BETHANY
"Thou art not a man, but Gabriel, the angel of God!"
"Thou art now healed, Eli," said Jesus impressively. "Worship God, and go and sin no more."
Who, dear father, but Messias could do this miracle? My mind is overwhelmed—I am filled with astonishment and awe, when I reflect upon the might, power and majesty of Jesus, and I fear to ask myself. Who more than man is he? Is he verily the awful and terrible Jehovah of Sinai, visible in the human form? Oh, wondrous and incomprehensible mystery! I dare not trust my thoughts to penetrate the mystery in which he walks among us in the veiled Godhead of his power. His beloved disciple, John, said that Jesus has told him the day is not far off when this veil will be removed, and when we shall then know him, who he is, and wherefore he has come into the world, and the infinite results to men of his mission.
Your devoted daughter,
Adina.
My Dear Father:
As I was closing my last letter to you, intelligence reached my Uncle Amos that Lazarus, the amiable brother of Martha and Mary, was very ill. The message wasbrought by Elec, the Gibeonite slave, who, with tears in his eyes, communicated to us the sad news. My Cousin Mary and I at once set out to Bethany with him.
"Knowest thou, Elec, the disease that has so suddenly seized my cousin?" asked Mary, as we wound slowly up the path that leads around the steepest side of Olivet.
"Ah, dear me, noble lady, I know not," answered Elec, shaking his head. "He had just returned from the city, where he had been staying night and day for a week, laboring industriously to complete a copy of the five books of the blessed Moses for the Procurator's chief captain, for which he was to receive a large sum in Roman gold."
"What was the name of this captain who seeks to obtain our holy books?" I asked, hope half answering the question in my heart.
"Æmilius, the brave knight, they say, who was made a proselyte at the last Passover."
I was rejoiced to hear this proof of the steady desire of the princely Roman knight to learn our sacred laws, you may be assured, dearest father. But Elec went on speaking and said:
"It was his hard work to complete this copy which made him ill; for he slept not, nor ceased to toil until he had completed it, and when he came home with the silver-bound roll in his hand, and laid it upon the table before his sisters, he fell at the same moment fainting to the ground."
"Alas, poor Lazarus!" we both exclaimed, and urged our mules forward at a faster pace, our hearts bleeding for the sorrow of his sisters and for his sad condition.
At length, half an hour after leaving the gate of the city, we drew near to Bethany, and beheld the roof of the house of Lazarus. Upon it, watching the road towards Jerusalem for us, we discovered the graceful form of Mary. In a few moments we were in her arms, mingling our tears together.
"Does he yet live?" I asked, scarcely daring to inquire, as she led us into the house.
"Yes, lives, but fails hourly," answered Mary, with forced composure. "God bless you both for hastening to me."
At this moment Martha's pale and suffering face, beautiful even in its pallor, appeared in the door of the inner room. Upon seeing us she advanced, and taking both our hands in hers, said in a touching whisper, "You have come, sweet friends, to see my brother die!"
She then led us into the room, where lay upon a couch the form of the invalid.
"He has slept a little," said Martha softly to me, "but his fever is consuming him. He has now closed his eyes again and seems heavy, but his slumbers are restless, as you see, and he seems to think his dear friend, Jesus the Prophet, is by him; or he talks of Rachel as if she were not present."
"And who is Rachel, dear Martha?" I asked, as I was about to follow her out of the room, leaving her brother to his weary repose.
"Alas! It was for Rachel's gentle love's sake he now lies there," she answered. "There is the sweet maiden kneeling on the other side of his couch, her tearful face buried in the folds of the curtains."
I turned and regarded with tender interest the graceful and half-concealed form of the young girl as she bent over his pillow, her hand clasped by his. At this moment she looked up and directed her gaze towards me. Her face was inexpressibly lovely, bathed as it was in its glittering tear-dews, and her large, glorious eyes shone like starry heavens of tenderness and love. Her hair would have been raven black, save that rays of golden bronze enriched its waving masses with every play of the light upon it. As our eyes met, she seemed to receive me into her soul, and my heart to embrace hers. Lazarus now moved and murmured her name, when she dropped her eyes and bent like an angel over him.
"Who is this marvelously lovely maiden?" I asked of Martha, as we went into the court of the hall.
"The betrothed bride of our beloved brother," answered she. "Sit with me here in the shade beneath this vine, and I will tell thee their sad story. Lazarus, you know, dearest Adina, is a writer in the Temple, and by his labors has surrounded us all with many comforts, nay, luxuries. His attachment to us led him to forego the pleasure of all other society, as he said he found in our sweet bond of sisterly love all that he required to render him happy.
"But a few weeks ago, as he was engaged late and alone in the copying-room of the Temple upon a roll which the noble Æmilius had ordered, he was startled by the sudden entrance of a young girl in great terror, who seemed to be flying from pursuit. Upon beholding him she bounded towards him, and casting herself at his feet, implored his protection. Amazed and interested,he promptly promised it, but had hardly spoken the words before Annas entered and advanced towards her. His face was flushed with rage, and his voice was loud and fierce as he demanded her at the hand of my brother.
"'Nay, my Lord Annas,' answered Lazarus, boldly, 'were a dove to seek shelter from a hawk in my bosom I would protect it, much more a distressed maiden of the daughters of Abraham!' and he placed himself before the fugitive.
"'Darest thou protect from me? She is my child, a wicked and disobedient daughter of Belial! Resign her to me, young scrivener, or I will have thee sent to the lowest dungeon of the Castle of David!'
"'Oh, save me! save me!' cried the young girl, as Annas advanced to seize her. 'I am not his child! I am the orphan of Rabbi Levi, who left me and my estate to this false priest as a sacred charge. He would now sell me in unholy marriage to a Greek captain in the Roman legion, who offers him large bribes in gold for me. Rather than be given into the hands of this fierce and terrible Grecian, I will cast myself down from the height of the Temple!'
"And to the surprise and horror of Lazarus, she bounded from the lattice and stood upon the edge of the rock, which looks sheer three hundred feet down into the valley beneath.
"'Thou seest, O Annas, to what thy cupidity for gold will drive this maiden. Has the land of Israel sunk so low that its chief priest will sell the daughters of the land for gold to the lust of the Gentiles? Is this the way thou givest protection to orphans? Leave her, and until I find a protector for her, she shall be a sacred guest with my sisters in their humble abode!'
"'Thy life shall pay for this arrogance, young man!' answered the priest. 'I have power and will exercise it.'
"'Not to the danger and wrong of this maiden, my Lord Annas, whom Jehovah will protect, since she has trustingly sought the sheltering wing of his altars,' answered my brother firmly. 'If thou continue to persecute her, I will appeal to the Procurator, Pontius Pilate, against thee.'
"The result was," continued Martha, "that the wicked priest, alarmed by the threat of appeal to Pilate, relinquished his present purpose and left them, breathing menaces against my brother. The same day Lazarus conducted the maiden, whom you already guess to be Rachel, to our house. She has since then been our guest, and has won all our hearts, as well as our dear brother's."
"Is there no hope for him?" I asked, after listening to her touching narrative.
"None; the physicians say that he will never rise again."
"There is one hope left," I said eagerly.
"What is that?" demanded Martha.
"Jesus!" I answered. "Send to him, O Martha, and he will yet save him, and raise him up to life and health."
I had no sooner spoken than Mary, who overheard me, uttered a cry of joy.
"Yes, Jesus has the power to heal him, and Jesus loves him! He will come and save him the moment he hears of his danger."
Immediately Mary wrote on a slip of parchment these brief and touching words:
"Lord, behold, he whom thou lovest is sick. Hasten to come to us, that he may live; for nothing is impossible with thee."
This message was forthwith despatched by the hands of a young friend to Bethabara, beyond Jordan, where we learned Jesus at present abides. We have, therefore, no hope for our dear relative but in the power of the Prophet. I will write as soon as we hear. I remain, dear father,
Your attached daughter,
Adina.
My Dear and Honored Father:
It is with emotions of the deepest grief that I convey to you the sad intelligence of the death of Lazarus. The hand of the Lord hath fallen heavily upon this household and stricken down its prop; smitten the oak around which clung these vine-like sisters, vine-like in their dependence upon him and confiding trust in his wisdom and love. Now prostrate in the dust they lie stunned by the sudden and mysterious stroke of God's providence.
I have told you, dear father, something of this family; what a happy household I have seen it when Jesus completed the number; for he stayed so much with them when not preaching, or when wishing to rest a day or two from his weary toil, that they came to regard him as one of their family. Martha seemed ever to be thinking what and how she should administer to his comfort, by providingevery delicacy for her table; but so that Jesus could find listeners to his words of truth and wisdom, like Mary—who loved to sit at his feet and hear the golden language fall from his sacred lips—he thought not of meat or drink.
One day when I, with Mary and Lazarus, was listening to his heavenly teachings, wrapt in wonder and absorbing interest, Martha, who was preparing the meal, came and desired Mary to come and assist her; but the dear, pious girl heeded not nor heard her, feeding, forgetful of all else, upon the celestial food that fell from the lips of Jesus. At length Martha, finding that Mary had not heard, appealed to Jesus, saying somewhat sharply:
"Lord, dost thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone? Bid her, therefore, that she help me."
We turned with surprise to hear her, who was usually so gentle and good, thus forget what was due to the presence of the Prophet, and Lazarus was about to speak and excuse his sister, who looked as if she were much worried with her domestic troubles, when Jesus said kindly to her:
"Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things. But one thing is needful, and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her. While thou carest much for the wants of the body, she careth for those of the spirit. Think not, beloved Martha, of sumptuous living for me, who have no earthly goods, nor even where to lay my head."
"Say not thus, oh, say not so, dear Lord!" cried Martha, suddenly bursting into tears at Jesus' touching words, and casting herself impulsively at his feet. "This house is thy home—ever beneath its roof, while I have one above me, shalt thou have where to lay thy head; say not so, my Lord!"
We were all moved at Martha's pathetic earnestness. Jesus raised her up and said gently:
"It is thy love for me, I well know, that maketh thee so careful and troubled to provide for me at thy bountiful table. But I have meat to eat that ye know not of. To teach the truths of God, as thou findest me doing to these, is to me meat and drink, for therein I am doing my Father's will, who sent me."
My last letter closed with informing you of the departure of the messenger to Jesus. After he had gone out of sight from the door, and the last echo of his horse's hoofs ceased to be heard by the long-listening ears of his sister Martha, I re-entered the room where Lazarus lay. He was as white as marble. His large black eyes seemed to be twice their usual size and brilliancy. He breathed with difficulty, and every few moments he would be compelled to have his head raised in order to free his mouth from the welling blood that was constantly bubbling up from the broken fountains of his life. Mary's tender privilege it was, assisted by Rachel, to render him this service of love. As she bent over him, looking downward with anxious fondness into his pale, intellectual face, watching every shadow of the change that the sable wing of advancing Death cast over it, I thought I had never gazed on a more lovely being. I forgot for the moment the dying young man about whose form her snow-white arms were entwined, his head reclining upon her bosom, her raven tresses, bronzed with a changing light, all unbound and floating above him and over his pillow, like a rich veil interwoven of sable silken floss and threads of gold.
I commenced this letter by informing you of the departure of the good and generous and pious Lazarus. He fell asleep in death as an infant sinks to slumber in its mother's arms.
All too late was Jesus sent for! To-morrow his burial will take place. Alas, how suddenly has perished the noblest young man in Judea!
Farewell, dear father. My heart is full. I can now write no more. The God of Abraham preserve you in your journey, and bring you in safety to the embraces of
Your loving daughter,
Adina.
My Dear Father:
In my last letter I told you that Lazarus was dead. I write this to say that he who was dead is alive! Lazarus lives! He whom I saw dead and buried, and sealed up within the rocky cave of the tomb, is alive again from the dead; and at this moment, while I am penning this extraordinary account, I hear his voice from the porch.
How, my dear father, how shall I find adequate language to tell you all that hashappened here within the last twenty-four hours!
The funeral procession was so very long that strangers, pausing, asked what great master in Israel, or person of note, was being taken to the sepulchre.
Some answered, "Lazarus, the industrious scribe;" others said, "A young man who has devoted his life to honor his mother." Others answered, as Lazarus himself, were he alive, would have had them:
"It is Lazarus, the friend of Jesus."
The place where they were to lay him was the cave in which his father and mother were entombed. It was in a deep, shady vale, thickly shaded by cypress, palm and pomegranate trees, and a large tamarind grew, with its stately branches, overclasping the summit of the secluded place of sepulchre. The remote swell of a Roman bugle from the head of a cohort, which was just issuing from a defile, came softly and musically to our ears, as we stood in silence about the grove wherein we were to place the dead. Æmilius, my betrothed, was also present, wearing a white scarf above his silver cuirass, in token of grief, for he also loved Lazarus. Of him, dear father, I have not of late spoken, for should I begin to write of him I should have no room in my letters for any other theme.
The sacred observances at the grove being over, they raised the body of the dead young man from the bier, and four youths, aided by Æmilius at the head to support it, conveyed it into the yawning cavern. A moment they lingered on the threshold, that Mary and Martha might take one more look, imprint upon its icy cold lips one last kiss, press once more his unconscious head to their loving and bursting hearts.
The young men moved slowly forward into the gloom of the cave. Mary rushed in, and with disheveled hair, cried:
"Oh, take him not away forever from the sight of my eyes! Oh, my brother, my brother, would that I had died for thee! for I am willing to lie down with the worm and call it my sister, and sleep in the arms of death, as on the breast of my mother, so thou couldst live! Oh, brother, brother, let them not take thee forever from the sight of my eyes! Without thee, how shall life be life!"
Rolling stone, closing a sepulchre.
Rolling stone, closing a sepulchre.
Rolling stone, closing a sepulchre.
Æmilius entered the tomb and, tenderly raising her from the body, on which she had cast herself in the eloquent abandonment of her wild grief, he led her forth, and beckoning to me, placed her in my arms.
The body, being placed in a niche hollowed out in the rock, was decently covered with a grave mantle, all but the calm face, which was bound about by a snow-white napkin. Maidens of the village advanced and cast flowers upon his head, and many, many were the sincere tears, both from beneath manly lids and those of virgins, which bore tribute to his worth.
The burial ceremonies being ended, five strong men replaced the ponderous stone door closely fitting the entrance to the cave, and so secured it, by letting it into a socket, that it would require a like number to remove it.
As they were retiring with heavy hearts from performing this last duty to the beloved dead, the sun sank beyond the blue hills of Ajalon in the west in a lake of gold. To enjoy the sunset, and to relieve our emotions of sadness, I walked apart with Mary to the top of the hill, from which I beheld the sun gilding the pinnacle of the Temple, and making it appear like a gigantic spear elevated into the sky. From the Levites at evening sacrifice came, mellowed by distance, the deep chant of the Temple service, uttered by a thousand voices. The cloud from the altar sacrifice ascended slowly into the still air, and catching the splendor of the sun's last beams, shone as if the pillar of cloud and of fire which stood above the tabernacle in the wilderness. The laborers in the harvest were hastening towards the gates, ere they should be shut out for the night by the Roman guards, and dwellers in the village were hurrying forth, lest they should be held in the city over night.
There was a sacred hush in the sleepy atmosphere that seemed in sympathy and touching harmony with the scene in which we had just borne a part. With Mary leaning sobbing upon my shoulder, I sat upon a rock giving my heart up to the sweet influences of the hour. We were alone, save Æmilius, who had ridden after us, anxious for our safety, and who sat upon his horse near by, gazing upon the beauty of the evening scene.
"I am calmer now," said Mary, after a while, raising her head and looking into my face, her splendid eyes glittering brimful with tears. "The peace of the sweet, holy skies seems to have descended and entered my heart. The spirit of Lazarus pervades all and hallows all I see. I will weep no more. He is happy now, very happy, and let us try to be holy and go to him, for he cannot come back to us."
At this moment we heard the tramp of horses' hoofs. Æmilius, startled thereby from his reverie, recovered his seat and laid his hand upon his sword. The next moment, around a rock projecting from the shoulder of Olivet, appeared a horseman in the wild, warlike costume of an Ishmaelite of the desert, brandishing a long spear in the air; then another and another similarly clad and armed, and mounted on superb horses of the desert, dashed in sight. These were immediately followed by a tall, daring-looking young man, in a rich costume, half Grecian, half Arabic, though his dark, handsome features were decidedly Israelitish. He rode a superb Abyssinian charger, and sat upon his back like the heathen centaur I have read of in the Latin books which Æmilius has given me to read. Upon seeing us he drew rein and smiled, and waved his jewelled hand with splendid courtesy; but at the sight of Æmilius his dark eyes flashed, and leaping to his feet in his stirrups he shook his glittering falchion towards him, and rode with a trumpet-like cry full upon him.
The brave Roman soldier received the charge by turning his horse slightly, and catching the point of the weapon upon the blade of his short sword.
"We meet at last, O Roman!" cried this wild, dashing chief, as he wheeled his horse like lightning, and once more rode upon the iron-armed Roman knight.
"Ay, Barabbas, and with joy I hail thee!" responded Æmilius, placing a bugle to his lips.
At hearing the clear voice of the bugle awaking the echoes of Olivet, the dread robber chief said haughtily and with a glance of contempt:
"Thou, a knight of the tribune, and commander of a legion, call for aid, when I offer thee equal battle, hand to hand, and ask not for aid of my own men's spears?"
"I know no equal battle with a robber. I would hunt thee as I would do the wolf and the wild beasts of thy deserts," answered Æmilius, pressing him closely. At a signal from the robber chief his four men, who had reined up a short distance off, near the tomb of Lazarus, sent up a shrill, eaglelike scream, that made my blood stand still, and then rode down like the wind to overcome Æmilius.
Hitherto I had remained as one stupefied at being an involuntary spectator of a sudden battle, but on seeing his danger, I was at his side, scarce knowing how I reached the place.
"Retire, dear Adina," he said authoritatively. "I shall have to defend both thee and myself, and these barbarians will give both my hands enough to do."
As he spoke he turned his horse's head to meet the forefold shock, and I escaped, I know not how, with the impulse to hasten to Bethany for succor. But heaven interposed its aid. A detachment of the body-guard of Pilate, hearing the recall of their chief's bugle, came now cantering up the hill. At the sight Barabbas and his party fled, like wild pigeons pursued by a cloud of Iturean hawks. Barabbas, however, turned more than once to fling back defiance to his foes. Æmilius soon reached his side, seized the crimson sash which encircled his waist, and held him thus, both fighting as they rode. The Roman troop came up, and after a desperate battle the celebrated chief was taken alive, though bleeding with many wounds, and bound with his own sash to the column of one of the tombs.
Æmilius says that Barabbas will assuredly be crucified for his numerous crimes. Dreadful punishment! and for one so young as this desert robber to come to such an ignominious and agonizing death; doomed to hang for hours under the sunbeams by his lacerated hands and feet, till death at last comes from slow exhaustion of all the powers of nature. I am amazed that so polite and humane a nation as the Roman can inflict such a cruel and agonizing death, even upon their malefactors. Ignominious,indeed, must the life of a man have been, for him to be doomed justly to suffer such a death.
In this letter, dearest father, I intended to relate to you how Lazarus has been restored to life, but it is already taken up with so much, that I defer it to my next. Suffice it for me to tell you at the close of this letter that it was Jesus who raised him from the dead. And will you say that he is an impostor? That he has done this wonderful thing is alone evidence enough to me that he is indeed the Messias of the Prophets, the Son of God.
Your affectionate daughter,
Adina.
My Dear Father:
Your letter has filled me with joy that I can poorly express by my pen. It assures me that you are certain to leave at the new moon, and after a few days' delay at Gaza, that you will be with me not many days afterward. This letter I shall send to meet you at Gaza.
In it I shall make known to you the particulars of the greatest miracle of power and love above all those wonders which Jesus has done.
When Mary and Martha had despatched the message to Jesus, as I have already stated, they began to be more cheerful with new-born hope, saying:
"If our dear Rabbi, the holy Prophet, comes, he will heal him with a word, as he has done so many of the sick."
"Yes, many whom he knew not he has restored to health by a touch," remarked Martha, "how much more Lazarus, whom he loves as a brother! Oh, that the messenger may press forward with all haste!"
"If Lazarus should die ere he come," hesitatingly remarked my gentle cousin, the wife of John the disciple, "he could bring him to life again, even as he did the Son of the widow of Nain."
"Yes, without doubt, unless it were too late," remarked Martha, shrinking at the thought that her brother should die; "but if he be long dead it will be impossible."
"Nothing is impossible with Jesus," answered Mary, her eyes brightening with trusting faith.
Thus the hours passed between mingled hopes and fears; but ere Jesus came, lo! the mantle of death was laid over the face of their dead brother. "Lazarus is dead, and Jesus is far away!" was the bitter and touching cry made by the bereaved sisters, as they wept in each other's arms.
The next day the burial took place, and yet no messenger came from Jesus. The morning of the third day the man returned, and said that he had found the Prophet on the farther bank of Jordan, where John had baptized, abiding in a humble cottage in the suburbs of Bethabara with his disciples.
The bearer of the sad tidings from the two sisters delivered his simple and touching message:
"Lord, behold he whom thou lovest is sick!"
"And what said he—how did his countenance appear?" asked Martha of the man.
"He betrayed no surprise, but said calmly to me, 'Son, I know it! This sickness shall not be unto death. It shall be for the glory of God; for hereby will my Father permit me to be glorified, that men may see and believe truly that I came out from God.'"
"Alas! He knew not how ill his friend was," said Mary, "or he would not have said it was not unto death, and would surely have hastened with you."
"He has forgotten us," answered Martha. "He should be here to console us in our deep affliction, though he came not to heal our brother."
"Nay, sister, do not think hardly of the blessed friend of Lazarus," said Mary, with soothing tones, as she caressed her elder sister. "I feel that if he had seen fit he could have raised up our brother, even speaking the word from Bethabara. It was not needful he should see him to heal him, for dost thou remember how he healed Lucius, the centurion's son? Yet at the time he was a day's journey distant from him."
"Then why, oh, why, did he not save Lazarus?" exclaimed Martha bitterly.
"In that he did not, sweet sister," answered Mary gently, "it was for the best. Did he not say to the messenger his sickness should be to the glory of his power?"
"But not his death, Mary, not his death! He is dead four days already, and how can the grave give glory to the power of Jesus? Will he raise him up, since corruption hath begun, nay, begun ere we laid him in the cold sepulchre? Oh, speak not to me of the Prophet! He loved not Lazarus, or he hadnot the power to save him! Nay, leave me, Mary, to the bitterness of my grief."
"Ah, dear Martha, how soon is thy faith in Jesus, when tried, become naught!" said Mary, bending upon her, from her dark, earnest eyes, looks of sad reproach. "Shall one day overturn your years of holy friendship for him? Because he answered not our prayer to come to Lazarus, think you he loved him not, and is indifferent to our anguish? He is wronged by your reproof, and injured by your want of confidence in his love and care for us."
While they were thus discoursing, one came running swiftly towards the house, and breathless with haste, cried to them and to the Jews sitting there, who had come to comfort them concerning their brother:
"The Prophet! The Nazarene! He comes!"
Almost at the same moment Elec, the Gibeonite, entered and said:
"Jesus, Messias of God, is at hand! He already entereth the village followed by his disciples."
At this intelligence the mourners who sat with Mary and Martha in the vine porch, rose up to go and meet him; but Martha, shrieking with the reaction of sudden joy, sprang up and, more quickly than they, reached the street, and flying with great speed, came where Jesus was.
Mary, who had received the news without betraying any other emotion than the secret and holy joy of a heart that had confidence all along in her Lord, instead of hastening to meet him rending her hair with grief, like her sister, proceeded to prepare a room for the hospitable entertainment of the beloved Prophet, when he should come in, thus taking Martha's usual place; and when she had arranged all, she sat down with me in the house, her heart filled with joy and her face expressive of calm and quiet happiness.
When Martha had come near Jesus, whom she met just entering Bethany, walking with four of his disciples along the dusty road, and looking weary and travel-worn, she ran and threw herself at his feet, crying:
"Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died!"
Jesus taking her hand raised her up, and said with emotion, for he seemed deeply moved by her grief:
"Death to those whom my Father loveth is sleep. The good die not! Lazarus is not dead, but sleepeth, and he shall rise again!"
"I know, O Rabboni, that he shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day."
Jesus then said to her, lifting his celestial glances towards heaven:
"I am the resurrection and the life. He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die! Believest thou this, daughter?"
"Yea, Lord, I believe that thou art the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the world. I know that whatsoever thou wilt ask of God, God will give it thee, and that even now thou couldst bring Lazarus back again!"
"Corruption and the worm have begun their work," said a proud and unbelieving Pharisee near, on hearing this. "Whatever may have been the state of the ruler's daughter, and of the son of her of Nain, Lazarus the scribe, at least, is dead!"
To this speech Jesus made no reply, but turning to Martha, said softly:
"This day my Father shall be glorified, and the world shall truly know that I am come from Him who is life and the giver of life. Go thou, and tell thy sister that I am here, and would have her come and speak with me."
Martha, then, overjoyed and wondering that Jesus should have known her thoughts, so as to reproach her for her little faith as he had done, hastened to her sister, and entering, cried:
"I have seen the Lord! He calleth for thee, Mary. Come and see him as he sits by Isaiah's fountain, near the market-place."
Mary rose quickly and went out. Certain of her Jewish friends from Jerusalem at that moment met her at the door, and began to comfort her, and to ask her if they also should go with her to weep at the grave of Lazarus, for they said one to another:
"She goes unto the grave to weep there!"
"She goes to see Jesus, the friend of Lazarus, for he calleth her," answered Martha, smiling with eagerness, and speaking with an animation that presented a singular contrast to her late deep grief.
Mary hastened to where Jesus sat by the fountain bathing his dusty and wounded feet.
"Lord," she said, in her sister's words, and with deep emotion, "if thou, Lord, hadst been here, my brother had not died!"
Then bowing her head to the edge of the marble basin, she wept very heavily. The Jews, men and women, who stood about,being touched with her sorrow, also wept, while glittering tears coursed their way down the face of the beloved John, his disciple, who stood near.
Jesus sighed deeply and groaned in spirit as he beheld her grief and their mourning with her. His sacred countenance was marred with the anguish of his soul.
"Rise, let us go to the grave where he lieth," he said to them. "Where have ye laid him?"
"Come, dear Lord, and see," answered Mary, holding him reverently by the sleeve of the robe, and gently yet eagerly drawing him towards the place of the tombs in the vale of Olivet.
In the meanwhile, at home, Martha had been diligently, and with strange cheerfulness, getting in readiness the room of Lazarus. She swept and dusted it, and garnished it with fresh flowers, which she gathered in the little garden.
"This is the rose he set out and loved. This is the violet which blooms immortal. I will place it upon his pillow," she said, with a joyous hilarity softened by the most lovely look of peace, while hope shone in her eyes like twin morning stars ushering in a glorious day. She spoke scarcely above her breath and moved on tiptoe.
"For whom is this preparation, dearest Martha? For Jesus?" I asked.
"Oh, no. The holy Prophet's own room is ready. Mary has prepared that. This is Lazarus' room, and I am decorating it for him."
"Dost thou truly believe that he is coming back from the dead?" I asked, between doubt and strange fear.
"Believe? Oh, yes! I know that nothing is impossible with Jesus! I doubt no more! My faith trembles no longer! He will raise up my brother, and this day he shall sit down at our table with us again, and this night rest his head in peaceful slumber upon this pillow which I am strewing with his favorite flowers. Never had house two such guests as we shall have this day—the Messias of God, and one come back alive from the dead!"
At this moment we heard the noise of the multitude passing by, and it being told us that Jesus was going to the grave, Martha, embracing me with a heavenly smile, drew me gently after her to follow the blessed Prophet to the tomb. All Bethany was in his footsteps.
How shall I describe Jesus as he then appeared? He wore a blue robe, woven without seam throughout, the affectionate work and gift of the two sisters. His face was very pale and sad, yet a certain divine majesty rested thereon, so that his calm, high forehead looked as if it were a throne. His holy, earnest eyes were full of sorrow. His mouth, compressed, betrayed the effort he made to suppress the outbursting of his heart's deep grief.
Slowly he moved onward and, entering the cemetery, he soon stood before the tomb of his beloved friend.
For a few moments he stood gazing upon the closed stone door of the cave in silence. There reigned an expectant hush among the vast throng. Mary knelt at his feet, gazing up into his countenance with a sublime expression of hope and trust. Martha drew softly near and fell upon her knees by the side of her sister. Jesus looked tenderly upon them and, resting his eyes upon the tomb, wept. Large, glittering tears rolled down his cheeks and glanced from his flowing beard to the ground. I knelt by the side of the sisters.
"Behold how he loved him!" whispered the Jews present with surprise.
Others said, "Could not this man which opened the eyes of the blind, have caused that even this man should not have died?"
Jesus, heaving a deep sigh, now came nearer the grave. With a slight movement of his right hand to those who stood by, he said in a tone that, though low, was heard by the whole people, so solemn was the surrounding stillness:
"Take ye away the stone!"
"Lord," said Martha, "by this time the body is offensive, for he hath been dead four days."
"Daughter," said Jesus, looking on her, "believe, and thou shalt behold the power of God."
The men then with some difficulty took away the stone from the door of the sepulchre and stood upon one side. The dark vault yawned with gloomy horrors, and, so corrupt was the air that rushed out, all fell back from it, save Jesus and Mary, retiring several steps from the entrance.
Jesus stood looking into the cave where, as our eyes became accustomed to the darkness within, we could discern the corpse of Lazarus, covered with the grave mantle, and his face bound with a napkin which was already discolored with the sepulchral damp of the grave.
Raising his hands towards heaven and lifting up his spiritual eyes, which were yet moist with tears, Jesus spoke in a voice of indescribable pathos and earnestness of appeal, and with a manner of the most awful reverence, as follows:
"Father, I thank thee that thou hast heard me. And I know that thou hearest me always, but because of the people which stand by do I offer unto thee this prayer, that they may believe that the power I have cometh from thee, and that they may believe that thou hast sent me. And now, O holy Father, may I glorify thee on the earth with the power which thou hast given me."
He then turned towards the tomb, and stretching forth his hand, he cried with a loud voice that made every heart quake:
"Lazarus, come forth!"
My blood stood still in my veins. Scarcely daring to behold, I looked and beheld what all eyes also saw, the corpse rise and stand up within the vault, turn round with its face towards us, and come forth, wrapped hand and foot with the grave-clothes, and his face bound about with a napkin. His countenance was like marble for whiteness, and his eyes, which were open, beamed supernaturally brilliant.
At beholding him a simultaneous shriek burst from the lips of the people, and there was a terrified backward rush of all who were nighest the cave.
Martha, wildly uttering her brother's name, fell forward upon her face insensible.
"Loose him and let him go free!" said Jesus calmly, addressing the petrified and amazed men who had taken away the stone.
Mary was the first one who had the firmness to approach him, and as she began removing the napkin from the sides of his face, others, taking courage by her example, hastened to unswathe his arms and feet. In a few moments he was free from his outer grave-clothes, and the healthful color of his cheeks coming to him, his lips flushed brilliantly with red, his eyes looked natural, beaming with wonder and love as he gazed about him. Perceiving Jesus, he was about to cast himself at his feet in gratitude (for he seemed to have consciousness of all that had happened), but the mighty Prophet drew him to his embrace and kissed him.
But my pen refuses to find language to express the unspeakable emotions of joy and gratitude, words of love and praise, that filled all hearts. Now the great Prophet, now Lazarus, and now Jesus again received the plaudits of the vast throng of people. Hymns were chanted to Jehovah as we passed through the streets, and so many fell down to worship Jesus that it was long before we crossed the threshold of the dwelling, which Jesus did indeed enter with Lazarus by his side! And Martha did see her brother sit at the table, and that night his head rested in deep slumber upon the flower-strewn pillow which her faith and love had prepared for him.
With the hope of soon embracing you, I remain as ever,
Your loving daughter,
Adina.
My Dear Father:
Like all my letters, the theme of this will be Jesus, whose claims to be the Messiah I unspeakably rejoice to hear you are beginning to regard with more favorable eyes.
Now Jesus, whose power to work miracles you yourself, my dear father, have confessed must be conferred by Jehovah alone, asserts distinctly and everywhere that he is Messias, the Son of God, the Shiloh of Israel, of whom Moses and the prophets so eloquently wrote. Besides claiming for himself this high character, he was heard, by both my Uncle Amos and myself, in the synagogue at Bethany, two days after he raised Lazarus from the dead, to read from Esaias the words following, and apply them to himself, which he had done before at Nazareth:
"The spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor. He hath sent me to heal the broken-hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind; to set at liberty them that are bruised; to preach the acceptable year of the Lord."
The synagogue was thronged, so that people trod upon one another. All eyes were now intent, and all ears were ready to hear what he should speak. He then said unto them:
"This day is this Scripture fulfilled in your ears. Ye ask me, O scribes and men of Israel, to tell you plainly who I am—whether I am the Christ or no. What saith the prophet of Messias when he shall come? Ye have just heard his words. If such works as he prophesieth do show forth themselves in me, know ye not who I am?"
Here a voice cried out in the assembly:
"Tell us plainly, art thou the Christ, the Son of the Highest?"
At this direct inquiry there was intense interest shown to hear the reply.
Jesus seemed about to answer, when a man, who stood near the reading desk, in whom was an unclean spirit, cried out, with a shrieking voice of mingled terror and awe:
"Let me alone! Leave me as I am, thou Jesus of Nazareth! Art thou come hither to destroy me? I know thee who thou art, the Holy One of God!"
Jesus rebuked the devil which possessed the man and said, in the voice of a master commanding a bond slave:
"Hold thy peace, Satan! The Son of man needeth not, though thou givest it, thy testimony. Hold thy peace, and come out of the man!"
At this word the man uttered a fearful cry of despair and rage, and foaming at the mouth cast himself, or rather was thrown down by the devil within him, to the ground; where, after a moment's terrific struggle, with contortions of bodily anguish, he lay senseless as if dead. Jesus took him by the hand, and he stood up and, looking in the face of the Prophet with earnestness and wonder, burst into tears of gratitude, exclaiming:
"I am escaped as a bird out of the snare of the fowler; the snare is broken, and I am escaped. God hath delivered me out of the hand of my enemy!" He then sat at the feet of Jesus, calm, grateful, happy, and in his right mind! All gazed on him with wonder, while from the great mass of the people rose a great shout, for they were all amazed, saying:
"This is none other than the Christ, the Son of David! This is the King of Israel!" while the loud shouts of "Hosanna! hosanna! hosanna!" cheered by a thousand voices, "Hosanna to our King!" shook like a passing storm the synagogue.
When the noise had a little subsided, some of the Scribes and Pharisees said, reproving him for not rebuking these cries:
"Who is this that suffereth himself to be hailed as king? This is treason to the emperor!"
Jesus then said in a loud, clear voice:
"My kingdom is not of this world! I seek not an earthly throne or earthly sceptre. My kingdom is from above. Ye say truly, I am king," he added, with indescribable majesty, "and hereafter ye shall behold me sitting upon the throne of heaven."
When he had thus far spoken he could not proceed farther, on account of the sudden and immense uproar which his words produced. Some shouted, "Hosanna!" others said he blasphemed; one cried for the Roman guard, another for the priests, to eject him from the tribune; many rushed towards him to cast themselves at his feet, while many, putting their fingers in their ears, hurried forth from the synagogue, crying:
"His blasphemies will cause the house to fall upon us and crush us!"
Never was such an uproar heard. In the midst of it Jesus conveyed himself away, none knew whither; and when I returned to the house of Martha I heard his low, earnest, touching voice in prayer to God in his little chamber. He had sought its sacred quiet to be alone with his Father in heaven. At times I could hear him praying and supplicating, in tones of the most heart-breaking pathos; at others the silence of his room was only broken at intervals by sighs and pitiful groans that seemed to come from a breaking and crushed heart. Oh, what hand may remove the veil and reveal what passed there in that holy retirement between the Prophet and his God!
It was late in the day when he came forth, Martha having softly tapped at his door to say that the evening meal was prepared and alone waited for him. When he appeared his face was colorless and bore traces of weeping, and though he smiled kindly upon us all, as he was wont to do, there was a deep-seated sorrow upon his countenance that brought tears to my eyes. Æmilius joined us at the table, and with dear Lazarus and with Uncle Amos, we passed a sacred hour; for the Prophet ate not, but talked to us much and sweetly of the love of God, and as all listened the viands were forgotten.
Pardon me, dearest father, if I am too warm and urgent in my efforts to bring you to accept Jesus as the Christ. Convinced, as I am, that he is Messias, I cannot but ardently desire that you, also, should come to the knowledge of this truth. What he is yet to be, how he is yet to develop his majesty and power, is unknown to us all. Some do think that he will enter Jerusalem ere long, attended by tens of thousands of his followers, and that before him Pilate will peaceably vacate his Procuratorial chair, and retire, not only from the Holy City but fromJudea, with his legions; that Jesus will ascend the throne of David, and the glory of the age of Solomon be revived under his rule.
Such, dear father, is the future of the Prophet, as looked for by all his disciples save one, and this is John, the husband of my Cousin Mary. John, on hearing our views of the coming glory of the Prophet, looks compassionate and says:
"His kingdom is not of this world. He has naught to do with the splendors of earth. His glory you will behold, but it is a glory of the spirit. Ere perceiving it fully we may first pass through the valley of darkness, the gate of the tomb. He has distinctly said to me, 'I must first suffer many things at the hands of men before I enter upon my reign of glory. The Jews will seek me to kill me, and I shall be taken from among you; but let not sorrow fill your hearts. Death can have no power over me save such as I permit it to hold. I lay down my life and I take it again. Through much tribulation and sorrow must the Son of God win the sceptre of this earth—the hearts of men. I shall conquer, but to do so I must fall. Yet fear not. My death shall be the gateway to Paradise for you all!'"
Thus, dear father, do we discourse together about this wonderful Prophet, whose future life is all a mystery, save that, from the prophecies, we know it is to be inconceivably glorious; from his own lips, to be inconceivably sorrowful. But whether on a throne, giving laws to the world, or in the dust, borne down by the deepest woe, I shall still love, honor, reverence him and trust in him as my Savior, my Prince, and the Holy One of God!
Your devoted and loving,
Adina.
My Dearest Father:
With what emotions of grief and amazement I commence this letter you can form no just conception. Jesus, the Prophet of God, is a prisoner to the Roman power!
But I fear not the issue! He cannot be holden of his foes, save by his own free will. He can, with a word, turn his chains into bands of sand, and by a glance render his guards dead men. He will, therefore, escape their bonds. They can have no power over him.
It seems that to-day, after eating the Passover with his twelve chosen friends, and instituting a new and peculiar feast with wine and bread, which he told them impressively would be his last supper with them, he went forth towards Olivet, and there, seating himself beneath the shade of a tree, he talked with them very sadly, saying that "his hour was come, that he had ended his work, and that he was about to be delivered into the hands of sinful men."
John gave the following narrative: "It was evening, and the south side of Olivet lay in deep shadow. We were all sorrowful. We felt, each one of us, as if some grievous evil was pending over us. The tones of our beloved Master's voice moved us to tears, quite as much as his words, which latter were full of mystery. We were all present except Iscariot, who had remained in the city to discharge the costs—he being our purse-bearer—of the Passover supper and pay for the hire of the room. At that supper Jesus had said very plainly that one of our number would betray him into the hands of the priests. At hearing our Lord say these strange words in accents of touching reproach, we were all deeply moved, and Peter and the rest at once questioned him individually, if it were they. 'Lord, is it I?' and another, 'Lord, is it I?' I was resting, at the moment, with my face on the shoulder of Jesus, and said softly, 'Lord, who is it that betrayeth thee? I will forthwith lay hands upon him and prevent his doing thee harm.' Jesus shook his head and smiling gently, said:
"'My beloved brother, thou knowest not what thou would do. The Son of man must needs be betrayed by his own friends, but woe unto him who betrayeth me! Mark which of the twelve dippeth bread with me into the dish!'
"I looked and saw Judas reach forward and dip into the dish at the same instant with Jesus; but in his eagerness, or from conscious guilt, his hand trembled, he spilled the salt over the board, and the sop fell from his grasp into the bowl; upon which Jesus gave him the piece he held, saying to him, with a remarkable expression in his clear, piercing eyes:
"'Judas, that thou doest, do quickly!'
"Instantly Judas rose from the table, and without a reply or casting a look at any of us, went out.
"For a few moments after his footsteps had ceased to be heard, there prevailed aheavy silence in the chamber, for a strange fear had fallen upon us; why, we could not tell; and looking into one another's faces, and then into our dear Master's, we seemed to await some dread event. His face was placid and full of affection as he looked upon us. The momentary cloud which shaded the noble profile when he spoke to Judas had all passed off, and there was the serenity of a cloudless sky in his face."
"What was the mysterious feast which he instituted?" asked Mary, interrupting John here.
"You may properly call it mysterious," he answered. "As we were eating the Passover, Jesus took up bread and, blessing it by a solemn act of consecration, broke it with his hands and gave a portion to each of us, saying with it, 'Take, eat; this is my body!'
"Awed and impressed by his manner and the act, we all received and ate it as he commanded us to do, as reverently as if it were the holy shew-bread of the Temple, dedicated to God's use. When we had eaten in silence what we perceived was the inauguration of a new and most sacred feast by his own hand, he took up the cup of wine, and consecrated it also by giving thanks and blessing. The hallowed cup he now offered to each one of us. We all drank of it with deep devotion, for he said to us, 'I will drink no more with you the fruit of the vine until that day that I drink it new in the kingdom of God!' He also said of the wine, 'This is my blood!'"
"And how do you understand these words, that the bread consecrated was his body, and the wine was his blood?" I asked of the disciple.
"That is an inquiry I cannot answer," said John. "It is a mystery. But the Lord says it shall be made clear to us by and by.
"We then sang the Passover hymn to God, and went out at his command to go to Olivet. As we went he discoursed with us:
"'My children,' he said. 'I am to be with you but a little while longer. The hour of my departure is at hand. Remember my last words—love one another. In this shall all men know that ye are my disciples.'
"'Lord,' cried Peter, 'we will go with thee! Thou shalt not leave us nor go without us!'
"Thus we all, eagerly and tearfully, gathered around him, alarmed and grieved at the words he had said. He regarded us lovingly and said:
"'Little children, I must leave you. Whither I go you cannot come!'
"'Though thou wentest to the uttermost parts of the sea, I will follow thee, my Master and Lord!' exclaimed Peter. 'Whither goest thou, that we may not follow? I will lay down my life for thee; and so will all these!'