My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Post-Resurrection Blues
Lazarus, once having been raised, may have lost some of his stature as an authentic person. He had, though not by his choice, gone beyond usual boundaries and so had now less in common with those who would die only once. Perhaps they treated him differently, maybe even with respect -- though he was the lesson rather than the teacher -- and maybe even his family was at a loss. Having already mourned him, they may not have understood what next to do, and there could be no pretending what had occurred never took place. I wonder too what he told himself, how he tried to fit and maybe to justify his so suddenly being different, since he could ignore it no better than could others. Perhaps, once the celebrity faded (and the first-century equivalent of the talk show circuit concluded) it was an embarrassment of sorts, one that would make his next death not unwelcome.
Labels:
celebrity,
differences,
embarrassment,
family,
Lazarus,
miracle,
mystery,
questions,
resurrection,
scripture
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