Lazarus is Dead (19 page)

It is finished. For Jesus it is finished, but not yet for Lazarus.

In churches observing the Byzantine Rite, Lazarus Saturday is a leading religious festival. Bright colours are used for vestments and the Holy Table, and, uniquely in the Christian year, the standard order of service for a Sunday can be celebrated on a different day of the week.

For one Saturday every year, a week and a day before Easter, Lazarus is the equal of Jesus. In the Apolytikion for St Lazarus they sing
We cry out to you, O Vanquisher of Death!
On Lazarus Saturday the Russians bring out the caviar. The Greeks make a spiced bread called
Lazarakia
, shaping the dough into a man bound for burial.

Catholics and Protestants are less enthusiastic: perhaps they're inhibited by the three out of four gospel writers who ignore Lazarus completely. In some ways they'd prefer him to disappear, but Lazarus keeps coming back. The memory of Lazarus is stubborn, and insists on his survival.

In Jerusalem on the Saturday after the execution of Jesus, one week after the resurrection of Lazarus, it is feasible that Lazarus Saturday will become the central day of a newly forged religion. Jesus will be secondary, because Lazarus has vanquished death. He is the survivor, and the only living pathway to god.

 

 

The evangelist Mark provides the fullest record of Holy Week. He reports on every day between Palm Sunday and Friday's crucifixion, but he has nothing to relate about the Saturday. For Jesus, at that point, the story is finished. He said so himself.

From Friday afternoon at about three
P.M.
, when Jesus dies, Lazarus becomes god”s representative on earth. Something extraor­dinary would need to happen to displace him.

Lazarus watches strangers haul his friend down from the olive tree. They fumble the body, a heavy object thumping hard to the ground. The corpse is gathered up again, gently, as if the dead care.

The crowd breaks up, falling away from Lazarus. He doesn't notice them go, nor, at first, does he realise that someone has come to stand very close beside him.

‘You're still alive,' Cassius says. ‘You're a very lucky man.'

Luck has nothing to do with it, because Lazarus could have foretold this moment, like a prophet. As a child he'd felt special, and without him Jesus was always likely to come to harm. He remembers the amphitheatre in Sephoris, when he'd saved Jesus from falling. He'd never understood how he'd managed to do that.

From inside the city comes the single note of a trumpet, announcing the start of the Sabbath. Stragglers turn away from the manhandling of the body of Jesus: there is a rush to bury him before the sun goes down.

‘You have the rest of your life in front of you,' Cassius says. ‘The man who came back from the dead.'

No one but Cassius acknowledges the presence of Lazarus. The last witnesses give up their wait for a miracle. Jesus is not the messiah, and therefore none of the stories were true. Lazarus is not true. He can safely be ignored.

‘Only you have vanquished death,' Cassius says. ‘It must feel like being chosen.'

Lazarus questions his purpose on earth, as he has done every day since he emerged from the tomb. Usefully, he has acted as a distraction to the authorities, allowing Jesus an extra week to preach in Jerusalem. He has consoled Jesus in his last living hours, and that is a wonderful thing to have done. But what is he for next, what is he for now?

‘Someone will have to take up his work,' Cassius says.

‘Jesus is dead. It is finished.'

‘For him, yes. One messiah at a time is enough.'

 

Lazarus spends Friday night on the hill, outside the city walls. Golgotha is an area of tombs and quarries, with access routes and steps joining the various levels. The bare olive trees make twisted silhouettes on the ridge line.

He sits with his arms round his knees, and in the nighttime the tiniest incidents are possible visits from god. Every breath of wind is a sign, as is the sand chasing its tail over a moonlit rock. He listens for restless demons, for strays sweeping across the empty spaces, and for jackals, wolves, lions. He imagines himself in the wilderness like a lost prophet, waiting for the word of god.

Yanav sits down beside him. He has instructions from Cassius to encourage the notion that only a messiah can come back to life. It is written in the scriptures. He should suggest that a messiah with a genuine commitment to the Judaean people would listen carefully to Rome.

‘Jesus was an interesting man,' Yanav says. ‘I liked him. What he did for you was miraculous.'

‘I know.'

The two men sit side by side, not speaking. Yanav hates getting involved with religion. He heals the devout and they tell him that god is working through a healer. Which may be true, but the faithful should appreciate that Yanav is an important part of the process. If it weren't for him, Lazarus would have died months earlier. He'd have muddled the timings of god.

Until today's crucifixion, Yanav had preferred the coherent thinking of the Romans. He admires them for their trust in observable cause and effect. He has believed, on balance, that the Roman version of progress is preferable to any other. Now he's not so sure.

The heavy clouds of earlier in the day have cleared. The moon is out, and on its surface is the familiar blurred image of Cain slaying Abel.

‘What does it all mean?' Lazarus asks.

Yanav picks out the stars in their fixed, impenetrable patterns. He has his instructions from Cassius, but he chooses to disobey them.

‘Lazarus, let me help you. Demons are trickier than anyone can imagine. They've possessed you once and they'll want you again. You'll need my expertise.'

‘I don't think so. I came back to life. I don't feel at risk.'

A shooting star grazes the night sky. The gods are up to something. Yanav saw the signs in Jesus when he heard that Lazarus was sick, and again when Lazarus stumbled from the tomb. Whatever the gods have in mind, Yanav doesn't trust them to do it without consequences. He does trust them, being gods, to get it done.

‘Don't stay in Jerusalem, not after this. I'm travelling south. You can be my assistant.'

‘I should stay.'

‘My partner, then. We'll split whatever we earn.'

‘I can't. What about Mary and Martha? And Lydia. I have too many reasons to stay.'

‘And one big reason to leave. Cassius has plans for you. He'll expect you to teach.'

‘He thinks people will want to follow me.'

‘And prophesy. That's a basic requirement of the job he has in mind. Can you read the future?'

‘As well as Jesus could.' Lazarus looks towards the knuckled olives on the brow of the hill.

‘The healing, the signs, the wonders,' Yanav goes on. ‘He wants more from you than you can give.'

‘You could stay and help me. Especially with the healing. We could work it out together.'

‘Did you hear about the boy from Nain? Yes, the dead one. Resurrection doesn't have to end happily.'

‘He didn't have the support of the Romans.'

‘Leave while you can. Tonight. Be gone by the morning. That's my honest advice.'

 

 

Saturday is the Jewish Sabbath. Lazarus is woken by sunshine over the walls of Jerusalem, and the sun rising day after day is astonishing. Yanav is nowhere to be seen.

Sabbath restrictions mean that not many Judaeans will venture from the city to the tombs on a Saturday, and for an executed criminal like Jesus there is neither mourning nor wailing. Instead, Lazarus hears a noise that reminds him of his father in Nazareth: mallet on chisel on stone. A steady, determined tap.

He goes to investigate the sound out of curiosity, but with no clearer ideas than that. He wishes he and Jesus had talked more. Like everyone left behind, he regrets not asking more explicitly for guidance while Jesus was alive.

The Romans ignore the Sabbath. Conscripted soldiers chisel at the edges of the stone that closes the tomb of Jesus. They widen the join so that mortar can be plugged into the gap, to seal the entrance. Jesus is buried in a small, single-chamber tomb, and their work will soon be done.

‘We're making certain,' Cassius says. ‘No tricks this time, no preplanned miracles.'

‘So you're back on duty?'

‘No one else knew what to do.'

Rome's defeated enemies will stay dead. There are few truths more essential to the sustainability of the empire. ‘It won't happen twice.'

‘Is that what you're expecting?'

‘Everyone saw Jesus die. He's not coming back.'

‘You have Roman soldiers tending a corpse.'

‘I know,' Cassius says. ‘A complete waste of time and a perfect job for the military. How did you sleep?'

‘How do you think?'

Mary is approaching from the direction of the tented pilgrim encampment to the north of the city. Her eyes are red from weeping, and when she sees Lazarus she bursts into tears and runs headlong towards him. She throws herself at his feet.

‘I knew you'd be here.' She hugs his legs and crushes her cheek against his knees. ‘Do what you have to do.'

 

Christians usually interpret Lazarus as a prefiguring of Jesus, who is Christ. This is the purpose of Lazarus's life, for those who believe in his literal existence, and his narrative function in the bible for those who don't. The death and resurrection of Lazarus foreshadow those of Jesus, and of all the dead to come.

Yet Jesus Christians (those who believe that Jesus is Christ) rarely appreciate the full extent of the advance work performed by Lazarus. In the history of their friendship, Lazarus always goes first. He suffers and dies first. He grieves first and disbelieves in god and leaves home first.

Jesus watches and learns. He will not be leaving his tomb after only one day. Too soon. He knows this from Jairus's daughter, and even after the violence of a crucifixion he will want to avert suspicion that he simply fell unconscious. At the other extreme, Lazarus was dead for four days. Too long. Four days invites awkward side issues, like the smell. Lazarus is the trial and Lazarus is the error. He enables Jesus to identify the ideal period to be dead before coming back.

Mary can't be expected to know this. Like anybody aggrieved by the death of a loved one, she wants him back immediately.

 

Mary takes her brother by the hand. ‘You know what you have to do.'

I could be happy as a favoured son of god, Lazarus thinks. He alone has survived death and burial, and returned fresh from the dead: his childhood passion for the scripture heroes was in fact an education. God was watching, and god has plans for him.

Lazarus faces the sealed tomb door. The soldiers are clearing away their tools.

‘Jesus,' Lazarus says. He clears his throat and starts again. ‘Jesus, come out.'

There is a crack in his voice, which sounds timid even to him.

‘Again,' Mary says. ‘Face the tomb as if you mean it. He's only been buried one night.'

‘They've mortared the door. I saw them do it.'

Mary tilts her head to one side. ‘Lazarus, say it properly, before it's too late.'

Lazarus searches the cloudless sky. Nothing. ‘I can't. I'm sorry. I don't believe I can call him out.'

‘You've got this the wrong way round,' Cassius says. He looks from Lazarus to Mary as if settling a dispute. ‘Lazarus isn't at fault. It's Jesus who can't come back.'

‘Jesus is the son of god.' Mary prepares to turn away. ‘I shall pray for you. I'll pray for you both.'

‘Let her go,' Cassius says. He takes Lazarus by the elbow. ‘There's something I want you to see.'

 

 

Inside the city walls, despite the Sabbath, Lazarus attracts attention. People shout his name, which soon adds to the numbers who follow him.

Lazarus is a lodestone for the recently bereaved, and today Jerusalem aches with unexplained grief, the feeling that those we have loved should not die. Lazarus is hope—no one is more alive than he is, and recent events have encouraged this year's Passover pilgrims to expect a messiah. Unpredictable weather patterns, disturbances at the Temple, a nervous Roman governor: this is how the final revelation will begin.

As a religious idea, Jesus has failed. He is dead. He is therefore not the son of god and will not save Israel for god's chosen people. He needs to be replaced.

Lazarus is soon walking at the head of a substantial crowd. In the cramped streets of Jerusalem strangers reach out to touch him. He is solid flesh. He has not abandoned them, and as faithful pilgrims all they need do is follow.

The procession continues to grow, and Cassius tells Lazarus what to say.

‘I am the way,' Lazarus repeats what he hears whispered in his ear. ‘I am the way and the life.'

The words travel back and forth in a rapid murmur.

‘And anyone who believes in Lazarus,' he adds, ‘shall never die.'

This is the living messiah they expect.

‘What is beyond?' someone shouts, and without any prompting Lazarus provides the answer. Why shouldn't he? He has lived this experience. He is the only person alive who might know.

‘There is not nothing,' he says, or how could he be here now? ‘Believe me, I have been there, and beyond this world we know there is something without end.'

 

The Church of Lazarus Christ shines across the future.

The people of Judaea have a talent for belief. The feeding of a crowd of thousands with two loaves of bread and five small fish. A carpenter who can walk on water, in a storm. Why not Lazarus?

Lazarus will offer himself as a leader with experience of the mysteries of existence. He will be like Jesus, but less irresponsible. He will hesitate to recommend a diet of locusts and honey, and is unlikely to require periods of fasting in the desert. He'll get married and live in the city, the messiah of second chances, the hope of regretted lives.