words with which Martha had before addressed Him; "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." But how different was the effect produced! In Martha, the words seemed to proceed from a mingled feeling of disappointed hope and overwhelming affliction; in Mary, they were wrung from the very depths of a sorrow-stricken heart, agonized, but acquiescent, and to them the heart responded; the Saviour of the world was overcome; He felt as man, and as man He wept. Where, then, did the christian stoic learn his creed of coldness and insensibility? where did he find that the sigh must be smothered, the tear suppressed, and the heart closed against the impulses of nature? Surely not at the tomb of Lazarus, not from the words nor the example of his Redeemer.1 Let us leave to the world, with its cold ceremonies and its heartless distinctions, the fatal prerogative of turning the hearts of its votaries to stone: Christianity, such as it is to be found in the words and the works of its Author, (and The Christian is not forbidden to sorrow; but he is forbidden to sorrow as one without hope. where else shall we seek it?) will assuredly never effect so hateful a transformation. Our Lord taught by opportunity, and therefore, had it been necessary, would not have neglected so favourable an occasion of inculcating on Mary's mind the necessity of subduing the feelings of our nature. He answered her indeed, but with his tears, and by restoring to her the earthly object for which she was so deeply sorrowing. He commands them to remove the stone from the sepulchre of Lazarus; but Martha, the only one who, in the beginning, had volunteered her belief in the unlimited extent of our Lord's power, is now the only one to bring forward an objection, 66 Lord, by this time, he stinketh, for he has been dead four days." There seems a slight shade of displeasure in our Saviour's reply to this ill-timed interference: "Said I not unto thee, that if thou wouldst believe, thou shouldst see the glory of God?" The stone was then taken away, and lifting up that voice of which the last trumpet will be but the echo, He cried, "Lazarus, come forth;" and he that was dead came forth! Pause for a moment, and consider the picture that is before you; the divine figure of the Redeemer; the pale and emaciated Lazarus, upon whose livid countenance the light of life is just beginning to dawn again; the anxious and eager gaze of Martha; the heartpiercing look of Mary; and the Jews in the back-ground, exhibiting the various passions of fear or admiration, of rage, envy, and disappointment, according as they were severally affected by the stupendous miracle which they had just witnessed. The pen of the Evangelist goes no farther; but imagination takes up the theme, and we cannot help carrying on our thoughts to the different manner in which the two sisters would testify their joy at the restoration of their beloved brother. We picture to ourselves the vehement exclamations of wonder and rejoicing which burst from the lips of the delighted Martha, the violent demonstrations of affection with which she would overwhelm the object of her solicitude. We see the anxiety of the considerate Lazarus to mark, by word and deed, (for he knows that Martha will be satisfied with nothing but what is substantial,) his gratitude for such an eager display of joy and affection. But Mary sits still at his side; silently she has taken that beloved hand which she thought never more to have held within her grasp, and pressing it fondly to her bosom, she feels her happiness, but she feels it in silence, for with her "the heart knoweth its own bitterness, and a stranger intermeddleth not with its joy." Soon after the resurrection of Lazarus, a feast is made for our Lord in the village of Bethany, most probably to commemorate this joyful event; for we are told that "Lazarus was there," and likewise his two sisters. Here, again, they are brought before us, true to their respective characters: for "Martha serveth," but Mary is listening to the words of her Redeemer, while she consecrates to his service, in mournful anticipation of his approaching death, the costly ointment, which she was reproached with having unprofitably wasted; so little did the careless and inconsiderate understand and appreciate the motives which suggested this good deed; so little did they foresee, in the midst of their joyous festivity, that sorrow was so close at hand: but such is human nature; heedlessly do we pass from the house of joy to the house of mourning, from the feast to the grave. We have just been tracing the resurrection of Lazarus, and we must now attempt a D still grander subject-the resurrection of our Lord. The awful, the agonizing moment, in which the Saviour of the world bowed his head upon the cross was passed. We trembled with the affrighted centurion at the portentous darkness which covered the earth; we beheld his mortal remains laid in the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea the Almighty voice had declared of the work of redemption, as it had declared of the work of creation," It is finished:" and God rested the seventh day. This seventh day was the Jewish Sabbath;† an image of that repose which is found in the grave, where the wicked must cease from troubling, and where the weary must find rest; where there is neither work nor device; where not to do evil is all that can be expected of man. To "do good" belonged to the Christian Sabbath, to that first day of the Christian's week, which brought life and immortality to light—which brought, not the torpid rest of the grave, where neither good nor evil can be done, but the joyful activity of a soul rising with alacrity to seek its Redeemer 1 "The world was made by him."- St. John i. * * See Note C. |