Lazarus
I'm telling you, I was dead, man. Dead. As a doornail. (Whatever that means.) Saw the bright light, heard the angels, all that stuff. D E A D, dead. The illness took me by surprise. I had always been rather healthy. In fact, when I got sick, I accused my sister Martha of trying to poison me. She didn't laugh. She always had this intuition about how serious things might be. She seemed to know, more than I was willing to admit, how sick I was.
During those days, I was in and out of consciousness, but I distinctly remember hearing one of my sisters tell the neighbor to go find Jesus, that maybe he could so something for me. I also sort of remember the neighbor coming back, saying he had told Jesus, but that Jesus wasn't coming. That did not make either of my sisters happy. Martha said something to the effect of, "All the meals I've cooked him, you'd think he could come when we ask."
The next thing I knew, I was somewhere else. Dead to this world, but rushing toward another world. I have to tell you, it was beautiful. Peaceful. No more troubles of this world, no more hurry and hustle. I remember wondering why we are all so afraid of death, because at least where I was headed was better than life in Bethany. It was wonderful. And just about the time I was getting accustomed to being dead, I heard a voice.
"Lazarus!"
Who would be calling my name, especially here? I just got here.
"Lazarus! Come out!"
Come out of where? I wasn't "in" anywhere. But the voice seemed familiar, somehow.
"Lazarus, come out!"
Well, shoot, that was Jesus' voice. He was calling me back. Couldn't he just leave well enough alone? I was pretty happy where I was, but I couldn't seem to help myself. I turned toward the voice and before I knew it, I was back in this world, only I was wrapped up tightly in burial clothes and laying in a half-dark tomb. Someone had opened the door. And, I have to tell you, I didn't like the way I was smelling. It was nasty.
Sitting up in those tightly-wrapped burial clothes was no easy chore, either, but I managed somehow, and I hopped to the door. The sun was shining, but it was no where near as bright as the place I had just been. When they saw me, Mary and Martha both cried out and started toward me. "Unbind him and let him go," Jesus said, and then he walked away. He went back to the house, like he was expecting dinner. And Martha was only too happy to oblige. It may have been the best meal I'd ever had.
What do you mean, have I really thought this through? Yes, I have. Yes, I know I'll have to die again, but you know what? I'll never live in fear of death again. And I'm sure Jesus had some purpose in bringing me back. Maybe there are things yet for me to do for him. Because if I had any doubts before about him, they were all swept away when he proved he even has power over death. Because I was dead. Did I mention that?
During those days, I was in and out of consciousness, but I distinctly remember hearing one of my sisters tell the neighbor to go find Jesus, that maybe he could so something for me. I also sort of remember the neighbor coming back, saying he had told Jesus, but that Jesus wasn't coming. That did not make either of my sisters happy. Martha said something to the effect of, "All the meals I've cooked him, you'd think he could come when we ask."
The next thing I knew, I was somewhere else. Dead to this world, but rushing toward another world. I have to tell you, it was beautiful. Peaceful. No more troubles of this world, no more hurry and hustle. I remember wondering why we are all so afraid of death, because at least where I was headed was better than life in Bethany. It was wonderful. And just about the time I was getting accustomed to being dead, I heard a voice.
"Lazarus!"
Who would be calling my name, especially here? I just got here.
"Lazarus! Come out!"
Come out of where? I wasn't "in" anywhere. But the voice seemed familiar, somehow.
"Lazarus, come out!"
Well, shoot, that was Jesus' voice. He was calling me back. Couldn't he just leave well enough alone? I was pretty happy where I was, but I couldn't seem to help myself. I turned toward the voice and before I knew it, I was back in this world, only I was wrapped up tightly in burial clothes and laying in a half-dark tomb. Someone had opened the door. And, I have to tell you, I didn't like the way I was smelling. It was nasty.
Sitting up in those tightly-wrapped burial clothes was no easy chore, either, but I managed somehow, and I hopped to the door. The sun was shining, but it was no where near as bright as the place I had just been. When they saw me, Mary and Martha both cried out and started toward me. "Unbind him and let him go," Jesus said, and then he walked away. He went back to the house, like he was expecting dinner. And Martha was only too happy to oblige. It may have been the best meal I'd ever had.
What do you mean, have I really thought this through? Yes, I have. Yes, I know I'll have to die again, but you know what? I'll never live in fear of death again. And I'm sure Jesus had some purpose in bringing me back. Maybe there are things yet for me to do for him. Because if I had any doubts before about him, they were all swept away when he proved he even has power over death. Because I was dead. Did I mention that?
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