In the gold-leafed stillness of a Byzantine icon, the figure of Christ stands at the very doorway of Mystery. He is Magus near the mouth of Lazarus’ tomb, poised between the world of the living and the realm of the sealed stone. In this gesture, the miracle at Bethany unfolds with a grandeur that defies mere narrative, as it is an unveiling of the deepest cosmic grammar. The Word, already sealed upon the scroll in Christ’s left hand, is about to become flesh once more, by invocation. The tomb is a chamber prepared for the reconstitution of the primordial pattern. Magdalene weeps, Martha argues, the crowd recoils from the scent of death; all the while, Christ the Magus stands as the very axis of transformation. His right hand extends in the annunciation of the Verbum, calling Lazarus from the entombed silence of the fourfold world. The icon sets the eye before the seal, asking if the beholder is prepared for the logic of resurrection.
I. The Magus and the Fourfold Exile
In Bethany, Lazarus lies dead for four days, a detail never incidental in Sacred text. Four days: a descent beneath the full weight of the manifest cosmos; the entombment in Malkuth, the Kingdom where all elements coalesce and solidify. The four days recall the four rivers of Eden, the four corners of the Temple, the four arms of the Cross. Malkuth is understood as the sphere of exile and potential. The soul lies here wrapped and sealed, dispersed among the elements of earth, air, fire, and water. These, far from abstract, are the very conditions of mortal being. They become prison and possibility in one breath. The Magus is master through radical availability to the Source. Christ does not break the law of the elements; he calls the elements to attention. The Word issues forth, gathering the scattered fragments, recalling to centre that which was spread to the periphery. The miracle is not a suspension of nature, but its fulfilment. In the face of the fourfold tomb, the Verbum speaks to restore the world to its luminous core.
The gesture of Christ in is significant; his right hand, two fingers extended in the sign of blessing, is less a wand than a conduit. The left hand retains the scroll; the sealed teaching, the Logos written before the world’s beginning. This is the true act of the Magician: to speak the Word that awakens matter itself; to call the soul from beneath the weight of fourfold necessity. The resurrection at Bethany is the Magnum Opus, the culmination of the alchemical art, in which the elements, once fallen into entropy, are made to dance once more to the secret harmony of the beginning.
II. The Four as Cross and Portal
Lazarus is not simply dead; he is deceased beneath the sign of completion, the four quarters that govern both the Temple and the year. The tomb is built as a four-cornered chamber; the stone is sealed as the world is sealed too. Christ approaches as the pontifex, the bridge between dissolution and gathering. The Magus at the gate draws together the four winds, the four seasons, the four angels at the corners of the Apocalypse. The tomb, then, becomes an altar as well as a threshold. It is upon this fourfold base that the new Word is pronounced. The action is Marian as much as it is Christic; the womb and the tomb are twin chambers of gestation. The Verbum is conceived and born anew where the elements have run their course and become still.
The scroll in Christ’s hand is the sign that the resurrection is the unsealing of what has always been written. The miracle is conducted with the authority of the scribe, the prophet, and the hidden priest. The four elements, once seen as the weight of forgetfulness, become instead the four instruments upon the table of the Magician. Only one who has journeyed to the heart of exile can call forth the Name from the silence. In this, the miracle of Lazarus is a recapitulation, not an interruption. And the Word reorders the four by resonance.
Coda: Lunar Act under Gabriel
On this Monday, consecrated to the Moon and the Archangel Gabriel, when the lunar crescent waxes gibbous in the house of Sagittarius, the time is ripe for a ritual of awakening. At dusk, light a single white candle before a bowl of clear, let fall a few grains of salt into it. Whisper aloud the name of one who has been lost, or the fragment within oneself that lies entombed. Trace with the finger a cross upon the surface of the water; pause, and speak aloud your own name, as if calling yourself from exile. Sit in silence until the candle gutters and the water grows still. Know that the four elements stand witness. The Word is always at the limen, awaiting only the courage to be pronounced.
Fiat Lux.