LETTER XXVII.
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My Dear Father:—Your letter has filled me with joy
that I can poorly express by my pen. It was
received this morning by the courier from Egypt, with
the package, both being safely placed in my hands, nine
days only after they quitted your own. I kissed them,
and pressed them again and again to my heart, at the
thought that they were so lately touched by your fingers.
The letter assures me that you are to leave at the new
moon, and after a few day's delay at Gaza, will be with
me not many days afterwards. This letter I shall send
so as to meet you at Gaza.
Three years, three long years, dearest father, have
passed since I last saw your venerable and kind face.
Ah, when you come, how I shall love you, and hang upon
you, and watch every look, and catch your every word!
It is true, my uncle Amos has been next to a father to me,
all affection and goodness; but no love or care can hold
the place of a father's to a daughter.
When I review the interesting scenes I have passed
through, the wonderful events which I have witnessed
since I first came to Jerusalem, nearly three years ago,
with the caravan of Rabbi Ben Israel, I do not regret my
long absence from you, dear father; for to have been in
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Jerusalem during the period I have named, is a privilege
that Abraham and all the patriarchs and prophets of God
would have coveted. During that period the Messias
has walked the earth, clothed with divine power, and
familiarly gone in and out of Jerusalem before all eyes,
performing miracles, and doing mighty works which never
man did. I have learned to love and honor that blessed
Prophet as the Son of the Highest, and the Annointed of
the Lord; I have sat at his feet, and listened to his
heavenly teachings, and the wisdom of his sacred lips has
made me wise.
But I have not yet made known to you the particulars of
the greatest miracle of power and love of all those wonders
which he has done, viz., the raising up of Lazarus from
the dead, and I will here recount them as they occurred.
When Mary and Martha, finding Lazarus given over
by the physicians as past possible recovery from his
grievous illness, had dispatched the message to Jesus, as
I have already stated, they began to be more cheerful
with new-born hope, saying:
“If our dear Rabbi, the holy Prophet, comes, he will
heal him with a word, as he has done so many of the sick.”
“Yes; many whom he knew not he has restored to
health by a touch,” remarked Martha, “how much more,
Lazarus, whom he loveth as a brother! O that the
messenger may press forward with all haste!”
“If Lazarus should die ere he come,” hesitatingly
remarked my gentle cousin, the betrothed of John the
disciple, “he could bring him to life again, even as he did
the son of the widow at Nain.”
“Yes, without doubt, unless it were too late,” remarked
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Martha, shrinking at the thought that her brother should
die; “but if he be long dead it will be impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible with Jesus,” answered Mary,
her eyes brightening with trusting faith.
Thus the hours passed between mingled hopes and
fears; and ere Jesus came, the mantle of death was laid
over the face of their dead brother. “Lazarus is dead,
and Jesus is away!” was the bitter and touching cry made
by the bereaved sisters, as they wept in each other's arms.
The next day the burial took place, as I have described
already to you, dear father, in my last letter, and yet no
messenger came from Jesus. The morning of the third
day the messenger returned, and said that he had found
the Prophet on the farther bank of Jordan, where John had
baptized, and that he abode in an humble cottage in the
suburbs of Bethabara, with his disciples, and was engaged
in teaching the things of the kingdom of God, and unfolding
the prophecies to many who resorted unto him.
The bearer of the sad tidings from the two sisters
delivered his simple and touching message:
“Lord, behold he whom thou lovest is sick!”
“And what said he?—how did his countenance appear?”
asked Martha, of the man.
“He betrayed no surprise, but said calmly to me, `Son,
I know it! This sickness shall not be unto death. It
shall be for the glory of God; for hereby will my Father
permit me to be glorified, that men may see and believe
truly that I came out from God.”'
“What said he more?” asked Martha, sorrowfully and
doubting.
“Nothing more, lady; and having given my message,
I departed,” answered the man.
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“Alas! he knew not how ill his friend was,” said Mary,
“or he would not have said it was not unto death, and
would have hastened with you.”
“Thy Lord should know all things, daughter,” said a
priest who stood by. “This ignorance of the danger of
Lazarus, and his assertion that he would not die, shows
that he is an impostor. Is not Lazarus dead and buried?”
At this, Martha's faith seemed for a moment shaken,
but Mary eloquently defended her brother's absent friend,
and holy Prophet, saying, “That when Jesus should
come and speak in person for himself, he would make his
words plain, and show them to have been spoken with
wisdom.”
With what deep sorrow they mourned their brother!
and their tears fell the faster in that they felt assured he
would not have died had Jesus been there. Their faith
and confidence in him underwent a sore trial as day
after day passed, and nothing more was heard from him.
“He has forgotten us,” answered Martha. “He should
be near to console us in our deep affliction, though he came
not to heal our brother.”
“Nay, sister, do not think hardly of the blessed friend
of Lazarus,” said Mary, with soothing tones, as she
caressed her elder sister. “I feel that if he had seen fit
he could have raised up our brother, even speaking the
word from Bethabara. It was not needful he should see
him to heal him; for dost thou remember how he healed
Lucius, the Centurion's son, yet at the time he was a day's
journey distant from him.
“And why, oh why, did he not save Lazarus!”
exclaimed Martha, bitterly.
“In that he did not, sweet sister,” answered Mary,
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gently, “it was for the best. Did he not say to the messenger,
his sickness should be to the glory of his power.”
“But not his death, Mary, not his death! He is dead
four days already; and how can the grave give glory to
the power of Jesus? Will he raise him up since corruption
has begun, nay, began ere we laid him in the cold
sepulchre? Oh, speak not to me of the cruel prophet.
He loved not Lazarus, or he had not the power to save
him. Nay; leave me, Mary, to the bitterness of my
grief.”
“Ah, dear Martha, how soon is thy faith in Jesus,
when proven, become nought!” said Mary, bending upon
her from her dark, earnest eyes, looks of sad reproach.
“Shall one day overturn your years of holy friendship for
him? Because he answered not our prayer to come to
Lazarus, think you he loved him not, and is indifferent to
our anguish? He is wronged by your reproof, and injured
by your want of confidence in his love and care for us.”
“He can heal a proud and rich ruler's son, but he heeds
not the cry of the poor and lowly,” perseveringly answered
Martha, expressing in her looks the intensity of her feelings
against Jesus. “The death of Lazarus be upon his
head!”
“Ah, sister, God forgive thee, and let thy grief excuse
thy words. Though he slay me, I will trust in him,”
exclaimed Mary, laying her hand on her sister's shoulder,
while holy firmness and a resolute light beamed in her
shining and tearful eyes.
While they were thus discoursing, one came running
swiftly towards the house, and, breathless with haste,
cried to them and to the Jews sitting there, who had come
to comfort them concerning their brother:
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“The Prophet! the Nazarene! He comes!”
Almost at the same moment, Elec, the Gibeonite, entered
and said:
“Jesus, the Messias of God, is at hand! He already
entereth the village with his disciples.”
At this intelligence the mourners who sat with Mary
and Martha in the vine porch, rose up to go and meet him;
but Martha, shrieking with sudden joy, sprang up, and
more quickly than they reached the street, and running
with great speed, came where Jesus was.
Mary, who had received the news without betraying
any other emotion than the secret and holy joy of a heart
that had confidence all along in her Lord, instead of hastening
to meet him, rending her hair with grief, like her
sister, proceeded to prepare a room for the hospitable
entertainment of the beloved Prophet, when he should
come in, thus taking Martha's place; and when she had
arranged all, she sat down with me in the house, her heart
filled with joy, and her face expressive of her calm and
quiet happiness.
“I knew he would come! I knew he would not leave
or forsake us in our deep sorrow, Adina,” she said, two or
three times; and as the confused noise of advancing foot-steps
fell upon our ears, her heart beat quicker, and with
the glow that joy and expectation made to enrich her
face, I thought she looked more beautiful than ever before.
When Martha came near Jesus, whom she met just
entering Bethany, walking with four of his disciples along
the dusty road, and looking weary and travel-worn, she
ran and threw herself at his feet, crying:
“Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not
died!”
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Jesus taking her hand, raised her up, and said with emotion,
for he was deeply moved:
“Lazarus sleepeth, Martha. I am now come to awake
him out of his sleep.”
“Lord, if my brother slept only, he would not have
been buried. He is dead, and hath been dead four days.”
“I spoke of his death, Martha! Lazarus is dead; but
death to those whom my Father loveth is sleep. The
good die not, only the wicked. Their death is eternal,
where the worm dieth not. I say unto thee, Lazarus is
not dead but sleepeth; and he shall rise again!”
“I know, O Rabboni, that he shall rise again in the
resurrection at the last day.”
Jesus then said unto her, lifting his celestial glances
towards heaven:
“I am the resurrection and the life. He that believeth
in me, though he were dead, shall he live! and whosoever
liveth and believeth in me shall never die! Believest thou
this, daughter?”
“Yea, Lord, I believe that thou art the Christ, the Son
of God, which should come into the world. I know, that
whatsoever thou wilt ask of God, God will give it thee,
and that even now thou couldst bring Lazarus back
again!”
“Corruption and the worm have begun their work,”
said a proud and unbelieving Pharisee near, on hearing
this; “whatever may have been the state of the ruler's
daughter, and of the son of her of Nain, Lazarus the scribe,
at least, is dead!”
To this speech Jesus made no reply, but turning to
Martha, said softly:
“I am rejoiced that thy faith in me hath come back
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into thine heart, for thou hast doubted, oh daughter of
little faith, in that I came not at thy call. It was needful
that thy brother should die, that I might display the
power of God in me by raising him up. This day my
Father shall be glorified, and the world shall truly know
that I come from Him who is Life, and the giver of life.
Go, thou, and tell thy sister that I am here, and would
have her come and speak with me!”
Martha, then, overjoyed, and wondering that Jesus
should have known her thoughts, so as to reproach her for
her little faith as he had done, hastened to her sister, and
entering, cried:
“I have seen the Lord! He calleth for thee, Mary.
Come and see him as he sits by Isaiah's fountain, near
the market-place; for he hath said he will not enter our
house until he crosses the threshold with Lazarus by his
side!”
Her words made my heart bound with an indescribable
thrill! Lazarus to come again into the house alive, walking
with Jesus! I buried my face in my hands, overcome
with an idea so full of joy, terror, wonder, and supernatural
awe. Mary rose quickly, and went out, scarcely supporting
herself upon her fading limbs for trembling joy,
and a sweet, undefined hope of—she knew not what—immeasurable
and unbearable happiness about to come upon
her. Certain of her Jewish friends from Jerusalem at
that moment met her at the door, not knowing that Jesus
had entered Bethany; and began to comfort her, and to
ask her if they also should go with her to weep at the
grave of Lazarus; for they said:
“She goeth unto the grave to weep there!”
“She goes to see Jesus, the friend of Lazarus, for he
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calleth her,” answered Martha, smiling with eagerness,
and speaking with an animation that presented a singular
contrast to her late deep grief.
Mary hastened to where Jesus sat by the fountain bathing
his dusty and wounded feet, and discoursing to those
about him upon the resurrection of the dead. Upon seeing
Mary, he extended his hand, but she sank at his feet,
and bathing them with her tears, wiped them with her
gleaming black hair.
“Lord,” she said, in her sister's words, with great emotion,
“if thou, Lord, hadst been here, my brother had not
died.”
Then bowing her head to the edge of the marble basin,
she wept very heavily. The Jews, men and women, who
stood about, being touched with her sorrow, also wept,
while glittering tears coursed their way down the face of
the beloved John, his disciple, who stood near.
Jesus sighed deeply, and groaned in spirit as he beheld
her grief, and their mourning with her. His sacred countenance
was marred with the anguish of his soul.
“Rise, let us go to the grave where he lieth!” he said
to them. “Where have ye laid him?”
“Come, dear Lord, and see,” answered Mary, taking
him by the sleeve of the robe, and drawing him towards
the place of the tombs in the vale of Olivet.
In the meanwhile, at home, Martha had been diligently,
and with strange cheerfulness, getting in readiness the
room of Lazarus. She swept and dusted it, and garnished
it with fresh flowers, which she gathered in the little
garden.
“This is the rose he set out and loved. This is the
violet which blooms immortal. I will place it upon his
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pillow,” she said, with a joyous hilarity, softened by the
most lovely look of peace; while hope shone in her eyes
like twin morning stars ushering in a glorious day. She
spoke scarcely above her breath, and moved on tip-toe.
“For whom is this preparation, dearest Martha? For
Jesus?” I asked.
“Oh, no! The Lord's own room is ready. Mary has
prepared that. This is Lazarus's room, and I am decorating
it for him!”
“Dost thou truly believe that he is coming back from
the dead?” I asked, between doubt and strange fear.
“Believe! Oh, yes. I know that nothing is impossible
with him! I doubt no more. My faith trembles no
longer. He will raise up my brother, and this day he
shall sit down at our table with us again, and this night
rest his head in peaceful slumber upon this pillow which
I am strewing with his favorite flowers. Never had house
two such guests as we shall have this day—the Messias of
God, and one come back alive from the dead!”
At this moment we heard the noise of the multitude
passing by, and it being told us that Jesus was going to
the grave, Martha, embracing me with a heavenly smile,
drew me gently after her, to follow the blessed Prophet to
the tomb. All Bethany was in his footsteps. Wonder
and eager expectation were on every face. There was no
outcry; no lawless uproar in the vast concourse, but
rather a subdued under-current murmur of awe and
curiosity.
How shall I describe Jesus, as he then appeared! He
wore upon one shoulder, from which it was almost
dragged by the eager hand of Martha, a blue garment,
woven without seam throughout, the affectionate work
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and gift of the two sisters. His face was pale and sad,
yet a certain divine majesty seemed resting thereon, so
that his calm, high forehead looked like a throne. His
large, earnest eyes, richly brown in hue, and darkly shaded
by sable lashes, were full of sorrow. His chiseled mouth
was compressed, but the swelling of the nether lip betrayed
the effort he made to suppress the outbursting of his
heart's deep grief.
Slowly he moved onward, and entering the cemetery,
he soon stood before the tomb of his beloved friend.
For a few moments he stood gazing upon the door of
the cave in silence. There reigned an expectant hush
among the vast throng. Mary knelt at his feet gazing up
into his countenance with a sublime expression of hope
and trust. Martha drew softly near, and fell upon her
knees by the side of her sister. Jesus looked tenderly
upon them, and then resting his eyes upon the tomb, he
wept. Large, glittering tears rolled down his cheeks, and
glanced from his flowing auburn-colored beard to the
ground. One of the precious drops struck upon the back
of my hand, as I knelt by the side of the sisters.
“Behold how he loved him!” whispered the Jews
present.
Others said:
“Could not this man, which opened the eyes of the
blind, have caused that even this man should not have
died?”
Jesus, uttering a deep sigh, now came nearer the grave.
It was, as I have before said, a cave, and a stone lay upon
it. With a slight movement of his right hand to those
who stood by, he said in a tone that, though low, was
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heard by the whole people, so solemn was the surrounding
stillness.
“Take ye away the stone!”
“Lord,” said Martha, “by this time he is offensive, for
he hath been dead four days.”
“Daughter,” said Jesus, looking on her, “said I not to
thee a little while since, if thou wilt believe that I can
raise up thy brother, thou shalt see him alive again.
Believe, and thou shalt behold the glory and power of God.”
The men, then, with some difficulty took away the
stone from the door of the sepulchre, and stood it upon one
side. The dark vault yawned with gloomy horror, and so
corrupt was the air that rushed out, all fell back from it,
save Jesus and Mary, several steps.
Jesus stood looking into the cave, where, as our eyes
became accustomed to the darkness within, we could discern
the corpse of Lazarus, covered with the grave mantle,
and his face bound with the napkin which was already
discolored with the sepulchral damp of the grave.
Raising his hands towards heaven, and lifting up his
holy eyes, which were yet moist with tears, Jesus said in
a voice of indescribable pathos and earnestness of appeal,
and with a manner of the most awful reverence:
“Father, I thank thee that thou hast heard me. And
I know that thou hearest me always; but because of the
people which stand by do I offer unto thee this prayer,
that they may believe that the power I have cometh from
thee, and that they may believe thou hast sent me. And
now, oh Holy Father, may I glorify thee on the earth with
the power which thou hast given me!”
He then turned towards the tomb, and stretching forth
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his hand, he cried with a loud voice, that made every
heart quake:
“Lazarus, come forth!”
My blood stood still in my heart. Scarcely daring to
look, I looked and beheld what all eyes also saw, the
corpse stand up within the vault, and turning round with
its face towards us, came forth bound hand and foot with
grave clothes, and his face bound about with a napkin.
His countenance was like marble for whiteness, and his
eyes, which were open, looked supernaturally brilliant.
At beholding him, a simultaneous shriek burst from the
bosoms of the people, and a backward rush of all who
were nighest the cave.
Martha, uttering her brother's name, fell forward upon
her face, and lay insensible.
“Loose him and let him go free!” said Jesus, calmly,
to the petrified and amazed men who had taken away the
stone. Mary was the first one who had the firmness to
approach him, and remove the napkin from the sides of
his face, while others, taking courage by her example,
hastened to unswathe his arms and feet. In a few moments
he was free from his outer grave clothes, and the
color of his cheeks came to him, his lips flushed brilliantly
with red, his eyes looked natural, and beamed with wonder
and love as he gazed about him. Seeing Jesus, he
was about to cast himself at his feet in gratitude, (for he
seemed to know all that had happened,) but the mighty
Prophet drew him to his embrace and kissed him. Mary,
at first shrinking from awe, now threw herself, blind with
tears of joy, into his arms, and Martha was raised up by
him to his manly breast, and his loved voice, breathed
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tenderly into her ear, recalled her to the consciousness of
her happiness.
But my pen refuses to find language to express the
unspeakable emotions of joy and gratitude, words of love
and praise, that filled all hearts. Lazarus, the new-born
from the dead, blooming in the rich hues of complete health,
walked homeward by the side of Jesus, while the sisters
hung upon him with deep thankfulness overflowing their
happy hearts. Now the great Prophet, now Lazarus, and
now Jesus again, received the plaudits of the vast throng
of people. Hymns were chanted to Jehovah as we passed
through the streets, and so many fell down to worship
Jesus, that it was long before we crossed the threshold of
the dwelling, which Jesus did indeed enter with Lazarus
by his side. And Martha did see him sit at the same
table, and that night saw his head rest in deep slumber
upon the flower-strewn pillow which her faith and love had
prepared for him.
Thus, my dear father, have I given you a recital of the
particulars of this mighty miracle, the report of which
has filled all Jerusalem with amazement, and must lead
the priests and the people to acknowledge Jesus to be the
Messias of God, him of whom Moses and the Prophets did
write. Do you doubt longer, my dear father?
This letter will meet you at Gaza. With the hope of
soon embracing you, I remain as ever,
Your loving daughter,
Adina.
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Ingraham, J. H. (Joseph Holt), 1809-1860 [1855], The Prince of the house of David, or, Three years in the Holy City. Being a series of the letters of Adina... and relating, as by an eye witness, all the scenes and wonderful incidents in the life of Jesus of Nazareth, from his baptism in Jordan to his crucifixion on Calvary. (Pudney & Russell, New York) [word count] [eaf612T].
