Jesus wept.
It was his seeing Mary that did it, I think. They're so much alike, you know. Both caring so much, leading with the heart. He's always had a soft spot for her. Oh, he loves us all, you understand. And we - Mary, Lazarus, and I - adore him, of course.
When our brother got sick - when we saw there was nothing we could do - we sent for him. But he did not come in time. I wonder if even he fully realized what that choice meant for us...and him.
It's one thing to heal strangers - the outcast lepers, the man whose friends lowered him through the roof, the woman with the blood issue. But it's another thing when it's the death of someone you know and love.
We spent so much time together. Listening to him. Learning from him. Sharing meals with him. He was more than our teacher, you see. He was our friend, our brother.
Naturally, we were heartbroken when Lazarus died. If only he had come when we called! Mary was inconsolable, of course. And I think that's when it struck him - our grief and his own.
But that did not stop him from doing what he came to do. He returned our brother to us. Oh, yes, I was disappointed when he didn't come when we first called for him. Did I doubt when he promised to bring Lazarus back? No, never, not a moment of doubt.
After all, he loves us doesn't he? And he's always kept his promises.
I wonder what he's going to do next?
No comments:
Post a Comment