The Call

This is the fourth in a series of seven tales loosely based around the gospel  story of Lazarus.

Have you ever been in a crowd of people, when someone speaks your name? It was like that. I can’t remember hearing the sound it made, but I was aware that I had heard it. Something jumped inside me; and I knew.

LAZARUS.

There it was again.

I’ve always liked my name. ‘God is my help’, that’s what it means. I recall my mother telling me that. “He will always come”, she said. “Just not always how you expect”. I liked the way she said it, whispered in my ear when I was a little boy; calming me down after some insult to body or soul. It felt like a blessing.

LAZARUS!

This wasn’t a gentle call, though: it was a command. Get up! Get going! Stop lying about! There’s work to be done! Everything there in those three syllables. Mapping out the rest of my life.

LAZARUS!

I wasn’t really ignoring the call. I knew it must be answered. I had watched on whilst others had received such a call, as they weighed up their lives and their priorities and found them trivial in comparison. I had never had that. I was the job-lot brother, copying the affections of his sisters; the genial and generous host, staying put and ready to welcome the weary travellers. I slightly envied the experiences of those who had had to choose, who had dropped everything to literally follow him. What had I had to decide? How to configure the sleeping arrangements? It wasn’t really the stuff of undying devotion. How did I know for certain, then, that I was a follower at all?

LAZARUS!

So this was it: the moment of truth, the great decision. I already knew my answer. Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes.

“Lazarus! Haven’t you heard me calling you? There’s work to be done!”

My sister had allowed me one night’s sleep after the great events of the day before. Now, it was time to waken the household and to get things ready, for whenever he needed us next.