We began moving in the direction of Jerusalem. While Jesus walked ahead, I had a sense of astonishment for some reason. The other people that were following us were murmuring in fear. I couldn't figure it out.
Sometimes death is on my mind. It sounds terrible, fatalistic even. Is thinking about it wrong?
We arrived in Bethany, and Jesus asked a man that was passing by about Lazarus. “He’s been in the tomb for four days now,” Thomas looked around nervously. Bethany was less than two miles from Jerusalem, and many Jews had come to Martha and Mary to comfort them in the loss of their brother. If Jesus were seen, word would get back to Jesus’ enemies that he was back.
One day a man came running up to us. He stopped, gasping for air. In between breaths, he told us he was from Bethany. A town about a mile away from Jerusalem. A town we've been avoiding since there were people there plotting to kill Jesus. "I must speak with Jesus," he said. "Why," Peter asked, looking at the man suspiciously. "Lazarus is sick!"