“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!”