Silence - absolute - utter quiet. A fetid, dank smell greeted Martha at the entrance of her brother's tomb. He was dead, truly dead. Hot tears scalded her face; she felt numb to her core and so afraid. She prayed, "oh Lord, take my soul if it brings my dear brother back."
As she fervently prayed, she became aware of a presence behind her. In a voice so pure, a man cried, "come out, come out into the light and live again!"
Her soul quickened at the man's voice. All the past sins and shame came rushing in...she needed this man's touch and absolution. Would you make me better? Will I sin no more if you heal my pain? She was so ashamed and afraid that she shook with fear, not daring to turn around.
Just then, a dim outline appeared, walking towards her. It couldn't be - could it? Oh God, it was, her sweet brother emerging out of the gloom, the burial robes in tatters around his body.
"Come out! Come out from the dark!" The voice cried once more behind her.
Martha swallowed a sob, stretching out her hands to her sibling, who was taking deep breaths like a landed fish, gulping air.
"Come out, come out from your grave!"
Martha rushed towards Lazarus into his outstretched arms, thinking he would be cold as marble, but he was warm and alive. She could feel his heart beating under her cheek pressed to his chest.
~~~
A few months later, she and Mary stood outside the entrance to another tomb; mouths open, looking at the vast stone that now stood to one side as if it had been rolled there.
“What has happened here?” Mary whispered.
Martha felt the hairs on her neck stand up. Both women put down the things they had been carrying, Mary moved into the tomb, but something prevented Martha from doing the same.
“I will go and look around,” she informed Mary, who nodded, her eyes wide.
Martha walked up a slight incline and around a small copse of trees. Standing at the edge was a man dressed in white with bare feet. He turned at her approach, and she stopped dead, for she knew immediately who He was.
She fell to her knees, head bowed, her mind whirling with possibilities. She heard Him move closer to her, and his feet came into her line of vision, torn and tattered, encrusted with blood on their tops. She felt a warm hand gently land on the top of her head.
"Oh Martha, you are forgiven - can you not forgive yourself?" The quiet voice asked.
The warm hand left the top of her head, and He moved away towards Mary, who had rounded the trees and was looking at Him, a look of utter joy on her face.
Martha sobbed and sobbed; all the self-loathing, self-pity, shame, degradation and guilt vomited out in a torrent of hot, scalding tears. She cried until her head ached, and her throat was raw.
Eventually, she wiped a trembling hand over her face and, through the mist of tears, saw that He had risen indeed, the second resurrection she had experienced.
Now, there was a third—her own.