To Be Beloved

Several Cyprian boys hooted and howled while playing a game of knucklebones at the threshold of the city-kingdom of Kition’s necropolis. They didn’t notice an elderly man approach and take his usual seat by the cemetery’s gates. The observer’s lengthy white hair blew chaotically in the Mediterranean island’s warm breezes, and his visage was as stern and emotionless as the statues of Thanatos and Hypnos, the Greek gods of death and sleep, which flanked the graveyard’s gates. In fact, when the old man’s frail fingers scratched his tousled gray beard, much like Thanatos, he personified death.

When one of the boys finally took notice of the grizzled onlooker, he immediately scooped up the goat knucklebones and fled. All but one of the other children swiftly followed suit; the youngest, however, remained where he was; he appeared enthralled by the stranger’s presence.

The boy’s elder brother reluctantly returned and tugged at the paralyzed lad’s sleeve, “Come on, Philip, and stay away from that unbeliever.”

“Unbeliever?” questioned Philip.

“Yes, he’s an unbelieving foreigner; he doesn’t worship any Greek or Roman gods. He comes here all the time, and he’s always sullen,” answered the older boy anxiously. “Father says he’s dangerous, and that he’s only smiled once in his thirty years on Cyprus. Father once saw a boy about your age pilfer a pot. He told me the old man grinned when he remarked, ‘the clay steals the clay.’ He’s a freak! Now come on; let’s get home!”

Philip didn’t listen to his brother. Instead he remained sitting on the ground where their game had been played, and wondered, “Unbeliever you say? Maybe that’s why he broods by the boneyard.”

“Fine, suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Philip’s big brother gave up and bolted.

The hoary interloper remained still as the statues while he grimly overlooked the garden of the dead.

Philip eventually worked up the nerve to confront the man; he felt like he had to know his story. “Sir? Why do you come here, and why are you always so sullen? Are you a Stoic?”

The old man’s voice was a gravelly whisper, and it made him seem irritated when he stoically answered without looking at the youngster, “No boy, I’m not a member of that, or any other pagan cult.”

Philip trembled slightly and almost took his brother’s advice, but somehow he held himself together. “Sir? My name is Philip, what’s your name?”

The man looked straight into Philip’s wide eyes, “My name is Eleazar.”

Even though it was clear the man was trying to put Philip off, the boy continued to relentlessly pry, “Well, Eleazar, are you unhappy because soon you will join the ghosts of the necropolis?”

The sound of silence forever filled the space between them until the old man put his hands in his lap and sighed. “Grief-stricken I come here regularly to mourn the doom of mankind, and although death will take us all, I am not afraid. I am sorrowful because I know that the majority of the souls buried here in their tombs and mausoleums will be unredeemed on the Day of Judgment.”

“Day of Judgment? My brother said you were an unbeliever, but your robes look like those of a priest of some kind. Is that how you know so many will be cursed?”

The man pushed his white hair away from his face and approved, “Yes, my child, I am the Bishop of the Church of the Messiah, here in Kition. I am a witness to all that took place in the Land of Israel over thirty years past, and I know firsthand that the way of deliverance is narrow…and many will not find salvation.”

Philip squinted; he was confused. “Witness? Israel?”

“Surely you have heard of the great movement whose seeds, once planted in Judea, have grown taller than any sturdy Cyprus cedar and wider than any golden Cyprus oak?”

“You’re talking about the son of that foreign Hebrew god? The one that was sacrificed on a Roman cross? He’s dead.” Philip countered assertively.

The graybeard shook his head, “I beg to differ, my child. I told you that I was there when he healed lepers and paralytics. I heard him make the deaf hear, and I saw him make the blind see. I ate with him when he fed the masses with fishes and loaves. I watched in awe as he cast out demons, and yes…I beheld him raise more than one person from the dead.”

“Resurrection from the dead? Then you were one of his Apostles, and you were part of the deceptions.” Philip denied, skeptically, repeating what his father had taught. He felt like he should’ve just listened to his brother and let the outsider be.

Before Philip could extract himself from the conversation, Eleazar quickly responded, “No, I was not one of the twelve, but I am one of his beloved disciples.”

Philip scratched his head, “Beloved? You say ‘I am’ and not ‘I was’…as if he’s still alive. You don’t actually believe that this messiah rose from the dead after three days in his grave? Do you?”

Eleazar’s expression remained taciturn, “Of course I believe that he arose from the grave after three days…because he called me out of my own tomb after four. Eleazar is my Hebrew name; I am also known as Lazarus of Bethany.”

Philip was too shocked to speak, so the bishop of Kition expounded, “When we first met, you asked me if I was ‘unhappy because I would soon join the ghosts of the necropolis’…well yes, I will likely rejoin them very soon to sleep in Sheol, but unlike many of them, I know the Lord’s beloved will be resurrected unto life eternal.” Lazarus turned away from the boy to renew his perpetual survey of the necropolis.

Philip managed to croak a reply, “Again with the word beloved? Do you know that in Greek my name means dear friend, or beloved?”

Lazarus remained unmoved.

“Philip! Philip! Supper time!” a stern voice shouted from afar. It was his father.

Philip shrugged, “Well, Lazarus, it was nice to meet you. I only have one more question before I go home. How can I be one of the beloved?”

Lazarus’ countenance was still unchanged when he answered, “Believe and you will be loved.”

Philip turned to leave, and then stopped. “I’ll tell my brother and father everything you told me. Maybe they’ll believe too.”

As the boy walked home on the dirt path, Lazarus’ face beamed with the most glorious smile that nobody ever saw. “Yes, Philip, you will be loved. Just spread His story.”