Fr Oliver Treanor looks at the miracle of the raising of Lazarus from the dead and draws from it its deeper meaning for our lives.
Jesus’ first public miracle was performed at a wedding; his last, just after a funeral. One of his closest friends had died at Bethany. Jesus was away at the time and so he did not attend the burial. He arrived four days later in fact to pay his respects to the family, by which stage the body would have started to decompose in the cave-like tomb that was sealed with a great stone at its entrance.
Good company
Lazarus, the deceased, and his sisters Martha and Mary kept an open house for Jesus and his disciples. Situated only two miles from Jerusalem their home provided an ideal place to stay when Jesus was in the area. Particularly at Passover when Jerusalem was overrun with pilgrims and every available room and bed was taken up. The short walk to Bethany beyond the Mount of Olives was always most pleasant in the evening when, tired after
the ceremonies, they knew a warm welcome awaited their return.
Martha would cook a good meal for her starving guests; Mary would sit and entertain, listening to Jesus with interest. And Lazarus, being the man of the house, would undoubtedly play the host in the best tradition of Jewish hospitality – washing their feet, serving the wine, organizing the seating at table. Many a wonderful supper was held in that home where the company was good, the conversation memorable, and the laughter easy and loud.
If only
But now Lazarus was dead. The wonderful get-togethers were over. How could they be the same again when one so beloved was gone for ever? And Jesus had not even been there. Where was he when he was so much needed?
‘If Jesus had only been here,’ said Martha, ‘Lazarus would not have died’. She was quite sure of that. And Mary said the same. ‘If Jesus had been here when Lazarus took ill…’.
Had he not healed scores of sick people in his day? The blind, the dumb, the paralysed, even a little girl who had died – he had raised her up before she had time to decompose. But it was too late for Lazarus. Four days he had lain in the bowels of the earth.
Jesus wept
When. Jesus eventually turned up, the sisters led him to the graveside. Overcome with. the emotion of it all, he simply stood and cried for his friend in the tomb. John the Evangelist, who was with him, described it very poignantly in what is the shortest verse in the Bible: ‘Jesus wept’ (John 11:35).
At length Jesus wiped his eyes. ‘Take away the stone,’ he said. Martha and Mary sobered themselves at once. The corpse would have started to smell. What was Jesus thinking of? ‘Your brother,’ he informed them, ‘is going to rise again’. ‘Yes, Lord,’ Martha replied with puzzled seriousness, ‘I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day’.
‘I am the resurrection,’ Jesus told her affirmatively, ‘whoever believes in me, even though he dies, yet shall he live’. And in a loud voice that caused the throng of mourners to gasp, in a voice such as never had been heard since Eden, he roared into the dark hollow burial chamber, ‘Lazarus, come out!’
The divine Word of Life, angry and bitter with death for thieving what belonged to the Creator, echoed through the underworld, reclaiming its stolen prize: ‘Come out! Out! Out!’ And from the silent blackness of the yawning jaws of the tomb, a touch of white appeared as Death regurgitated the contents of the grave.
There stood Lazarus, swathed in the binding-ribbons of his linen burial shroud, the napkin still covering h is face. ‘Unbind him,’ Jesus ordered the crowd, ‘and let him go’.
Darkening clouds
At the meal in Jesus’ honour that was held in Bethany later, Martha was ecstatic. ‘Truly you are the Messiah,’ she kept repeating and everyone agreed. A multitude was swarming round the door just to catch a glimpse of Lazarus. The whole village had erupted. but Jesus was unusually quiet, and Mary understood why.
To raise a man from the dead, a price had to be paid. Death was not to be cheated without a struggle. And the ministers of death – the Pharisees – were already taking counsel how best to destroy Jesus. With this latest public act he had gone too far. All Israel would soon be his disciples; then where would religion be? The temple, the laws and the customs of the Jews would simply disappear. It was time for the authorities to intervene.
‘Far better,’ announced the High Priest, ‘that one man should die for the people than that the whole nation should perish’. He spoke more truthfully than he realized.
It was nearly Jewish Passover, the time for sacrifice. Between Bethany and Bethlehem the fields were white with lambs ready for slaughter. The hungry grave would have its fill again its last.
Sign of hope
Seeing what was to come, Mary produced a whole pound of the most expensive ointment she could buy and anointed Jesus’ feet. She was preparing him in advance for his own funeral which would come upon him swiftly with no time for the niceties of bereavement or the customary marks of respect.
What she did not know was what would happen later. Her joy at the raising of Lazarus was so full at the time, she could not have guessed it was a sign of something greater still, the Easter mystery. She could not have known it was a promise of the raising of everyone’s brother in the emptying of Jesus’ tomb. For that is what it was.
And yet the resurrection of Christ was much more than what happened to Lazarus. Lazarus’ body was merely resuscitated, restored to normal life. He would die again, be buried once more. On Easter Sunday morning Jesus’ body was not resuscitated. It was transformed. The resurrection did not just happen to Jesus. Jesus is himself the resurrection.
‘I am the resurrection and the life,’ as he explained to Martha at Lazarus’ grave. And all who die in him, believing in his power over death and sin, share in his human transformation too. What happens to us at Easter is Jesus himself.
It begins with the raising of our spirits, out of depression and sadness and despair. It continues with the raising of our morale, in fresh hope and new opportunities for change. It will end with the complete raising of our lives to God in holiness of life here on earth and communion with the Father in heaven.
Joy without end
So complete will the mystery be, it will involve every part of our being – physical and spiritual. In a manner no one can imagine – any more than Mary or Martha could – it will leave us with identity intact, yet with the forces of evil that demean us destroyed. No longer subject to second death – as Lazarus’ body was – we will be free to enjoy a joy without end, when banquets will not be overshadowed by the fear of losing the company we treasure.
Jesus’ first public miracle was performed at a wedding; his last, just after a funeral – his own. After Easter, every day is a miracle of grace and eternal life. And even when these days are ended, the miracle will continue, for being eternal that life belongs not to Death but to God – and to us.
This article first appeared in The Messenger (December 1998), a publication of the Irish Jesuits.
