“Jesus, your close friend Lazarus is deathly sick. You’ve healed hundreds of people who barely know you. You’ve healed a strange woman who merely touched your garment. You’ve healed a man’s servant with a word. Lord, won’t you heal Lazarus before it’s too late?”
There’s a pause, and then Jesus looks up, smiling curiously at heaven.
“No,” Jesus whispered, “I’m going to wait here for a while.”
All the while, Lazarus’ sisters, Mary and Martha, wait for Jesus to come. They sit by their brother’s side, watching him suffer. Every breath he takes is slow and difficult. “Jesus will come,” they say, confidently.” They stroke their brother’s forehead and whisper softly, “Don’t worry, Lazarus. He’ll come soon.”
A day passes.
Mary begins to worry. Her trust in her beloved Lord is beginning to fail. Martha, anxious and fretful, begins to pace back and forth: “He has to come,” she whispers desperately, “He loves us. Lazarus can’t die. He just can’t.”
“Maybe something happened to the Lord,” Mary cries, as she places her hand on her brother’s pale cheek.
Martha, exasperated, just can’t just sit and wait. The Lord isn’t there, and maybe He won’t come. So what is she to do? She has to tell their friends to come and say their goodbyes.
The next morning, Lazarus dies.
Mary buries her face in her brother’s chest. Martha, in all her strength and fortitude, breaks. She falls to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.
Jesus didn’t come.
The sisters prepare Lazarus’ body for burial. They anoint his lifeless body with the incense and oils, remembering together the last words they heard him speak. They tenderly wrap him in clean strips of linen, remembering the sound of his laugh.
The sisters and their friends carry his body to the family tomb outside the village. They can’t believe this is happening. Tucking his body inside, the men of the village seal the tomb. Mary and Martha stand there, holding each other, aching, repeating the same question over and over: Why hadn’t Jesus come?
But the next morning, they both receive word that Jesus has come at last. They run to meet Jesus at the entrance of the village. They fall at His feet and desperately cry out before him, saying, “Lord, if only you had come sooner, Lazarus wouldn’t have died.”
Jesus looks at them sorrowfully, tears cascading down his face. He kneels down in the dirt with them and begins to weep, openly and passionately.
If only He had come sooner…
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This is where I pause. I don’t typically love when people take liberty with biblical narratives and create their own fictitious spin, but I was compelled to do so here.
For years, I always read this story with a sort of lifeless, passive emotion. However, in this agonizing season of my own life, my heart was wrecked reading this story over and over. There is so much to unpack.
1. Jesus waiting.
Jesus and Lazarus were friends. Imagine, if you will, your very closest friend. That person is about to die, and you are the one who can save them. But you don’t go. You wait.
Isn’t that absurd and unthinkable?
But Jesus did wait. Our instinctual rush and hurry was not His instinct. His instinct was the purest of obedience to His Father. His ear wasn’t inclined towards the earth’s pressure. His ear was inclined towards His Father’s voice, and His Father told Him to wait.
2. Mary and Martha grieved.
Let’s change perspectives a sec. That some you love is dying, and you know of someone who can help them. You send word to that person, clinging to a thread of hope that they would get there just in time. But in the meantime, you wait and watch the person you love so dearly struggling to breathe. They are fading before your very eyes.
You are rocking back and forth, clasping your hands together, hoping against all hope that they will be healed.
And then they die.
Your disappointment, your hopelessness, your pain, your anger are all immeasurable, and all you can think is “if only he would have come sooner…”
So much raw emotion. If the story stopped right here, what a hopeless thing it would be, wouldn’t it? And sometimes, that’s where we feel like it realistically does stop. Something we were hoping for died. Someone we were hoping would be healed died. Due to circumstances outside your control, something died, and now you feel, as Mary and Martha did, grieved and abandoned. When Jesus does arrive to the scene of pain and heartache, He grieves with you, of course. But all you can think is: He could have, but He didn’t.
However. The story continues…
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After a while, Jesus stands up, wipes his eyes, and asks to see the tomb. By now, the whole village has surrounded them, and all assume that Jesus wants to continue mourning the loss of His friend at the place he was buried. So they lead Jesus to the tomb.
But to everyone’s dismay, Jesus stands in front of the stone-sealed entrance and requests it’s removal. Mary and Martha look at each other, bewildered. “Lord,” Martha says quietly, so as not to embarrass their Teacher in front of the crowd, “It’s been four days, and I’m sure his body is decaying and reeking.”
Jesus is resolute. He won’t budge. He reminds Martha of a truth that he had spoken to her: “Didn’t I tell you that if you believe in me, you will see God show His power?”
Martha stands there, unsure what is about to happen, but she realizes the determination of her Lord. She nods to the men of the village, and with grunts and groans, they roll away the stone.
Jesus moves closer. The smell of rotting flesh shoots out from the entrance. Everyone covers their noses in disgust. Jesus plants his feet firmly in front of the tomb.
He looks up, arms stretched towards the heavens. “My Father,” he cries out, passionately, “You have heard my prayer. You listen to what I say. For the sake of those who stand here with me — in order that they may believe that you have sent me — I will use the authority and power that you’ve given me.”
His eyes were on fire, and he looks towards the tomb and screams wildly: “Lazarus! Come out of that tomb now!”
A hush falls on the crowd. All eyes move towards the entrance of that tomb.
Suddenly, a body, covered from head to toe, stumbles out. At Jesus’ command, someone runs and peels the wrapping from its face. IT’S LAZARUS. He blinks rapidly and then locks eyes with Jesus. They both smile widely at each other. Mary and Martha scream and run towards their beloved brother, sobbing and embracing him tightly. Lazarus begins to laugh his familiar, infectious laugh. Jesus glances towards heaven, his eyes glistening with the happiest of tears. Lazarus came back.
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GUYS DOES THIS STORY DO SOMETHING TO YOU? My God, it should. Let me just gush about it for a hot sec.
3. Defying Expectations.
Here’s the thing: Jesus could have come sooner. He could have done what everyone anticipated He would do for His close friend — but Jesus did something entirely different. He actually and honestly brought Lazarus back to life.
When Jesus brought Lazarus back, He wasn’t just defying nature, He was defying expectations. Healing had been done before; people knew that was something Jesus could do. But Resurrection? Resurrection done in this way? Four days after death? This was an undeniable work of the Father who sent Jesus. This was a radical reversal of everything natural. This was power unhinged.
I’m physically shook by this.
Deep breaths, Abbs.
4. Resurrection
I feel so strongly that we are all experiencing death right now. For some of you dear and tender souls, it could be the physical death of someone close to you. For others, it might be the death of a relationship you thought you could hold onto, a future you thought was secure… whatever it is, it has died, and you’re sitting the pain and grief that comes from such a loss. And all you can think is: why didn’t He come sooner?
Oh friends, He is coming — and when He does, He will bring with Him all power and authority to resurrect whatever it is in you that’s died. It will not be what you expect it to be. It won’t come in the way you think it will. It won’t come in the time you think it should. But it’s coming, nonetheless.
Jesus’ intention was never to wow the crowd with another healing — His intention, from the beginning, was to resurrect, because resurrection is undeniably God. No thing can explain or take credit for it. It’s simply our beautiful, powerful God’s hand, and He wants to breathe His own breath and life into what has died.
Some things must die in order to be resurrected — and it often feels unfair, doesn’t it? Why do other’s experience healing while I experience death? I wish I knew. But in my unknowing, I cling to the image of Jesus walking towards the village of Bethany, confident in what the Father has told him to do. He is walking towards you, prepared to grieve with you, and will do what He has set out to do — resurrect.
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