Though the words 'of Bethany' are sometimes tagged after my name, most of you know me simply as Lazarus. Now, because this happens all the time, I might as well open with it: I am not the Lazarus from the Bosom of Abraham, the Rich Man did not refuse me food, and I am not talking across a great chasm to him concerning his loved ones after our death. That's a different Lazarus.
I'm Jesus' best friend. Or at least I think so. John and I have a bet going. But, after all, Jesus wept over me. I think I win.
The most prominent portion of our best-friendship is obviously 'that story' which you all know about me. I'd like to paint a word picture if I could. See, many of you have felt 'under the weather.' I guess you could say I was feeling that way. With every day that passed, I had less and less energy, to the point where my sisters would have to bring me food and water (which, before knowing the severity of my illness, I was pretty excited about - everybody loves when their sisters have to get them stuff). Anyhow, after about a week, I knew something was wrong. I could hear their whispers. I knew what was happening. Then Mary told me that they had called for Jesus, my best friend. Surely things were not good - I would get to see my best friend for the last time. But day after day went by - three grueling days, and he did not show.
I understood though - he was an important man. He had people to see and things to do.
On that fourth day, I remember getting quite tired. I told Martha to leave so I could take a nap. All the sudden, darkness swept over my eyes [key lights turning off in room]. What felt like a matter of seconds I would later find out was an entire day. I felt this unbelievable peace surrounding me. I had no thoughts or feelings - just comfort. Everything seemed right. Then, as quickly as I had entered this state, I left.
Oh. My. Gosh.
The most disgusting smell flooded my nostrils. It was like Martha's egg salad, but worse! What could that possibly be. Wait. I could feel my arms, and my legs, though mostly I was constricted. What was happening. And that stench - what could that be? As I was gathering my senses, and trying to make something out of what my senses were gathering, I heard a voice. Like thunder, it boomed, "Lazarus, come out." I stood up, though unable to see, and began to feel my way out of the room I was in.
As I removed whatever the strips from my eyes [key lights turning back on], I could see it all. There stood my great friend Jesus, my sisters, who were weeping uncontrollably by the way, and all of my neighbors. Only later did I understand what happened.
It was truly incredible. Jesus, my best friend, turned out to be the Messiah we had been waiting for, though He was much different than we had pictured.
As it turns out, that smell was in fact me. I can't stress to you how many showers it takes to get that 'dead' smell off of you. My sisters complained for months.
There are some who speak of Jesus bringing them from death to life. And of course, He had the power to do so. But we should clarify - they mean spiritually.
If I were to say Jesus took me from death to life, I would not be speaking figuratively.
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