## The Farewell at Bethany
Jesus is in Bethany. The afternoon is waning. A placid April sunset. Through the wide windows of the banquet hall, Lazarus’ garden is visible, in full bloom; beyond it, the orchard looks like a cloud of light petals. A fragrance of new greenery, of the bittersweet scent of fruit blossoms, roses, and other flowers, mingles—drifting in with the serene evening breeze that gently ripples the curtains hung in the doorways and makes the lights of the central lamp flicker—with a penetrating perfume of tuberose, lily of the valley, and jasmine, blended into a singular essence: a reminder of the balm with which Mary of Magdala has anointed her Jesus, whose hair is still darkened by the unction.
Simon, Peter, Matthew, and Bartholomew are still in the room. The others are absent, as if they had already left on various errands. Jesus has risen from the table and is observing a parchment roll that Lazarus has shown Him. Mary of Magdala moves to and fro across the room... she seems like a butterfly drawn to the light. The only thing she knows how to do is revolve around her Jesus. Martha attends to the servants, who are gathering the splendid pieces of precious tableware spread across the table.
Jesus places the roll on a tall sideboard with ivory inlays in its black, polished wood, and says:
—Lazarus, come outside. I need to speak with you.
—At once, Lord —and Lazarus rises from his seat near the window and follows Jesus into the garden, where the last light of day mingles with the first clear glow of the Moon.
Jesus walks toward the far side of the garden, to the place where Lazarus’ tomb once was, which now displays a large border of blooming roses at its empty mouth. Above it, carved into the slightly sloping rock, are the words: **"Lazarus, come forth!"**
Jesus stops there. The house, hidden by trees and hedges, is no longer in sight. There is absolute silence and absolute solitude.
—Lazarus, my friend —Jesus asks, standing before his friend, gazing at him fixedly with a hint of a smile on His face, which is very thin and paler than usual. —Lazarus, my friend, do you know who I am?
—You? Why, You are Jesus of Nazareth, my sweet Jesus, my holy Jesus, my powerful Jesus!
—Those things are for you. But for the world, who am I?
—You are the Messiah of Israel.
—And...?
—You are the Promised One, the Long-awaited... But why do You ask me this? Do You doubt my faith?
—No, Lazarus. But I want to entrust a truth to you. No one, apart from my Mother and one of my own, knows it. My Mother, because She is ignorant of nothing. The other, because he is a co-participant in this matter. I have told the others many times during these three years they have been with me. But their love has acted as a draught of forgetfulness and a shield against the announced truth. They have been unable to understand everything... And it is good that they have not understood; otherwise, to prevent one crime, they would have committed another useless one. For what must happen would happen, above and beyond any homicide. But to you, I wish to tell it.
—Do You doubt that I love You as they do? What crime do You speak of? What crime must happen? Speak, in God’s name! —Lazarus is agitated.
—I am speaking, yes. I do not doubt your love. I doubt it so little that I entrust to your love my desires and unveil them...
—Oh, my Jesus! This is what one does when death is near! I did it when I realized You were not coming and I had to die.
—And I must die.
—Nooo! —another groan from Lazarus.
—Do not shout. Let no one hear. I need to speak to you alone. Lazarus, my friend, do you know what is happening at this very moment while you are with me, in the faithful friendship you gave me from the first moment and which was never altered for any reason? A man, together with other men, is bargaining the price of the Lamb. Do you know the name of that Lamb? His name is Jesus of Nazareth.
—Nooo! There are enemies, it is true. But no one can sell You! Who? Who is it?
—It is one of my own. It could only be one of those whom I have most deeply disenchanted, and who, tired of waiting, wants to rid himself of Him who is now nothing more than a personal danger. He believes, in his own mind, that he is rebuilding his reputation before the greats of the world. However, he will be despised by the world of the good and the wicked alike. He has reached this weariness of me, of waiting for that which he has tried to achieve by every means: human greatness. He pursued it first in the Temple, believed he would achieve it with the King of Israel, and now he seeks it again in the Temple and with the Romans... He waits for it... But Rome, while it knows how to reward its faithful servants... also knows how to trample under its contempt the vile accusers.
He is tired of me, of the waiting, of the burden that being good entails. For the wicked man, to be—to have to pretend to be—good is a burden of crushing weight. It can be sustained for a time... but then... one can do no more... and the person rids himself of it to be free again. Free? So the wicked believe. So he believes. But that is not freedom. To belong to God is freedom. To be against God is a captivity of shackles and chains, of weights and lashes, such as no galley slave at the oar, no slave at the building sites, endures under the lash of the overseer.
—Who is it? Tell me. Who is it?
—It is not necessary.
—Yes, it is necessary... Ah!... It can only be him: the man who has always been a stain on Your flock, the man who even recently offended my sister. It is Judas of Kerioth!
—No. It is Satan. God took flesh in me: Jesus. Satan has taken flesh in him: Judas of Kerioth. *(That is, he has become incarnate; this must be understood here not in a physiological sense, but in the figurative sense of becoming concrete, personified).* One day... long ago... here, in this garden of yours, I consoled a weeping and excused a spirit that had fallen into the mire. I said that possession is the contagion of Satan who inoculates his extracts into the being and denatures it. I said it is the union of a spirit with Satan and with animality. But possession is still a small thing compared to incarnation. I shall be possessed by my saints and they shall be by Me. But only in Jesus Christ is God as He is in Heaven, because I am God made Flesh. The divine Incarnation is unique. In the same way, in only one shall Satan—Lucifer—be as he is in his kingdom, because only in the murderer of the Son of God is Satan incarnate. Even as I speak to you here, he is before the Sanhedrin, bargaining and committing himself to my death. But it is not he: it is Satan.
Now listen, Lazarus, faithful friend: I ask a few favors of you. You have never denied me anything. Your love has been so great that, without ever overstepping respect, it has always been active by my side, with a thousand helps, with many prudent and timely aids, and with wise counsel that I have always accepted because I saw in your heart a true desire for my well-being.
—Oh, my Lord! But my joy was to attend to You! What am I to do henceforth, without having to attend to my Master and Lord? Too much! Too little have You allowed me to do! My debt to You, who restored Mary to my love and my honor, and me to life, is such that... oh! Why did You call me from death to make me live this hour? All the horror of death and all the anguish of the spirit, tempted by Satan to fear at the moment of appearing before the eternal Judge, I had already overcome, and there was darkness!... What is happening to You, Jesus? Why do You tremble and grow even paler than You already are? Your face is paler than this snow-rose languishing under the moon. Oh, Master, it is as if Your blood and life were leaving You...
—Indeed, I am like one who is dying with open veins. All Jerusalem—and by that I mean "all the enemies among the greats of Israel"—is fastened to me with greedy mouths; it sucks the life and blood from me. They want to silence the Voice that for three years has tormented them, though loving them... because every one of my words, even if it were a word of love, was a jolt inviting their soul to awaken, and they did not want to hear this soul of theirs, they who have bound it with their triple sensuality. And not only the great... but all, all Jerusalem, very soon, will turn upon the Innocent One and demand His death... and with Jerusalem, Judea... and with Judea, Perea, Idumea, the Decapolis, Galilee, Syro-Phoenicia... all, all Israel gathered in Zion for the "Passing" of the Christ from life to death... Lazarus, you who have died and risen, tell me: what is it to die? What did you experience? What do you remember?
—To die?... I do not remember exactly what it was. After intense suffering, there came a great faintness... It seemed to me that I no longer suffered and that I only had a heavy sleep... The light, the noise, became weaker and more distant... My sisters and Maximin say I showed signs of harsh suffering... But I do not remember that suffering...
—I see. The Father’s mercy clouds the intellectual senses of the dying, so that they suffer only in the flesh, which is what must be purified by this pre-purgatory that is the agony. But I... And of death, what do you remember?
—Nothing, Master. I have a dark space in my spirit. An empty zone. I have an interruption in the course of my life that I do not know how to fill. I have no memories. If I were to look into the depths of that black hole that held me for four days, despite it being night and being in shadow, I would feel—I would not see, but I would feel—the damp chill rising from its bowels and shivering against my face. That is a sensation. But I, if I think of those four days, have nothing. Nothing. That is the word.
—Of course. Those who return cannot tell... The mystery reveals itself once and for all to those who enter it. But I, Lazarus, I know what I am going to suffer. I know that I shall suffer in full consciousness. There will be no mitigation, of drinks or of fainting, to make the agony less atrocious for me. I shall feel myself dying. I feel it already... I am already dying, Lazarus. Like an incurable patient, throughout these thirty-three years I have been dying; and as time has brought me closer to this hour, the dying has accelerated.
Before, it was only the dying of knowing I was born to be the Redeemer; then it was the dying of one who sees himself attacked, accused, mocked, persecuted, hindered... What weariness! Then... the dying of having at my side, closer and closer—until I have him clutched to me like a giant octopus to a shipwrecked man—him who is my Betrayer. What nausea! Now I die in the heartbreak of having to say "goodbye" to my dearest friends, to my Mother...
—Master! Are You weeping?! I know You wept also before my tomb because You loved me. But now... You weep again. You are all like ice. Your hands are already cold as a corpse's. You suffer... You suffer too much!...
—I am the Man, Lazarus. I am not only the God. From man, I have sensitivity and affections. And my soul is anguished at the thought of my Mother... And, listen, I tell you that this torture of mine has become so monstrous—suffering the proximity of the Traitor, the satanic hatred of a whole world, the deafness of those who do not hate but do not know how to love actively either, because to love actively is to become as the Beloved wants and teaches... and yet here... yes, many love me, but they have remained "themselves"; they have not taken another self for love of me. Do you know who among my innermost circle has known how to denature themselves to belong to Christ, as Christ wants? Only one: your sister Mary. She began from complete and perverted animality to reach an angelic spirituality. And this only by the force of love.
—You redeemed her.
—I have redeemed all with the word. But only she has been totally transformed by the activity of love. But I was saying that my suffering for all these things is so monstrous that I yearn for nothing but that everything be consumed. My strength is failing... The cross will be less heavy than this torture of spirit and feeling...
—The cross?! Noo! Oh, no! It is too atrocious! It is too shameful! No!
Lazarus, who for some time had been holding the frozen hands of Jesus in his own while standing before his Master, lets them go and falls onto the stone seat nearby, covers his face with his hands, and weeps inconsolably. Jesus approaches him, puts His hand on his back, which is convulsed with sobs, and says:
—So? Must I, who am dying, be the one to console you, who are living? Friend, I need strength and help. And I ask it of you. The only one I have who can give it to me is you. It is best the others do not know. For if they knew... blood would flow. And I do not want the lambs to be transformed into wolves, not even for love of the Innocent One. My Mother... oh, what a pang to speak of Her!... My Mother already has much anguish! She too is destined for a near death and is exhausted... She too has been dying for thirty-three years, and now she is one whole wound, like the victim of an atrocious torment.
I swear to you that I have struggled between mind and heart, between love and reason, to decide whether it was appropriate to send Her to her home where She always dreams of the Love that made Her Mother, and tastes the flavor of His kiss of fire, and vibrates in the ecstasy of that memory and, with the eyes of the soul, always sees the air blowing softly, moved and stirred by an angelic radiance. To Galilee, the news of the Death would arrive almost at the moment I could say to Her: "Mother, I am the Victor!". But no, I cannot do this. Poor Jesus, burdened with the sins of the world, needs comfort. And my Mother will give it to me. The even poorer world needs two Victims. For man sinned with woman; and the Woman must redeem, as the Man redeems.
But while the hour has not yet struck, I offer my Mother a steady smile... She trembles... I know it. She feels the Torment approaching. I know it. And she feels a rejection of it out of natural horror and holy love, just as I feel a rejection of Death because I am a "living one" who must die. But woe if She knew that within five days...! She would not reach that hour alive, and I want Her alive to draw strength from Her lips as I drew life from Her womb. And God wants Her to be at my Calvary to mix the water of virginal tears with the wine of divine Blood and celebrate the first Mass. Do you know what the Mass will be? You do not. You cannot know. It will be my death perpetually applied to the human race, living or suffering. Do not weep, Lazarus. She is strong. She does not weep. She has wept throughout Her life as a Mother. Now she no longer weeps. She has crucified a smile upon her face... Have you seen the look her face has taken in these recent times? She has crucified a smile upon her face to comfort me. I ask you to imitate my Mother.
I could no longer keep my secret within me alone. I looked around me, seeking a sincere and steady friend; I found your loyal gaze, and I said: "To Lazarus." When you had a stone over your heart, I respected your secret and defended it even against the natural curiosity of the heart. I ask the same respect for mine. Afterward... after my death, you will tell it. You will narrate this dialogue. So that it may be known that Jesus went consciously to His death, and to the torments He knew, He joined this one of having been ignorant of nothing, neither concerning people nor His own destiny. So that it may be known that, while He could still save Himself, He would not, because His infinite love for men yearned for nothing but to consummate the sacrifice for them.
—Save Yourself, Master! Save Yourself! I can arrange Your escape. This very night. Once before You fled to Egypt! Flee now as well. Come, let us go. We will take Mary with us and my sisters and we will leave. You know that none of my riches attract me. My wealth, and Mary’s and Martha’s, is You. Let us go.
—Lazarus, that time I fled because it was not the hour. Now it is the hour. And I stay.
—Then I am going with You. I will not leave You.
—No. You stay here. Since a dispensation allows that whoever is within a Sabbath day's journey can consume the lamb in his own house; so you, as always, will consume your lamb here. But let me have your sisters come... For my Mother's sake... Oh, how the roses of divine love shielded You, oh Martyr! The abyss! The abyss! And from it now rise, and attack, the flames of Hatred to bite Your heart! Your sisters, yes; they are strong and active... and my Mother will be an agonizing being, bowed over my corpse. John is not enough. John is love. But he has not yet reached maturity. He will mature and become a man in the torment of these coming days. But the Woman has need of women, to attend to Her tremendous wounds. Do you grant them to me?
—Everything, I have always given You everything with joy! The only thing that afflicted me was that You asked so few things of me!...
—You see. From no one have I accepted as much as from the friends of Bethany. This has been one of the accusations the unjust have flung in my face more than once. But here, among you, I found many things that consoled the Man for all His bitternesses as a man. In Nazareth, I was the God who found consolation in the only delight of God. Here, I was the Man. And I, before I go up to death, thank you, faithful, loving, kind, solicitous, reserved, learned, discreet, and generous friend. For everything, I thank you. My Father, afterward, will reward you...
—I have already received everything with Your love and with the redemption of Mary.
—No! You have yet much to receive. And you shall receive it. Listen. Do not despair so. Give me your intelligence so that I may tell you what I still ask of you. You will stay here to wait...
—No, not that. Why Martha and Mary, and not I?
—Because I do not want you to be defiled as all the men are going to be defiled. Jerusalem in the coming days will be defiled as the air is around a rotting carcass suddenly fallen because of the imprudent kick of a traveler's heel. Defiled and defiling. Its miasmas will alienate even the least cruel, even my own disciples, who will flee. And where will they go, stunned? They will come to Lazarus. How many times, during these three years, have they come seeking bread, a bed, defense, refuge, and the Master!... Now they will return. Like sheep scattered by the wolf that has driven away the shepherd, they will run to a fold. Gather them. Strengthen them. Tell them I forgive them. I entrust my forgiveness for them to you. They will lack peace for having fled. Tell them not to fall into a greater sin by despairing of my forgiveness.
—Will they all flee?
—All except John.
—Master. You will not ask me to receive Judas! Let me die of torture, but do not ask this of me. On more than one occasion, my hand, anxious to eliminate the disgrace of the family, held back from taking the sword. And I never did it because I am not violent. I was only tempted to do it. But I swear to you that if I see Judas again, I will slaughter him like a sacrificial goat of crime.
—You will never see him again. I swear it to you.
—Is he going to flee? It matters not. I said: "If I see him." Now I say: "I will go where he is, even to the ends of the world, and I will kill him."
—You must not desire that.
—I will do it.
—You will not do it because where he will be, you cannot go.
—Inside the Sanedrín? In the Holy Place? I will catch him and kill him even there.
—He will not be there.
—With Herod? They will kill me, but first I will kill him.
—He will belong to Satan. And you will never belong to Satan. But cast away this murderous thought immediately, for if you do not, I shall leave you.
—Oh! Oh!... But... Yes, for You... Oh! Master! Master!
—Yes. Your Master... You will welcome the disciples. You will comfort them. You will lead them back to peace. I am Peace. And also afterward... Afterward you will help them. Bethany will always be Bethany, until Hatred digs into this hearth of love, believing it is scattering the flames, when in reality what it will do is spread them throughout the world to set it entirely on fire. I bless you, Lazarus, for all you have done and for all you will do...
—Nothing, nothing. You have brought me out of death, and You do not allow me to defend You. What have I done, then?
—You have placed your houses at my disposal. Do you see? It was destiny. The first lodging in Zion on land that is yours. The last also in one of them. It was destiny that I should be Your Guest. But from death you could not defend me. At the beginning of this conversation, I asked you: "Do you know who I am?". Now I answer: "I am the Redeemer." The Redeemer must consummate the sacrifice to the last immolation. For the rest, believe it, He who will go up to the cross and be exposed to the gazes and mocks of the world will not be a living man, but a dead one. I am already a dead man, killed by non-love, more and sooner than by torture.
And one more thing, friend. Tomorrow at dawn I go to Jerusalem. And you will hear it said that Zion has acclaimed its gentle King, who will enter it riding a donkey, as a victor. Let this triumph not disorient you and let it not make you judge that the Wisdom who speaks to you was unwise on this placid evening. Swifter than a star that crosses the sky and disappears through unknown spaces, popular favor will vanish, and for me, within five evenings, at this same hour, the torture will begin with a kiss of deceit that will open the mouths that tomorrow will shout hosanna, to form a choir of atrocious blasphemies and fierce voices of condemnation.
Yes, oh city of Zion, oh people of Israel, at last you shall have the Paschal Lamb! You shall have Him in this coming rite. Here He is. He is the Victim prepared from all ages. Love begot Him, preparing as a bridal bed a womb in which there was no stain. And Love consummates Him. So it is. He is the conscious Victim.
I am the Lamb who consciously says goodbye to life, to Mother, to friends, and goes to the sacrificer and says: "Here I am!". I am the Food of man. Satan has placed a hunger that has never been satisfied, that cannot be satisfied. Only one food satisfies that hunger because it takes it away. And here is that Food. Here, man, is your Bread; here, your Wine. Consume your Passover, Humanity! Cross your sea, red with satanic flames. Crimsoned with my Blood you shall pass, race of Man, preserved from the infernal fire. You may pass. The Heavens, pressed by my desire, already half-open the eternal gates. Look, spirits of the dead! Look, living men! Look, souls who will be incorporated in the future ones! Look, angels of Paradise! Look, demons of Hell! Look, oh Father; look, oh Paraclete! The Victim smiles. He no longer weeps...
Everything is said. Goodbye, friend. I shall not see you either before my death. Let us give each other the kiss of farewell. And do not doubt. They will say to you: "He was a madman! He was a demon! A liar! He died and said He was Life." Answer them, and answer yourself especially: "He was and is the Truth and the Life. He is the Victor over death. I know it. And He cannot be the eternally Dead One. I wait for Him. And before all the oil is consumed in the lamp that the friend, invited to the wedding, has prepared to illuminate the world, He, the Bridegroom, will return. And the light this time can no longer, ever, be extinguished." Believe this, Lazarus. Obey my desire. Do you hear this nightingale, how it sings after having fallen silent at the burst of your weeping? Do the same. Let your soul, after the inevitable weeping before the Slain One, sing the steady hymn of your faith. Receive the blessing of the Father, of the Son, of the Holy Spirit.