Lazarus

Mary, Martha, and Lazarus were good people. When we were out on the road, their house was one place that we always knew we could stop at, it was the closest we had to home in those days. Mary was the perfect hostess, remembering not only everyone's name(a bit of a feat when you consider how many of us there were sometimes) but she remembered every conversation we'd had with her and could follow up at the drop of a hat, despite there sometimes being months between our visits. Mary loved to read, and I usually had a book or two on me while we travelled, so she'd always pushing me for reading suggestions, and inevitably would have four or five to suggest herself. She'd remember what I'd been reading the last time she'd seen me, and she'd make sure to have read it too, almost like it was just to have an excuse to talk about it with me. This would have been impressive enough, but she did it with everyone. Thomas was a huge soccer fan, and she always knew about any recent big games to talk to him about, while she was the only person on earth I think who cared about those weird indi albums Phillipe was listening to. Heck, she's the only person I'd ever met who could genuinely make Judas smile.

Martha was Mary's opposite. She was quiet, and I barely ever heard her speak, but I swear to you, we would all would have been dead in less than a year if it hadn't been for her. She had been a nurse at some point, and even served in the army for a while. She made sure we were always in one piece and gave us all full check ups when we stopped in. What's more important was that she listened. There's something about her that no matter what was on your mind or bothering you, it would come out within mere minutes of meeting Martha. Mary always had something to say, Martha just had to look at you. She knew exactly how to make you feel better too. She could cook like no other, and I swear she put something truly addictive in her pies. She did our laundry, mended our clothing, and basically was our mom at every opportunity.

Both of them lived with their older brother Lazarus. He'd been in the service for years, and had stories that could entertain anyone. At some point he'd been married, but his wife had passed away. He'd invited them to come stay with him after that. Who was taking care of who depended entirely on who you asked and who else was listening at the time.

So when we'd heard that Lazarus was sick, we'd all immediately began packing up, thinking we'd be there before nightfall. But Jesus said we weren't going. At first, I thought it was going to be another one of those distance healing things, like with the city councilman's daughter, but Jesus never said anything about it. We were camping out at some highway rest stop in Indiana at the time, and it seemed like we were just killing time. Jesus had a few healings come up, but nothing spectacular, and certainly no crowds were there. It wasn't a major through point, and a sizeable truck stop up the road ensured that it wasn't even a necessary bathroom stop for most. Then, after a week, Jesus suddenly started packing up and announced we were leaving. Lazarus needed us to wake him up. John looked at him like he'd stated we had to go was Lazarus' car. It might be a favor you'd do for a friend next door, but not drive across the state for it. "Why not just let him sleep?"

Jesus looked up as if he'd remembered to grab an extra pair of shoes and said, "Because he's dead, and I'm going to show you something awesome" We finished packing up and got in the road, but I don't think anyone said anything for hours after that. Just pointed looks and head tilts whenever Jesus was thought to not be looking. What was going on?

When we arrived, I knew Jesus had been right. You don't get that many black cars out front of a house without threatening the president. It was a wake for sure. Lots of hushed voices in the front room, and piles of flowers and cards by the door. In the kitchen were rows of casserole dishes and plastic forks. It had the awful feeling of an awkward high school graduation party for someone you barely knew. Martha, of course, was busy trying to sort everyone out, and trying to get bags, coats, and cars directed to where they needed to go.  Mary, though, had me freaked out. She looked like she was barely keeping it together, not saying a word as we all filed in and said our condolences. Then Jesus walked in last. She ran out of the room, then out of the house. She got as far as the back yard, when Jesus, following slowly, finally called out to her saying her name.

She stopped and looked back at him, a face full of rage and pain, her eyes were wet, and her cheeks swollen from held back sobs. The rest of us stayed inside, watching like voyeurs through the back house windows, like we knew we shouldn't have been watching, but couldn't think of anything else we could do. Instead, we watched in anticipation of what they'd say to each other.

After a few moments of tense silence, Mary said angrily, "You could have saved him. If you'd shown up for just one second when we needed you, when I needed you, you could have done it. But what now? I know you could do anything if you just said it. What would bring the world to an end if you asked it? What have I got left to give you? She finally let the tears and the sobs go. Her head dropped, her shoulders sagged, and she just shook. Jesus walked up and put his arms around her. After a few minutes, he started crying too. It was hard to see him cry, like there was something more to it. I think as long as I live, even with all the other things I've seen and done, I'll never forget that night, watching Jesus and Mary cry together. At some point, I saw Martha standing just to the side of them. I never saw her walk up, so fixed in the other two I'd been watching, she was just there. After a bit, Jesus looked up and saw her. He reached out to hug her too, but she just fixed him with this look that said,  "Well?" Jesus met her eyes for a few seconds, and then said, loud enough that I knew he was talking to us, despite never breaking eye contact with Martha, "Let's go to the cemetery."

It took a bit to get us all loaded in, especially when the other visitors in the house saw us all going out to the cars with Mary and Martha, assuming we were taking them somewhere else to grieve, and no one could decide who was close enough family to be invited along. We were on our way, but when we got there, other cars had somehow beaten us there. We made straight for the mausoleum where Lazarus was being stored. As we all got out, Jesus looked at Martha and said, "You know your brother isn't gone forever?"

"I know he'll be back at the resurrection." she muttered.

"I am the resurrection," Jesus replied, but he said it in a way that made it feel like a whole conversation with just those words. He looked back at the mausoleum and said, "open it up"

Martha ran forward to say that it was too late, it had been days since he'd died, and the smell would have been too much. Jesus pushed on though, and as the doors were automatic sliders, leaving him standing just outside. He stood for a moment, and then shouted "Lazarus, come out!"

It was a few very long moments of tense doubt as we stood there in the silence Jesus' words left, when slowly, out of the dark if the tomb, out stumbled Lazarus. Slowly, but alive. It was an amazing moment, and everyone was smiling. I couldn't believe it myself, but the smile on my face died when I saw the looks on the faces of the religious leaders who were there.

Their faces stopped me cold. Because I swear to you, they looked like death