It’s not entirely clear when, but at some point people started catching on that Judas Iscariot was skimming off of the funds supporting Jesus’ ministry. Before he was a known betrayer, he was a suspected thief.

At least John knew (because he wrote about it), and I think it’s safe to say that other disciples knew as well. As things like this go, it likely began with suspicions that were eventually confirmed, perhaps not even until after his death.

Two things about this bewilder me a bit.

Praise of someone or of something only becomes real when it becomes public.

We know real praise when we encounter it: The roar of the fans when the home team scores a touchdown. The applause of the crowd when the singer takes the stage. The rising of the congregation as the bride walks down the aisle. The cooing of family members as the newborn is carried out to meet them for the first time.

The most surprising thing about the story of Lazarus is that after being raised from the dead there was no next big thing. After something as spectacular as a resurrection, you’d expect something else powerful to follow. But apparently, as best we can tell, he just went back to living his little inconsequential life in his little inconsequential town.

The next time we see Lazarus post-resurrection he is not traveling and doing ministry with Jesus, he is not leveraging his story for the gospel, he is not raising others from the dead. He is not doing anything at all spectacular or exciting or even useful: He is reclining at a table.

At some point in time, if you follow Jesus long enough and take him seriously enough, you’ll find yourself asking, “Isn’t he coming at all?”

There you are, waiting. In an obvious place, at an obvious time. You’ve known him to show up here before, but now, this time, he seems totally absent. In the bustle of life all around you there is just the nagging silence of waiting.

It’s just plain smart. It might even be a virtue. Or perhaps a spiritual practice worth learning.

Reading the warning signs of danger ought to prompt some kind of action. When your check engine light comes on, you ought to take your car to the mechanic. When you get a low balance alert, you ought to curb your spending. When your back hurts, or your stomach is in knots, or you have persistent headaches, you ought to tune into your stress levels.

God always has been in, is active with today, and will be working on until it is complete, the business of gathering all that has been scattered.

Unifying all that has been separated. Connecting all that has been disconnected. Merging all that been alienated. Making into one single whole all that has been divided.

Caiphas, the high priest, thought he was just doing the “right thing”  by looking out for the welfare of his people, said,

“It is better for you that one man die for the people than that the whole nation perish.”

John 11:50

Now, on one hand, that any religious professional should suggest that it’s good that someone should die is messed up. It seems like there has to be something crooked in a human heart to suggest death as any kind of solution.

Is a powerful motivator. What little control we think we have, we will hold onto at all costs.

Which is part of what makes the Gospel of Jesus so hard to swallow. His “good news” is that you have to be willing to lose in order to win, to be a loser in the eyes of others in order to truly end up a winner. The very real challenge to our ego, to our desire for control, is that letting Jesus have his way means giving up our way.

“If we let him go on like this…”

Does not automatically result in belief.

Some will see and be filled with hope. They will turn and follow Jesus for themselves. From this moment on they will never be the same, and they welcome the thrill of what is possible in the future. After all, if Jesus can bring someone back from the dead, if he can give new life, is there anything impossible for him?

Others, however, can see the exact same miracle and be filled with fear. They will leave and run back to the safety of their structured life, to their social and religious authority figures, nervous about the future. After all, if Jesus can disrupt death itself, what else might he turn upside down?

First, the tomb must be opened. Which feels frighteningly foolish. The risk factor is about as high as it gets. No one wants to smell death. Sure, one can hope that a resurrection miracle may also dissipate the stench, but maybe not. The whole thing is a potentially unpleasant process.

Then, the dead person must hear—and accept—the invitation to come alive and walk out of the tomb. Quite often, whether out of self-pity, or cynicism, or stubbornness, or whatever, that invitation is turned down. Sometimes the dead just prefer to stay dead. Sometimes they may need a little encouragement, and others may need a little patience.