; he knew how John's heart was rent, and how he was sorrowing
with the mother he had taken into his own home; he knew how Peter had
wept his bitter tears, how Martha and Mary and Lazarus were grieving for
him, how all were watching, waiting, hoping and yet hardly daring to
hope,--oh, how little our griefs seem to us beside such grief as theirs!
And the third day since he had been taken from them. Did they expect
again to hear his footfall or his voice? He could see, all this time, the
hands outstretched in prayer, he could hear their cries, he could feel
the beating of every heart, and yet how slowly he was going forth to meet
them. How could he stay his feet? Were not Peter and John running towards
him? Was not Mary on her way to him? And yet he did not hasten; something
must first be done, such little things; the linen clothes must be laid
aside and the napkin that had been about his head must be wrapped
together in a place by itself. Such a little thing to think of, such a
little thing to do, before he could go forth to meet them! Was it
necessary that the napkin should be wrapped together in a place by
itself? As necessary as that their terrible suspense should be ended? As
necessary as that Peter and John and Martha and Mary and his mother
should be comforted one little instant sooner? Could you or I wait to
fold a napkin and lay it away if we might fly to a friend who was
wearying for us? Suppose God says: 'Fold that napkin and lay it away,' do
we do it cheerfully and submissively, choosing to do it rather than to
hasten to our friend? If a leper had stood in the way, beseeching him, if
the dead son of a widow were being carried out, we could understand the
instant's delay, if only a little child were waiting to speak to the
Lord, but to keep so many waiting just to lay the linen clothes aside,
and, most of all, to wrap together that napkin and lay it by itself. Only
the knowing that the doing this was doing the will of God reconciles me
to the waiting that one instant longer, that his mother need not have
waited but for that. So, John, perhaps you and I are waiting to do some
little thing, some little thing that we do not know the meaning of,
before God's will can be perfect concerning us. It may be as near to us
as was the napkin about the head of the Lord. I was forgetting that,
after he died for us, there was any of the Father's will left for him to
do. And I suppose he folded that napkin as willingly as he gave