What does Jesus offer to us in the midst of grief and sorrow? When we've suffered incredible pain or loss? When our lives have been ruined and everything's fallen to pieces? Too often, unfortunately, people will present us with pat answers and cliche solutions. Even members of the church can be quite unfeeling in their response to the hurts that come to people in this life.
Pain and loss are part of "real life" here on earth. Those who would pretend that this world is all goody-goody are somehow disconnected from reality. And so it is inevitable that we should, at various times in our lives, be confronted in that very blunt way with the truth about just how hard things can be. Pain, loss, hurt, despair, hopelessness--these are not purely academic matters and, I think, for many, there is a real and live question about whether Jesus has anything to offer those who really are hurting.
It would be very silly for me, after that introduction, to pretend to offer a complete answer to the grief and loss that faces so many people. And I'm not going to try to. This is only a blog-posting, after all, and not even the appropriate venue for such things. But what I would like to do is look at one incident in which Jesus did interact with grieving people. And I want to invite us to think about what He said and did in that situation.
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There was a family who lived in the village of Bethany, in the vicinity of Jerusalem. Jesus was very close to this family and spent a great deal of time with them. This family consisted of one brother (Lazarus) and two sisters (Martha and Mary). While Jesus was spending time in the region on the far side of the Jordan river, Lazarus became severely ill. Martha and Mary sent a message to Jesus, asking Him to come and heal their brother, but Jesus did not come. Instead He sent a message back saying, "This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God, that the Son of God may be glorified by it."
Martha and Mary must have been comforted by this message and the thought that their brother must surely recover very shortly. But he didn't recover. In fact, he got worse. They must have wondered what was happening. Jesus had said, "This sickness is not unto death," and yet Lazarus continued to fade before their eyes, growing weaker and weaker by the hour. What thoughts must have gone through their minds as they sat by their brother's bedside? Throughout the day, after their messenger's return, they must have waited anxiously for some signs of recovery. But none came. And through the night. And into the next day. And they must have been by his side when he breathed his last breath, when his heart ceased to beat, when his body grew cold and stiff. How long must they have sat their? --silently denying the truth that lay before them, wracking their minds to make sense of how this could be, until the grip of harsh, hard reality finally took hold of their hearts.
Then there came the screams. And the wailing and the moaning. But these cries were different. They didn't sound like the ordinary ritual lament. They signified more than the loss of a dear brother. No one who was mourning
just the loss of a dear brother would sound like that. These were cries of despair, of hopelessness, of two women who now looked into the future and could see only bleak and utter darkness. They knew what might have been. They knew what
would have been, if only Jesus had come. But He hadn't come, and Lazarus was now dead, and there was nothing for them to look forward to.
You see, Lazarus had been the anchor in the home that they shared. No parent or other relative of these three is ever mentioned in the gospels. We never hear about Martha's or Mary's husband or children. Most likely they had none. And so the only thing that these women had to hold on to, that kept them from being cast off or set adrift, that gave them any place or standing in that society, was their brother. With him gone, they would have nothing. They didn't just lose a beloved brother. Their whole world had fallen apart on that day.
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How long that first day must have seemed. But night eventually came and they must have slept, from sheer emotional exhaustion but not from peace of mind. For them, there could be no peace of mind. And the sun rose, heralding a new day devoid of possibilities, vacant of hope, empty of meaning. And another night. And another day. They went through at least four days like this, we know, because the Apostle John tells us that Jesus did not arrive in the town of Bethany until a full four days after Lazarus had been buried. John writes:
'So when Jesus came, He found that he [Lazarus] had already been in the tomb four days. Now Bethany was near Jerusalem, about two miles off; and many of the Jews had come to Martha and Mary, to console them concerning their brother. Martha therefore, when she heard that Jesus was coming, went to meet Him; but Mary still sat in the house.
Martha therefore said to Jesus, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. Even now I know that whatever You ask of God, God will give You."' (11:17-22)
As we read, we want to take note of the different ways in which Martha and Mary respond. When they learn that Jesus has arrived, Martha goes out to meet Him; but Mary stays at the house. As Martha approaches Jesus, she lays her complaint before Him: "If you had been here, my brother would not have died." Yet even as she expresses her hurt and pain, she maintains a sense of discretion and deference. "Even now," she says, "I know that whatever You ask of God, God will give You."
Did she understand what she was saying? Was she asking Him to pray for her comfort and consolation? Surely that would not have been too much to ask for. Anyone can pray for a bereaved friend to be comforted and consoled. Could the thought have crossed her mind that maybe, just maybe, this rabbi and prophet from Nazareth could raise her brother back to life? It's seems not, for notice how the exchange proceeds:
'Jesus said to her, "Your brother shall rise again." Martha said to Him, "I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day."' (11:23)
To Martha's mind, Jesus was offering her the hope of a far-away and distant resolution. Certainly the last day was a very, very long way away. She could look forward to one day being reunited with her brother. But that day surely wouldn't be this day, or the next day, or the one after that. And all of these days were the one's that she would have to deal with, and they were shaping up to be pretty bleak. Yes, she could look forward to a far and distant day when all would be made right. But such hope was pretty useless for addressing the needs of this day.
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Is that all that Jesus has to offer this woman? Is that the best that He could do or can do? --as she gazes at a life and future bereft of meaning and happiness? Some people think so. Some people teach that we just have to put up with the bleakness of this life with nothing more than the promise that it will all come right in the end. But I don't think that's what Jesus taught. In fact, He tries to correct Martha's thinking on just this point:
'Jesus said to her, "I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in Me shall live even if he dies, and everyone who lives and believes in Me shall never die. Do you believe this?"' (11:25-26)
What does Jesus mean? At first it sounded like He was offering no hope at all. And now it sounds like He's offering a hope that no sane person could take seriously. "Everyone who lives and believes in Me
shall never die"??? By my estimates, every person who has ever believed in Jesus has died. All of the apostles did. Every priest or pastor who has ever lived has. And in our churches today, we continue to preach about the hope of a future resurrection. But resurrection just means coming back to life
from the dead. Are all of us simply failing to believe in Jesus? Or was Jesus just mistaken in what He said?
We'll talk about this more at the end. I think it will be enough, for now, if we can understand that Jesus is trying to make clear to Martha that the hope of resurrection and the hope of life are for
right now. Martha thinks that the hope of resurrection is about something in the far and distant future that has nothing to do with what she is going through in the present. But Jesus tells her that the hope of resurrection and life is in
Him. And
He is with her,
right now. So the hope of resurrection and life is for her
right now. At this point, I think she still doesn't understand. But when Jesus asks her, "Do you believe this?" she says to Him:
'"Yes, Lord; I have believed that You are the Christ, the Son of God, even He who comes into the world." And when she had said this, she went away, and called Mary her sister, saying secretly, "The Teacher is here, and is calling for you." And when she heard it, she arose quickly, and was coming to Him.
Now Jesus had not yet come into the village, but was still in the place where Martha met Him. The Jews then who were with her in the house, and consoling her, when they saw that Mary rose up quickly and went out, followed her, supposing that she was going to the tomb to weep there. Therefore, when Mary came where Jesus was, she saw Him, and fell at His feet, saying to Him, "Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died."' (11:27-32)
These are the only words that Mary speaks in this story. Martha, we've seen, talks quite a bit with Jesus. But Mary has only these words for Jesus: "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." She presents the same complaint to Jesus that Martha presented, but without the attitude of discretion or deference.
I don't get the impression that Mary was a very discrete or deferential person. Martha knew her place and carried a strong sense duty and propriety with her everywhere she went. When Jesus visited their home, Martha knew that she was supposed to play the role of conscientious hostess. And so, on one occasion, she ran herself positively ragged preparing food and making sure that everything was just right for Jesus and the other guests. And where was Mary when all of this was going on? Seated on the floor at Jesus' feet, probably resting her arm upon his knee.
On another occasion, Mary was so overwhelmed by love for and devotion to Jesus that she took a vial of perfume worth $40,000 and dumped it all on His feet. She didn't place it on his head, which would have made sense. She didn't use just a drop, which would still have been lavish. She emptied it all on His feet. And Jesus had to positively shield her from the disciples and other guests who were outraged and incensed that she would act in such a careless and irresponsible manner.
Mary, it seems, was not a very discrete or deferential person. I imagine her being the 'baby' sister of the family. She was probably spoiled as a child by her parents. And she was probably also spoiled by her big brother, Lazarus. Lazarus must have been a very affectionate and even doting older brother. He and Mary must have shared a very special bond. So I imagine that she must have been much more deeply affected and much more deeply wounded by the loss of her brother.
It's no surprise, then, that she stayed at the house when Jesus arrived. And she only came out to Him when He called for her. And when she came to Him, her only words were words of accusation, bitterness, resentment: "Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died." Maybe she didn't have the strength to say anything else. Maybe it took all her energy to hold it together long enough to whisper those few hoarse words, before collapsing at His feet in a flood of tears and cries and anguish.
And how did Jesus respond? Did He tell her, "Your brother shall rise again"? Did He tell her, "I am the resurrection and the life"? He didn't do any of those things. He said those things to Martha but not to Mary. Why? Because they were two different people. Because Mary's pain was different from Martha's pain. Jesus didn't apply a one-size-fits-all band-aid to the hurt that these women had experienced. Instead He responded to each of these women as unique individuals.
He talked to Martha. Why? Because Martha was at a place where she was able and willing to talk about her brother's death. But He didn't talk to Mary, because she wasn't at that place. Instead He wept with her.
'When Jesus therefore saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her, also weeping, He was deeply moved in spirit, and was troubled, and said, "Where have you laid him?" They said to Him, "Lord, come and see." Jesus wept.' (11:33-35)
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We can learn a great deal from the way in which Jesus responded to the individuals that He encountered. When Jesus healed people, He didn't use one formula. When He taught, it wasn't dry and repetitious. And many people are made nervous by this fact. We want to know exactly how we should pray so that we can guarantee that God will hear us and that He'll do what we want. But in two of the key places where Jesus taught about prayer (in Matthew 6:9-13 and Luke 11:2-4), the "formulas" He gave don't match up. Maybe that's because the Lord's Prayer was never meant to be a "formula." Maybe the words of healing that Jesus sometimes spoke were never meant to set a firm precedent. And maybe, when it comes to handling grief and helping people through serious loss, there are no "right words" or "right methods" that will just make everything better. And what that means is that when we're with people who are suffering, we actually have to listen to them and pay attention to them. And we can't rely upon sure methods or formulas to fix it all.
But having considered that, let's now return to the story, because Jesus isn't done dealing with these women. We watched Him talk to Martha, though it's not clear that she understood His words fully. We watched Him weep with Mary. There were people standing around them who saw that too and this is how some of them responded:
'And so the Jews were saying, "Behold how He loved him!" But some of them said, "Could not this man, who opened the eyes of him who was blind, have kept this man also from dying?"' (John 11:36-37)
This question is still lurking and looming. It's a question many of us have asked. It's all well and good to know that Jesus is sensitive to our hurt and our pain, that He can respond to our unique situation and circumstances, but that still leaves unanswered the question, "Why does He let these bad things happen?" Why does God allow wasting disease to take hold of us and our loved ones? Why does He allow the cruel and wicked to have their way? Why doesn't He shield us from loneliness and depression? Why does God allow bad things to happen in the first place? That's what these people are wondering. Does Jesus answer their question? This is what He does do:
'Jesus therefore again being deeply moved within, came to the tomb. Now it was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. Jesus said, "Remove the stone." Martha, the sister of the deceased, said to Him, "Lord, by this time there will be a stench, for he has been dead four days." Jesus said to her, "Did I not say to you, if you believe, you will see the glory of God?" And so they removed the stone.' (11:38-40)
If it wasn't clear before, it's pretty clear now that Martha did not understand what Jesus had said to her earlier about Lazarus rising again. And even at the moment when she gives directions to remove the stone, she may still not understand. But Jesus has extended an invitation to her: "If you believe, you will see the glory of God," and Martha knows enough about Jesus that she's willing to put her trust in Him. Then what does Jesus do:
'And Jesus raised His eyes, and said, "Father, I thank Thee that Thou heardest Me. And I knew that Thou hearest Me always; but because of the people standing around I said it, that they may believe that Thou didst send Me."' (11:41-42)
What is Jesus doing here? He's praying. He's talking to God. Why? So that the people will understand that God sent Him and is with Him. But why is that important? These couple verses may strike many as odd or rather out of place. Sure most of us will grant that it's a good thing to pray, and we may recognize that Jesus did spend an awful lot of time in prayer. But as prayers go, this is a rather odd one. Jesus is thanking God for listening to Him, and that may seem strange to us just because of its obviousness.
And yet maybe it's just the obvious point that we're most likely to forget. Here, as Jesus prepares to perform a miracle, He pauses to draw people's attention to the fact that God hears Him. But doesn't everyone know that? Maybe they do, but maybe they don't. Martha said, earlier, "Even now I know that whatever You ask of God, God will give You," but did she really believe that? She thought that her hope for life and resurrection were far away. Is it possible that she thought that God was also far away? During that conversation Jesus reminded her that hope and resurrection were close at hand. And now, as He prays, He reminds everyone that God is close at hand.
Jesus is not drawing people's attention just to the fact that God is close to Him. He is also letting them know that if they believe in Him, then God will be close to them as well. All of these were very devout people and cared a great deal about God, but as we've looked through this story, we've seen that for Martha, and probably for Mary and the people around, hope and God seem to be very distant. And Jesus is reminding them all that hope and God are very near. And having reminded them of that fact through His words, He now demonstrates that truth with His deeds:
'And when He had said these things, He cried out with a loud voice, "Lazarus, come forth." He who had died came forth, bound hand and foot with wrappings; and his face was wrapped around with a cloth. Jesus said to them, "Unbind him, and let him go." Many therefore of the Jews who had come to Mary and beheld what He had done, believed in Him. But some of them went away to the Pharisees, and told them the things which Jesus had done."' (John 11:43-46)
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It's a happy ending for Martha, Mary, and Lazarus. The family is reunited again. Their hope is restored. They can now look to the future without fear and with confidence.
Now what about you? Are you satisfied with the ending? Are you ready now to go and face the world? Maybe not. You may be thinking to yourself, "Well everything worked out fine for those guys, but that's not how it goes with me. If God were to heal me or restore my loved one or fix my problem or keep me from having problems to begin with, I could be happy and contented too. But as long as He isn't, I don't see how this story does much for me." And in trying to make sense of this story and how it relates to the real life issues that we deal with, we need to be careful that we don't fall into the trap that Martha almost did--of thinking that where the real hope lies is in the far-and-away distant future.
How then can we make sense of this story? Does this story offer anything to help me with my grief and sorrow and loss
right now? Does Jesus have anything to offer me in my grief and sorrow and loss
right now? That's the question we started with. Have we gotten any closer to an answer?
We have gotten closer to an answer, but it may be hard to see because we have a tendency to focus on Jesus' miracles and not on Jesus Himself. What do I mean by that? Notice how I spoke earlier about the end of the story: "It's a happy ending for Martha, Mary, and Lazarus. The family is reunited again. Their hope is restored. They can now look to the future without fear and with confidence." Now you may have just run through that without a second thought but we actually need to stop and think about those words.
Why was their hope restored? Why could they look to the future without fear and with confidence? Was it because Lazarus was raised from the dead? Or was it because of
the Person who raised Lazarus from the dead? These two things are different. You see, we tend to focus on the fact that Lazarus was raised from the dead, on the fact that a person was healed, on the fact that the problem was fixed, and we tend to make our hope and confidence dependent on those things. When things are going well, we have lots of hope and confidence. When things are going badly, we lose our hope and confidence. But Jesus doesn't tell us to put our faith, trust, hope, and confidence in those things. Rather, He invites us to place our faith, trust, hope, and confidence
in Him. "I am the resurrection and the life," Jesus says.
When Jesus performs miracles, like healing the sick and raising the dead, many people interpret that as licensing us to call upon God to heal the sick and raise the dead whenever we want. 'Jesus did it once, so He clearly has the power; so He should do it for me whenever I need it or want it.' Hopefully it's clear that that is a badly confused perspective. The person who thinks that is not
trusting in Jesus but only
trying to use Jesus. When Jesus heals the sick or raises the dead, what we should take from that is a lesson about God's power and goodness, so that if God chooses not to heal or act miraculously in a particular situation we can say something like this to ourselves: 'Well I know that God is powerful enough to fix this situation, so if He doesn't then I'm still going to trust Him because I've seen and know that He's good and so He must have something better for me." But even
that won't really provide a satisfying answer to the problem of pain and suffering, hurt and loss. Let's look closer at why.
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Let me recap (before continuing) in case you've lost the thread of the argument. Many people may look at the story of Martha, Mary, and Lazarus and fail to find comfort or encouragement there. They will see that everything worked out for that family (i.e. Lazarus was resurrected) but because they don't see God acting in such remarkable ways in their own situations, they aren't comforted. I'm suggesting that such people fail to find comfort in the story of this family because they are looking for comfort in the wrong place. They think that the comfort lies in the circumstances being fixed and not in Jesus Himself.
I've suggested, moreover, that the purpose of Jesus' miracles is not primarily to show us how God is going to (or should) work in our lives. After all, (1) I pointed out earlier that Jesus doesn't work by hard formulas and (2) that would practically amount to an invitation to put our trust in the right circumstances obtaining and not in Jesus anyway. Rather, the purpose of Jesus' miracles is to help us understand how good and powerful Jesus is so that we can place our trust and confidence
in Him.
Now some people will express this last idea by saying that when God doesn't intervene to fix our problems, we can (and should) trust that He has something better for us. This is a fine response as far as it goes. But it doesn't go very far. Many people who take this line just end up withdrawing their trust from God until things actually do get better--and that's basically the same thing as not trusting in God. And if you carry this line of thought too far, then you're right back where Martha was, placing your hope in a last day that is so far away that it has absolutely nothing to do with your present circumstances and certainly has nothing to offer you in the midst of them.
Some people will keep on running around and around this little circle trying to find comfort in either present circumstances or future circumstances. They want God to fix their problems right now. Or, if God doesn't do that, then they try to find some justification for their present difficult circumstances by appealing to some greater good that will obtain at some time in the future. Or they just try to comfort themselves with the thought that one day everything will be alright or with the thought that their difficulties are part of some larger plan. But I'm suspicious that all of these routes, ultimately, will be unsatisfying. Not all of them are completely unsatisfying. I think that there is a sound justification for God's permitting evil in the world. I think that our pain can be (and/or is being) incorporated into some larger plan. And if you're in the middle of dealing with a loss or hurt, if you're wrestling with pain or despair, these truths may help to comfort you. In the same way, it surely was a very joyous thing for Martha and Mary when Lazarus was raised from the dead. But none of those things, by itself, can do the job of bringing comfort and healing to a broken heart. None of these will bring lasting wholeness. There is only one thing that can do that; there is only one final answer to our grief and sorrow, and that is Jesus Christ Himself.
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Now many will find this answer just bizarre. What does it even mean to say that Jesus Himself is the answer to our grief and suffering? That sounds cliche, like a one-size-fits-all pat answer, and completely unhelpful all at once. And I believe the reason for this is that we've confused "coming to Jesus" with "trusting in the idea of Jesus" or "holding certain ideas about Jesus." Some Christians seem to have bought into the bizarre idea that assenting intellectually and affirming certain propositions expressing historical claims about the person of Jesus is the same thing as trusting in or coming to Jesus. But no one has ever been helped by the mere act of assenting intellectually to a set of propositions. Only when such assent brings us into contact with the object in question is there opportunity for genuine change.
Along these lines, many well-meaning Christians will seek to direct the attention of the grieving person to God's larger plan, to various justifications for the reality of suffering, to the prospects for greater goods to come out of suffering, to some day in the distant far-off future when everything will be made right. And if a person is in the place that Martha is in, some real comfort may come from such words. But if someone is in Mary's place, such words may be entirely inappropriate. And even in those cases where words such as these are helpful, they cannot serve as the final or complete solution. The truth is that even miraculous healings cannot yield a final or lasting solution to the problem of loss or grief. If Martha and Mary's hope depended on the resuscitation of their brother, then just imagine how they reacted the next time that Lazarus came down with a cold. Placing our confidence in a set of circumstances, in things working out just right, in our having a sound and satisfying explanation of everything that's going on--that road will not lead to peace of mind.
But, one may wonder, in recommending that people who are grieving and suffering come to Jesus--that He Himself is the answer to our pain and loss--am I not recommending a one-size-fits-all solution? Am I not making the same mistake that I've just finished criticizing?
I'm not making that mistake. In encouraging those who are grieving and suffering to come to Jesus, I am not recommending a one-size-fits-all solution. Because Jesus is not a one-size-fits-all kind of guy. We saw that in His interaction with Martha and Mary. He didn't respond to Martha and Mary in the same way. Instead, His response to each was sensitive to the character and situation of each individual. And what I am saying is that those who come to and seek after Jesus will find a loving personal presence that is sensitive to each person's unique character, situation, and needs.
In fact, it is because Jesus doesn't treat us like cookie-cutter cut-outs that He doesn't always act miraculously in the way that He did for Martha and Mary. If every person came off a divine assembly-line, each one a copy of the same basic model, then it might turn out that all our problems could be solved by a simple miracle. But we're not created on an assembly line. Every person is unique and what we really need is not a fix for our problems but a God whose love and redemption covers and extends to even our problems. We need relationship--relationship that is responsive to who we are as unique individuals and pours goodness and love into our lives. What we need is something only Jesus can offer. It is Jesus Himself.
So the invitation is extended to each of us: Will you come to Jesus? When Jesus came to Bethany, Martha came to Him. It took Mary a little longer but she also came to Jesus. And my suggestion is that
that is where healing, help, and wholeness are found. Not in what Jesus
does (although that's often very helpful), not in what Jesus
promises (although we can look forward to those things with certainty), but in Jesus
Himself.
Very likely coming to Jesus will take some work. Many of us do such a poor job of relating to the people that we can see that relating to a person who is unseen poses quite a challenge. Many of us have such firmly entrenched ideas about what we think we need that it may be difficult for us to accept the kind of help that Jesus offers. Many of us have filled our lives with so much stuff and noise (in an effort to drown out our pain and brokenness) that we may not be able to hear Jesus' meek and gentle voice at first. Many of us have worked so hard at hiding either our pain or ourselves that actually coming out into the open (which is the primary place where God meets us) may prove quite difficult. Many of us are so used to thinking of Jesus just as an
idea or as a merely
historical figure, that it may take a great deal of work before we can comfortably talk
to Him as a
person. But in the same way that Jesus helped and worked with Martha, even though she didn't fully understand what was going on or what Jesus was offering or who He was, we can trust that Jesus is also ready to help and work with you and me.
But the first step is to come to Jesus, to seek Him out. As Martha did. As Mary did. And you may be surprised by what you find. As God declared to the people of Israel during a time when they were dealing with incredible loss, pain, despair, and hopelessness, "And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart." (Jeremiah 29:13)
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God is in this place,
And that reality, seen and understood by the grace of God in Christ Jesus through the work of the Holy Spirit, makes all the difference in the world.
