Effects of the Lazarus Episode

There were two things which always suppressed passion against Jesus — His close presence and His complete absence. The former overawed; the latter freed from fear. We have seen the influence of each. We have seen Him face to face with the infuriated crowd, paralysing by His presence the passions of that crowd. We have seen Him in the retirement beyond Jordan, equally contributing by His absence to still the national enmity. The thing which provoked controversy concerning Jesus was neither His immediate presence nor His entire absence. His enemies were most powerful when He was neither face to face with them nor at a great distance from them, but in the neighbourhood where they dwelt. They could not stone Him in the same VOL. n, L field; but they could plot against Him in the next street.

Jesus had now come again within the surveillance of His enemies: He was at Bethany. The storm which had been lulled to rest burst forth afresh. Within a few hours after His arrival strange tidings spread into Jerusalem. It was reported that Jesus had raised a dead man — a man already in the grave; that the miracle had been done publicly, in the midst of a concourse, in the presence of many of His adversaries; that the Pharisaic ranks had been shaken and were passing over to His cause. The matter was deemed so serious that it instantly became national. It had passed beyond the region of private disputation. It was considered a question of life or death for the nation. A meeting of the Sanhedrin was called; and the High Priest sat in council with his brethren.

Before we go a step further, let us ask what was the cause of the alarm. I have often heard it said, Is it not a very remarkable thing that an event which, according to the fourth gospel, caused the death of Jesus, should have been absolutely omitted by the record of the other three? But I must point out that there is a confusion of thought here. Lazarus had nothing to do with Christ’s death. No gospel has ever affirmed that the raising of Lazarus was any offence on the part of Jesus. How could the reputation of having raised a man from the dead be any offence to the Jew! Had not his own prophet Elijah worn that fame as a glory The Sadducees believed in no resurrection, but they never dreamed of separating from those who did. The truth is, the indignation which now burst upon Jesus was indignation for something in the past. The offence of Jesus was the old offence — the claim to an origin which would have given other nations an equal place with the children of Israel. It was the same alleged crime for which they had sought to stone Him a few weeks before. What the Lazarus sensation did was to revive the publicity of Jesus. It added nothing to His obnoxiousness. It simply made it more possible for Him to pursue His former course. The dangerous side which Judaism saw in Jesus did not lie in any of His deeds; it lay in His words. But the greater His deeds, the more power He had to enforce His words. From the Jewish point of view it mattered little what the deed was; the only question was, Would it help the influence of one who was supposed to be a national enemy? The withering of a fig-tree would have been as much deplored as the raising of a Lazarus. If I am jealous of a man, I deprecate the success of his book irrespective of its subject. Lazarus happened to be here the subject; but the success was the real sting.

In obedience to the call of danger the Sanhedrin met. And here we meet with a surprise. The tone of the speeches is the very opposite of what we should have expected. Bitterness against Jesus there is, and to the full; but it is the ground of the bitterness that surprises us. We looked for an outcry in favour of Jewish nationalism; we are greeted instead with an outburst in favour of Rome. The sentiment of the assembly is focussed in the speech of the High Priest, Caiaphas. Let me try to paraphrase it.

‘Men of Israel, it has often been the lot of my office to present a sacrifice of expiation to heaven. But it seems to me a time is coming when we shall need to propitiate an earthly power. Rome has suffered much from the insubordination of her dependencies. They have reaped many privileges, and they have been in danger of forgetting them. We have not been the least among the offenders. We have for years incensed that proud empire which bears the sway over us. Her eye is on us now as we stand here on the eve of a revolution. She sees things running to an acme. She beholds men intoxicated with this Galilean movement; and what is the work of the rabble she attributes to the rulers. Let us undeceive her ere she strikes! Let us ourselves put down this movement with a high hand! Let us propitiate Rome by doing the work which Rome would propose to do! Let us prove our fidelity by slaying the Galilean leader! It is expedient that one die for the people.’

Now, here is a very striking thing. The enemies of Jesus had accused Him of being a traitor to Judea; they now prefer against Him the opposite charge — that of being a traitor to Rome. Can we account for this change of front? I think we can. As long as there was a chance of Jesus falling a victim to lawless violence, the Jewish leaders strove to inflame the multitude by the cry * Treason to Israel! ‘But when they found that Jesus could not be cut off in that way, when they were compelled to seek His death by law, they had to cry ‘Treason to Rome! ‘Rome alone could sentence to death by law, and Rome would never sentence to death for treason against Judea. If Rome should be induced to inflict capital punishment, it could only be on the ground that she herself was menaced. It was no offence to her that Jesus thought the Gentiles equal to the Jews; to disparage Jesus in her eyes He must be proved to be anti-Roman. That was the object of the Sanhedrin meeting; that was the object of the speech of Caiaphas. It was a cry of danger intended to be overheard. Spoken at Jerusalem, it was not meant for Jerusalem. It was meant to travel to the banks of the Tiber, to reach the ears of the Senate, to penetrate the palace of the Caesars, to rouse the co-operation of an empire whose very idea of religion was obedience to herself.

The cry of the Sanhedrin was virtually a sentence of death on Jesus. How did Jesus act under these circumstances? St. John says He withdrew into the country districts. Are you startled to hear that He avoided the blast? You forget, He was carrying out a plan, and He had been interrupted in that plan. He had a few weeks before withdrawn His disciples from the scene of terror in order that they might be calm to hear the tidings of Immortality. He had been teaching their thoughts to soar — to look beyond the seen and temporal. He had been arrested in His work ere it was finished; the domestic bereavement at Bethany had called Him back to the vicinity of danger; He had never viewed the interruption as permanent; He had always meant, after discharging His duty to the bereaved, to complete in retirement the education of His disciples. Is it wonderful that after His Bethany work was done He should again have withdrawn Himself! So far from being cowardice, it was the most consummate bravery. Is there any bravery equal to that of pursuing a deliberate plan in the hour of danger! Such was the courage of Jesus

Jesus does not, however, return to the old spot. He seeks, this time, a different locality. He proceeds in the direction of the Jewish wilderness. Do you think it was by accident that He bent His steps thither? I do not. The Wilderness of Judea was the place where, in the morning of His mission, there had glittered before His eyes the kingdoms of this world and the glory of them, and where a voice had said, * Live for earth, and these shall be thine.’ He wanted His disciples to hear, in the same vicinity, another voice, 1 Pass to heaven, and these shall be thine.’ He wanted them to realise that death was for Him not even the end of earth, and that the true glory of His kingdom was reserved for the time when He should enter into the cloud.

Now, it is a singular fact that under the shadow of this retreat the hopes for the Messianic kingdom blazed out anew. They had been almost reduced to ashes. Nor did it seem that this was the time for their revival. The fortunes of Jesus were at their lowest. He was to all appearance a fugitive; the hand of every man was against Him. And yet it was at this moment and at no other that the mother of James and John preferred the bold request, ‘Grant that these my two sons may sit, the one on Thy right hand and the other on Thy left, in Thy kingdom! ’

Strange as it may seem, the thing which impresses me first in this request is not its presumption, but its faith. Why should these men begin to dream of the kingdom when their Master had seemingly only the prospect of a grave? I can only account for it on one supposition. Something must have happened to raise their drooping spirits, to quicken their sense of Christ’s power. We are often reminded that the first gospels are silent about Lazarus. But is their own narrative coherent without Lazarus? Does not St. John supply the missing link — their missing link? Is not the Lazarus episode the fitting antecedent to this reviving hope? Did the successful prayer of the sisters stimulate these young men also to approach Jesus through the intercessory power of woman? One thing at least is sure — that mother and sons alike must have seen a star in the dark sky before they could offer a prayer of such tremendous faith.

Yet the presumption is nearly equal to the faith — would be altogether so but for the ignorance which lay at the root of it, and which Jesus Himself discerned. I do not, in deed, think that the request of the young men was prompted by pride or ambition. I think it came from endearment. It was the desire to be near Jesus — to be ever by His side. Yet the particular direction in which they sought this nearness was startling: they asked to sit with Christ on His judgment-throne — His own throne — the right and left of His throne! I believe they cared little either for the throne or for the power to judge the world; they chose the sphere from its nearness to Jesus. Many of us in life commit their mistake; we apply for a post for which we are unfitted in order to get some benefit outside of it. The strictures of Jesus are not against their wish to be near Him. What He objects to is that, even with such a motive, they should apply for a post wholly unsuited to their present capacity, and in which they must exert an influence unfavourable to the cause of righteousness. ‘You know not what you ask, He says, ‘can you drink of my cup!’ At first sight one does not discern the connection between drinking of the cup and ruling in the kingdom. But when we come to see that the throne desired is a throne of judgment, when we come to realise that the post requested is the office of rewarding or punishing the deeds of men, the thought of Jesus becomes luminously clear. Let me try reverently to express it by my favourite method — that of paraphrase.

‘You want to sit on my throne of judgment. Have you had my experience? I do not mean, “Have you had my experience of heaven?” but, “Have you had my experience of earth?” If / sit on the judgment-throne of humanity, it is not because I have been farther up than you; it is because I have been farther down than you. No man is entitled to sit on the judgment-throne of humanity until, in sympathy, he has been down in the dock with the prisoner, /have been in that position. My right to be the prisoner’s judge is that I have first been the prisoner’s counsel. I know his difficulties. I have realised his temptations. I have measured the narrowness of his environment. Have you done this? Where have you proved it? Not at Samaria. Do you remember the refractory village, and how you wished to burn it? You were there the two young men out of all the band who most proved your inadequacy for a throne of calm judgment. Is it not well your power was not then equal to your will? None can receive the mission you desire who have not first through sacrificial love been prepared for it by my Father.’

It is curious how at this time the hearth moves side by side with the altar; this, like the table of Martha and Mary, is a domestic scene. Jesus is now on the track of universal humanity — of the fireside instincts. The picture in the present narrative is a fireside picture. I would call this the first prayer ever offered to Christ at the domestic altar; it is a mother’s supplication for the prosperity of her sons. It was a premature supplication; but did Jesus remember the equally premature desire of another mother — His own? Did He remember how at Cana she wanted Him to manifest His power before the time? Whether He connected the incidents I cannot tell. But I feel quite sure that He looked upon this initial act of family worship as a typical act — an act which every mother throughout the Israel of God would repeat, and which would form in after-time the basis of domestic union.

T THANK Thee, O Lord, that Thou hast -•- consecrated the domestic hearth. I thank Thee that Thou hast consecrated a mother’s prayers. I thank Thee for this inauguration of the family altar — its inauguration by maternal sympathy. Help the prayers of the mothers of Israel, of the mothers of England! Teach them to ask for their sons that which is good! Teach them to desire for their children not the glitter but the gold, not the veneer but the value, not the bauble but the blessing! Teach them to believe that their sons will be helped by tasting of Thy cup — the cup of sacrifice! Forbid that the homes of Israel, forbid that the homes of England, should train their youth to expect only luxurious days on earth! Forbid they should ever train their youth to expect only luxurious days in heaven Let them not dream of any land where springs the thornless rose! Reveal to them that to sit at Thy right hand is a painful thing — that it is Thy pain, Thy vision of human sorrow, Thy sense of human sin! When Thou hast sanctified the mother’s wishes for the child, the homes of our land will be homes of holiness.