The Gospel today is on the visit of Jesus to Bethany. His friends Lazarus, Marta and Mary lived in Bethany which is not far from Jerusalem. Here Mary pours expensive perfume on Jesus who claimed that the gesture was, as it were, in preparation for burial. Judas who was the "treasurer" of the group commented that the perfume could have been sold and the proceeds given to the poor. Jesus replied that the poor you will always have but I will not be with you much longer, implying His approaching death.
The Gospel account brought my thoughts back to Bethany in October 1999 when my sister Beth and I were on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. We talked more about the miracle of the death and life of Lazarus. Why? Because the celebrated story of Lazarus' death, the tears of Jesus shed for a friend and the bringing back to life of someone who had been dead for four days resonate with unparalled sensationalism no Bible scholar or reader can ignore.
"I can hardly believe I am here!" Beth exclaimed. The sparkle which shown in her beautiful eyes gave her excitement away. Who woulddn't be?
"We are truly blessed. Praise the Lord!" I remarked. She nodded her head in accord. Then we moved in silence to let the realization seep through the recesses of our hearts and also make room for our own hymns of praise and thanksgiving.
As in the days when Jesus and his apostles walked through the town, it has preserved its simple, unassuming ambiance. No structure of some grandiose scale marred its languid feeling of oneness. The people went about their activities unperturbed by the gawking pilgrims on their way to and from the church and the famous burial site. A few souvenir stores line the narrow dirt road leading to the spot where Scriptures record the time when Jesus looked up to heaven, gave thanks to God the Father and called Lazarus out. I looked around trying to figure out where Jesus stood then. I took a few steps to the left, moved to the right and then walked further back to a place exactly facing the opening of the cave. Believing that I was geographically right, I stood erect and in my mind rehearsed Jesus' words, "Lazarus, come out."
Suddenly, I felt Beth's hand prodding me towards the queue of those who would like to go down to the tomb of Lazarus. In my previous visits to the Holy Land in 1977, 1994 and 1995, I was able to visit Bethany only to peer down the dark elliptical steps leading to the tomb of Lazarus. I doubted my strength and agility to navigate the rugged stones that form the staircase. Having Beth as a strong and determined companion encouraged me to align myself among the brave 'conquerors' of the dark unknown. The cave was dark despite the few strategically located lights of peculiarly low voltage. The stone wall was moist as I let my hand breeze through the tiny crevices. My nose detected an undefinable scent. I held the rail tightly. Thousands of people who have gone down those steps many centuries ago must have left their imprints on the rocky steps. The middle part of each stepping stone had been hollowed and smoothened by the constant beating of shoes or footwear as diverse as the peoples of the world who had visited there. The configuration of the stones coupled by the very dim atmoshere stirred staccato ripples in my heart. The steps which could easily be more than two storeys high came to a stop in a small flat area. A funnel was hewn out of the rocks that gradually sloped down to a small hole. The hole was the opening of a deeper encasement - the tomb! It was made for one "mummified" body to go through. I immediately envisioned Lazarus all wrapped up with bandage and linen so well-defined in the Jewish tradition at that time, being lowered in the funnel and finally given a big push into its resting place!
Suddenly, a thought grazed my mind. What's the big idea of entering Lazarus' tomb? Why did I go through all the trouble of going down to this place anyway? I struggled for an answer. I found none.
"Come, Grace, it's our turn," Beth called as she nonchalantly lay her body down on the funnel with arms firmly close to her sides. Then with a little push, she slid through the opening in an instant! With unflinching resolve, I readily lay down, closed my eyes, tucked my arms and zapped into the tomb. I was in a tomb! It was eerie! The hair on my arms and the back of my neck went electric. It seemed my bladder was going to burst. I slowly took a 360-degree look and noted that the dimension of the tomb was meant for at least four persons. It could have been reserved for a family. It was well kept because the rock-filled walls seemed to be polished and unbelievably devoid of raw jagged edges. I ran my fingers against it. The ceiling was at most 2 or 3 inches above my head as I stood.
"Grace, take my picture," said Beth handing me her camera. She artfully leaned against the wall flashing a smile of conquest and joy that could put to shame many a debutante's pose. Who would think it was taken inside a tomb! I did not need a second invitation to a "I- was -there- picture."
I was taking a last sweeping look inside the tomb when I heard Beth say, "Wait, let's record our visit. I have a permanent marker here." Hastily, she produced a marker from her purse. She quickly scribbled her name and the date of our visit on the wall near the opening. She handed me the pen. Unmistakably reeling in the cloud of fantasy and lore of the I-was-there-syndrome, I immediately followed suit. We were beaming with smiles as we viewed our accomplished conspiracy. We were foolishly elated at the thought that no one before us had ever done so. So completely shrouded with self-centeredness, we failed to realize that what we did was graffiti. We desecrated a hallowed place.
Later, with contrite hearts we sought clemency from above. Our remorse was tremendous1
Every time the story of Lazarus is recounted in the Gospel, I remember the graffiti in Bethany and ask once more for God's mercy and forgiveness. Also, I marvel at the way Lazarus who was bound like an Egyptian mummy came out of the tomb. Did he walk, skip, or hop up more than two flights of steps to come out of the cave at Jesus' call? Do you remember that when Lazarus stood by the entrance of the cave, Jesus said. "Untie him." Hmm...hmm.. a suspension of natural law. A miracle! Now, I know why I had to go down into the tomb of Lazarus : to acknowledge that the journey of his encased remains from tomb to cave entrance was by itself, a miracle.
But would wiping out graffiti in Bethany require a miracle?
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