This story is one filled with the things our lives are filled with. Things like fear, frustration, disappointment, grief, anger, confusion, despair, doubt, and tears. It is an ancient story more relevant that we realize. It has the familiarity of déjà vu and the complexity of mystery, with a personal touch for everyone.
It’s where I’ve been, and still might be.
John, the Beloved Disciple, begins by telling us that Lazurus from Bethany, the brother of Mary and Martha, was sick.
This is what I mean, we know this, we’ve been there. Our sibling or friend or parent gets sick. Croup or pneumonia or cooties. We avoid, we Lysol, we make gallons of chicken noodle soup.
Gallons!
The family was close friends with Jesus. (There’s another story of Jesus and the sisters working through the surface tension between work and rest, and the deeper friction connected with work and rest. A must read when you find space to process your own work and rest.)
They have to get word to Jesus so they pull out their tablets to FaceTime Jesus, I mean their rotary phones to call, I mean their telegraph to wir…
They sent word, telling Jesus that their brother was sick. Not just their brother, but as John tells us, Jesus’ dear friend. Was the message the ladies were communicating one of preferential treatment?
“You know Jesus, not just another blind guy by the wayside, or a raving madman in the caves, or a brush occurence in a crowd is ill.”
Your friend is sick. Wink. Wink.
You know Jesus, I’ve lived for you so long, I’ve tithed on the regular, I’ve sacrificed…
Jesus receives the request and responds with, “This sickness will not end in death, but glory.” His words never seemed to make it to Mary and Martha (the server was down, probably). Instead, he stayed where He was.
He didn’t come when He was called. He didn’t answer immediately. He kept them waiting.
Lord heal…
Lord give…
Lord help…
Lord save…
There’s a message somewhere out there that hasn’t come through, and He waits. So what should they do? What should we do?
There’s no evidence of doctors or treatments. That’s probably what they did. Maybe their request was their first response. Maybe their last. Maybe desperate. Maybe despairing. Maybe the medicine didn’t work as prescribed. Maybe the ailment was more savage than they realized.
But He made them wait.
Waiting exposes more about ourselves than it does about God. Flaws. Anxiety. Weakness. Fear. Motive. Impatience. And other issues like eye-rolling.
Waiting is where I also give God the most grief.
He didn’t wait long though, just long enough for a gap in faith to grow. After two days He made His way to Judea.
“Our friend is sick,” He said, “and his sickness will not end in death.”
There is an answer out there somewhere. Sometimes it comes sooner, other times later. Sometimes it seems permanently lost in the mail.
If the illness will not cause Lazarus to die, the disciples wonder, then why even go? They’re perplexed so Jesus becomes more transparent, “Lazarus is dead.” Their friend is dead. The news reverberates in their minds. Mary and Martha’s brother is dead. This reality shatters their world. And the gap grows a little more.
Can you hear the unspoken questions, or the murmuring among disciples, or the weeping between sisters? It cuts to our hearts too.
Upon arrival they all discover that Lazarus has been dead and buried for at least four days. And the gap grows again.
Martha discovers that Jesus is near and rushes to meet Him. We can only imagine what is swirling around in her head, and locked and loaded on her tongue.
“Lord!”
…
“If you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
It’s very easy, scary easy, to blame God. Much much easier than praising Him for all the life and blessings that sprout up around us. Bitterness is so natural.
Martha is in a valley. Her dialogue with Jesus exposes it. They go into a seemingly impersonal discussion on theological matters resulting in Martha giving the church answer and returning home.
Soon enough Mary visits Jesus too. Martha’s confrontation was brutal enough, but Jesus was willing to endure her sister as well.
“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
Identical reactions.
Mary is in a valley too. Her posture before Jesus reveals it. Weeping, she invites Him to the tomb. At this point we get a glimpse into the humanity of Jesus. He was troubled to the core. Shaken in His spirit. Moved by her tears.
And He weeps. God cries.
With her. For her.
With us. For us.
Martha is walking the valley of bitterness.
Mary the valley of brokenness.
Both run parallel. Easy to mistake for one another. And Jesus has a unique response for each one. Responses that reveal specific qualities of His character.
To Martha He said, “I am…”
To Mary, “I know.”
This story deals with the specific bitterness and brokenness of two sisters. From the cross to the empty grave Jesus spoke specifically to all our bitterness and our brokenness, saying, “I am,” and, “I know,” as well.
I am able.
I am willing.
I am present.
I know your pain.
I know your suffering.
I know your sadness.
“I am He who is able to heal your bitterness for I know the depth of your brokenness.”
We most likely will walk both valleys multiple times throughout the journey of life. Jesus doesn’t expect us to climb out ourselves because He was willing to enter both to bring us out with tender power.
Jesus would go on to raise Lazarus from the dead. But as life goes, it would not be the last time He would raise Mary and Martha from their valleys.
If we’re willing to let Him in our valleys, He’s is willing to lead us out.
French Pressed Fridays 