When calamity of some description strikes near our loved ones, or where some of our loved ones might have been affected, we want news. News that they are all right. News that they are safe. The hours between first hearing of the ‘event’ and finally hearing from loved ones weigh like a stone, a heaviness, a dread, in our souls. We may continue being active, but we are laser-focused on our cell phones. We may experience waves of fear, outbursts of anxious tears. The minutes seem to pass in exasperating, sloth-like, motion. The same is true when there is a vague foreboding of some type of tragedy. We wrestle with naming it, struggling to discern the source. It’s like an ominous black cloud, slowing passing overhead, bringing with it a kind of chill.
I sense that in the disciples as they return with Jesus, with great trepidation, to Judea, to the village of Bethany. It’s only a short two miles outside of Jerusalem where the Sanhedrin leaders are looking for Jesus, wanting him gone. And when they arrive, Jesus goes to the tomb of his friend, Lazarus, and calls him back from death to life again! A stunning miracle certain to be reported back to the powerful group of Jewish leaders. The disciples are convinced Jesus is the Messiah, the King of Israel, but they are at a loss as to how he will get from here to the throne, having overthrown Rome. His repeated talk of beating and mocking and dying add terror to the already darkening mood gripping them. Laughter and joking are non-existent now.
When Jesus decides it’s time to go back into Jerusalem, it’s time for the disciples to face whatever is ahead. It’s time to renew their loyalty, trusting Jesus, loving him, following his lead – all while not understanding, wishing they knew more. Maybe it’s time for us, too, to lean into our faith in Jesus in similar situations where we don’t understand, where we wish we knew more. Determinedly following his lead. PD
