RUTH went every day to ask for her sick friend, sometimes with a bunch
of grapes, sometimes with only a flower in her warm little hand.
But there came a time when Martha met her, with eyes all swollen and red
from crying, and told her they had sent to the city for a skilful
physician.
In the night there came a loud knocking at the door, and a call for
Rabbi Reuben to come quickly, that Lazarus was worse. At day-break a
messenger was sent clattering away to hurry over the Jordan in hot
haste, and bring back from Perea the only One who could help them.
The noise awakened Ruth; she sat up in surprise to see her mother
dressed so early. The outer door was ajar, and she heard the message
that the anxious Martha bade the man deliver: "Lord, he whom Thou lovest
is sick."
"He will come right away and make him well, won't He, mother?" she asked
anxiously.
"Surely, my child," answered Abigail. "He loves him too well to let him
suffer so."
But the day wore on, and the next; still another, and He did not come.
Ruth stole around like a frightened shadow, because of the anxious looks
on every face.
"Why doesn't He come?" she wondered; and on many another lip was the
same question.
She was so quiet, no one noticed when she stole into the room where her
friend lay dying. Mary knelt on one side of the bed, Martha on the
other, watching the breath come slower and slower, and clinging to the
unresponsive hands as if their love could draw him back to life.
Neither shed a tear, but seemed to watch with their souls in their eyes,
for one more word, one more look of recognition.
Abigail sat by the window, weeping softly. Ruth had never seen her
mother cry before, and it frightened her. She glanced at her
grandfather, standing by the foot of the bed; two great tears rolled
slowly down his cheeks, and dropped on his long beard.
A sudden cry from Mary, as she fell fainting to the floor, called her
attention to the bed again. Martha was silently rocking herself to and
fro, in an agony of grief.
Still the child did not understand. Those in the room were so busy
trying to bring Mary back to consciousness, that no one noticed Ruth.
Drawn by some impulse she could not understand, the child drew nearer
and nearer. Then she laid her soft little hand on his, thinking the
touch would surely make him open his eyes and smile at her again; it had
often done so before.
But what was it that made her start back terrified, and shrink away
trembling? It was not Lazarus she had touched, but the awful mystery of
death.
"I did not know that a little child could feel so deeply," said Abigail
to her mother, when she found that Ruth neither ate nor played, but
wandered aimlessly around.
"I shall keep her away from the funeral."
But all her care could not keep from the little one's ears the mournful
music of the funeral dirge, or the wailing of the mourners, who gathered
to do honor to the young man whom all Bethany knew and loved.
Many friends came out from Jerusalem to follow the long procession to
the tomb. There was a long eulogy at the grave; but the most impressive
ceremony was over at last, and the great stone had to be rolled into the
opening that formed the doorway.
Then the two desolate sisters went back to their lonely home and empty
life, wondering how they could go on without the presence that had been
such a daily benediction.
The fourth day after his death, as Martha sat listlessly looking out of
the green arbor with unseeing eyes, Ruth ran in with a radiant face.
"He's come!" she cried. "He's come, and so has my father. Hurry! He is
waiting for you!"
Martha drew her veil about her, and mechanically followed the eager
child to the gate, where Phineas met her with the same message.
"Oh, why did He not come sooner?" she thought bitterly, as she pressed
on after her guide.
Once outside of the village, she drew aside her veil. There stood the
Master, with such a look of untold sympathy on His worn face, that
Martha cried out, "Lord, if Thou hadst been here my brother had not
died!"
"Thy brother shall rise again," He said gently.
"Yes, I know he shall rise again in the resurrection, at the last day,"
she said brokenly. "That brings hope for the future; but what comfort is
there for the lonely years we must live without him?" The tears streamed
down her face again.
Then for the first time came those words that have brought balm into
thousands of broken hearts, and hope into countless tear-blind eyes.
"I am the resurrection and the life. He that believeth in me shall never
die. Believest thou this?"
Martha looked up reverently. "Yea, Lord, I believe that Thou art the
Christ, the Son of God which should come into the world."
A great peace came over her troubled spirit as she hurried to her home,
where the many friends still sat who had come to comfort them. A number
of them were from Jerusalem, and she knew that among them were some who
were unfriendly to her brother's friend.
So she quietly called her sister from the room, whispering, "The Master
is come, and calleth for thee!"
Those who sat there thought they were going to the grave to weep, as was
the custom. So they rose also, and followed at a little distance.
Mary met Him with the same exclamation that her sister had uttered, and
fell at His feet.
He, seeing in her white face the marks of the deep grief she had
suffered, was thrilled to the depths of His humanity by the keenest
sympathy. His tears fell too, at the sight of hers.
"Behold how He loved Lazarus!" said a man to the one who stood beside
him.
"Why did He not save him then?" was the mocking answer.
"They say He has the power to open the eyes of the blind, and even to
raise the dead. Let Him show it in this case!"
It was a curious crowd that followed Him to the door of the tomb: men
who hated Him for the scorching fire-brands of rebuke He had thrown into
their corrupt lives; men who feared Him as a dangerous teacher of false
doctrines; men who knew His good works, but hesitated either to accept
or refuse; and men who loved Him better than life,--all waiting,
wondering what He would do.
"Roll the stone away!" He commanded; a dozen strong shoulders bent to do
His bidding. Then He looked up and spoke in a low tone, but so
distinctly that no one lost a word.
"Father," He said,--He seemed to be speaking to some one just beside
Him,--"I thank Thee that Thou hast heard me, and I knew that Thou
hearest me always: but because of the people which stand by I said it,
that they may believe that Thou hast sent me."
A cold shiver of expectancy ran over those who heard. Then He cried, in
a loud voice, "_Lazarus, come forth!_" There was a dreadful pause. Some
of the women clutched each other with frightened shrieks; even strong
men fell back, as out of the dark grave walked a tall figure wrapped in
white grave-clothes.
His face was hidden in a napkin. "Loose him, and let him go," said the
Master, calmly.
Phineas stepped forward and loosened the outer bands. When the napkin
fell from his face, they saw he was deathly white; but in an instant a
warm, healthful glow took the place of the corpse-like pallor.
Not till he spoke, however, could the frightened people believe that it
was Lazarus, and not a ghost they saw.
Never had there been such a sight since the world began: the man who had
lain four days in the tomb, walking side by side with the man who had
called him back to life.
The streets were full of people, laughing, shouting, crying, fairly
beside themselves with astonishment.
Smiths left their irons to cool on the anvils; bakers left their bread
to burn in the ovens; the girl at the fountain dropped her half-filled
pitcher; and a woman making cakes ran into the street with the dough in
her hands.
Every house in the village stood empty, save one where a sick man moaned
for water all unheeded, and another where a baby wakened in its cradle
and began to cry.
Long after the reunited family had gone into their home with their
nearest friends, and shut the door on their overwhelming joy, the crowds
still stood outside, talking among themselves.
Many who had taken part against the Master before, now believed on
account of what they had seen. But some still said, more openly than
before, "He is in league with the evil one, or He could not do such
things." These hurried back to Jerusalem, to spread the report that this
dangerous man had again appeared, almost at the very gates of the great
Capital.
That night there was a secret council of the chief priests and the
Pharisees. "What shall we do," was the anxious question. "If we let Him
alone, all men will believe on Him; and the Romans shall come and take
away both our place and our nation."
Every heart beat with the same thought, but only Caiaphas put it in
words. At last he dared repeat what he had only muttered to himself
before: "It is expedient for us that one man should die for the people,
and that the whole nation perish not."
While the streets were still full of people, Jesse crept up to Joel, as
they sat together in the court-yard. "Don't you think it would be just
as easy to cure a leper as to raise Rabbi Lazarus from the dead?"
"Yes, indeed!" answered Joel, positively, "I've seen it done."
"Oh, have you?" cried the boy, in delight. "Then Joseph can have his
father back again."
He told him the story of Simon the leper, and of his visit to the lonely
cave.
Joel's sympathies were aroused at once. Ever since his own cure, he had
felt that he must bring every afflicted one in the wide world to the
great source of healing.
Just then a man stopped at the gate to ask for Phineas. Joel had learned
to know him well in the weeks they had been travelling together; it was
Thomas.
The boy sprang up eagerly. "Do you know when the Master is going to
leave Bethany?" he asked.
"In the morning," answered Thomas, "and right glad I am that it is to be
so soon. For when we came down here, I thought it was but to die with
Him. He is beset on all sides by secret enemies."
"And will He go out by the same road that we came?"
"It is most probable."
Joel waited for no more information from him, but went back to Jesse to
learn the way to the cave.
Jesse was a little fellow, but a keen-eyed one, and was able to give
Joel the few simple directions that would lead him the right way.
"Oh, I'm so glad you are going!" he exclaimed. "Shall I run and tell
Joseph what you are going to do?"
"No, do not say a word to any one," answered Joel. "I shall be back in a
very short time."