The Symbolism of Lazarus
Lazarus in John 11 is not just a miracle story, but a deliberate literary sign pointing to the death and renewal of the priesthood.
In John 20, the resurrection narrative unfolds in lingering darkness until Jesus stands, embodying the true light of the new creation.
John 20 records the resurrection of Jesus, beginning with a striking detail:
Now on the first day of the week Mary Magdalene came to the tomb early, while it was still dark…
As the scene unfolds, disciples arrive at the tomb and speak with one another, yet the text never mentions the sun rising. The next explicit time marker arrives in verse 19: “On the evening of that day.” The entire narrative remains enveloped in darkness.
When, then, is the darkness broken?
John indicates the break through a single, subtle verb. When Jesus appears among the disciples in the locked room, John writes that Jesus “stood among them.”
In Greek, the primary verb meaning to rise (as the sun rises or someone rises from the dead) is anistēmi, a compound formed from ana (up) and histēmi (to stand). Three times in John 20, and once more in chapter 21, John uses this root verb histēmi. Aside from the generic verb for speaking, standing is the most frequent action Jesus performs in this chapter. He stands; he rises.
This deliberate vocabulary carries profound literary symbolism. The chapter opens in darkness and stays in darkness until Jesus stands in their midst. In the opening prologue of the Gospel, John established this identity:
In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. (John 1:4–5)
From the outset, John declared that Jesus is the light whose purpose is to shine into darkness. That is what transpires in the resurrection account. Darkness covers the setting, but Jesus stands. He rises as the sun dawning within the dark.
Furthermore, the verb translated “overcome” (katelaben) can also mean “understood” or “comprehended”: the darkness has not understood the light. We see this limitation across John 20. Mary Magdalene fails to comprehend when she first sees Jesus, mistaking him for the gardener. In verse 9, John observes that “as yet they did not understand the Scripture, that he must rise from the dead.” The disciples do not grasp what has happened immediately; their eyes must slowly adjust to the dawn.
In the Genesis creation account, physical light is commanded to shine out of darkness on the first day. In John’s account of the new creation, the primary light is not merely physical illumination, but a person: the risen Jesus. The foundational symbols of the first creation find their fulfillment here. On the first day of the new week, Jesus stands as the light bursting into darkness, granting true sight.
Much like the figures in Plato’s allegory of the cave, Mary is initially blinded by the encounter. Coming face to face with the light, she cannot immediately perceive it. Yet this light ultimately brings understanding. John’s Gospel begins with echoes of the first creation and concludes with the inaugural day of the new creation, where light once more breaks the darkness. This time, the light is revealed as the man Jesus Christ.
And that, my friends, is why the Bible is art.
Lazarus in John 11 is not just a miracle story, but a deliberate literary sign pointing to the death and renewal of the priesthood.
Welcome back to the Bible is Art where we explore the literary artistry of the Bible.
This week we're going to look at the art of action in stories in Plato's Dialogues.