I went back
I went back.
Most people who heard about him raising Lazarus from the dead thought we’d staged it to build up his following.
But I was there. I knew my brother was dead. He’d been in his tomb four days, you couldn’t mistake that sickening smell when they opened it up for anything else.
And he walked out, still wrapped in his grave clothes.
So I went back.
I knew he was dead. I’d seen him die. But there was this mad hope in my heart. Perhaps –
Someone had been there before me. The stone was gone.
I ran back and told the others.
Peter checked inside. The linen strips that Nicodemus and Joseph had used to wrap his body and the burial cloth they had wrapped around his head were folded neatly on the floor.
But his body wasn’t there.
They’d taken him. They weren’t going to risk any more stories about people being raised from the dead.
‘There’s nothing we can do,’ Peter said. He sounded very tired.
‘It’s over. Come away.’
But I went back.