Then Jesus shouted, “Lazarus, come out!” And the dead man came out, his hands and feet bound in graveclothes, his face wrapped in a headcloth. Jesus told them, “Unwrap him and let him go!” [John 11:43-44 (NLT)]
Unlike Lazarus, we haven’t had a four-day encounter with death. Our family didn’t wash us with warm water, anoint us with myrrh and aloe, wrap us in a shroud with herbs and spices, lay us in a tomb, and mourn our passing. Most of us haven’t even endured a months-long coma, flatlined, or been brought back to life with an AED. How does such an experience affect someone? Without a doubt, the man who emerged from the tomb differed from the man who died four days earlier. Did Lazarus return to life with the 1st century equivalent of a “bucket list” of things to accomplish, places to go, things to do, and adventures to have?
When Jesus called Lazarus out of the tomb, the once dead man emerged from the tomb with his face wrapped in a head cloth and his body bound in burial garments. Jesus told the people to unbind him and free him from the trappings of the grave. Something tells me that, after four days in a tomb, Lazarus left behind more than some linen cloth soiled with the detritus of the tomb and death. While we don’t know what he experienced during those four days, He must have returned to life with a new perspective. As he walked into the sunlight he never expected seeing again and inhaled the air he never anticipated breathing again, can you imagine how much he appreciated his new lease on life? Given a second chance, Lazarus probably wasn’t about to bring any regrets, resentment, anger, or guilt with him. Raised from the dead, he probably shed much of his past along with that shroud as he stepped from the tomb’s gloom.
Unlike Lazarus, we haven’t physically died. Nevertheless, we were spiritually dead until we responded to Christ’s call. Now, born again into a new spiritual life, our grave clothes are no longer necessary. Lazarus shed his; have we? Even through we’re reborn in Christ, we tend to carry the detritus and debris of our yesterdays into our new life. After putting on the new clothes of salvation and righteousness, rather than leave our graveclothes behind, we drag along the shroud of the past—a shroud stained with betrayals, anger, disappointment, loss, or hurt and embellished with things like remorse and disgrace. Even when we think we’ve donned the fresh clothes of a new life in Christ, we often tuck a pang of guilt or shame into a pocket. We have trouble believing that we’re forgiven, but we are; that change is possible, but it is; that we have a relationship with the Creator of the Universe, but we do; or that He could possibly love us, but He does! Lazarus shed his shroud; so should we.
As for bucket lists—they seem more a way of denying death than living life to the fullest. I don’t think Lazarus emerged from his tomb with a to-do list of things to accomplish before his next trip to that tomb. I suspect he emerged with a new appreciation for the everyday things of life—his family, the sound of laughter, the embrace of a friend, a sip of cool water, morning dew glistening in the sunlight, sunsets and sunrises, the chirp of a sparrow, worship at the Temple, the taste of a rip fig, a beautiful rose, a buzzing bee, the aroma of fresh baked bread, the earthy smell of rain, and a relationship with Jesus. Death taught Lazarus that he didn’t need more; he just needed to fully appreciate what he already had—Jesus and life!
Lazarus heeded Jesus’ call. When he stepped into the light from that dark tomb, he shed his shroud and embraced his new lease on physical life. When we responded to Jesus’s call, we were given a new spiritual life. Let us leave the despair, doubt, shame, sorrow, and sin behind as we clothe ourselves with the joy of life in Jesus Christ.
Jesus was in Perea on the east side of the Jordan when He learned that Lazarus lay on his sickbed. Why didn’t He immediately return when told that his dear friend was sick? While the timeline is unclear, the messenger probably set out for Jesus as soon as Lazarus took ill. Since it was a day’s journey from Bethany to Perea, Jesus would have heard the news late that first day or early the second. By that time, Lazarus already was dead. With Jewish custom requiring the funeral be within eight hours of death, he probably was buried, as well. Nevertheless, even though Jesus knew that He’d miraculously resurrect the dead man, He seemed strangely unconcerned. Rather than immediately return to comfort Martha and Mary and cut short their time of mourning, Jesus waited around on day two and three and didn’t arrive in Bethany until the fourth day.
Brent Askari’s play, The Refugees, begins with an unusual premise. Because of a violent civil war in the United States, an upscale American family become refugees in a Middle Eastern country. When the family’s Arab social worker referred to the American refugees as “you people,” the once suburban housewife’s expression spoke volumes. In her previous Connecticut life, anyone who wasn’t white and upper middle class had been “those people” but the tables have turned and the roles reversed. Instead of being the ones with the money and advantages, her family and others like them are “those people:” a minority, seeking asylum in a new country, unfamiliar with the customs, and unable to read, write, or speak the language. Wearing clothes they once would have sent to Goodwill, they need government assistance to survive. Her once high-priced lawyer husband is now a stock boy whose boss takes advantage of his immigrant status. This family and other American refugees are as unwelcome in the unnamed Arab country as are the refugees at our border.
Years ago, I often cared for my granddaughter while also watching my son’s dog. The grand in her highchair would push her food around the tray while trying to feed herself. Since fine motor skills are lacking in toddlers, a fair amount of whatever she was eating ended up on the floor. Whatever my grand didn’t get in her mouth became a feast for the dog waiting patiently beneath her for the bits and pieces that fell. When she was a bit older, I think she deliberately dropped a few tidbits for her canine friend.
When considering Solomon’s excess and riches, I recalled comedian George Carlin’s “Stuff” routine. First performed for Comic Relief in 1986, Carlin made fun of our obsession with having stuff. Along with being the King of Israel, Solomon was the King of Stuff. Denying himself nothing, along with his elaborate throne of gold and ivory, he displayed 500 ornamental gold shields on the walls of his palace. Rather than silver, all the king’s goblets and eating utensils were made of pure gold. He had 40,000 stalls of horses for his chariots, and 12,000 horseman.
God gifted Solomon with great wisdom and people from every nation journeyed to Solomon’s court to hear his wisdom. Although 1 Kings 3 tells us that Solomon wisely determined the identity of the real mother in a dispute between two women who claimed to have given birth to the same infant [3:16-28], one wise answer hardly seems newsworthy enough to make him famous beyond Israel’s borders. Even the king’s prolific writings and vast knowledge of botany and zoology don’t fully explain his renown. In a world without mass media, what caused his reputation to travel some 1,400 miles to Sheba (modern Yemen)? Sheba’s queen was so interested in meeting the king that she and her entourage made a journey which, including her stay in Judah and the return trip, took two to three years. What about Solomon caused her to travel so far to assess the king’s wisdom and wealth for herself?
Devotions of the Heart 