love I know nothing. But this I know, that, if thy brother will take the proud daughter of Caiaphas to wife, then he need fear nor Jews nor Romans, but be safe always."
Then Martha spoke the words which though she knew it not were later to return to her with all the bitterness of death.
"How can he wed thee, maiden, seeing that he loveth another?"
Words of truth from one who, through daily contact with the Spirit of Truth, could not lie; yet Martha would have recalled them, when she saw the burst of rage and bitterness they called forth.
"Loves another!" cried Rebekah. "Thy brother Lazarus doth love another? He who, we thought, did so disdain me because his heart was given to good works? Dost speak the truth? Is it for this that I must save him, to give him to some other woman? By the beard of Aaron, Martha, thou knowest me not, to ask me such a thing. Perchance I would have given him up to lead a life of purity and sacrifice. If so be that he believeth that this Man is the Son of God, he doeth well to worship Him. But, if the stainless Lazarus can love an earthly woman, then I will be that woman, or he shall die. Dost hear, woman? Either thy brother Lazarus doth wed me, or he dieth."
Fear and horror fell on Martha. What horrible perplexity was this? Would that she had never come! Of a truth the Lord had said that she was over-troubled about many things. She had sought the proud maiden in order to help her brother, and now it seemed that she had but increased his peril.
"Who is this woman that thy brother loveth?" asked Rebekah scornfully.
"Nay, but I cannot tell thee that, proud maiden. It seemeth me that I have already told too much. I will go home, for I am very weary, and at dawn I must bring spices to the sepulchre of my Lord, for 't is the Sabbath. Farewell, maiden; methinks that still thy love will triumph over this tempting of the devil. Thou wilt yet think of my poor brother and of his two sisters whose lives are bound up in his, and of her that trusteth him, and, therefore, thou wilt entreat thy father for him."
"I care not whether thy brother live or die. Henceforward he is naught to me but a perverse and wretched, misguided ruler," said Rebekah angrily. "Now leave me, ere I say that which will grieve thee more." And Martha turned away, and with a heavy heart regained the road to Bethany.
And, the moment she had left the room, Rebekah, murmured to herself through clenched teeth: "Would that I knew this woman whom he loveth, that I might slay her!"