Lazarus, a tale of the world's great miracle/Chapter 9
CHAPTER IX.
THE dawning of a Syrian day was stealing over Jerusalem; dark clouds hung in thick, woolly masses across the sky. The corn, still green by daylight, stood colourless and grey, awaiting the glorious revivifying ardour of the sun. Only a pale golden haze over the hills beyond approaching like the feet of swift messengers of glad tidings, or of angels who have been present in the night gave promise of day; as yet, it was but a watch-signal of the coming morning. The air was still cool, the birds had not yet begun to twitter in their nests; there was a hush, as though nature were listening to the farewell of night, or, awe-struck, to the commands of God, ere this day dawned that was teeming with such import to individuals, to nations, to the whole world, though it knew it not. It was as if the word of God were being uttered behind the dark veil of those massive clouds: "Arise, shine, for thy Light is come and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee."
But as yet all was darkness still, and the city of Jerusalem slept, wrapt in that stagnation of soul and body, that apathy in which it had been enveloped for so many years; that folding of the hands to sleep, that paralysis of the brain, that had shut out from the world (as the blindness of the eye shutteth out God's light) the many revelations that had been made to it, and kept back the knowledge of the extraordinary events that from time to time had there occurred.
If a God were to be born to us to-day, and to live and die amongst us, how many would know Him for a God? So the earth slept while Jesus trod it, as it slept before His advent, as it has slept often since, forgetful that salvation was walking along the highway, powerless to cry out, "Lord, save me." And all the while, tear-worn, dusty, and travel-stained, the Eternal One was passing by and on, through the gates of death, and back within the portals of eternity.
But day was now stealing across the sky, ripping up right and left, backwards and forwards, the dark clouds, seaming the heavens with shafts of light, slashing each cloud with radiancy, unfolding one by one the glories of morning; till at last the sun, like a golden ball hurled on earth by a boisterous god, or leaping like a giant upon the world, burst forth with light and warmth, a messenger, though that world knew it not.
"Lift up thine eyes, look round about and see," it said; but the world slept, and Jerusalem slept, oblivious that that day the God of Eternity would weep.
While flushing day crept quickly across the sky, a woman left the house of Lazarus to take the road from Bethany to Jerusalem. Weary as she was with a night of watching, the cool air seemed to revive her scorching eyelids, yet she hesitated. Outside her house she cast her eyes across the glorious horizon, half doubtful; while from within could be heard the faint murmur of wailing from many voices.
"The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved. Woe is me for my hurt! My wound is grievous: but I said, Truly this is a grief, and I must bear it. There is none to stretch forth my tent any more, and to set up my curtains."
The voices wailed alternately; then suddenly a woman's tuneful voice sang out: "Righteous art Thou, O Lord, when I plead with Thee. How long shall we mourn? Yea, blessed is the man that trusteth in the Lord and whose hope the Lord is."
"Mary, Mary!" The voice was low but stern. The song ceased and a beautiful woman with long, flowing hair, which, in the sun, had a reddish tinge turned suddenly; then rose from her knees and came in meek obedience to her sister.
"Wilt thou not then come with me to entreat the Lord? Yet thou sayest that He can restore him even now. If we wait till they have laid him in the grave it will be too late." The tone of the elder woman was almost hasty.
"My sister, I need not to leave his side to entreat my Lord. Hath not Nicodemus taken Him the news of our brother's sickness? Had He wished to restore him, He could have done so from Jerusalem. The city is but fifteen furlongs off. He would have sent over one of the twelve with the message of life, or He would have willed him to live from a distance and he would have lived. Lazarus is dead, but were he living, he would not wish to live if his Lord did not so will it; and, except to our mortal eyes, he is not dead, for thou knowest that our Lord hath said that those who believe on Him shall never die. Oh, Martha, trouble not thyself, but kneel with us and pray."
"What should I pray for now, seeing that he is dead?" replied Martha almost impatiently. Then, with a sudden resolve, she raised her head, and, drawing her cloak around her, stepped out into the cool morning air, and hurried down the road to Jerusalem.
Many were the thoughts revolving in her brain when she walked forth, a brave, strong-minded woman, to entreat the Lord, whom she failed to understand. Of an energetic, indomitable spirit, full of self-reliance, she had a horror alike of mystification and of sentiment, with a full belief in the power of coercing events. To sit down and wait for the workings of God to take effect would have been beyond her. She was always fretting lest she had left some machinating stone unturned. She was imbued with the idea that there was power in a multitude of prayers, and that one moment's inaction would reap its reward of infruition. She had been a careful housewife, and much responsibility had devolved on her, for the three had been left without a mother at an early age. She, Martha, had had to be mother and father to the two younger ones, Lazarus and Mary. This had given her an irritability of temperament and a certain domineering manner which, to her credit be it said, she strove hard to master.
For a long time she had shut ears and heart against the strange rumours that were bruited abroad respecting Jesus of Nazareth; she had disbelieved the reports about His birth and had even spoken disparagingly of His mother. She had looked upon Joseph of Nazareth with scorn. Caiaphas, too, who was a relative of theirs and now High Priest, would never definitely speak of Jesus. But they were strange times in which the Jews lived then. John the Baptist had greatly stirred the Jewish world, and indeed the Roman and the Syrian world as well, by preaching a gospel of repentance and baptism, and many of the Pharisees and Sadducees had gone over to his doctrines; and yet when He had been baptised by John, it seemed difficult to believe that Jesus could be greater than he, though the Baptist had himself averred it.
"Thinkest thou, Lazarus, that the Son of God would be baptised of a wild fanatic such as John? For that John is mad is common knowledge, and that he hath bewitched the people."
Thus Martha spoke. But this had been before the family at Bethany had been honoured by the presence of the Messiah under their own roof. Since then, Lazarus had followed the Lord, followed as a hungry man wanders till he finds bread. By the Sea of Galilee, into the mountains where Christ prayed and preached, Lazarus had followed; followed, thirsting for the stream of truth that flowed on to life. What strange new doctrines were these to one who had been brought up in the old Hebrew law, fed on the vengeful tenets of the Psalms! "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth," had been the old religion. "Resist not evil, but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also," was the new. And, "Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn them not away!" Love, blessing, forgiveness, what strange new doctrine was this? It never before had been so seen in Israel. No wonder that a keen observer, a studious, spiritual-minded man, like Lazarus, should feel mystified and puzzled, yet inspired by doctrines at once so pathetic and so powerful. With Mary he could talk of all these things; she had always been of a gentle, sympathetic spirit, ardent and enthusiastic in her worship and affections, deeply religious, and yet with a strain of mysticism that permitted the seemingly impossible to find a place in her too willing heart.
She, too, to Martha's dismay, had often joined the crowds that followed Jesus of Nazareth along the roadside, listening to His incomparable sermons, witnessing miracle after miracle; wonders that filled the priests with dismay and doubt, and awed the Tetrarch, yet failed to persuade the multitude that He was the living God.
Often and often she had tried to get Martha to accompany them.
"If thou wouldst but listen once to Him, Martha, thou wouldst feel all the troubles of this world removed from off thy shoulders, and perfect peace would fill thy soul. His words are like the softest music, and yet they sound deep like the waters of the sea, and they are so true, so real, thou canst not but believe them. They are indeed the words of a God, for never man spake like this Man. It is the Messiah who is here; I know it, I feel it, Martha. If thou wouldst but once accompany me and follow Him, for most times He speaketh to the multitude!"
But Martha had made answer: "Thinkest thou, Mary, that the Messiah would come as a poor carpenter and in poorest attire, with naught else but a chiton and a tunic? Thinkest thou not that the heavens would rend themselves, and the very thunder-clouds be in waiting on the Lord? Thou art easily carried away, Mary, for thou dreamest much, and Mary Magdalene hath filled thee with these foolish fancies."
"Ah! poor Magdalene. Would I could indeed instil into her life a little joy, and stay the sorrow at her heart! Yet see, even to her He hath been full of pity and love; to her who was aforetime jeered at by the multitude, despised by men and women, who wept daily in the wilderness, conscious of her sins, yet not knowing whence to learn the way to a better life. He hath spoken to her words of sympathy and heavenly love, and now she is a devout, pious woman, having naught to do with any, save only the praying to this Jesus, whom she calls her Lord."
"He can be no God who speaketh to harlots and goeth about with sinners," Martha had replied; for the very mention of Magdalene, the harlot, closed her heart. "The Messiah is not yet come, for, when He cometh, the world will be overwhelmed with the glory and the shame. He will walk through the sea with His horses and scatter the sinners as a whirlwind. Mountains will quake and the valleys be laid low, and every man will know that He is the Lord. There will be no doubting, and all shall know that the Lord He is the God. We must not be blinded by false prophets."
Then, in despair, Mary had exclaimed: "When Christ cometh, will He do more miracles than those which this Man hath done?"
But Martha had hardened her heart, for she had seen no miracles, and would believe in nothing that she had heard.
"He is a prophet," she had replied, "but He is not a God."