Easter Day visual interlude

The Raising of Lazarus, by Eduard von Gebhardt (1896) 

Von Gebhardt came from a Prussian family and grew up in what is now Estonia, where his father was a devout Lutheran.  His Protestant faith drew him to painting biblical scenes especially depicting miracles of healing, such as this one of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead (from John’s gospel, chapter 11).

This miracle was a pivotal one in the gospel account, for it set in motion the chain of events which would lead to Jesus’ own arrest, trial and execution, which Christians remember at Easter.  Jesus was already wanted by the religious authorities in Jerusalem, and he had been steering clear of the region for some time.  But then his close friends Mary and Martha sent word for him to come and heal their brother Lazarus, who was very ill, just two miles from Jerusalem in Bethany. 

Jesus waited before coming but by then Lazarus was dead.  The sisters were grief-stricken and confused – they believed Jesus loved them, and that he could heal their brother, so why had he delayed?  But when he called Lazarus from the grave, Jesus was not only bringing an unspeakable joy to his friends, but also calling them to a deeper level of faith in him – that he would not only heal sickness, but also triumph over death.

Gebhardt longed to connect the truth of this story to his own life and times, so he set the scene in a contemporary graveyard, but with costumes from the 16^th century – perhaps in recognition of Luther’s teaching about faith in Christ, which was so influential to the artist.

More than that, he was stretching out in faith by portraying his own terminally ill wife as Martha, kneeling just behind her sister Mary in the painting.  Jesus is explaining something to them, perhaps, “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?” (John 11:40)

All this would gather into a climax a few weeks later, when it would be Jesus’ lifeless body in the tomb, and the sisters would be mourning for a second time…  But then there would be an unwavering gleam of hope, like the dawn on the horizon of Gebhardt’s painting, which would soon turn into the full wonder of the first Easter sunrise.

Easter Night

All night had shout of men, and cry
Of woeful women filled His way;
Until that noon of sombre sky
On Friday, clamour and display
Smote Him; no solitude had He,
No silence, since Gethsemane.
Public was Death… but Power, but Might,
But Life again, but Victory,
Were hushed within the dead of night,
The shutter'd dark, the secrecy.
And all alone, alone, alone,
He rose again behind the stone.

Alice Meynell (1847-1922)