When he heard this, Jesus said, “This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God's glory so that God's Son may be glorified through it.” Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. Yet when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days (John 11:4-6).at the moment of collision, a silence fills my senses. he is gone. i am no longer falling or moving at all. it has been four days since i have entered this tomb, and the stench lies pungent on my nostrils. he had known my sickness, he had heard of my misfortune, and yet he had lingered longer in the place where he was. i thought we were friends; best of friends. yet now i lay here, separated from flesh and substance in a nothingness like a deep, unwakable sleep. if he had been there, i would not have died.
he was to be my Savior, my fortress, my deliverer. he had been my friend, or so i had thought. yet, trapped behind this darkness as behind tightly shut and locked doors, i knew he had left. so many promises. so much expectation and hope. surrounded by palm branches, i had known he was the one. but that was before this. before the horror of it all. before every dream was shattered and every hope defiled.
in the darkness of this tomb, all i can hear is the soft sobbing of my fleshless spirit, resounding in invisible ears. then it comes back to me; "today you will be with me..." "destroy this temple..." such mystic utterances, cryptic sayings. we ate them up at the time, not knowing what they meant. i still don't know what they mean. but somehow, that unknowing suspends my spirit between peace and turmoil, between spirit and flesh, between good and evil in such a way that all i have left is a choice. to abandon this dream in the face of conclusive proof, or to cling to a doomed faith in light of a love that seemed too infinite to be overcome by the grave.
he
had fallen below. far, far below. this much i knew. i had heard his
last cries wherein he had forfeited his spirit. he had descended to the
depths of the dead, the caves of the unknowing and the fortress of
satan himself. would he return? such a thought seemed like desecration
at this time of sorrow. though it was never spoken, the thought beyond
hope lingered.this is the moment to decide for broken faith or for harsh reality. for lost love or for empirical truth. for an unseen light or for the present shadow. there is no getting beyond this choice. the future of my world hangs in the balance. this is the time to cling to faith over doubt, hope over despair, and love over hatred - despite everything my eyes have seen and my senses recall.
caught between the two, with seeming no way of escape, a soft memory floods my consciousness. there he is, as clear as if it were happening again. we adored him as a king, as a prince, as the son of God. tired from the journey, we collapsed, tossing off sandals covering repungent feet, stained with the filth of the road. then, as though the entire universe had been flipped upside down, our Lord took out a basin and began washing our feet. we were too shocked to respond. who was this, who would raise the dead and clean feet? then the memory shifted to last night. the cries, the torture, the agony of a beautifully frail man being beaten and killed. it was as though life itself were dying.
i have made my choice. i choose death with this man before life with any other. the hush of the tomb was no longer tainted by failure. it had become the only bed fit for a king.
I am still confident of this:
I will see the goodness of the Lord
in the land of the living.
Wait for the Lord;
be strong and take heart
and wait for the Lord.
(Ps 27:13-14)
Comments