‘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.’
3
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 pre-planned 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.’
4
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.
Try again. Rise up and start afresh.
Believers in Lazarus Christ may shave or not shave, circumcise their children or not. Lazarus doesn’t mind. They may choose to work or seek entertainment on the Sabbath. Veils will not be required for women, who can enter the Lazaran synagogue by the front door and learn their scriptures with the men.