Lazarus
My Lord, why do you tarry?
Your servant lies upon his bed close to death.
Mary sits beside me weeping
While Martha busies with making
Ointments and stews.
And is there some sin that delays Your coming?
Might we lack faith in calling You here
When the Gentile knew You could heal from afar?
His servant healed in the very hour of Your speaking.
Might pride have slowed your journey?
The Centurion knew himself to be sinful
And so asked not that You enter under his roof,
Yet we have had You here many times over.
Did Mary sin, breaking the flask
And daring to touch Your feet with her hair?
Other women quailed to touch the hem
Of Your robe woven of one piece.
Did Martha’s pettiness halt Your step?
Not realizing that Mary chose the needful thing
Until You chided her for her distraction
With the many cares of this World.
My Lord, could you but be here
Surely I would rise from this bed.
But my sight grows dim and I feel myself
Fighting for the breath You so freely gave Adam.
I can faintly hear Mary sobbing
And Martha’s ointments start to
Smell of Myrhh and heavy spices.
And I feel myself start to feel no more.
My Lord, had You been here,
I would not have died.
In the land of shadows I find myself
And am met by Father Abraham.
Isaac stares at me with doubt.
For at the last hour an angel saved him from death,
Whose father had shown You hospitality but once,
Yet I had You at my house often.
Jacob looks to me with shame in his eyes,
He who wrestled with You until dawn.
Yet I embraced You and offered You drink,
And we spent many long nights talking.
Moses wonders what I had done wrong,
He who could only see You from the back,
While I had many times gazed in Your eyes,
What sin left me abandoned and alone?
Even John seems disheartened,
Holding his head in his hands.
For surely I was Your surest friend,
Are You the One, or should he have sought another?
I turn my face away from them,
My cheeks would burn had I still blood.
And as I begin to despair the ground trembles,
As we hear You call, “Lazarus, come forth!”
