Luke 11:43. When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!”
The story of Lazarus, his demise, and resurrection, is recorded in the Gospels. Lazarus was the brother of Mary and Martha, a family living in Bethany near Jerusalem. They were friends of Jesus and He seemed to spend time there to “chill out”. So when Lazarus took sick, naturally his sisters called to Jesus for help. But He didn’t rush back to Bethany and instead carried on ministering where He was, for a further two days. But in the end, Jesus returned and was overcome with the sorrow and grief of the occasion, to the point that He wept (Luke 11:35). Jesus asked to visit the grave, and at the tomb where Lazarus had been placed four days earlier, He commanded that the stone sealing the tomb was removed. There was a crowd of Jews there – the family was obviously well regarded in the local community – who were comforting the family in their grief. You can only speculate about what they were thinking, because it was unheard of to remove a gravestone in that climate so soon after a burial. Martha, the practical sister, explained, “By this time there is a bad odour.” But they removed the stone anyway, and Jesus then commanded Lazarus to vacate the tomb – but you know the rest of the story.
But a bit of speculation – please indulge me. There was this man, Lazarus, taken ill with a disease or some other condition that led to his death quite quickly. Just imagine the sequence of events. Perhaps a fever incapacitated him, and he took to his bed. You can imagine his sisters sitting at his bed side, telling him of their love, communicating their concerns, holding his hand, but becoming more and more worried. And Lazarus, weakly battling the ravages of infection, would be lapsing into incoherency, his thoughts all a-jumble, in and out of lucidity, until he falls asleep for the last time. He would have had no idea of the outpouring of grief, the funeral arrangements, the burial. His body dead, but his spirit alive as it transitioned to a resurrected eternity. But then he heard Jesus calling his name! He would have remembered the illness, the lapsing into blackness, as a new life burst into his being, commanded by his Friend and Master. I wonder what he was thinking as he hobbled towards the tomb entrance wrapped up in a mixture of grave clothes and spices!
And now a bit of spiritual extrapolation. I don’t believe Lazarus was singled out by God for special treatment just for Jesus to make a miraculous point to confound the Jewish leaders present there, though I’m sure that was in the plan somewhere. I choose to believe that when I cross the “great divide” my next conscious thought will be Jesus calling my name. “Adrian!” How amazing is that! So if you haven’t yet put your trust in Jesus, don’t leave it too late. One day He can call your name as well.
One thought on “He called my name”
Very well-written Adrian, only your intimacy with the Father could enable you to come to the conclusion you did.I recall the Ugandan Children’s Choir singing,”I am not forgotten,He knows my name”. Regards, Bill.
Sent from my iPad