Lazarus
Galilee was beautiful in winter despite the dormant flowers, dull-colored grasses, and crisp morning air. Lazarus decided he loved all faces of the land—when she was at her most glorious or when she was at her most subdued. This morning would be his last day at the market before he made his way back home to Bethany, a three-day trek if there were no incidences or the Sabbath to interfere.
Lazarus missed his family, and he’d been worried about leaving his wife, Leah, when she was so close to delivery. But the winter trading in Galilee was the most profitable because olive oil reserves began to run low in most households.
The sounds of animals, mostly donkeys and cattle making it known that they were ready for sustenance, pulled Lazarus from his mat upon the hard floor of the small inn he’d paid to stay in. He never traveled extravagantly, even though he had the means to do so. With a budding household of soon-to-be four children, plus both of his sisters dependent upon him, Lazarus didn’t like to spend money on unnecessary luxuries when the money could be put to better use.
Lazarus stretched his back. It ached as usual, a side effect of traveling from home. In another year, Lazarus would include Rhode in some of his trading journeys, but for now, the boy was better off focusing on his learning. So Lazarus traveled alone. It hadn’t always been that way.
Martha’s husband, Yosef, had been his traveling partner, even before the marriage. Although they were technically in competition with each other, Yosef had always been fair-minded. Selling olives and olive oils to the northern towns and villages brought in a healthy profit, and there was room for two olive growers from Bethany.
“You stubborn beast.” A deep voice cut into the morning stillness.
The sound came from outside somewhere, and Lazarus peered out his tiny window. In the middle of the courtyard, which was dimly illuminated by approaching dawn, a young man was trying to shove his donkey into motion. But the effort was weak at best since the man’s left foot was severely deformed. He had to put most of his weight on his right foot, which gave him very little leverage against a full-grown donkey.
The donkey was intent on a patch of grass that had somehow survived all the trodding footsteps, and no wonder, for the animal’s ribs were prominent. The donkey looked next to starving.
“Move!” the man yelled.
Lazarus knew it was only a matter of time before the occupants of the surrounding inn would awaken, and none would be pleased.
“Can I help you?” Lazarus called down to the young man.
He raised his chin with a jerk, his dark eyes wide with surprise at the intrusion.
“I’ve dealt with an animal or two in my time,” Lazarus added.
The man’s expression of frustration didn’t dissipate. “I’ve nothing to pay you.”
“I don’t need payment,” Lazarus said. “I’ll be out in a moment.” He slipped on his outer robe, strapped on his sandals, then grabbed a couple of vegetables from the food basket in his bedchamber. Soon he hurried into the courtyard.
The young man was still there, and so was the donkey, who hadn’t budged at all.
“I’m Lazarus,” he said, nodding at the young man. He was younger than Lazarus had thought at first, and he guessed the lad to be in his early twenties.
“I’m Horeb,” the young man said. He wiped at the perspiration on his brow. Aside from the gauntness of his cheeks, he was a fine-looking fellow. The beginnings of a beard showed up as dark scruff on his jaw. It was plain he was barely above the status of a beggar and his donkey was not far off from starvation.
“Where are you headed to before the sun rises?” Lazarus asked.
“I seek the man they call Jesus,” Horeb said. “Jesus of Nazareth. They say he is in Galilee right now, and I intend to find him.”
Lazarus frowned. During his temple trips to Jerusalem, he’d heard of Jesus, but never in favorable terms. What were Horeb’s intentions? “It’s quite early. Do you plan to wake Jesus out of slumber by knocking on his door?”
Horeb’s brow pinched. “He’s a wanderer, so he has no door. But He can heal my foot if only I can find Him in time.”
“Oh, so this man is a physician?” Lazarus didn’t remember the title applied to what he’d heard about Jesus. He didn’t want to discourage this young man, but physicians were expensive.
“No,” Horeb said. “He’s a healer who possesses the power of Adonai.”
Something warm prickled the back of Lazarus’s neck. “What do you mean?”
“Jesus has healed the blind, the dumb, the lame, and the maimed.” Horeb’s voice rose with fervency. “And He can heal my foot if only I can get this donkey to move.”
This young man’s conviction was astounding. Surely Lazarus would have heard of these deeds if they’d been true. A maimed foot healed with some unseen power would not go unnoticed by the Pharisees, who paid attention to any unusual goings-on.
Horeb’s voice fell to a pleading. “Please, if there is any way you can get my donkey to move, I would be grateful until the end of my days.”
If anything, Lazarus was intrigued. He pulled one of the vegetables out of his robe pocket, and the donkey immediately lifted its head. Lazarus offered the vegetable to the animal, who ate it readily. Then he held the next vegetable a few paces away. The donkey moved forward, and Lazarus moved backward, drawing the animal out of the courtyard. At the edge of the courtyard, he fed the donkey its reward.
“Thank you, good man,” Horeb said. He hobbled after the donkey, then managed to climb atop the animal with clearly practiced skill.
Lazarus handed the final vegetable to the young man, and the donkey continued walking with Horeb, who encouraged it to move faster and faster. Though the donkey never picked up pace, it didn’t stop either.
Lazarus stood for a moment, watching the pair as they traveled in the direction of Galilee, the opposite direction Lazarus had come the day before. The young man’s thin shoulders bounced up and down with the movement of the donkey, and Lazarus wondered at the determination he’d seen in Horeb’s eyes. Lazarus hoped the young man would be healed or at the very least find some relief from his challenges. But whether that healing or relief came from the man from Nazareth was another matter altogether.
Glancing at the eastern horizon where the sun’s rays had begun their slow crawl toward the valley, Lazarus felt his heart soar. In three days, he would be home, scooping little Naomi into his arms, pulling his wife into a soft embrace, and catching up with his sons and on the week they’d all spent without him.
Lazarus had no doubt his sisters, Martha and Mary, had entered the final stages of preparations for Mary’s betrothal banquet. She would marry Isaac in a few months’ time, so the betrothal was the next step toward that event.
And now, it was time to prepare for his journey. He had his own donkeys to feed and prepare. Lazarus glanced at the retreating figure of Horeb and his donkey, then turned toward the inn, making it only a few paces before he heard a cry coming from the road.
He spun around to see Horeb on the ground and, next to him, the donkey sprawled in the dirt. They hadn’t gotten very far, and Lazarus ran toward the pair. “What happened?” he called as he drew near. “Did the donkey trip?”
But Horeb wasn’t answering; he wasn’t even looking at Lazarus. Horeb knelt over the donkey’s inert body and began to plead with an unseen person about his donkey.
It took only a moment for Lazarus to realize Horeb was praying—out loud with wild gestures. Lazarus frowned, not sure if he should reprimand the man for his highly unusual prayer style, but then he heard the words.
“O Lord, my God, breathe life into this beast so that he might carry me to Galilee. Save your vengeance for another day. Tomorrow I will take any punishment.”
Lazarus moved around to the other side of the donkey and, with a sinking heart, realized the beast was worse off than he’d first thought; the donkey was nearly starved, and it seemed he’d given up.
“Thou has the power to raise the dead and heal the sick, O Lord,” Horeb continued, tilting his face to the heavens. “What is a small creature in your eyes? This will only take a moment of your time. Please, O Lord, I beg of you—”
“Horeb,” Lazarus cut in, grasping the man’s shoulders. “Your donkey is weak and starving. No amount of prayer is going to restore its health.”
It was as if Horeb hadn’t heard a word from Lazarus, as if he didn’t even exist. “O Lord, my God, hear my prayers.” He raised his hands toward the sky. “Hear the pleadings of my heart. I have lived with much suffering my entire life, and now, when I am so close to receiving deliverance, my donkey—”
“Horeb,” Lazarus cut in again. He grasped one of the man’s hands and tugged it downward. Horeb was surprisingly strong for such a thin man. “The donkey isn’t going anywhere unless he has days of food and rest. I am sorry.”
Horeb’s gaze shifted to Lazarus, then he lowered his arms voluntarily. “If I cannot reach Jesus, I will be lame the rest of my life,” he whispered. “Don’t you see? This donkey was my last hope, and now he cannot take another step. My parents are dead. This donkey is all I own, and now he, too, cannot go on.”
Horeb buried his face in his hands.
He wasn’t crying or wailing, but Lazarus could feel every bit of the young man’s despair. The morning air warmed a fraction as the sun’s rays finally reached the valley road. The winter morning was quiet now, but soon, travelers would begin to appear. Lazarus doubted a random stranger would extend a helping hand to this grieving young man. A man with nothing to offer, with no money to pay, a man who could not even walk on his own two feet.
Lazarus placed a hand on the donkey’s neck. The beast was still breathing, but he was suffering. With greater care, was there hope for the animal?
“Horeb, my friend,” Lazarus said at last. “I will ask the innkeeper to care for the donkey. He needs nourishment and rest. While the donkey is recovering, I will take you to Galilee. We will find this man you speak of.”
Horeb didn’t move for a moment, then, slowly, he lifted his dark head. Silent tears streaked his cheeks, but his face was aglow with wonder. “But you said you are due in your village.”
“I am,” Lazarus said simply. “My family will understand when they learn I needed to help a friend.”
Horeb wiped at new tears on his face with his grimy fingers. “You are a good and generous man, but I cannot pay you. And I cannot pay the innkeeper for his care.”
Lazarus couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him despite the situation. “I know, Horeb. I am not asking for money.” He rose to his feet and extended his hand.
Horeb rubbed a sleeve over his eyes, then looked up at Lazarus with incredulousness in his expression. He placed a hand in Lazarus’s, and Lazarus pulled him to his feet.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Horeb said.
“Someday, when you are in a position to help another, do it in my honor.”
Horeb swallowed and nodded. He took a staggered step forward, and Lazarus put a hand on his shoulder. “Wait here,” Lazarus said, not wanting the man to have to hobble all the way back to the inn. “I’ll speak to the innkeeper, then return shortly with my cart, and we’ll go find your Jesus.”
The process of collecting his things, paying the innkeeper for the room and offering extra money for the care of the donkey, loading the cart, and preparing his own two donkeys took longer than expected. But Horeb wasn’t going anywhere; he was sitting on the side of the road only paces away from the exhausted donkey when Lazarus arrived to collect him.
Horeb scrambled to his feet as Lazarus approached.
“I thought you’d changed your mind,” Horeb said.
“Not at all,” Lazarus said, slowing the cart so that Horeb could climb up beside him. “It turns out that more than just your donkey was stubborn this morning.”
Lazarus followed Horeb’s gaze; the innkeeper was bringing a cart and a couple of men to transport the donkey back to the stables.
“When we return, your donkey will have recovered.”
Horeb blinked rapidly, then nodded. “I will pray that to be the case.”
After seeing Horeb settled into the cart, Lazarus climbed in too. He clicked his tongue, and the donkeys set off. They passed the winter landscape, mostly barren this time of year. It was no wonder Horeb’s donkey was in such poor shape. The winter had stripped the hills of most grasses and flowers, and if Horeb had no money for grain, the poor beast was surely overworked.
As the donkeys and cart descended into the valley, the Sea of Galilee spread before them, blue and gold in the early morning light.
Horeb told of his youth, which was not so long ago. He hadn’t known his father, and his mother served in a merchant’s household. Horeb had been born with his lame foot, but from the moment Horeb was able to speak, he was put to work in the stables behind the master’s estate. He cared for the cattle, donkeys, and mules.
When his mother died two years before, the master had given him a donkey and sent him on his way. Horeb had wandered ever since, working for whomever would pay him, but it seemed one bad fortune followed another. He’d been called lazy, accused of theft, even told he was dimwitted when he hadn’t grasped the concept of measurements for a grain trader.
“If my foot can be healed, then I will become a man of fortune,” Horeb told Lazarus.
It was a bold statement, both in the belief of healing and going from a near beggar to a wealthy man.
Lazarus glanced at the young man and the determined set of his jaw. “If Jesus has no house in Galilee, where will we find Him?”
“Everyone will know,” Horeb said with conviction. “We’ve but to ask.”
So they continued on as the rising sun dispelled the sharpness of the cool air. They passed a few huts, but all seemed quiet in the outskirts. Then Horeb said, “There! Look!”
Lazarus looked to where Horeb was pointing. In a field up ahead, a group of people were huddled close to a fire as they warmed meat upon a spit over it. “Jesus is among them?”
“I don’t know,” Horeb said, his words rapid with excitement. “If not, they might be followers.”
Lazarus slowed his cart as they reached the edge of the field. Horeb hopped out of the cart, then limped over to the group of people. Lazarus couldn’t hear the conversation, but when Horeb turned and walked back to the cart, his expression was elated. With him, he guided an elderly woman who appeared to be blind. She took careful steps along the stony ground, and with Horeb’s lame foot, the pair made slow progress.
Once they reached the cart, Horeb said, “This is Sarah. Do you think she can ride in the cart instead of me? I will let her take my place.”
Lazarus couldn’t turn the request down. “Of course. Where are we taking her?”
Sarah’s wrinkled face broke into an almost toothless grin. “To Jesus. They say He is camping not far from here. We need to travel east.”
“Yes,” Horeb said. “There are already hundreds of people traveling to hear from Him, so we must hurry.”
Lazarus’s brows pulled together. “Hundreds?”
“There will soon be thousands once His location is known.” Horeb’s brown eyes were warm with excitement. “Can we leave now and let Sarah ride?”
“You may both ride,” Lazarus said. “These donkeys are spoiled with no cargo, and they need to keep up their strength.”
Horeb chuckled. “I will not turn down the offer, then.”
Lazarus helped Sarah into the cart and saw that she was settled. Horeb hoisted himself in as well, then they were on their way again, feeling every rock under the wheels.
Horeb chattered to the woman, telling her how he’d been rescued by Lazarus when he was at his deepest despair. The young man certainly had the gift of storytelling because Lazarus found himself captivated by the tale about himself.
Lazarus slowed the donkeys’ pace as they rounded a bend onto a smaller road. Beyond the bend, a hill rose, one littered with people. Carts and donkeys blocked Lazarus from getting closer to the hillside. He couldn’t even pass.
“What’s going on?”
“All of these people are seeking healing from Jesus, just as I am,” Horeb said, his tone reverent.
Lazarus pulled the cart to a stop and scanned the rising slope full of people. Some were milling about, others were standing in small groups, and many were sitting on bedrolls, as if waiting for instruction. This was no ordinary gathering but one filled with some people using canes, some with their eyes bound with cloth, others obviously maimed in some way.
Which man was the one they called Jesus?
“Jesus is here,” Sarah said. “I can feel Him.”
Her words sent a warm shiver along Lazarus’s arms. Sarah was blind, but that didn’t seem to slow down her other senses.
“Let’s go,” Horeb said. “It will take us awhile to climb that slope.”
“How steep is it?” Sarah asked, already shifting her weight to the back of the cart.
“Not too steep,” Horeb assured the woman.
Lazarus marveled at the pair. He could only hope they wouldn’t be disappointed for their efforts. He moved to the back of the cart, and together they helped Sarah down.
“Hold on to my arm,” Horeb said, “as tight as you want.”
Sarah clung to Horeb’s arm with both hands. Surely he wasn’t planning on climbing that hill with both his lame foot and a blind woman hanging on for support?
Horeb turned to Lazarus. “Thank you for everything,” he said in a voice thick with emotion. “If it wasn’t for you, I would not be here. I hope our paths cross again someday, my friend.”
Lazarus’s own throat tugged tight. He eyed the hill, then looked at the pair before him. “I will take you up the hill.”
Horeb’s dark brows pinched. “It’s too steep for the cart, and the donkeys could get injured if they lose their footing.”
Lazarus was not a young man, but he was sturdy, and he’d carried and loaded plenty of baskets weighted with olives over the years. And Horeb was tall but thin and likely weighed about as much as Rhode. “I’ll take you up on my back, then return for Sarah.”
“I can walk,” Sarah said. “I’ll need to hold on to you, but I can walk.”
Horeb scratched at the scruff on his jaw. “You’ve already been so generous, Lazarus. I don’t want to keep borrowing your hospitality.”
Lazarus turned and crouched before Horeb. “On my back.”
Horeb hesitated, then obliged, and Lazarus gripped the end of the cart to keep his balance while he adjusted to the new weight on his back and straightened.
“Sarah?”
She grasped his upper arm. “Ready.”
They might have made a spectacle if the gathering on the hillside wasn’t already its own collection of people with crippled limbs, withered hands, and distressed countenances.
Lazarus scanned the crowd as he trudged up the hill. Most were moving in the same direction, though some had taken a break from the climb and were sitting on the sloped ground. Horeb’s weight increased the higher Lazarus climbed, but it couldn’t be much farther now, could it?
“Do you recognize Him yet?” Lazarus puffed out.
“I have never seen Him,” Horeb said.
“Neither have I,” Sarah said.
Horeb laughed at Sarah’s reply. And despite the fact that Lazarus was perspiring and breathing hard, he smiled.
“So what are we looking for, then?” Lazarus asked. Surely this Jesus fellow wouldn’t be at the very top of the hill, would He?
But then Lazarus saw Him—at least a man who had to be Him because He stood in the midst of others, holding the withered hands of a man whose beseeching eyes held a hope similar to that in Horeb’s expression.
Horeb spotted him at the same time. “It’s Jesus,” he whispered.
Lazarus continued toward Jesus, curious about what He was saying to the man with withered hands. Lazarus caught the words, which sounded like a prayer or a blessing of healing. Before Lazarus could get any closer, another man in an indigo robe intercepted his path and pointed. “You must take your place in line.”
Lazarus looked to where the man pointed. Dozens of people were lined up perpendicular to the hillside. If all those people were waiting to meet with Jesus, they’d be here until the sun set.
“You can put me down,” Horeb said, “and I will wait with Sarah.”
But Lazarus had come this far. He had no idea how long the wait would be for Horeb to spend time with Jesus, but Lazarus wanted to be there when he did.