Earthly and Eternal Life

One of the lectionary readings in the weeks leading up to Easter took us once again to Bethany, and that favorite stopping place for Jesus whenever he was visiting the Jerusalem area, the home of Mary, Martha, and their brother, Lazarus. As I pondered again the familiar story of Jesus calling forth his friend from the tomb, I found myself wondering if it really was much of a gift to return him to life.

Oh yes, his sisters were overjoyed. No doubt the faith of many was incalculably strengthened. There was, in fact, a kind of prefigure of Jesus’ own resurrection from the dead. But it was incomplete. Lazarus was restored to this life, not to life eternal. He had to cope all over again with all the pains and disappointments, the illnesses and accidents, that mar our earthly existence. Eventually (presumably) he grew old. Eventually (certainly) he had to face death all over again.

"The one whom you love is ill," his sisters said to Jesus. They didn't even refer to him by name. It must have been a very close friendship. And yet, Jesus didn't drop everything to hurry to his friend’s bedside. Jesus, who often healed people from afar by simply speaking a word, spoke no word healing for this special, close friend. Indeed, he seems to have deliberately delayed his visit until he knew for certain his friend had died. "For your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe," he said cryptically to the Twelve. Can it be that he who could have healed Lazarus with a touch or a word instead deliberately allowed his friend to die, so that four days later he could demonstrate his miraculous authority even more dramatically by raising him from the dead?

Can it be that he not only allowed his friend to go through the rigors of dying, but then he returned him to this earthly life where he would have to face aging, illness and death all over again – all for the sake of others who would see the miracle . . . and believe?

Can it be that he would ask such a thing of a dearly loved friend simply because only a dearly loved friend would agree to it? And if we dare to answer "yes" to all of those questions, what shall we say of that strangest of all verses in the Bible: “Jesus wept?" If Jesus knew all along that the sorrow of Mary and Martha was about to be swallowed up in joy; if he knew in advance that within moments his dead friend was about to walk out of the tomb alive; if, indeed, he had in a sense “set the whole thing up” (!) why did he weep?

I've often thought that he wept because he took that deliberate moment to enter into the sorrow of the mourners (even though he knew their grief was about to be dissolved momentarily). But I find myself wondering if it might not have been for another reason. Lazarus, who had recently tasted of life eternal; who had already experienced the release from this world's aches, pains, limitations, incapacities, and disappointments; who had already beheld the face of God -- was being asked to give all of that up for a few more years of earthly life.

Perhaps Jesus would ask that only of his dearest friend. Perhaps, just perhaps, he was contemplating just how costly that request would be. Perhaps they were not tears of sympathy for the sisters, but tears of sadness at having to ask so much of a friend. Return to this life after tasting heaven? That's not even a serious question. A friend of mine compares it to going to a wonderful restaurant. When we arrive we're shown into a lounge where the waiter offers breadsticks. A few moments later the Maitre d' says, “Your table is ready.” As pleasant as the lounge might have been, who would choose to stay there when the real banquet was inside?

Perhaps Jesus wept at the thought of Lazarus having to return for a few more breadsticks.

Love to you in our Lord

+ John

Note: An earlier version of this column ran in the April, 1993 Central Florida Episcopalian.