by Bodie
“I will not be comforted,” Jacob cried. “In mourning I will go down to the grave with my son!”
So his father wept for him.1
As we listened to Jacob’s sobs, the Dreamer thumped his heart with his clenched fist. “The sword of sorrow pierced my father’s heart. I carried the weight of my father’s sorrow away with me. I heard him weeping still, long after I was sold in Egypt.”
The words of the Dreamer and his father’s tears were too much for me to bear. I felt the grief of every father for every lost child. It pushed me down to my knees.
Joseph the Dreamer commanded me to rise, “Get up! The weight of the world’s sorrow is too much for any man.”
“I can’t.” My legs would not move. My shoulders trembled as I remembered the moment of holding my dead baby. Kissing his sweet forehead as I laid him in the grave. I began to weep.
Then Samuel, my son, lifted me to my feet. “Father, I am here. It’s me … the son you lost.”
I was able to stand. Able to breathe. I wrapped my arms around his neck and clung to him with joy.
“Come away.” The Dreamer clasped my hand and the hand of my son, and we three stepped back through the veil of color. I was relieved as we departed the sorrow of the world. We left all that behind, entering again into the peace of the heavenly vineyard.
We sat on the knoll overlooking the vines. I thought to myself that surely many years had passed on earth since I had died.
I said to the Dreamer, “I never want to go back to the world as it is.”
The Dreamer answered, “I suffered at the hands of strangers for many years. I was thirty years old when the Lord lifted me out of prison and I entered the service of Pharaoh and became a prince in Egypt. The Lord revealed to me the famine that was to come upon all the world, and I stored the grain of Egypt for seven years. There was enough grain to feed the world.”
The Dreamer raised his hand and pointed across the green and gold vines. “Look there! Time is nothing. My brothers, famished beggars, come seeking the help of one they do not know and will not recognize. They come to Egypt to buy grain from the prince of Egypt … the brother they mocked and sold as a slave.”
I saw in the distance a cloud of dust sweeping across a distant land. The cloud did not come near the vines of heaven.
The Dreamer commanded that we hold tightly to his sleeve. “Come!” he commanded. “Hurry!”
Suddenly we stood in the hall of a great Egyptian palace. The brothers of Joseph, older now, lean and weathered by sun and trouble, came walking as a group through the marble corridor.
We followed as they were ushered into the presence of a great man.
The Dreamer said to us, “That is who I became after all my suffering. They live in tents and tend my father’s flocks. I am the prince of Egypt. I know my brothers, but they do not recognize me.”
The eleven brothers bowed down before Joseph the prince, just as Joseph, as a boy, had dreamed they would. They presented him with gifts of frankincense and myrrh.
The Dreamer said to me, “There is my younger brother, Benjamin. We shared the same mother, Rachel. She died giving birth to the lad. I was present when he was born. He was a comfort to me and to my old father.”
Samuel and I observed as the eyes of the prince fixed on Benjamin with such longing that I thought his heart would break.
Suddenly, the prince shouted that all his attendants should withdraw. As the Egyptians scurried out, the prince began to weep in front of his brothers. They looked at one another in confusion as Joseph’s tears streamed down his face. “I am Joseph! Is my father still living?”
The brothers could not answer him. They were terrified at his presence.
He stood from his throne and descended. “Come close to me,” Joseph entreated them.
They hesitantly moved toward him.
“I am your brother Joseph, the one whom you sold into Egypt. And now, do not be distressed or angry with yourselves for selling me here, because it was to save lives that God sent me ahead of you. For two years now there has been a famine in the land, and for the next five years there will not be plowing or reaping. But God sent me ahead of you to preserve a remnant on earth and to save your lives by a great deliverance. So, then, it was not you who sent me here, but God. Bring my father down here quickly!”
Then, as we watched, Joseph threw his arms around his brother Benjamin and wept. And Benjamin embraced him, weeping. Joseph kissed all his brothers and wept over them.
One moment more and I glimpsed the reunion of the old father, Jacob, with his son. Joseph held the old man in his arms, and the two wept for joy at their reunion.
The Dreamer smiled and turned away. “So many tears.
I wept for betrayal. For parting. For suffering. And for love. What my brothers meant for evil, God meant for good to save a remnant. The events of my life were but a foreshadowing of a greater life. He walks among his brothers now. But they do not recognize him. The prophecy is recorded by Moses in detail. As it was for me, so it is today on earth. Jesus the Messiah, only Son of God the Father, Deliverer and Redeemer of all the world, will soon be rejected by his brothers. Mocked, reviled, tortured, and stripped of glory. Jesus comes to be the Savior of all. What men intend for evil, God intends for good.”
In the blink of an eye, we once again stood on the knoll above the heavenly vineyard of the Lord. And now the brothers of Joseph gathered around us. I recognized old Jacob, who, of all of them, still remained old in his appearance. His white hair and beard were an honored crown to a long life lived in sorrow.
The brothers bowed deeply before Joseph. Judah stood apart. It was Judah who offered to save his brother’s life, I remembered.
Jacob approached Judah and placed his hand on his head. “Judah, like a good shepherd, you offered to give your life to save the life of your brother. It is recorded in Torah what I said to you. ‘You are a lion’s cub, O Judah! The scepter will not depart from Judah, nor the ruler’s staff from between his feet until he comes to whom it belongs and the obedience of the nations is his. He will tether his donkey to a vine, his colt to the choicest branch. He will wash his garments in wine, his robes in the blood of grapes.’ ”
Joseph the Dreamer stood before Judah. “My brother, from your descendants and the tribe of Judah came forth King David, Israel’s shepherd. From the descendants of David is born the Savior of the world: Jesus, son of David, son of Almighty God. The scepter is his.”
Old Jacob turned to Joseph. “On earth, it is recorded that the father, the protector who raised up Jesus Messiah is a man named Joseph. Therefore Jesus is known as Jesus, son of Joseph. This is to honor you, my son. My blessing is recorded in Torah: ‘Joseph is a fruitful vine, a vine near a spring, whose branches climb over a wall. With bitterness archers attacked him; they shot at him with hostility. But his bow remained steady, his strong arms remained limber because of the hand of the Mighty One of Jacob, because of the Shepherd, the Rock of Israel, because of your father’s God who helps you, because of the Almighty who blesses you with blessings of the heavens above and blessings of the deep that lies below, blessings of the breast and blessings of the womb. Your father’s blessings are greater than the blessings of the ancient mountains, than the bounty of age-old hills. Let all these rest on the head of Joseph, on the brow of the prince among his people.’ ”
I stood in wonder with my son in the midst of the ancient ones as they spoke of what was, what is, and what will be.
Love. Envy. Rejection. Betrayal. Suffering. Victory. Exultation. Reunion. Forgiveness. Salvation. Restoration. Deliverance.
The tears of Joseph were so great. The prophetic truth of what was to come upon Jesus, living out God’s plan among brothers who hated him, was almost too much to bear. In the order of things, his story had only reached the tears of rejection …
My son leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Look, Father! It’s Mother. Mother is coming!”
The ancients parted for Eliza as she walked
toward me. “Eliza!” I cried, enfolding my beloved in my arms.
Radiant at our reunion, she lay her cheek against my chest. “Oh, my love!” She sighed. “I have longed for you.”
I had wondered if there could be longing in heaven. “Well, we are together now … forever. Ever after is such a long time.”
She raised her face to mine and kissed me. It was as I remembered her kisses in my dreams. Sweet wine. Together. Never more to be parted. No more tears. No more sorrow. I wished never again to see the world from which we had come, nor to remember the suffering that had been our lives.
I closed my eyes and drank her in. Eliza and I held one another for what I imagined was a century or two. It was calm and still.
And then all of heaven fell silent. The ground beneath my feet trembled as sound like none I had ever heard penetrated the peace of our garden …
Chapter 30
Before he called me forth from the grave, Jesus wept. His was not the loud, frantic keening of the women who mourned outside my tomb. His was a sigh and a groan and a single, salty tear. It was, at first, almost imperceptible, even to those standing closest to him.
But his sigh shook the universe, and the place where I was quaked. I stood in the midst of those who watched and waited for all things to be set right.
Jesus groaned, and the heads of angels and saints turned to look down upon the earth in wonder. His tear trickled down his cheek, and a spring burst forth at my feet. Pure, clear water spilled from its banks and flowed down a mountainside, leaving a myriad of new stars, like flowers, blooming and rising in its wake. I remember thinking, On a clear night, constellations above the earth reflect on the still surface of the sea. But here? Only one of Jesus’ tears contains a galaxy.
My eternal companions and I listened. We heard his voice echo from Bethany across the universe! He commanded, “Roll away the stone!”
We all waited in anticipation for the next word from his lips.
Then Jesus spoke my name: “Lazarus!”
Surely he could not mean me, I thought. But all the same, I whispered, “Here I am, Lord.”
Centuries have come and gone since his holy sob ripped me loose from timeless conversation with the ageless ones. Ten thousand, thousand scholars and saints have asked, “Why? What made the King of heaven bow his head and cover his eyes and spill holy tears onto the earth? Why? Why did Jesus weep?”
When Jesus called my name, it echoed in my head. His voice raised a shiver along my spine. Why was my hearing suddenly so muffled? A moment earlier every sound had been bell-like in clarity. Now all was indistinct, as if I had fallen into a well.
Worse yet, why was everything dark? From brilliant, joyful light I had passed into all-encompassing blackness, deeper than the deepest night.
Why was I unable to move? I could feel my arms but not move them. I sensed my feet but could barely wiggle my toes. It felt as if someone were sitting on my chest.
The aroma of myrrh and spikenard flooded my nostrils.
What had happened? What was wrong with me?
I suddenly recognized what it was Jesus had commanded me to do: “Come out.”
He meant, “Come out of the grave!”
I was back in my body as it had been before the glories of paradise.
I was alive … but entombed!
As realization dawned, the emotion that overwhelmed me was not terror. It was sorrow. I had the most crushing feeling of disappointment and loss. Eliza! Eliza!
The only relief came in knowing that Jesus—Jesus!—had called me. To answer his call, to be with him again, was the only cure for my pain.
Rolling my body, I bumped futilely against a stone wall. The opening to the niche in which my corpse had been placed was on the other side of the slab. It felt as if Mary and Martha had enclosed a hundredweight of spices in the grave clothes. I could barely move! Lunging, I almost fell to the ground. My legs hit stiffly, propping me up only because they were tightly bound together.
Coins over my eyes had a metallic coldness. My face, wrapped in a cloth separate from the one that locked my arms across my chest, gave me a little freedom of movement to turn my head.
From which direction had Jesus’ voice come? Turning toward the memory of his call, I shuffled forward.
I heard shrieking cries. Mary? Martha?
Then I heard Jesus again: “Take off the grave clothes and let him go.”1 Faster now, I moved toward his voice and reentered the world of men.
Jesus’ disciples Peter, James, and John, as well as Samson and Patrick had rolled away the stone from the grave. They jumped back in terror as I groaned under the burden of a hundred pounds of burial spices.
Mary ran up the path as Peter and the others sprinted away. “He’s alive!” Mary cried.
“Something is …” Peter’s voice trembled.
“Come help me!” Mary snatched Peter’s fishing knife from his belt and, gathering her skirts, ran to me. “David! David!” She laughed and wept at the same time as she charged to the mouth of the tomb.
Others hung back, at once terrified and astonished by the sight of me standing in my shroud. I saw them motionless and wide-eyed below. All but Mary! My sister had no fear of what lay beneath the shroud.
“David! Alive! You are …”
She was breathless when she reached me. Wrapping her arms around my cocoon, she would not let me go.
“Mary,” I cried! “Cut me loose!”
She laughed and babbled and set to work with Peter’s blade. “Four days! Four days away from us, my dear brother!”
“Only four?” I marveled. “Four days?” I imagined centuries had passed in my absence. Time was nothing beyond this world.
Mary loosed my arms. “Oh, I thought my heart would break except the thought that you were with Eliza and the baby. Oh, David!” She filleted my spice-stiffened shroud like I was a giant fish. “You’re back. You’ve come back to us!” The weight of spices in the grave clothes was soon cut away.
Her joy at our reunion was not something I shared. “I saw them, Mary,” I told her quietly. “They’re all there. Waiting for us to join them.” I could not tell her the glory and beauty I had left behind. This world was a faded image of what I had experienced. “Eliza and my son. Only he’s all grown. A perfect, beautiful young man!” I worked with her to free my legs. Now others in the fearful crowd walked cautiously toward us.
“David! Our hearts were broken! Broken! It seemed so … so unfair that you, of all, would perish.”
“But Mary!” I stepped free. “I didn’t perish. I was alive, more alive … oh, the colors! Music! Mountains higher and more majestic than you could ever … Our dear ones who have gone before … they came to meet me! And so many others! How can I ever explain?”
I spotted Jesus over Mary’s shoulder. Sorrow for me filled his eyes. Of all those who witnessed my return from the vineyards of heaven to fallen earth, only Jesus knew what joy and beauty I had left behind.
Chapter 31
Word of my return to life after being dead for four days spread about the country. I could not leave home without being surrounded by a mob. The crowds wanted to see Jesus, but they also wanted to see me.
I was bemused by the attention. After all, I was the recipient of healing, not the Healer. Still, I understood their awestruck wonder.
When I had witnessed my cousin’s daughter’s illness in Capernaum, I knew Deborah was very, very ill. Ravaged by fever, her body could not keep the spark of life within it.
I watched her sink toward the abyss of the grave.
I saw her just after her last breath fled. She was dead—not sleeping, as we know sleep, but gripped by the utter stillness that banishes hope.
When Jesus returned her life to her, I was utterly dumbfounded, never dreaming I would have the same experience myself.
Jairus’s neighbors crowded around to see Deborah. Before long, Galileans from as far away as Nain journeyed to meet the young woman and hear the stories from her mother and
father.
Soon afterward complete strangers, covering distances from Caesarea Maritima on the west to Caesarea Philippi in the north, converged on the tiny lakeside village.
Jesus himself had departed, but the fame of the healed ones continued.
And now I knew the truth of that for myself.
I was besieged. I had even hired some men to patrol my vineyards and orchards to keep the curious from trampling my vines or helping themselves to the early figs.
Soon enough, undeserved fame was the least of my worries.
Late one evening, after the crowds had finally given up hoping for another glimpse of me pruning my roses, there was a furtive knock at the garden gate.
My aged porter answered the summons. Nicodemus was wrapped in a cloak up to his eyes, with a hood over his head. The Pharisee was ushered into my office. When I offered him a seat, he accepted but closed the door behind him.
I suggested a cup of my best wine, but he declined.
“I don’t want your sisters to worry,” he said, “nor even to know about this until we decide what’s to be done.”
“Worry about what?” I demanded as I trimmed the smoking wick of an oil lamp. “Done about what?”
Flipping the hood back off his head, he put both elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “They are seeking your death!”
I was shocked. So far as I knew, I had no enemies worthy of the name. If I had gained some unmerited celebrity, surely envy could not rise to the level of murder. “Who? Who wants me dead … again?”
“The Temple authorities,” Nicodemus declared. “I have very few friends on the Council, as you know, but there are still some with just enough remaining conscience to send me anonymous notes. The latest said that Lord Caiaphas wants to kill Jesus … and you!”
“But why? For bringing me back from the grave? This is a reason for murdering both of us? Your source must be mistaken.”
“Listen!” Nicodemus demanded, fixing me with a forceful gaze. “And believe it! Here’s what happened in a secret meeting, to which I was not invited. You know how the scribes and certain Pharisees try to discredit Jesus?”
