He Shouted to a Tomb—And Death Released Its Grip
Four days dead, but Martha clung to life as if it were a rope around her neck, a tether to the only man who could save her brother. She knelt at Jesus’ feet, her voice a ragged whisper.
“If you had been here, Lord, my brother would not have died.”
Jesus looked at her, his eyes soft but fierce. “Your brother will rise again.”
Martha’s grip tightened. “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.”
Jesus’ gaze did not waver. “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?”
The air was thick with unshed tears. Mary had given up, sinking into grief. But Martha had to believe. She had to fight for Lazarus, for herself, for every shattered piece of her heart.
“I believe you are the Christ, the Son of God, who is coming into the world.”
Jesus stood, his voice steady and strong. “Where have you laid him?”
“Come and see, Lord.”
The tomb was a cave, its entrance barricaded by a heavy stone. Martha stopped, her heart pounding. She couldn’t go in. She couldn’t face the stench, the decay, the raw truth of her brother’s death.
Jesus looked at her, then at the stone. “Take away the stone.”
Martha’s mouth went dry. “Lord, by this time there will be an odor, for he has been dead four days.”
Jesus’ voice was gentle but firm. “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?”
She looked into his eyes, and something in her broke. She turned to the men who had followed, and they began to roll away the stone. The air grew heavy with the scent of death, but Martha stood her ground.
Jesus raised his eyes to heaven. “Father, I thank you that you have heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I said this on account of the people standing around, that they may believe that you sent me.”
Then he shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “Lazarus, come out!”
Martha’s heart leapt into her throat. Nothing happened. The tomb was silent, dark, and still. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to see Mary, eyes wide with fear and hope.
Then, from the depths of the tomb, a shuffling sound. A figure emerged, his body bound in graveclothes, his face wrapped in a shroud. Martha’s hand flew to her mouth as Lazarus walked out of the tomb, alive.
Jesus looked at the bound figure. “Unbind him, and let him go.”
The crowd rushed forward, helping Lazarus, unwrapping the cloths from his body. Martha stood still, her eyes fixed on her brother. He was pale, weak, but alive. She saw the life in his eyes, the miraculous truth of his breathing, living body.
She turned to Jesus, her voice choked with tears. “Thank you.”
Jesus looked at her, his eyes filled with love and compassion. He nodded, and Martha felt a wave of emotion sweep over her. She turned to Lazarus, her heart overflowing with gratitude and awe. She embraced her brother, feeling the warmth of his body, the reality of his life.
As the sun set, casting a golden glow over the scene, Martha held Lazarus close. They had been given a gift, a miracle, a testament to Jesus’ power and love. She looked up at the sky, her heart filled with peace and joy. She knew that no matter what happened, she could face it with faith and hope, trusting in the One who had the power to raise the dead.
The silence held, a sacred hush that spoke louder than any words could. The crowd slowly dispersed, leaving Martha, Mary, and Jesus alone with Lazarus. Jesus looked at each of them, his eyes filled with love.
“Eat,” Jesus said, breaking the silence with a simple, comforting command. “Eat and heal.”
He Shouted to a Tomb—And Death Released Its Grip
Four days dead, but Martha clung to life as if it were a rope around her neck, a tether to the only man who could save her brother. She knelt at Jesus’ feet, her voice a ragged whisper.
“If you had been here, Lord, my brother would not have died.”
Jesus looked at her, his eyes soft but fierce. “Your brother will rise again.”
Martha’s grip tightened. “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.”
Jesus’ gaze did not waver. “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?”
The air was thick with unshed tears. Mary had given up, sinking into grief. But Martha had to believe. She had to fight for Lazarus, for herself, for every shattered piece of her heart.
“I believe you are the Christ, the Son of God, who is coming into the world.”
Jesus stood, his voice steady and strong. “Where have you laid him?”
“Come and see, Lord.”
The tomb was a cave, its entrance barricaded by a heavy stone. Martha stopped, her heart pounding. She couldn’t go in. She couldn’t face the stench, the decay, the raw truth of her brother’s death.
Jesus looked at her, then at the stone. “Take away the stone.”
Martha’s mouth went dry. “Lord, by this time there will be an odor, for he has been dead four days.”
Jesus’ voice was gentle but firm. “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?”
She looked into his eyes, and something in her broke. She turned to the men who had followed, and they began to roll away the stone. The air grew heavy with the scent of death, but Martha stood her ground.
Jesus raised his eyes to heaven. “Father, I thank you that you have heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I said this on account of the people standing around, that they may believe that you sent me.”
Then he shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “Lazarus, come out!”
Martha’s heart leapt into her throat. Nothing happened. The tomb was silent, dark, and still. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to see Mary, eyes wide with fear and hope.
Then, from the depths of the tomb, a shuffling sound. A figure emerged, his body bound in graveclothes, his face wrapped in a shroud. Martha’s hand flew to her mouth as Lazarus walked out of the tomb, alive.
Jesus looked at the bound figure. “Unbind him, and let him go.”
The crowd rushed forward, helping Lazarus, unwrapping the cloths from his body. Martha stood still, her eyes fixed on her brother. He was pale, weak, but alive. She saw the life in his eyes, the miraculous truth of his breathing, living body.
She turned to Jesus, her voice choked with tears. “Thank you.”
Jesus looked at her, his eyes filled with love and compassion. He nodded, and Martha felt a wave of emotion sweep over her. She turned to Lazarus, her heart overflowing with gratitude and awe. She embraced her brother, feeling the warmth of his body, the reality of his life.
As the sun set, casting a golden glow over the scene, Martha held Lazarus close. They had been given a gift, a miracle, a testament to Jesus’ power and love. She looked up at the sky, her heart filled with peace and joy. She knew that no matter what happened, she could face it with faith and hope, trusting in the One who had the power to raise the dead.
The silence held, a sacred hush that spoke louder than any words could. The crowd slowly dispersed, leaving Martha, Mary, and Jesus alone with Lazarus. Jesus looked at each of them, his eyes filled with love.
“Eat,” Jesus said, breaking the silence with a simple, comforting command. “Eat and heal.”
