“Lazarus Saturday: The Longest Way by Stewart Stafford

"Lazarus, come out!" Jesus said:
A dead man awoke in a burial place,
Wrapped head to foot on a stretcher;
He shook away the cloth on his face.

Four days dead, his soul was gone;
His sisters berated Jesus's late arrival;
The Lord did not doubt his power,
From the afterlife came his survival.

From a white light end to a dark revival,
Life cascaded in decomposing flesh,
His chest hurt as it rose and fell again,
Bloated and blotchy skin alive afresh.

Lazarus struggled to breathe in dusty air;
His body was freezing and deathly pale;
At first, he thought he had gone to God,
The voice of his friend told another tale.

Shuffling stiffly to the cave's womb exit,
Newborn-blind to his second life;
The Disciples rushed to unwrap him,
His sisters embraced away their strife.

Lazarus wanted to tell what he had seen,
But was told it was not for mortal ears;
His sisters had to respect this wish,
Overjoyed to live to Methuselah's years.

The word spread fast of this act;
Of the Nazarene's immense power;
That his reach could extend so far,
To the world far past Babel's Tower.

As the daughter of Jairus resurrected,
Christ himself arose on the third day;
Lazarus was in Death's grip tightest,
Miracles that blood money cannot repay.

© 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”