Not that all the trouble had been centered on Jesus in recent months. The group who sought to free Israel from the domination of Rome had been growing more brazen lately, and the daggers of the sicarii had found a mark among the Sadducees and the Herodians who worked hand in glove with the procurator, Pontius Pilate, to keep control of the people and of the vast revenue from the tribute that flowed into their coffers. Only this winter there had been a brief but bloody flare-up when a group of Galilean Zealots had killed a prominent Sadducee within the confines of the sanctuary.
A sharp battle had followed. Outnumbered by the Galilean Zealots and their followers, Abiathar, the captain of the temple guards, had been forced to call the Roman soldiers from the nearby fortress of Antonia. The Romans had ruthlessly cut down the rioters and blood had been spilled upon the floor of the temple itself. A wave of indignation against Pontius Pilate for this desecration had swept the city, for many were in sympathy with the Galilean Zealots, if not willing to support them actively. In the end it had amounted to nothing, except a pertinent reminder that the strength of the Romans was great and that the Sadducees, though Jews, would not hesitate to levy upon it to maintain their control.
III
Mary ran to meet Lazarus when he rode into the courtyard. The rain had stopped, but his robe and cloak were soaked and his body already so chilled that his teeth chattered as he gave the mule to a servant and started for the house.
“Why didn’t you find shelter until the rain stopped?” Mary scolded him as she half-pushed him through the door into the house. Inside it was warm and the fragrance of the savory stew Martha was preparing met his nostrils.
“And be late for such a feast?” Lazarus asked banteringly, removing his cloak and handing it to Mary so she could hang it up to dry. “I am only a little wet; the heat will soon drive it away.”
Mary was bustling about bringing towels and a fresh robe. “Dry yourself and put this on,” she directed. “I will be in the kitchen if you need me.”
“Bring me a hot drink,” Lazarus called after her. “It will warm me more than anything else.” He removed his tunic of linen, made from flax grown in the rich farming area around Jericho where the delicate pink flowers of the plants were already beginning to color the fields. Drying himself vigorously with a cloth, he put on the robe of light wool Mary had laid out.
Mary came in as he finished dressing, carrying a posset of hot spiced milk sweetened with honey. Martha, her broad homely face shining with the heat from the kitchen, also came to the door to greet him.
“We had word today of Jesus from a traveler who stopped here,” she said. “He says the people beyond Jordan are flocking to hear the Master and many have already believed.”
Lazarus’s eyes brightened; the fire, the dry clothing, and the hot drink were already dispelling the chill from his body.
“Is He coming back soon?” he asked.
“Peter sent word that they will return for the Passover,” Mary said, “and stay here.”
“Of course He will stay here,” Lazarus said proudly. “This is the Master’s home in Judea and always will be.”
“He does seem to like it here,” Martha agreed.
Lazarus put his arm around his older sister’s shoulder. “Why not, with such a good housekeeper,” he said warmly.
Martha smiled. “Your supper is almost ready, if you have finished warming yourself.”
“The smell of that stew drove the cold from my bones.” Lazarus followed his sisters into the other room and went to sit cross-legged before the dish Martha lifted from the fire. Even in this relatively well-to-do household, the ancient customs of Israel were rigidly observed at mealtime. They bowed their heads while Lazarus spoke a prayer of thanksgiving for the food and then the women served him. Only when he had finished did they eat.
The wind still howled outside and the rain drummed occasionally against the shuttered windows, but inside there was warmth and the happiness of mutual love. Even the wealthy retired shortly after the coming of darkness and, tired from the day’s work, Lazarus soon went to the heavily quilted sleeping pallet which Martha unrolled for him. The three slept in the main room of the house, as did all but the very wealthiest among the Israelites. Soon there was no sound save the rhythmic breathing of the sleepers and an occasional rustle when one of them turned in sleep. Like all Israelites, they slept fully clothed.
It was Mary who first realized something was wrong when Lazarus’s teeth suddenly began to chatter in a severe chill. By the time she had lit a candle from the coals of the cooking fire and set it beside her brother’s pallet, the rigor was so severe that his whole body was shaking.
Thoroughly alarmed, the sisters busied themselves putting more covers upon Lazarus and building up the fire to warm the room. In the full grip of the chill his face had turned almost blue and they cried out for fear that he would die then and there. But with the covers holding in his body warmth and the brightly burning fire heating the room, the chill gradually subsided. He still breathed in quick gasps, however, and sweat had broken out on his forehead from the agonizing pain in his chest every time he tried to breathe deeply.
Martha had seen this sickness before and her heart was heavy. Striking suddenly, usually during the winter months when the weather was frequently chill and damp, it often felled its victims in a few days while even the most skilled physician stood by helpless. She sent Mary to grind up mustard seeds and steep them in water for a poultice to apply to Lazarus’s chest on the right side where the pain seemed to be most intense when he breathed.
The poultice and hot stones finally eased the pain somewhat and Lazarus was able to breathe without gasping. Martha could see how shallow his respirations were, however, and toward morning he began to cough up a small amount of dark, rusty-colored matter, sure sign of the swift destroying fever that so often attacked even the young in just this fashion.
When the dawn began to break, a servant was dispatched to Jerusalem to seek out Joseph of Galilee, the leading physician of the city who served as medicus viscerus of the temple in addition to having a busy practice among the well-to-do. Joseph was an old friend and, like Nicodemus, was also a believer in Jesus of Nazareth. If any man could help Lazarus, she knew, it was he.
By the time Joseph came from Jerusalem, Lazarus’s face was flushed with fever and he was muttering with delirium and picking at the bed clothes. His breathing grew steadily more rapid in rate and shallower in depth. The physician was a tall, vigorous man, far more learned in his profession than the ordinary physicians in Israel, having studied at the great museum of Alexandria, a center of knowledge more renowned than Rome itself. In the temple he cared for the ills of the priests, but he was not in sympathy with the autocratic practices of Caiaphas and kept his position only because his skill exceeded that of any physician in Jerusalem.
Joseph examined Lazarus carefully, even as did the Greek physicians, putting his ear to the young man’s chest and listening to the sounds of his breathing. By the time he completed the examination, his face was grave and he nodded to Mary and Martha to come into the adjoining room.
“Lazarus is seriously ill,” he told them. “You must already have realized that.”
Mary’s eyes filled with tears, for she and her brother, the youngest of the three, were very close. Martha’s heart was heavy, too, for she loved Lazarus as she would have loved the son she never had. But she was also the strongest and could not give way when the others needed her.
“The fever grows worse then?” she asked.
Joseph nodded. “I see many such at this season of the year.”
“But he will recover?” Mary asked. “Say he will recover, Joseph!”
The physician did not give her the answer she wished to hear. “I do not know,” he said. “Lazarus is young and strong, but often those are the ones who go the quickest.”
“Is there nothing you can do?” Martha asked.
“Poppy leaves and wine will quiet him and let him rest,” said the physician. “Cases such as this either get well suddenly in a few days or—” he did not complete the sentence, but opened the bag he carried to get the powdered leaves of the poppy plant which possessed an almost magical power to relieve pain and bring sleep. This, and the root of the mandrake, were the most valuable weapons in the armamentarium of the physician.
Martha brought wine and Joseph stirred up the powdered leaves to make a concoction which they gave Lazarus to drink. Although his eyes still burned with the fever of delirium, he took the medicine submissively. Later Joseph knew he would resist violently, but Martha and Mary would have trials enough to face in the next few days—if Lazarus lived and there was nothing to be gained by warning them now.
Joseph had left Jerusalem before the morning meal and Martha would not hear of his returning without at least some dates, a cake of bread, and fresh goat’s milk to drink. While she bustled about the kitchen preparing the food, an idea began to take shape in her mind. When Joseph had eaten she gathered courage to speak to him about it.
“You believe Lazarus will die, don’t you, Joseph?” she asked.
“I have seen few develop fever as quickly as he did and live.” He looked at her keenly. “What is in your heart, Martha?”
“Jesus is our friend. If He were here He could save him.”
Joseph did not question the statement. All too many of the conditions he was called upon to treat were beyond any help he could give, yet more than once he had seen them cured by the miraculous powers Jesus possessed. And if any man ever had need of these powers, it was Lazarus.
“Do you know where Jesus is?” Since the last attempt by the temple authorities to stone Him, those who loved Jesus had tried to keep His whereabouts as secret as possible.
“We had word yesterday. From a traveler. He is in Peraea, beyond Jordan.”
“How far beyond the river?”
“About a day’s journey, from what the traveler said.”
Joseph knew the crisis would come before a messenger could find Jesus and return to Bethany with Him, but he hesitated to point this out to Martha and destroy her hope.
“Send word to Jesus, certainly,” he said. “I can do nothing that you are not already doing. Only the will of God can save Lazarus now.”
Quickly Martha sent for a trusted servant. “Find the Teacher of Nazareth,” she directed, “and tell Him Martha sends this message: ‘Lord, behold, he whom You love is sick.’”
Mary did not leave the bedside of her brother for her presence there seemed to have a quieting effect upon him. Martha, while equally concerned, was grateful for the household chores that kept her busy—keeping stones heated to maintain the warmth in Lazarus’s body and subdue the racking chills that sapped his strength, or making rich broths which Mary could feed him in sips when he woke.
As the hours passed, Martha saw that her brother’s breathing grew steadily more shallow as the mounting fever burned brighter in his eyes and in his cheeks. As she moved about the house, she would pause to pray that the messenger would find Jesus in time. She had given up hope that the Master could arrive in Bethany before Lazarus died, but she remembered how He had healed the son of Chuza in Capernaum though the boy was in Cana, several hours’ journey away. She had also heard Peter describe how He had healed the servant of the Roman centurion and the daughter of a Syro-Phoenician woman without being in the actual presence of either. With nothing else to cling to, she dared to hope Jesus could accomplish the same thing for Lazarus even at the greater distance of two days’ journey.
Mary never lost confidence that Jesus would save Lazarus and Martha did not mention her own misgivings to her young sister. Through the long day and the even longer night, the women watched, but when Joseph came the next morning, it was clear that death could not be many hours away. Already Lazarus’s ear lobes were dusky in color and his lips were almost blue, while the skin of his body, except the almost blistered area where the application of ground mustard had irritated the skin, showed the same dark blue tint of approaching death. Friends and relatives had already gathered to help and comfort the two sisters while Lazarus lay dying, for it was futile now to hope that Jesus could reach Bethany in time, even had the messenger found Him.
Mary had remained at Lazarus’s side, serenely confident that Jesus would save him. Only when, before midday, her brother ceased to breathe did they finally lead her from his pallet, so stunned by his death that she sat, dry-eyed, staring at the wall.
IV
The common burying ground of a town could not be less than fifty cubits from the outermost house. Located in a dry and rocky place if possible, graves by custom had to be at least a half-pace apart, since it was considered a dishonor for any person to walk over a grave. Public cemeteries were used largely for the poor, even the only moderately well-to-do having their own private tombs, usually located near their houses.
The family tomb of Mary and Martha, in which rested the bones of their father and mother, was in the garden adjacent to the house, a cave hollowed out of the rocky hillside, as were most private burying places in Bethany. Five cubits in width and four cubits in height, sufficient for a man to stand erect, it was six cubits long and contained space for eight bodies, three on either side and two across the end. The kukhin, as the cave tombs were called, were usually closed with a large stone known as the golel.
Since burial was carried out on the day of death whenever possible, the women relatives, who had been called in by Martha, began to prepare Lazarus’s body for burial as soon as Joseph pronounced him dead. First the corpse was washed and then anointed with many spices, including myrrh and aloes. Next it was dressed in a white garment of fine wool and the face covered with a handkerchief of finest linen, bound lightly in place so that it could not blow off as the body was carried to the tomb.
The funeral procession was large, for the three were well known in Bethany and, being well-to-do, were entitled to a last tribute from the neighbors and those who served them as shepherds, vineyard tenders, and tillers of the soil. In Galilee it was customary for the hired mourners, both men and women, to precede the body, but in Judea the custom was reversed and they followed after, wailing constantly with the peculiar high-pitched cry which was their specialty. After these mourners came the family with Mary, still stunned by what had happened, supported by Martha and their friend Nicodemus from Jerusalem.
An elder of the synagogue at Bethany delivered a brief eulogy. Then the bearers carried the body in and placed it upon one of the niches carved from the wall of the cave. One by one the mourners passed the mouth of the cave taking leave of their friend with the words, “Depart in peace.” This done, the procession returned to the house where each mourner made an expression of sympathy to Mary and Martha, repeating it, according to custom, seven times.
At the end of the ceremonial burial, a mourning period of thirty days began. During this time relatives and friends would be going and coming constantly, and at all times a large number of people would be in the vicinity. Martha found some surcease from her own grief in greeting the visitors and providing for their comfort. Mary, however, went directly to the mourning chamber.
As she worked, Martha could not keep from her mind the thought that if Jesus had been there, Lazarus would not have died. In a way, she felt the Master had failed her.
Chapter 23
He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live.
John 11:25
It was near the end of the second day after his departure from Bethany that Martha’s servant found Jesus. The Master was preaching outside a village about a day’s journey north of Bethabara on the east bank of the Jordan. He gave Martha’s words to Jesus as he had been instructed, and described the gravity of the disease and the rapidity with which it had de
veloped.
Jesus heard him patiently, almost as if He had been expecting the message. “This sickness is not unto death,” He said, “but to the glory of God, that the Son of God may be glorified thereby.” Then He turned to Thomas who, with a few others of the disciples, was with Him, and ordered that word be sent to the rest to rejoin Him as quickly as they could from the outlying villages where they had been teaching.
The following day the other disciples arrived, tired and dusty from the journey. They had not had a successful mission and were depressed.
“Lord,” said Simon Peter to Jesus, “increase our faith.”
Jesus sat beside a black mulberry bush, called in this region a sycamine tree. “If you had faith the size of a grain of mustard seed,” He said severely, “you might say to this sycamine tree, ‘Be you plucked up by the root and planted in the sea,’ and it should obey.
“But which of you having a servant plowing or feeding cattle, will say to him when he comes from the field, ‘Go and sit down to eat’? And will not rather say to him, ‘Make ready wherewith I may sup and gird yourself and serve me, till I have eaten and drunk, and afterward you shall eat and drink’?
“Does he thank that servant because he did the things that were commanded him? So likewise when you have done all those things that are commanded of you, say, ‘We are unprofitable servants, for we have done only that which it was our duty to do.’”
The tired and depressed disciples were not particularly pleased by His words, which they took to mean that, had they exerted themselves more in His service, they would have achieved more lasting results. Jesus did not reprimand them further, but said, “Let us go into Judea again.”
Judea was a good two days’ journey away and their last visit to Jerusalem had almost ended in a riot from which they had been lucky to escape, so some of them were shocked by the idea of going back into the zone of danger.
The Crown and the Cross: The Life of Christ Page 25
