Thursday.

We approached Bethany around the southeastern side of Jerusalem, directly from the road leading up from Jericho. A day's journey from where we started in Peraea. When we arrived, Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. Four days! I still could not believe that we had delayed so long in coming. As we neared Bethany, I felt no small burden of guilt. There were still many friends at the home of Mary and Martha from Jerusalem, a mere two miles distant. They had come, of course, to comfort the sisters in their loss. Martha, informed that Jesus approached, came out to meet us. Where was Mary? Odd!

"Welcome, my Lord Jesus!" said Martha, her eyes brimming. She embraced him, and he held her in his arms while she quietly wept. With his hand, he stroked her hair. When she had composed herself, she said, "Lord, had you been here, my brother would not have died." At first, I thought her comment accusatory. But then I realized that Martha had simply stated the truth. She knew that Jesus would not have allowed her brother to suffer. He could have and would have easily healed him. "But I know," she continued, "that even now God will give you whatever you ask." What was she saying? What was she thinking? In retrospect, I suspect that Martha was much farther along than any of us. Certainly me.

Sensing her anticipation, Jesus said to her simply, "Your brother will rise again." It was a simple something to say that anyone would say to ease the loss of a loved one. Only Sadducees believe there is no resurrection. I was sure that was all Jesus meant at the moment.

Martha replied, "Yes. I know he will rise at the resurrection in the last day." Perhaps she said this seeking assurance. She said it softly, wistfully, as if not daring to really mention what she hoped against hope that he would do. And then, "Oh, Jesus, this hurts. It hurts so deeply."

Jesus took her face in his hands and kissing her forehead he said to her, "Martha, Martha. I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live--even though he dies--and whoever lives and believes in me will never die." She looked at him not understanding. "Can you believe this--my dear Martha?" still holding her face in his hands.

She nodded her head and whispered, "Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who has come into the world." The words spilled out. She swallowed and opened her eyes, returning his gaze. No sweeter moment of love existed than this.

"Then go," he said, releasing her, "and bring Mary to me."

She returned to the house and called her sister. "Our Lord is here," she said. "He asks for you." Mary's heart leaped within her. She caught her breath and got up quickly to go to him.

It took a few moments for all this to happen because we had not yet entered the village. We stood silent, waiting at the place where Martha had met us. When those who had been with Mary in the house, comforting her, noticed how quickly she left, they followed her, supposing she was going to the tomb. But she came instead to Jesus, and when she saw him, she fell at his feet and said exactly the same thing Martha had said, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died."

Jesus saw her weeping and the friends from Jerusalem also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. "Where have you laid him?" he asked, voice breaking.

"Come Lord; this way," the friends replied.

Jesus wept.

I had never seen Jesus weep like this. There was murmuring, "Look at that! He must have loved him deeply!"

"Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind, could not he also have kept Lazarus from death? Could he not have protected him?" Heads nodded in agreement and sorrow. I was amazed at how this occasion of great mourning could bring forth so much belief. These things were not said to judge or accuse. They were words of expectancy, of anticipation. They thought Jesus would do something--even yet!

When Jesus had recovered he said again, "I wish to go to the grave. Where have you laid him?"

Thinking that he wished to go there to grieve, a woman said, "Come, Lord Jesus, we will take you there." The women began to gather their things and give instructions for more flowers. The garden lay just outside the town on the side away from Jerusalem. We were there in less than half an hour. Jesus, once more deeply affected as he came to the entrance of the tomb emitted a groan from deep within him. I myself heard it. A deep, whimpering groan. The Son of God grieved. A large stone was sealed over the opening. He issued a single order, "Break the seal and take away the stone."

Reaction to his command was predictable, shock and for some horror. Martha spoke for everyone, "But, Lord, by this time there will be a stench. He has been dead four days." It was a common Jewish notion that corruption commenced on the fourth day, that the drop of gall which had fallen from the sword of the Angel of Death was working its inexorable effect and that, as the face changed, the soul took its final leave from the decaying body. A point well-taken, I thought. I was fond of Lazarus, but I had little inclination to disturb, let alone smell, his remains.

"Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?"

Why this preachment? What exactly, had he in mind? None of us had the slightest premonition of what was coming. Martha, a bit embarrassed by his remark, nodded to the workmen. It took a moment to break the seal and work the stone loose, but after a few moments of struggling, the sweating men stood aside and the opening of the vault stood dark and ominous almost inviting anyone, if they dared, to step in. Wrinkled noses. Hands covering nostrils. The putrid odor of decaying human flesh was distinctive and powerful.

Then Jesus looked up and offered a prayer just loud enough for those standing close by to hear, "Father," he prayed, "thank you for hearing me. I know that you always hear me. Grant that the people standing here who witness this may believe that you sent me." When he had said this, he gazed at the dark opening of the grave and then he commanded in a voice loud enough for the dead to hear:

"Lazarus . . . come forth!"