"perfected just" on the day of their final triumph. Though the presence
of their adorable Redeemer would be enough, and more than enough, to
fill their cup with happiness, there will be others also to welcome
them, and to augment their joy. Lazarus' Lord was not _alone_ at the
sepulchre's brink, at Bethany, ready to greet him back. Two loved
sisters shared the joy of that gladsome hour. We are left to picture for
ourselves the reunion, when, with hand linked in hand, they retraversed
the road which had so recently echoed to the voice of mourning, and
entered once more their home, radiant with a sunshine they had imagined
to have passed away from it for ever!
So will it be with the believer on the morning of the Resurrection.
While his Lord will be _there_, waiting to welcome him, there will be
others ready with their presence to enhance the bliss of that gladdening
restoration. Those whose smiles were last seen in the death-chamber of
earth, now standing--not as Martha and Mary, with the tear on their
cheek and the furrow of deep sorrow on their brow, but robed and radiant
in resurrection attire, glowing with the anticipations of an everlasting
and indissoluble reunion!
Can we anticipate, in the resurrection of Lazarus, our own happy
history? Yes! _happier_ history, for it will not _then_ be to come forth
once more, like _him_, into a weeping world, to renew our work and
warfare, feeling that restoration to life is only but a brief reprieve,
and that soon again the irrevocable sentence will and must overtake us!
Not like _him_, going to a home still covered with the drapery of
sorrow,--a few transient years and the mournful funeral tragedy to be
repeated,--but to enter into the region of endless life--to pass from
the dark chambers of corruption into the peace and glories of our
Heavenly Father's joyous _Home_, and "so to be for ever with the Lord!"
Sometimes it is with dying believers as with Lazarus. Their Lord, at the
approach of death, _seems_ to be absent. He who gladdened their homes
and their hearts in life, is, for some mysterious reason, away in the
hour of dissolution; their spirits are depressed; their faith
languishes; they are ready to say, "Where is now my God?" But as He
returned to Bethany to awake His sleeping friend, so will it be with all
his true people, on that great day when the arm of death shall be for
ever broken. If _now_ united to Him by a living faith,--loved by Him as
Lazarus was, and conscious, however imperfectly, of loving Him back in
return,--we may go down to our graves, making Job's lofty creed and
exclamation our own, "I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall
stand at the latter day upon the earth; and though after my skin worms
destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God."
One remark more. We have listened to the Omnipotent fiat,--"Lazarus,
come forth!" We have seen the ear of death starting at the summons, and
the buried captive goes free! Shall we follow the family group within
the hallowed precincts of the Bethany dwelling? Shall fancy pour her
strange and mysterious queries into the ear of him who has just come
back from that land "from whose bourne no traveller returns?" He had
been, in a far truer sense than Paul in an after year, in "_Paradise_."
He must have heard unspeakable and unutterable words, "which it is not
possible for a man to utter." He had looked upon the Sapphire Throne. He
had ranged himself with the adoring ranks. He had strung his harp to the
Eternal Anthem. When, lo! an angel--a "ministering one"--whispers in his
ear to hush his song, and speed him back again for a little season to
the valley below.
Startling mandate! Can we suppose a remonstrance to so strange a
summons? What! to be uncrowned and unglorified!--Just after a few sips
of the heavenly fountain, to be hurried away back again to the valley of
Baca!--to gather up once more the soiled earthly garments and the
pilgrim staff, and from the pilgrim rest and the victor's palm to
encounter the din and dust and scars of battle! What!--just after having
wept his final tear, and fought the last and the most terrible foe, to
have his eye again dimmed with sorrow, and to have the thought before
him of breasting a second time the swellings of Jordan!
"The Lord hath need of thee," is all the reply, It is enough! He asks no
more! That glorious Redeemer had left a far brighter throne and heritage
for _him_. Lazarus, come forth! sounds in his old world-home, whence his
spirit had soared, and in his beloved Master's words, on a mightier
embassy, he can say,--"Lo, I come! I delight to do thy will, O my God."
Or do other questions involuntarily arise? What was the nature of his
happiness while "absent from the body?" What the scenery of that bright
abode? Had he mingled in the goodly fellowship of prophets? Had he
conversed with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob? Was his spirit
stationary--hovering with a brotherhood of spirits within some holy
limit--or, was he permitted to travel far and near in errands of love
and mercy? Had Bethany been revisited during that mysterious interval?
Had he been the unseen witness of the tears and groans of his anguished
sisters?
But hush, too, these vain inquiries. We dare not give rein to
imagination where Inspiration is silent. There is a designed mystery
about the circumstantials of a future state. Its scenery and locality we
know nothing of. It is revealed to us only in its _character_. We are
permitted to approach its gates, and to read the surmounting
inscription,--"Without _holiness_ no man shall see the Lord." Further we
cannot go. Be it ours, like Lazarus, to attain a meetness for heaven, by
becoming more and more like Lazarus' Redeemer! "_We shall be_ LIKE HIM,"
is the brief but comprehensive Bible description of that glorious world.
Saviour-like _here_, we shall have heaven begun on earth, and lying down
like Lazarus in the sweet sleep of death, when our Lord comes, on the
great day-dawn of immortality, we shall be satisfied when we awake in
_His likeness_!
"He that was dead rose up and spoke--He spoke!
Was it of that majestic world unknown?
Those words which first the bier's dread silence broke--
Came they with revelation in each tone?
Were the far cities of the nations gone,
The solemn halls of consciousness or sleep,
For man uncurtain'd by that spirit lone,
Back from the portal summon'd o'er the deep?
Be hush'd, my soul! the veil of darkness lay
Still drawn; therefore thy Lord called back the voice departed,
To spread His truth, to comfort the weak-hearted;
Not to reveal the mysteries of its way.
Oh! I take that lesson home in silent faith;
Put on submissive strength to _meet_, not _question_ DEATH."
XVII.
THE BOX OF OINTMENT.
Once more we visit in thought a peaceful and happy home-scene in the
same Bethany household. The severed links in that broken chain are again
united.
How often in a time of severe bereavement, when some "light of the
dwelling" has suddenly been extinguished, does the imagination fondly
dwell on the possibility of the wild dream of separation passing away;
of the vacant seat being refilled by its owner the "loved and lost one"
again restored. Alas! in all such cases, it is but a feverish vision,
destined to know no fulfilment. Here, however, it was indeed a happy
reality. "Lazarus is dead!" was the bitter dirge a few brief weeks ago;
but now, "Lazarus lives." His silent voice is heard again--his dull eye
is lighted again--the temporary pang of separation is only remembered
to enhance the joy of so gladsome a reunion.
It was on a Sabbath evening, the last Sabbath but one of the waning
Jewish dispensation, when Spring's loveliness was carpeting the Mount of
Olives and clothing with fresh verdure the groves around Bethany, that
our blessed Redeemer was seen approaching the haunt of former
friendship. He had for two months taken shelter from the malice of the
Sanhedrim in the little town of Ephraim and the mountainous region of
Perea, on the other side of the Jordan. But the Passover solemnity being
at hand, and his own hour having come, he had "set His face steadfastly
to go to Jerusalem." It is more than probable that for several days He
had been travelling in the company of other pilgrims coming from Galilee
on their way to the feast. He seems, however, to have left the festival
caravan at Jericho, lingering behind with his own disciples in order to
secure a private approach to the city of solemnities. They were
completing their journey on the Sabbath referred to just as the sun was
sinking behind the brow of Olivet, and, turning aside from the highway,
they spent the night in their old Bethany retreat. Befitting tranquil
scene for His closing Sabbath--a happy preparation for a season of trial
and conflict! It is well worthy of observation, how, as His saddest
hours were drawing near--the shadow of His cross projected on His
path--Bethany becomes more and more endeared to Him. Night after night,
during this memorable week, we shall find Him resorting to its cherished
seclusion. As the storm is fast gathering, the vessel seeks for shelter
in its best loved haven.[21]
Imagine the joy with which the announcement would be received by the
inmates--"Our Lord and Redeemer is once more approaching." Imagine how
the great Conqueror of death would be welcomed into the home consecrated
alike by His love and power. Now every tear dried! The weeping that
endured for the long night of bereavement all forgotten. Ah! if Jesus
were loved before in that happy home, how, we may well imagine, would
He be adored and reverenced now. What a new claim had He established on
their deepest affection and regard. Feelingly alive to all they owed
Him, the restored brother and rejoicing sisters with hearts overflowing
with gratitude could say, in the words of their Psalmist King--"Thou
hast put off my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness, to the end that
my glory may sing praise to thee, and not be silent. O Lord my God, I
will give thanks unto thee for ever!"
But does the love and affection of that household find expression in
nothing but words? Supper is being made ready. While Martha, with her
wonted activity, is busied preparing the evening meal--doing her best to
provide for the refreshment of the travellers--the gentle spirit of Mary
(even if her name had not been given, we should have known it was she)
prompts her to a more significant proof of the depth of her gratitude.
Some fragrant ointment of spikenard--contained, as we gather from the
other Evangelists, in a box of Alabaster--had been procured by her at
great cost;[22] either obtained for this anticipated meeting with her
Lord, or it may in some way have fallen into her possession, and been
sacredly kept among her treasured gifts till some befitting occasion
occurred for its employment. Has not that occasion occurred now? On whom
can her grateful heart more joyously bestow this garnered treasure than
on her beloved Lord. With her own hands she pours it on His feet.
Stooping down, she wipes them, in further token of her devotion, with
her loosened tresses, till the whole apartment was filled with the sweet
perfume.
And what was it that constituted the value of this tribute--the beauty
and expressiveness of the action? _She gave her Lord the best thing she
had!_ She felt that to Him, in addition to what He had done for her own
soul, she owed the most valued life in the world.
"Her eyes are homes of silent prayer,
Nor other thought her mind admits;
But, he was dead, and there he sits,
And He that brought him back is there.
"Then one deep love doth supersede
All other, when her ardent gaze
Roves from the living brother's face
And rests upon the Life indeed.
"All subtle thought, all curious fears,
Borne down by gladness so complete;
She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet
With costly spikenard and with tears."[23]
What a lesson for us! Are we willing to give our Lord the best of what
we have--to consecrate time, talents, strength, life, to His service?
Not as many, to give Him the mere dregs and sweepings of existence--the
wrecks of a "worn and withered love"--but, like Mary, anxious to take
every opportunity and occasion of testifying the depth of obligation
under which we are laid to Him? Let us not say--"My sphere is lowly, my
means are limited, my best offerings would be inadequate." Such,
doubtless, were the very feelings of that humble, diffident, yet loving
one, as she crept noiselessly to where her pilgrim-Lord reclined, and
lavished on His weary limbs the costliest treasure she possessed.
Hundreds of more imposing deeds--more princely and munificent
offerings--may have been left unrecorded by the Evangelists; but
"wherever this Gospel shall be preached, in the whole world, there shall
also this that this woman hath done be told for a memorial of her."[24]
Would that love to "that same Jesus" were with all of us more paramount
than it is! "Lovest thou Me _more than these_" is His own searching test
and requirement. Is it so?--Do we love Him more than self or sin--more
than friends or home--more than any earthly object or earthly good; and
are we willing, if need be, to make a sacrifice for His glory and for
the honour of His cause? Happy for us if it be so. There will be a joy
in the very consciousness of making the effort, feeble and unworthy as
it may be, for His sake, and in acknowledgment of the great love
wherewith He hath loved us.
"Thrice blest, whose lives are faithful prayers,
Whose loves in higher Love endure;
Whose souls possess themselves so pure,
Or is there blessedness like theirs?"
Let it be our privilege and delight to give Him our pound of spikenard,
whatever that may be; and if we can give no other, let us offer the
fragrant perfume of holy hearts and holy lives. _That_ religion is
always best which reveals itself by its effects--by kindness,
gentleness, amiability, unselfishness, flowing from a principle of
grateful love to Him who, though unseen, has been to us as to the family
of Bethany--Friend, and Help, and Guide, and Portion. Mary's honour was
great to anoint her Lord, but the lowliest and humblest of His people
may do the same. We may have no aromatic offering, neither "gold, nor
frankincense, nor myrrh;" but My son, My daughter, "give Me thine
heart." "The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and a
contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise."
Nor ought we to forget our blessed Lord's reply, when Judas objected to
the waste of the ointment--"Let her alone; ... the poor ye have always
with you, _but Me ye have not always_." Let us seek to make the most of
our Lord's visits while we have Him. The visits of Jesus to Bethany were
soon to be over;--so also with us. He will not always linger on our
thresholds, if our souls refuse to receive Him, or yield Him nothing but
coldness and ingratitude in return for His love. "Me ye have not
always." Soon may sickness incapacitate for active service! Soon may
opportunities for doing good be gone, and gone for ever! Soon may death
overtake us, and the alabaster box be left behind, unused and
unemployed; the dying regret on our lips--"Oh that I had done more while
I lived for this most precious Saviour! but opportunities of testifying
my gratitude to Him are now gone beyond recall." Good deeds performed on
Gospel motives, though unknown and unvalued by the world, will not go
unrecompensed or unowned by Him who values the cup of cold water given
in His name. "God is not unmindful to forget our work of faith and our
labour of love." The Lamb's Book of Life registers every such deed of
lowly piety; and on the Great Day of account "it shall be produced to
our eternal honour, and rewarded with a reward of grace; though not of
debt."
Let us bear in mind, also, that every holy service of unostentatious
love exercises a hallowed influence on those around us. We may not be
conscious of such. But, if Christians indeed, the sphere in which we
move will, like the Bethany home, be redolent with the ointment perfume.
A holy life is a silent witness for Jesus--an incense-cloud from the
heart-altar, breathing odours and sweet spices, of which the world
cannot fail to take knowledge. Yes! were we to seek for a beautiful
allegorical representation of pure and undefiled Religion, we would find
it in this loveliest of inspired pictures. Mary--all silent and
submissive at the feet of her Lord--only permitting her love to be
disclosed by the holy perfume which, unknown to herself, revealed to
others the reality and intensity of her love. True religion is quiet,
unobtrusive, seeking the shade--its ever-befitting attitude at the feet
of Jesus, looking to Him as all in all. Yet, though retiring, it _must_
and _will_ manifest its living and influential power. The heart broken
at the cross, like Mary's broken box, begins from that hour to give
forth the hallowed perfume of faith, and love, and obedience, and every
kindred grace. Not a fitful and vacillating love and service, but _ever_
emitting the fragrance of holiness, till the little world of home
influence around us is filled with the odour of the ointment.
"I ask Thee for the daily strength,
To none that ask denied;
And a mind to blend with outward life,
While keeping by Thy side;
Content to fill a little space
If Thou be glorified.
"And if some things I do not ask
In my cup of blessings be,
I would have my spirit fill'd the more
With grateful love to Thee--
More careful not to serve Thee _much_,
But to please Thee perfectly."
Such is a brief sketch of this beautiful domestic scene, and its main
practical lessons,--a green spot on which the eye will ever love to
repose, among the "Memories of Bethany." It is unnecessary to advert to
the controverted question, as to whether the description of the
anointing, which took place in the house of Simon the leper (as recorded
in Matt. xxvi. 6-14, and Mark xiv. 3), and where the alabaster box is
spoken of, be identical with this passage, or whether they refer to two
distinct occasions. The question is of no great importance in
itself--the former view (that they are descriptions of one and the same
event) seems the more probable. It surely gives a deep intensity to the
interest of the narrative to imagine the Leper and the raised dead man,
seated at the same table together with their common Deliverer,
glorifying their Saviour-God, with bodies and spirits they felt now to
be doubly _His_! Simon, it is evident, must have been cured of his
disease, else, by the Jewish law, he dared not have been associating
with his friends at a common meal. How was he cured? How else may we
suppose was that inveterate malady subdued but by the omnipotent word of
_Him_, who had only to say,--"I will, be thou made whole!" May we not
regard him as a standing miracle of Jesus' power over the diseased body,
as Lazarus was the living trophy of His power over death and the grave.
The one could testify,--"This poor man cried, and the Lord saved him,
and delivered him out of all his troubles." The other,--"Unless the Lord
had been my help, my soul must now have dwelt in silence!"
In order to explain the circumstance of this family meeting being in the
house of _Simon_, there have not been wanting advocates for the
supposition, that the restored leper may have been none other than the
_parent_ of the household.[25] It is not for us to hazard conjectures,
where Scripture has thrown no light. Even when sanctioned by venerated
names, the most plausible hypothesis should be received with that
caution requisite in dealing with what is supported exclusively by
traditional authority. Were, however, such a view as we have indicated
correct (which is just possible, and there is nothing in the face of the
narrative to render it _improbable_), it certainly would impart a new
and fresh beauty to the picture of this Feast of gratitude. Well might
the _parent's_ heart swell within him with more than ordinary emotions!
_Himself_ plucked a victim from the most loathsome of diseases! He
would think, with tearful eye, of the dark dungeon of his
banishment--the lazar-house, where he had been gloomily excluded from
all fellowship with human sympathies and loving hearts. His own children
condemned by a severe but righteous necessity to shun his presence--or
when within sound of human footfall or human voice, compelled to make
known his presence with the doleful utterance,--"Unclean! Unclean!" He
would think of that wondrous moment in his history, when, shunned by
_man_, the GOD-MAN drew near to him, and with one glance of His love,
and one utterance of His power, He bade the foul disease for ever away!
Nor was this all that Simon (if he _were_, indeed, the father of the
family) must have felt. What must have been those emotions, too deep for
utterance, as he gazed on the son of his affections, seated once more by
his side! A short time ago, Lazarus had been laid silent in the
adjoining sepulchre--Death had laid his cold hand upon him--the pride of
his home had been swept down. But the same Almighty friend who had
caused his own leprosy to depart, had given him back his lost one. They
were rejoicing together in the presence of Him to whom they owed life
and all its blessings. Oh, well might "the voice of rejoicing and
salvation be heard in the tabernacles of these righteous!" Well might
the head of the household dictate to Mary to "bring forth their best"
and bestow it on their Deliverer--the costliest gift which the dwelling
contained--the prized and valued box of alabaster, and pour its contents
on His feet! We can imagine the burden, if not the words, of their joint
anthem of praise,--"Bless the Lord, O our souls, and forget not all his
benefits, who forgiveth all our iniquities, who healeth all our
diseases, who redeemeth our lives from destruction, and crowneth us with
loving-kindness and with tender mercy."
But be all this as it may, that same great Physician of Souls still
waits to be gracious. He healeth ALL our diseases. Young and old, rich
and poor, every type of spiritual malady has in Him and His salvation
its corresponding cure. The same Lord is rich to all that call upon Him.
The ardent Martha, the contemplative Mary, the aged Simon, Lazarus the
loving and beloved--He has proved friend, and help, and Saviour to
_all_; and in their several ways they seek to give expression to the
depth of their gratitude. Happy home! may there be many such amongst us!
Fathers, brothers, sisters, "loving one another with a pure heart
fervently," and loving Jesus more than all--and themselves in Jesus!
Seeking to have _Him_ as the ever-welcomed guest of their
dwelling--feeling that all they _have_, and all they _are_, for time or
for eternity, they owe to _Him_ who has "brought them out of the
horrible pit, and out of the miry clay, and set their feet upon a rock,
and established their goings, and put a new song in their mouth, even
praise unto our God!"
Yes! having the Lord, we have what is better and more enduring than the
best of earthly ties and earthly homes. This must have been impressed
with peculiar force on aged John, as in distant Ephesus he penned the
memories of this evening feast. Where were _then_ all its guests?--the
recovered leper, the risen Lazarus, the devout sisters, the ardent
disciples--all _gone_!--none but himself remained to tell the touching
story. _Nay_, _not_ all!--ONE remained amid this wreck of buried
friendship--the adorable Being who had given to that Bethany feast all
its imperishable interest was still within him and about him. The rocky
shores of Patmos, and the groves around Ephesus, echoed to the
well-remembered tones of the same voice of love. His _best Friend_ was
still left to take loneliness from his solitude. He writes as if he were
still reclining on that sacred bosom--"Truly our fellowship is with the
Father and with his Son Jesus Christ!"
Reader! take "that same Jesus" now as your Friend--receive Him as the
guest of your soul; and when other guests and other friendships are
vanished and gone, and you may be left like John, as the alone survivor
of a buried generation;--"alone! you will yet be _not_ alone!"--lifting
your furrowed brow and tearful eye to Heaven, you may exclaim, "Who
shall separate me from the love of Christ?"
XVIII.
PALM BRANCHES.
We have just been contemplating a beautiful episode in the Bethany
Memories--a gleam amid gathering clouds. _Martha_, _Mary_, and
_Lazarus_! With what happy hearts did they hail the presence of their
Lord on the evening of that Jewish Sabbath! Little did they anticipate
the events impending. Little did they dream that their Almighty
Deliverer and Friend would that day week be sleeping in His own grave!