The Four Days in the Grave

Anonymous

“Father, I thank You that You have heard Me. And I know that You always hear Me, but because of the people who are standing by I said this, that they may believe that You sent Me.” Now when He said these things, He cried with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come forth!” And he who had died came out bound hand and foot with graveclothes, and his face was wrapped with a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Loose him, and let him go.”

- John 11:41-44, NKJV

Many of those reading this might be familiar with this sign of Christ; the miraculous raising of Lazarus from the dead. Sometimes, familiarity with the Scripture removes its impact. In some ways, we think that because Lazarus was raised, he never died at all. But let’s remember that Lazarus was a man, who fell ill and went to the grave. We’ll dwell here for the moment.

Lazarus’ death not only affected him, but the entire community. Mourners wailed aloud at this tragedy. Death’s properties are viral. It has the power to break the invulnerable.

I can already anticipate what people are going to say: “The story doesn’t end here. Lazarus was raised. And eventually Christ overcame the grave.” All true.

But we can never understand the yearning of Resurrection and experience it in our present unless we know its alternative. So I’m going to start here, and tell my own story of death.

I loved a woman. A part of me still does, and I thought we would be married. We were talking engagement plans, communicating with venues, walking through premarital counseling, all the things. We were checking the boxes. On paper, it seemed like a fit, but I knew the truth. Neither of us could be what God was calling us to be while in relationship with one another. I resisted the feeling at first, rebuked it, fought it, waged war against it, but it soon became all too evident. It was only until bad fruit had taken root in the relationship that I understood. Soon, it would be over. It would have to be. The death of the relationship was upon us.

With that death of our relationship, something died in me as well, and to be completely honest with you, I don’t know if it’s been restored. It’s not about the lack of hope for future relationships, but a death of community; like Lazarus being separated from his community through his death. Could I hope for anyone to know me? As I ventured deeper into God, would it be a vortex of isolation laying waste to personal connection?

A human turned creature through the removal of affection

Scratches at the door

Of whatever promises to satisfy

That which cannot be replenished

I found myself in touch with the very thing I feared all of my life. Loneliness. Everything was a reminder of it. As though I was Adam, and the entire world appeared before me as animals in pairs, exposing the unnaturalness of loneliness. I would do anything to escape it. Correction, I did do anything to escape it; anything I could do to escape death’s emissary.

It didn’t work, and I looked upon its countenance. The face of it was frightening, as though I was seeing an emaciated form of my own figure. Starved from fellowship, starved from fulfillment. Destined to fall into a living grave, where everything once special lost its glow. Sullen eyes lay in the face, no longer animated by tears that fell down the cheek. Tears long dried, cemented upon my countenance. Hope had dried up.

Wandering. Wandering. Wandering. Wandering. Days became nights. Nights to days, and joy didn’t come in the morning quickly enough. Sickness of heart embodied in my typically strong frame. How long would I stay in the grave?

Forgotten, yet forgiven. Life would move past me. The patient faces of friends became impassive, not out of a lack of compassion. But because one who is alive can never relate to one dead regardless of how hard they try. How long would I stay in the grave? There’s no one to put me in the pool of life.

Dwelling in darkness didn’t suit me either. Being broken in the image of God, you’ll always know when something’s wrong. Death brought about no rest. I wonder if Lazarus also rested in spirit when being separated from his body. I don’t think so. How long would I stay in the grave? Will you keep your anger forever, Father?

So here I am today. Not certain, but hopeful the Resurrector will not pass me by. Praying that what has died in me would be restored, that bone would be knit to flesh, and the spirit would find its vessel again. For in my Savior’s own words: I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live. And whoever lives and believe in Me shall never die. Do you believe this?” (John 11:25-26, NKJV)

I believe, Lord; help me believe.

Reflection Questions:

1. Have you ever felt dead inside where all hope felt lost? Do you think God is okay with us feeling this way?

2. Jesus, who had the power to raise the dead, wept when He saw Mary and the Jews around her weeping. How do you think God responds when He sees your pain?

The writer currently lives in the Greater Boston Area. He believes in empowering the “unseen,” “unheard,” and “unloved.” When he’s not working towards these goals, he can be found reading, writing, or spending time with those he loves.