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And he said, “Where have you laid him?”
They said to him, “Lord, come and see.”
Jesus wept.
So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!”
But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of
the blind man also have kept this man from dying?”
John 11:34-37
And he said, “Where have you laid him?”
They said to him, “Lord, come and see.”
Jesus wept.
So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!”
But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of
the blind man also have kept this man from dying?”
John 11:34-37
There’s something interesting about family. Ok, rephrase that. There are a lot of interesting things about family. But I’m thinking of one in particular. Have you ever noticed that we often show less courtesy to our own family members than we do to total strangers? Is it just that familiarity breeds contempt or is something else at work?
On a lighter note, I sometimes joke about my brother’s version of a family discount – he’ll sell me anything for just 20% more than he would sell it to a total stranger. Maybe he just knows what he can get out of me. In any event, it’s something we can both laugh about.
Jesus had family, too. A family that was very human – they even mocked his ministry in the beginning. Jesus’ earthly family was probably a lot like ours – some were blood relatives and some of them were just so close that they felt like family.
Well, if anyone was close enough to Jesus to be called family, it was a pair of sisters – Mary and Martha. Mary and Martha lived with their brother Lazarus in a town called Bethany. It’s likely that their home was a frequent destination for Jesus. Hospitality was huge in the Jewish world at this time and it appears that this family had a special place in the heart of Jesus.
If anyone was in good standing with God in the flesh, it was this family. And that is what makes the death of Lazarus, the brother, such a huge question mark. We don’t know what he died of, but we know he was sick for a few days – plenty of time for Jesus to get there and prevent his death.
The Gospels are filled with Jesus healing total strangers of all kinds of debilitating diseases – blindness, paralysis, leprosy, you name it. You’d think he would rush to the scene when a good friend like Lazarus is at deaths’ door.
But he doesn’t.
It’s not that he doesn’t know. He does. (John 11:3)
And it’s not that he doesn’t care. He does. (John 11:5)
Yet he seemingly does nothing. (John 11:6)
Lazarus is slipping. People are praying. His sisters are crying. And where is Jesus? About 2 days away. Waiting. Waiting for what? Waiting for Lazarus to die.
So, when does Jesus show up? After Mary and Martha have been mourning their brothers’ death and, I imagine, questioning Jesus’ compassion. After four days of mourning and questioning, Jesus finally shows up.
It is a painful scene – one many of us are all too familiar with. Tears come in streams. The sound of weeping fills the house as family members arrive to cry, to console, and to comfort. Each knock at the door brings another familiar face and another wave of emotion. The death of Lazarus is recounted and re-lived time and again.
An elephant looms large in the room. It is the question everyone is asking, just not out loud: “Where was your friend, Jesus? Where was your miracle?”
Mary and Martha are in the middle of this scene when word arrives that Jesus is coming down the road.
We see the pain in Mary’s response: she has no response - at least not outwardly. She simply remains in the house, resigned. What pulsed through her heart at that moment? Anger? Doubt? Betrayal? All three?
And then there is Martha. She bolts out the door and charges down the road. When she meets Jesus, we see no embrace. Instead we see a bit of a rebuke, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” In other words, “Where were you?!? Where was our miracle?!?”
It’s a perplexing question, really. Jesus healed total strangers and yet allowed his friend to die. Jesus even healed people that didn’t ask for it. Yet when his closest friends sent for help, he left them waiting. He left them wondering. And then he left them mourning.
For the record, I’m relieved that Jesus didn’t heal Lazarus when he was sick. Because it means that I am not the only follower of Christ who, like Mary and Martha, has watched and waited for Jesus to come, only to see someone I love take her last breath.
I’m grateful that Jesus didn’t heal Lazarus. Because it tells me that Jesus knows and Jesus cares – even if he doesn’t show up in the way we would like him to.
And I’m glad that the tomb of Lazarus’ reeked of decomposition by the time Jesus showed up. Because it gives proof of a greater promise.
A greater promise? Yes, a greater promise! You see, all those people who were healed eventually died. The paralytics, the lame, the blind, the lepers. They all died. And even those few that Jesus raised from the dead during his earthly ministry all eventually died again.
But Lazarus was a believer. Jesus wanted to give Lazarus and his closest friends a taste of the promise he really came to make. Jesus never promised his followers a life of comfort here and now. He never promised a life free from suffering, pain or loss. He never even promised a long life.
No. He promised that he would overcome this world, this life. That after this life of struggle, disappointment and heartache, something greater awaits those who trust in Jesus – even when he seems two days away.
You see, Lazarus’ death was no accident. It was to display the glory of God and deepen the faith of all who witnessed what would come next: the raising of Lazarus from the dead.
Notice that when Jesus showed up and faced Martha on the road that day, he didn’t define himself as “the healer.” No. He said, “I am the resurrection and the life.” And he wasn’t talking about this life. This life, the here and now, is important, but the ultimate promise – the greater promise – is in the life to come. A greater life than we will ever know here.
Mary and Martha and Lazarus were followers of Christ. They were in. They were family. And right now, at this very moment, they are experiencing the promise. A greater promise. An eternal promise.
A life that requires no mourning. A life that never disappoints. But a life that comes only in our death. It is a giving up of the temporary in order to obtain the eternal. Ahh, yes. Now that sounds like the promise of Jesus.
“I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live,
and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.”
and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.”
John 11:25-26
