how health had flowed from His hands and His lips, and from His very garments; how He had showered down His blessings upon Gentile as well as Jew, upon those who were aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and were accounted as “dogs;” how He had healed by merely speaking a word at a distance, and even anticipated prayer, by restoring a dead son to his widowed mother, who had never asked or expected such a blessing.  And now! will He refuse to help His own beloved friend?  Shall strangers, heathen, publicans and sinners, be promptly heard and answered, and Lazarus whom He loved forgotten?  Impossible!  The healing word must be spoken, or Jesus himself will come and manifest Himself as mighty to save!

Who can doubt but that such were the anticipations of Martha and Mary, when they sent in their distress the message to their Lord and Friend—­“Lazarus, whom thou lovest, is sick?”

The messenger has departed.  With what anxiety must they have measured out the time within which it was possible for Jesus to receive the intelligence.  They who have sent far away for a physician in a critical case, when every minute was precious, can sympathise with their anxiety.  Time passes:  has the Saviour yet received the tidings of their grief?  Probably not, for there is no improvement in Lazarus.  The healing word has not been spoken.  Time passes:  now He must have heard!  Yet Lazarus is no better.  Time passes:  and the messenger has returned, but without Jesus!  Yet surely not without some message of consolation? some hope held out of relief?  He brings neither!  Jesus had said, indeed, that this sickness was not unto death, or rather, was “unto death only for the glory of God, that the Son of God might be glorified thereby.”  But what means this?  Does it mean that Lazarus was to die?  Has Jesus, then, actually refused to aid them?  Though He did not promise to come, or had not spoken the word of healing, He must surely do either I It cannot be, no it cannot be, that He will desert them, or leave them alone in this trial!  “Jesus, tarry not!” might have been their wailing cry:  “Lazarus whom thou lovedst is sinking fast, and soon all will be over with him.  Friends, neighbours, look along the road, watch the brow of that distant hill, look along that valley, and see if there are any signs of His coming?”

Alas! ’tis all in vain Lazarus is dead!  And beside that silent body the two sisters are breaking their hearts.  Life and death, faith and unbelief, are struggling terribly for the mastery, and strange thoughts of Christ flit across their minds like storm-clouds athwart the sun.  One brother is gone, the other has not come.  The one dearly loved them; the other!—­they had believed in Jesus as the Messiah:  they had loved Him with reverent and deep affection, they had worshipped—­and now!—­God of Abraham, forsake us not utterly!  Our fathers trusted Thee, and were not put to shame!  Oh, deliver our feet from falling, and our souls from going down to the pit!  Lord, help our unbelief!