by Brian Keene
Jesus and the messenger drew away from the others, and Jesus offered the man water and bread, saying, “I can feed your hunger and thirst, if you will only partake.”
When he was sated, the man delivered his message.
“Rabbi,” he said, “I have tidings from Mary and her sister, Martha, who reside in the village of Bethany. It concerns their brother, Lazarus.”
Jesus knew Mary, Martha, and Lazarus very well. All three were dear and faithful friends of his. Many months ago, as Jesus and his disciples were traveling through Judea, they’d come to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to them. Jesus taught from Martha’s home for many days. Her sister, Mary, had sat at his feet and listened to what he said. Martha had been unable to partake in the teachings because she was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made in order to feed all twelve of Jesus’ entourage. She’d come to Jesus and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”
When he heard this, Jesus said, “Martha, you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be
taken away from her.”
At first, Martha had not understood his meaning, but when at last the knowledge dawned on her, she laughed.
The sound had filled the Son of God’s heart with happiness.
He loved them both, and loved their brother Lazarus most of all, for he was a good man and had not been offended when Mary poured perfume on Jesus’ feet and wiped them with her hair. Lazarus had understood the symbolism and blessed it with his acceptance rather than demanding blood.
Jesus smiled at the memory.
“Lord?” The messenger shuffled his feet in the sand, unsure if Jesus had heard him.
“What news from Mary and Martha?” Jesus asked. “What news of Lazarus?”
“The sisters have commanded me to say, ‘Lord, the one you love is sick’.”
When he heard this, Jesus patted the messenger’s hand. “This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it.”
• • •
Jesus loved Martha, Mary and Lazarus. Yet when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days, teaching upon the banks of the Jordan.
“Surely, he will go to aid his friends,” whispered Judas. “He would not let death claim a man such as Lazarus.”
“Our Lord cannot return,” Peter said. “Have you forgotten, Judas? Bethany is in the heart of Judea. We have just fled that place for our very lives. To return now would mean certain death.”
On the seventh day, just as the sun rose over the hills, Jesus called his disciples together. They sat around the fire and shared a wineskin and bread. The assembled crowd was still sleeping. Many of the people who had come to hear Jesus out of curiosity had ended up staying, forsaking their farms and families so that they could gain knowledge and understanding.
When they had broken their fast, Jesus said to his disciples, “Let us go back to Judea.”
“But Rabbi,” Paul exclaimed, “a short while ago the Jews tried to stone you, and yet you are going back there?”
Jesus nodded. “We must return. Our friend Lazarus is sick.”
“Then we shall travel under the cover of darkness,” Matthew suggested.
“No, Matthew,” Jesus said. “That is not the way. Are there not twelve hours of daylight? A man who walks by day will not stumble, for he sees by this world’s light. It is when he walks by night that he stumbles, for he has no light.”
Paul stood up. “I still do not think it is a good idea, Lord.”
Judas poured river water on the campfire and stirred the ashes. The rest of the disciples grumbled among themselves.
Jesus insisted. “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep; but I am going to Bethany to wake him up.”
“Lord,” Luke said, “if Lazarus sleeps, then he will get better. We should let him rest.”
“That is not the sleep I speak of. By the time we arrive, Lazarus will be dead. And for your sake, Luke, I am glad that I was not there in time, so that you may believe.”
Luke frowned. “I do not understand.”
“I know.” Jesus smiled. “But enough talk for now. Let us go to him, and all will be made clear.”
Jesus stood up and prepared to leave. He moved amongst the crowd, wishing them well and imparting his blessing. Some of the people wept when they heard that he was leaving, for they knew what the Jewish priests would do if he were caught.
Jesus reached the bank of the river and turned around.
He called out, “I go to Judea.”
“Then you go to your death, my Lord,” Judas whispered.
Thomas, who was also called Didymus, said to the rest of the disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.”
• • •
When they arrived, Lazarus had already been dead and in his tomb for four days, just as Jesus had predicted.
Bethany was less than two miles from Jerusalem, and many Jews had come to Martha and Mary to comfort them in the loss of their brother. They brought whispers and gossip of Jesus’ arrival—how he and his followers were approaching in broad daylight, marching down the main road in plain defiance of the priests. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him, but Mary stayed at home.
Jesus greeted Martha. “It is good to see you.”
The distraught woman did not return his smile, nor would she meet his eyes.
“Martha, do not be troubled,” Jesus said.
“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.”
“And what would you have me ask of my Father, dear Martha?”
Martha lowered her head again. Her voice was barely a whisper. “That He not have taken Lazarus from me.”
“Your brother will rise again,” Jesus told her.
Martha nodded. “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.”
“But,” Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this, Martha?”
“Yes, Lord,” she replied, “I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who was to come into the world.”
“Then let not your heart be troubled. You will see your brother again. Now where is Mary?”
“She is at our home, Lord. I should make haste there as well, to prepare for you and your disciples.”
Sighing, Jesus eyed the crowd that had gathered to see him. “We shall follow along behind you as we are able.”
Martha ran home ahead of them. Mary was still in mourning, and had not moved from the straw mat in the corner. She was surrounded by many friends, all of them offering comfort, and yet no comfort did she find.
Martha went to her sister’s side. “The Rabbi is here and he is asking for you.”
When Mary heard this, she got up quickly and went out to meet him. The people who had been comforting Mary noticed how hastily she left. They followed her, assuming she was going to the tomb to mourn her brother there.
Jesus and his disciples had not yet entered the village, and were still at the place where Martha had met them. Jesus was giving an impromptu lesson to the assembled crowd. When Mary reached the place and saw Jesus, she fell at his feet and wept.
“Lord,” she cried, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
Mary’s friends grew sullen and whispered among themselves about the influence Jesus had on her. Several of them began to cry as well, overcome with sorrow for their friend, Lazarus. They felt bad for the two sisters. Both had believed until the very end that this son of a carpenter—this Nazarene—would somehow save Lazarus. But he had not.
And now Lazarus was dead.
Jesus was deeply moved by their tears, and his spirit was tr
oubled.
“Where have you laid him?” Jesus asked.
“Come and see, Lord,” Mary replied. Her face was wet, her eyes red.
They walked along the road and Jesus wept.
As they passed by the sisters’ house, Martha joined the procession, assuming that Jesus wished to bid his respects to the deceased. More villagers followed along, and the disciples grew nervous, certain that word of their presence would each the priests in Jerusalem soon.
One of Mary’s friends watched Jesus cry, and said, “See how he loved Lazarus! He did not mean for him to die.”
But another of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying? That is what we were told would transpire. That is what the sisters believed.”
Jesus did not respond. His tears fell like rain, spattering the dry, dusty ground.
Father, he prayed, forgive me that I did not want to return to Judea. I knew what awaited me here—the beginning of the end. I was fearful of death. I am sorry. I now follow your will, though I am still afraid.
• • •
They came to the tomb, a cave with a massive stone blocking the entrance. Even with the entrance sealed in this way, the smell of rot and decay hung thick in the air.
“Take away the stone,” Jesus said.
“But, Lord,” said Martha, “by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been in there four days.”
“Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?”
“Yes.”
“Then take away the stone.”
Several of the disciples did as he commanded, grunting with the effort. They rolled the boulder away, revealing a yawning, black crevice. The stench that wafted out was horrible and many in the crowd turned away. The foul miasma did not seem to bother Jesus. He stepped towards the opening and looked up into the sky.
“Father,” he said, “I thank you that you have heard me. I know that you always hear me, but I say this for the benefit of the people standing here, so they may believe that you sent me.”
He moved closer still. He trod on old bones and his sandals crushed them into powder. Jesus bowed his head in prayer. The crowd watched, fascinated.
Then Jesus shouted, “Lazarus, come out!”
No one moved. They stared in shocked silence as a sound came from inside the tomb—a soft whisper, cloth on rock. A bent form shuffled towards the entrance and many of the onlookers were afraid. Somewhere near the back of the crowd, a child began to cry.
A cloud slid over the sun, and when it had passed, the dead man staggered out of the tomb, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of soiled linen, and a bloody cloth around his face. His bodily fluids had oozed into the rags, crusting them with gore.
Gasping, the crowd shrank away. But Mary, Martha, and the disciples surged forward, shouting with joy.
Jesus said, “Take off the grave clothes and let him go.”
They stripped the dirty linens from Lazarus’s body and when his sisters saw his face, they wept with happiness.
“Oh, brother,” Mary cried. “You are returned to us. We are blessed. Truly, the Lord is mighty.”
Lazarus stared at them, blinking, as if trying to remember who they were. Then he smiled.
“Hello, my sisters. It is good to see you.”
Jesus twitched, as if startled. His disciples noticed his reaction, but no one else among the crowd did. They were too busy celebrating Lazarus’s resurrection. Mary and Martha knelt at their brother’s feet and kissed his hands. Lazarus ignored them, his gaze settling on Jesus.
“Thank you,” the dead man said, grinning. “Thank you for this release.”
Jesus did not reply. He tried to appear happy but his smile faltered. His demeanor troubled the disciples, and they pulled him aside.
“What is it, Lord,” asked Mark. “Are you not happy to see our friend?”
“He is not our friend,” Jesus whispered.
“But Rabbi,” Judas said, “this is Lazarus that stands before us, resurrected by your will and strength. This is a sign of your testimony.”
Jesus shook his head. “This is not what I summoned. This is something else.”
“What, Lord?” Matthew glanced back at the crowd, watching Lazarus move among them.
Jesus frowned. “Speak softly, so that none other shall hear. This is not our friend Lazarus. Something else inhabits the temple of his body. Something that it is not given to
me to have power over.”
Luke was incredulous. “Lord, even the demons submit to us in your name. You have power over everything.”
“No,” Jesus replied, “I have given you authority to trample on snakes and scorpions and to overcome all the power of the enemy; nothing will harm you. However, do not rejoice that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven. I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven. I saw his army fall with him. But there were Thirteen that did not fall, yet neither did they serve my Father. That is because my Father did not create them. These Thirteen came from... before. Great among the Thirteen is Ob, the Obot. He is Lord of the Siqqusim and it is given to him the power to reside in the dead.”
“Then cast him out, Lord,” Judas said. “Force him to flee our friend’s body.”
“I cannot,” Jesus said, “for as I said, I have no power over him.”
“But why is he here?”
“My Father is displeased, for I feared to enter Judea again.”
Frowning in confusion, the disciples watched Lazarus and the Jews. The dead man moved spryly, his limbs showing none of the stiffness that came with death.
“I am hungry,” Ob croaked with Lazarus’ mouth. “Who among you shall feed me?”
“We shall prepare a great feast for you, brother,” Martha cried, “to celebrate your return to us.”
“Yes,” Mary agreed. “We shall all feed you.”
Ob smiled at this news, and stared at Jesus.
“Will you not come dine at my sister’s table?” Ob asked, laughing.
“I will not.”
“You will miss a rich meal.” Lazarus put his arm around Mary’s shoulder and leaned close to her. “Delicious and succulent. Truly a tantalizing feast.”
Jesus stirred. “Come and walk with me, Lazarus. Let us give thanks together for your return.”
Ob’s smile faltered. Noticing that the crowd was watching him, he held his head high and walked over to where Jesus stood. The disciples drew away from them, leaving the two alone.
“You befoul this body,” Jesus spat. “You defile my Father’s glory.”
Ob leaned close, his stinking breath hot on his adversary’s face. “Your Father is disappointed with you, Jesus. Since the day you turned fourteen, you have known this time would come. When the angel appeared to you and revealed your destiny, you were distraught. Since then, you have accepted God’s will. You knew that in this, your thirty-second year, you would be asked to work this miracle. You would be asked to intercede on behalf of your friends. You would return to Judea, be betrayed by the one you call Judas, and die at the hands of the Jews. You knew your Father’s will, and yet you balked. You delayed, because you did not wish to return. Did not wish to set these events into motion. And thus, He has sent me so that you will not forget—it is His will that you serve.”
“You lie.”
“I am not the Master of Lies. That is your older brother, the Morningstar.”
Jesus glanced over Ob’s shoulder. Martha and Mary were waiting.
“If you harm them,” he whispered, “then know this. I will—”
“Do nothing,” Ob interrupted. “That is what you will do. Nothing. But never fear, Nazarene. I am forbidden to harm them. If I do, I shall be returned to the Void. Your Father may be powerless against me, but He has human agents who know the way.”
They glared at each other, unblinking, and it was Jesus who looked away first.
“I understand now,” Jesus told his discip
les. “My Father’s will has been made clear to me. I understand why He commanded us to return to this place. I understand all that will transpire. And know this, Judas. I forgive you.”
Judas was taken aback. “Forgive me, Lord? For what? Do you not know that I love you? That I serve you faithfully?”
Jesus’s smile was sad. His eyes grew wet again. Instead of responding to Judas, he bid farewell to the sisters and told his disciples to follow him.
“Where are we going, Lord?” Thomas asked.
“I must go into the desert and pray. We cannot be here after dark.”
“Lord,” Peter insisted, “we must stay and fight him.”
“No,” Jesus said. “My Father has forbidden it. What happens next is His will.”
• • •
That night, there was a great celebration in the village, and all hailed Lazarus’s return. After the celebrants had fallen asleep, satiated on lamb and duck and wine, Ob moved among them and began to feed. He plucked sleeping babes from their mother’s breasts and drank their blood. He then turned to the mothers, nuzzling at their teats as they slept, before sinking his teeth into the soft flesh. Screams ripped through the night.
His only regret was that his army—his Siqqusim—could not join him.
Ob’s feeding frenzy continued. He ripped the arms from men and wielded the severed limbs like clubs, striking at others. He chewed the face off a beggar, tore into stomachs, gouged eyeballs and ate them like grapes, bit into Adam’s apples as if they were real apples, and left a trail of gore and offal behind him. Bethany became a place of slaughter. He licked the scabs of lepers, skewered children on spears, and even feasted on the livestock and pets.
When he was satisfied, Ob vanished into the night, intent on finding the necessary ingredients to open a portal and free his brethren from their imprisonment in the Void.
The cries of the dying and wounded drifted into the desert, and when Jesus heard them, he wept again.
• • •
Many of the Jews who had come to visit Mary, and had seen what Jesus did, put their faith in him after the resurrection. But when the first light of dawn lit upon the massacre, they went to the Pharisees and told them what had occurred. None of them thought to connect Lazarus to the crimes.
