Lazarus

Lazarus
John 11:1
Karl Evans
1980-2007

Jesus had many friends. There were many people who, whether or not they believed he was the Messiah, just liked the guy. They just cared about him for the person he was.

Sometimes Jesus made his friends laugh with his jokes about Herod. Jesus called Herod ‘The Fox’. Sometimes Jesus teased the Pharisees, or even the disciples. Jesus had pet names for some of the disciples. He re-named Simon as Peter, The Rock. The disciples knew it was something of a joke. Soon everyone began to use the new name.

Among Jesus friends was Lazarus, brother of Mary and Martha. Sometimes Lazarus found Jesus just to tell him some bad jokes. Not dirty, and not degrading to anyone. Just awful jokes. Often Jesus laughed and told some of his own very bad jokes to Lazarus. Jesus wasn't too good at comedy unless he was poking fun at Pharisees or priests or governors. Even then he used comedy to make a point about the new world to come soon.

So Jesus enjoyed Lazarus. Their time together was warm and good. But, as happens to people, there came a time when Lazarus became ill suddenly and died a few days later. The family sent for Jesus when Lazarus became ill. Jesus did not immediately return to their home.

Lazarus finally died. Jesus had not come. It seemed to some that Jesus purposely stalled coming to Lazarus. Everyone around him had their own comments to make. Some were frustrated that Jesus did not come before Lazarus died. Some only spoke to themselves in quiet contemplation. Some spoke to God. Few tried to defend Jesus.

Few people look forward to death. Everyone seems to feel the need to say something about death when it comes close. When family or friend knows the nearness of death, talking seems to help.

Jared, a boyhood friend and neighbor, came early to see Mary and Martha, the sisters of Lazarus. In the sadness of their crying, Jared tried to give them comfort.

He hugged them both, and they talked about Lazarus. Jared said how Lazarus had been a good friend. He said it must just have been his time to die. It must have been the will of God. Yes, that's it. He died because God wanted him to die.

Now another friend, Sam-el, one who had been even closer to Lazarus, was just about destroyed by Lazarus' death. Lazarus had been working with Sam-el as a counselor, helping him understand and cope with his own problems.

Now with Lazarus gone, he had no friend, no counselor, no one to turn to. The lonely Sam-el could only sit and sob. Lazarus' death might as well have been his own. The death of one was a total loss for the other.

Now in those days the nation was actually in the hands of the Roman army. Roman troops could find shelter wherever they chose in nearly every city and town in Palestine.

As the sound of the wailing of Mary and Martha came from the house, a small squad of Roman soldiers walked by in the street. By the sound and the black-draped doorpost, they knew there was a death.

These were men who faced death every day. Their end might come from a street battle, or from training. They might feel the sword in a pitched battle as the Romans tried to take over another nation. But, as with most armies, no one talked to them about their own death.

They talked as they walked by. "I don't think anyone will make that much fuss about me when I die. No one cares that much."

Another suggested a course of action. "What you should do is to marry some really homely girl. Then when you die, she will be in such a sad state! She'll bawl like a sick calf because no one else will ever want her."

A third soldier joined in. "Naaawww. He’s too ugly himself. There isn't any girl who is desperate enough to want him! When he was born the midwife slapped his mother."

"I don't see why these Jews make so much fuss over anyone. Death really doesn't mean anything."

"I've killed a hundred or two, and they were all the same. One of these days someone else will kill me. The world will keep on keeping on."

"So what if another dies, especially just another Jew. There’s just something I don’t trust about these people."

"You know, Jews are so lazy that when one of them dies its usually three days before anyone notices."

"I think this family is one of those that followed Jesus, the Galilean. You know, he talks a lot about getting to heaven. Maybe this fellow had his own way and got to leave early."

The young soldiers moved on down the street as a group. Laughing. Talking. Teasing. Bragging. Just moving and wondering.

But inside the house, things weren't that calm. Mary and Martha were living through the stages in their mourning. They saw Jesus was to blame for the whole thing. They had sent for him. He just did not care enough to come. Then Lazarus died. Without Jesus.

Mary and Martha and Jared and Sam-el could only be caught up in the death of Lazarus. They sat quietly through most of the hours before burial. The ritual preparation of the body for burial took only a little time. Then Lazarus was buried in the family tomb. It was done.

When Jesus came to the door, he was not met by warmth for a friend. Martha and the others met him with resentment and self-pity. The cold emotional overtones of personal blame were startling to Jesus.

Mary was the outspoken one. "Jesus, I really thought you cared. All these months you have been telling us how you loved us. You have been saying we should love each other. And we believed you.

“You even told us what we should do if we love each other. You said we should do as you do. We have seen you make the blind see. We have seen you make the deaf hear and the epileptic straight.

“But what about us? We have walked all over Galilee with you. Why do you spend all your time with those who don't even walk with you? Why do you care only about a bunch of sinners who just don't care about you?

“Yet you let Lazarus, a man you say you love, just lay down and die. You don't even bother coming around until after he is dead long enough to start smelling bad. Is it asking too much for you to be here when someone is sick? When someone who loves you is about to die?"

Now it was Martha who spoke. The fire and discouragement in her voice betrayed her sorrow. And her anger at God.

"Jesus, I really do not think you care. Maybe you have a big head now from having all these people hanging around you. I don't think you feel a thing. The whole town talks about you like some kind of god. Even I used to think you were some kind of god. Maybe I even the Messiah.

“But right now I don't want a god. I want someone who cares. I need someone who feels. I need someone who has blood in their veins, not ice water.

“You may be a god. Fine. Right now we need a man. You never hurt. You never have any pain. You could have saved my brother, who practically worshiped you. When we needed you, you were too obsessed with saving millions."

Jesus would have reached out to hold them. They drew back in anger and hurt. Cold pain flew at Jesus from their eyes. They would not let Jesus hold them, or touch them.

Jesus' eyes filled with tears at their words and at the anger in their voices and in their eyes. He looked at the floor for a moment, then asked quietly, "Where is he buried?"

Martha snapped "Why go there now? He's been dead three days. He'll be smelling to high heaven now. The time to see him was three days ago, when you might have done something. You could have been here at least to just to hold his hand while he died."

But Jesus went to the sandstone cave. Some friends of the family had rolled a flat piece of stone over the mouth of the grave. They sealed the small holes around the edge of the opening with a sand and limestone mud. This kept out burrowing animals and moisture. Jesus broke through the sealer and rolled away the flat stone.

Jesus knelt on both knees in front of the cave, deep in prayer. As he knelt silently, big tears rolled down his cheeks. In the silence the drops seemed to make big splashes as they fell to the ground. It seemed to some who stood by as if Jesus struggled for words.

Martha whispered bitterly to her sobbing sister. "Thinking about himself, again. Right now he is probably thinking about what he will look like when he dies. He is wondering how many thousands will come to his own funeral."

The crowd began to grow. Within a few minutes, eight or ten gathered around. Watching and waiting with no real expectation of anything. Some stood silently with curiosity and confusion written on their faces. Some eyes showed bitterness toward the seeming lack of concern of Jesus. He should have cared more for the illness and death of an old friend and supporter.

Some jeered. Some made off-color remarks about loyalty, and about hypocrisy, and about what Jesus was going to do with the body. Some questioned Jesus' sanity. Why would a man with a healthy mind open a sealed tomb?

Jesus only said, quietly, "Lazarus, my friend, come out to me." Then Jesus knelt, obviously in earnest prayer. The only sound was from the gossip of the crowd.

Now, Lazarus began to stir. The cloths around him began to move. The crowd suddenly stopped its murmuring. In the darkness of the tomb the crowd could clearly see the burial cloths part.

First a hand appeared, then another. The hands silently pulled the rags away from Lazarus’ head. Lazarus crouched low, now. His feet and legs were still wrapped as he began to move toward the mouth of the low tomb.

The others moved back quickly. There was suddenly no need to become involved in the events of the day. They let Jesus kneel alone in silence in front of the tomb.

Lazarus pulled himself out of his own grave and stood in the door of the grotto. Jesus put his arm around Lazarus. Jesus barely mussed the white cloths with which Mary and Martha had wrapped Lazarus.

Lazarus and Jesus and Mary and Martha and Jared and Sam-el walked away. There would be another day to die. Not today.

Words of Fire

Words of Fire

Luke 19:45-47

Karl Evans

Geminel stood silently before the altar of the Temple. His eyes fogged absently as they took in the fire of the altar. It blazed and cooled, rose and fell as the priests fed it with the sacrifices.

The men of Israel had gently laid their living sacrifices in the hands of the priests. The priest had the responsibility of the last few moments of the sacrifices. Before the fire consumed the animals, their lives were in the hands of the priests. Using the ancient rituals, the priests carefully kill the sacrifices. Then the men of Yahweh said the appropriate prayers and placed the gift on the fire.

These priests worked with a show and reality of deep reverence and respect. They had been selected from their own communities as a gift of honor. The temple guild called them into this position only a few times in a lifetime of service.

Out in the courtyard, the scene was quite different. Far less reverence and respect showed among the peddlers. Many who came from far places expected to pay for their trip by hawking their wares. They sold sacrifices and keepsakes, food and clothing to the pilgrims coming through to worship.

"Get your sacrifices here! Get your doves! Two spotless doves for twenty-five dollars. I just brought these in this morning. My boys have been raising them for pets. Guaranteed no blemishes!" Of course, the doves were usually purchased from Jerusalem youth in the last few days.

"A-number one ram here for the sacrifice! Only five hundred dollars! Only one left in all of Jerusalem!"

The prices asked for the sacrifices by those who bought and sold there shocked Geminel. It seemed almost too much money changed hands.

How could it be theologically correct? How could it be an act of faith? Must the proper sacrifice to God operate on a bottom line cash basis only?

This time, Geminel himself had done what most of the poorer pigeon vendors did to get their pigeons. He had gone at night out into the city in the late dusk. Stealthy moves allowed him to catch two good pigeons sitting on their roosts.

By faint lamplight, Geminel hurriedly inspected them for flaws. These two looked all right. No broken wings or legs. The feathers were in good shape. Best of all, they were free. No feeding. No wholesaler to pay. They would have to do.

Now, with daylight came the morning business. Men and boys whom he had seen out scouring the town for roosting pigeons last night had brought in their unfortunate captives. Now the trappers were selling them at the Temple for outrageous prices.

The people who had actually raised pigeons could command huge prices for the birds. They had invested time and feed in them, and did so to make a profit. They could sell spotless birds to the wealthiest pilgrims. The best birds brought great profits to the entrepreneurs.

The scavengers like Geminel, though, had no investment other than the few minutes it took to grab the birds from the roosts. These were the ones who were ripping off the poorer pilgrims and the less devout. Many of these latter travelers had come from as far as Spain, or India, or Russia to offer sacrifices at the Temple.

Now at the climax of their journey, their own fatigue and the high pressure tactics of the traders took many of them in. This being the case, the pilgrims often offered less than perfect animals at the altar. The priests, fully aware of the problems of pilgrimage and language difficulties, generally looked the other way. No points would be made by embarrassing a traveler. That traveler might not be particularly friendly later to a supplier of inadequate products for holy sacrifice. No one wanted trouble here.

Geminel knelt in prayer at the Temple steps. He tried to avoid the hubbub around him. Concentrating on his prayer, Geminel vowed purity in his heart and commitment to the Messiah. Then Geminel rose in his turn. He stood in the line for a priests to take his two pigeons and ritually slaughter them. Then, after carefully inspecting their insides, the priest burned them as an offering to the Lord.

The flames rose and fell as they consumed the sacrifices. Occasionally a priest added wood brought by faithful pilgrims from their homes. Temple workers brought some wood from forests of the nation.

Geminel looked around at all those who were in the Temple with him. Dozens of people gathered for sacred rituals. Some came as priests. Some came as worshipers. Some came to make money. Some wanted to relieve boredom. Some came to bargain with the Lord for health or wealth or safety.

Everyone there hoped to profit somehow from something which might happen at the Temple. The profit might be money for the traders or for the priests. It might be some better gift from God for the worshiper. Or, it might be just some excitement in life. But something could probably be provided for almost every pilgrim.

Some were wealthy or tried to pretend they were. Some were poor, or tried to convince the thieves they were. Geminel felt nothing but pity for the really poor. Pity because it seemed they were actually hungry. Pity because they seemed out of place in the hubbub of buying and selling. This confusion went on as they offered up their sorry little gifts.

Geminel's mind wandered as he waited in line. His mind's eye pictured the man who controlled all this, who made things happen in the land.

This man in Geminel's thoughts was not the high priest. The high priest was just a functionary named by another. The job of the high priest was to organize the religious work. It was not up to him to build the faith or to run the nation.

The governor named the high priest. He was the one who made things happen around here. Right now, most of what was happening was bad.

Pilate was not really a military man, but he prided himself on his army. After all, it was the strongest force around. He had thousands of men who were well armed. His army was equipped with the latest weapons. Pilate had their swords and shields and helmets made with the strongest steel and iron.

Geminel had to chuckle at the thought of Pilate's army being a sign of strength. Armies are not of strength but of weakness. Strong leaders and diplomats do not need armies to fighting battles within their nations.

We build strong nations on trust and honor, not on swords and spears. Pilate could not see that. He believed all the hype about the need for spears and machines and spies.

Pilate only used the Temple to build his forced dictatorship. He needed protection only from those who questioned his dictatorship over their lives.

The Temple was a good organization to protect the interests of the power structures of Pilate's rule. All Pilate had to do was pass the word.

One priest or another would call judgement on those who were revolutionary enough to speak of a better way. The priest could call them radicals. He used words like "bleeding heart liberals." He could use any words he could find.

Forget their concern came from reading the prophets of ancient Israel. Forget their compassion, their sense of justice. If they challenge the system, they are wrong. Simple as that.

These matters were no concern to Geminel. Geminel only wanted to stand before the Lord, to make the sacrifice. Geminel wanted and needed to make peace with God.

While Geminel waited, he wondered for the profit of all this. How much of the proceeds of this scene would find its way into Pilate's pocket? Making the sacrifice only cost Geminel a few coins tossed into the hand of the officiating priest.

As he waited in line, some sort of ruckus began on the steps of the Temple. From where Geminel stood, he couldn't see what was happening. He could hear men shouting and see pigeons flying off. He could hear sheep bawling. Geminel was not really concerned until the Temple guards buckled on their breastplates and grabbed their shields.

Then a man whom Geminel had not seen before pushed his way through the crowd and came to the altar. There he knelt, obviously in deep and fervent prayer.

While he knelt a silence spread over the temple. It seemed the whole world had come to a complete stop. No one moved.

The Temple guards seemed frozen. Priests stopped their sacrificial slaughter, hands poised with sharp knives, not moving. The milling crowd paused as if waiting for something extraordinary to happen.

When the man rose, a wealthy men in the line walked over to the stranger and whispered something in his ear. The stranger listened to the Pharisee, then slowly lifted his eyes to survey the crowd.

He could see the men in the Temple, going about their daily work. He could see the rich and the poor, the home towners and the wanderers.

The Galilean looked out through the door of the Temple at the hovels of the poor. Forced to build outside the city walls, without water and without the protection of the walls, these poor could only dream.

Now the Galilean eyes filled with tears. He saw the broken down shacks of the poor pushed up against the outside walls of the city.

Inside the walls, the homes of the wealthy stood as fortresses against poverty for the owners. They were vaults for the wealth of the nation.

He spoke. "Go tell Herod, that sly fox, I am here. Tell him I will heal the sick for a couple days. Right here. I will give hope to the poor. I will make the blind see. I will release the captives of a sick world."

"This city, Jerusalem, the city of David, has had its chance. How often the poor of the city came to you. How often have those who live out in those mud huts in filth and disease and hunger come to you in their need? How often you could have taken them in as a mother hen covers her chicks. Yet you would not."

"Instead, you have stoned the prophets. You have slain those who told the truth about you. You have trampled the poor in your search for the almighty gold."

"Jerusalem, they will destroy you. These very ones who are turning a profit from your existence and your faithfulness. They will not just circumcise you. They will clean cut you off."

Jesus paused a moment. "I will go away now, but I will be back. When I come back you will say `Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the Name of the Lord!'"

As the man left, Geminel knew he would be back. More trouble was coming -- lots more trouble. Geminel knew Herod's soldiers would be waiting for him. Geminel knew the Temple guards would fight against the man. He had told the truth about the city and the Temple and the priests.

Somehow, Geminel knew down deep inside this man was no loser.

All the armies of all the nations did not destroy this man of the world. The most elite Temple guards can not hold him. The self-righteous statements and the hypocritical patriotism of the wealthy could not protect the temple. They could not hold back the forces this simple fisherman would loose. The class system that made up the nation could not withstand his justice.

This fellow would be back, all right. Jesus would be back to stay.

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Stories That Heal

Welcome to the Bible Story Blog. Over fifty years of amateur and professional ministry I have told many stories. That is what you will find here. Stories. I hope you will read and respond to them. I appreciate whatever you have to say. When I throw the words to the winds, they no longer belong to me, but to the hearer or reader.

When these words are in your mind and heart, you will respond somehow to them. You are a slave to them. They will change you somehow.

So read, think, enjoy, and let me know how the story shapes your life. The only question that matters is how the story shapes your life. Do not ask about historical narratives. Only make comments from your own heart about validity, meaning and value.

The question of validity is first. Does the story reflect the truth of the world in some way? How? Second, what does this truth mean to you, to your relationships with others, to your image of yourself? Third, how strong is this meaning, and does it really change you? These are the only questions to ask of a story.

Karl Evans


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