Lazarus
John 11
Lazarus has died, and Martha meets Jesus first.
“Lord, if you had been here, my brother wouldn’t have died.” It’s an accusation, an observation, a desperate cry of disbelief all at the same time.
Her sister, Mary, is inside. She is newly bereaved, still coming to terms with what’s happened. She hears that Jesus is here, and rushes out. In her grief and loss, she knows that Jesus brings hope. She falls at his feet, and says the same thing as Martha. And then, I imagine, she collapses in desperate sobs.
When Jesus sees her weeping, and when he sees the people who knew Lazarus weeping, he asks where they have buried Lazaurus, and someone shows him to the tomb. It’s now that Jesus weeps. He has been moved by everyone’s grief so far — moved as in gut-wrenched. The Bible simply says, “Jesus wept,” but the word in the Greek is more like “sobbed his heart out.” Maybe he falls to the floor with Mary.
His display of grief proves to everyone there that he loved Lazarus — really, really loved Lazarus, and that his death is like losing a part of himself.
I love this story. It shows the humanity of Jesus and the divinity of Jesus. In this story, they are one and the same thing. Jesus knows grief, but he knows hope, joy, peace, love and power. Even so, the grief is no less painful to him than it is to Martha and Mary and the people who knew and loved Lazarus.
Jesus tells Mary, “Your brother will rise again.” She replies that she knows he will rise in resurrection at the last day. Maybe this is something he has taught earlier — the resurrection of the dead. At the time there were different schools of thought, those who believed that there would be an afterlife, and those who didn’t. At any rate, it would have come up in conversation, after all Jesus was a religious leader, people would have asked him questions like this.
But Mary misses Jesus’ point. She thinks he is offering a platitude — “You’ll see him again in Heaven,” but he is saying more than that. Sometimes we can use belief in Heaven as an excuse for a dreary life now. We treat Heaven as a kind of cosmic 5 o’clock when we can finally clock off and go and do something we want to do instead.
Heaven is supposed to start now. This life is preparation for it. What are we delaying until Heaven? What part of life — passions, dreams, loves — have you decided will be fulfilled in Heaven, when really they are for this life?