THE  GOSPEL 

ACCORDING  TO  LAZARUS 

[The following short document was found in a stone pottery jar – which was in a large stone burial box – wrapped in cloth and wax – in what was an ancient burial spot – just some 10 miles outside of Jerusalem. The document does not begin with “The Gospel According to Lazarus”  - but scholars and scientists who studied it  - determined that it might have been written by either the Lazarus in the Gospel of John or by an eye witness who sat down and talked with Lazarus – maybe a scribe – and wrote down his story. Hence the title: The Gospel According to Lazarus. The following is an English translation of the document which was written in ancient Aramaic – the language used by Jesus and native Jewish people in that place and time in Israel.]

Jesus was my friend. He loved to come to our house to see my two sisters and me. 

Better he mainly talked with my sister Mary and me – because Martha was always in the kitchen cooking – which she loved to do – but then she would complain that Mary never helped her cook or clean.

We would sit outside – in the back – under some wonderful trees our grandfather had planted years and years ago. It can be hot in Judea – a good bit of the year – especially in the summer.

Martha would serve us as Jesus would tell us what he was doing – where he had been – and what he saw happening next.

He said he was fearful of the Scribes and the Pharisees wanting to see him killed – and now the high priests in Jerusalem – seemed to be in on wanting him out of the way as well.

Mary and I often said after he left – while Martha was cleaning and doing this and that – and complaining we were doing nothing but sitting around – that it was good that we were here – that Jesus had a place of peace – to relax and unwind – here in down south Palestine.

Then I got sick…. which put Martha into a panic – because she could do nothing about it – other than bring in a dozen doctors. Nothing worked. I appreciated her trying everything – but what really helped was Mary just sitting there – being with me till the end.  I think she chose the better part – but I didn’t tell Martha that.  I learned that people are people and once they hit 35 or so - they are the way they are – and that’s the way they always are.

Anyway I was hoping Jesus would come down to see us before I died. In fact, my sisters sent messages to Jesus that I was dying – but he didn’t come.

I died.

I was buried.

I was in the dark – but kept seeing light – off in the distance.

“Is this heaven? Is that the Life and Light after death that Jesus talked about? Is that where the Father – God our Father – is?”

These were my thoughts. Obviously, I was in unfamiliar territory.

I didn’t know.

I was in the dark.

Then I heard Jesus’ voice calling me, “Lazarus, come out!”

I hesitated – even though – it was Jesus’ voice – which I was quite familiar with.

Do I risk going back to everyday life on earth – or do I risk going forward to God our Father – the Father that Jesus was always talking about?

I knew faith is a risk – because we don’t know what tomorrow will bring – yet isn’t every night a going into the dark of sleep – with the hope of waking up in the morning – waking up to the light of a new day?

I hesitated.

Do I take that risk of faith and wake up from death and go towards the voice of Jesus – which I knew was his – from all the times we talked in our backyard?

I heard his strong voice again. “Lazarus, come out!”

So I took the risk – based on my faith in Jesus – and started walking towards the voice.

I was wrapped in burial cloths and I could smell me – and the stink of death all around me – but I kept walking.

As I sensed I was out of my cave tomb, I felt the warm light of day. I then heard Jesus saying, “Untie him and let him go.”

Martha was the first one who got to me. When she uncovered my eyes, I could see Jesus standing there – with Mary right next to him. Martha hurriedly started unwrapping the rest of me.

At that I could hear Martha’s mind saying as she saw Mary just standing there, “Jesus Christ, tell her to help me!”

Well, we all marched back to our house. You should have seen the crowds on both sides of the road – cheering Jesus on – and looking at me in shock. I guess they never saw a dead man who came back from the dead before.

The first thing I did was take a great bath. The first thing my sister Martha did – obviously – was organize a big meal – a big celebration – for my return – my resurrection.  And Jesus sat there – with Mary next to him on his left – and I was on his right.

Later on I heard that James and John were jealous about that – but they got over it.

A short time after that – Jesus’ enemies arrested him. His disciple, Judas, had betrayed him for 30 pieces of silver.

Jesus died on a cross the next day – and like me – was buried in a cave.

I knew that was not the end of the story. I was there. I made that act of faith that death is not the end.

Then when I heard the story that went around that Jesus rose from the dead 3 days later I laughed. He beat me by 1 day.

Next time I see him, next time I die, next time I hear Jesus say after I die the second time, and I hear a second time, “Lazarus come out!”  - we’ll talk about all this. And if Mary dies ahead of me – I’m sure she’ll be at his side. And if Martha dies ahead of me, I’m sure she’ll be in the kitchen of heaven – cooking up a storm – barking out orders – and complaining about all those who are like Mary and me – folks and friends of Jesus – who simply like to sit and enjoy his presence.

How do I know all this? By faith – of course. It’s a risk saying all this – but what is faith – a risk of course. 



                                                                             © Andy Costello, Reflections  2014