Lazarus was never the same

Lazarus was never the same.

For the rest of his life, he walked

like a man with a limp--one

who is different--through the steep

arid paths of Bethany.

For four days, everything

he feared thronged to  him.

And amid the terror,

a voice resounded:

the teacher he loved,

“Lazarus, come forth.”

As they peeled his winding

 sheets, the stench fled.

His eyes shuddered

at day. A man rescued--improbably,

 temporarily--from his fate,

he never speaks of it.

Of such things, who can tell?

Neither quite of this world, nor out of it,

Living in the memory of the glory

he once saw, a memory growing fainter,

as he walked among those harassed

by the cares of this world and

the delight in riches. And having to live

too, make money, survive.

 A man of the mountains

Dwelling in the tedious

plains, figuring out how to follow

the leader he no longer sees

step by step, in humble,

rarely noticed ways:

being kind to Mary

and Martha, and the friends

gathering around them, the nucleus

of a new thing: the church,

ever waiting for the first drumbeats

of Christ, the coming King.