Chapter 20

Did they not, however, feel assured that Jesus would manifest His love to them in the way which seemed to _them_ the best way,--nay, the one way only by which they could receive comfort, and be relieved from their anxiety and sorrow,--and that was by delivering Lazarus from sickness and death? For they could not but recall at that moment the many instances in which Jesus had displayed His power and love during the three years He had lived amidst the sorrowing and suffering in Judea; how unwearied His goodness had ever been; how "multitudes" had come to Him, and "He healed them all;" how health had flowed from His hands and His lips, and from His _very_ garments; how He had showered down His blessings upon Gentile as well as Jew, upon those who were aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and were accounted as "dogs;" how He had healed by merely speaking a word at a distance, and even anticipated prayer, by restoring a dead son to his widowed mother, who had never asked or expected such a blessing. And now! will He refuse to help His own beloved friend? Shall strangers, heathen, publicans and sinners, be promptly heard and answered, and Lazarus whom He loved forgotten? Impossible! The healing word must be spoken, or Jesus himself will come and manifest Himself as mighty to save!

Who can doubt but that such were the anticipations of Martha and Mary, when they sent in their distress the message to their Lord and Friend--"Lazarus, whom thou lovest, is sick?"

The messenger has departed. With what anxiety must they have measured out the time within which it was possible for Jesus to receive the intelligence. They who have sent far away for a physician in a critical case, when every minute was precious, can sympathise with their anxiety. Time passes: has the Saviour yet received the tidings of their grief? Probably not, for there is no improvement in Lazarus. The healing word has not been spoken. Time passes: now He must have heard! Yet Lazarus is no better. Time passes: and the messenger has returned, but without Jesus! Yet surely not without some message of consolation? some hope held out of relief? He brings neither! Jesus had said, indeed, that this sickness was not unto death, or rather, was "unto death only for the glory of God, that the Son of God might be glorified thereby." But what means this? Does it mean that Lazarus was to die? Has Jesus, then, actually refused to aid them? Though He did not promise to come, or had not spoken the word of healing, He must surely do either I It cannot be, no it _cannot_ be, that He will desert them, or leave them alone in this trial! "Jesus, tarry not!" might have been their wailing cry: "Lazarus whom thou lovedst is sinking fast, and soon all will be over with him. Friends, neighbours, look along the road, watch the brow of that distant hill, look along that valley, and see if there are any signs of His coming?"

Alas! 'tis all in vain Lazarus is dead! And beside that silent body the two sisters are breaking their hearts. Life and death, faith and unbelief, are struggling terribly for the mastery, and strange thoughts of Christ flit across their minds like storm-clouds athwart the sun. One brother is gone, the other has not come. The one dearly loved them; the other!--they had believed in Jesus as the Messiah: they had loved Him with reverent and deep affection, they had worshipped--and now!--God of Abraham, forsake us not utterly! Our fathers trusted Thee, and were not put to shame! Oh, deliver our feet from falling, and our souls from going down to the pit! Lord, help our unbelief!

In some such form as this the storm of doubt and anguish must have torn the minds of those mourners. But the storm is not yet over; the deepest darkness has not yet come. Their brother is dead. Death with his marks, which once seen can never be mistaken, stamps every lineament of that well-known countenance. It is death's colour on the cheek; death's cold stiffness in the limbs; and no hand but his could so close those eyes and make rigid those lips. There is no swoon here! Swathe him then in the garments of the grave; make ready for the funeral; let him be buried for ever out of sight; follow him to the ancestral tomb, and let the other household dead be remembered, and the other sad processions from the home of the living to the home of the lost and gone be recalled, and think that as they never returned, so never can he. Lay the body gently down beside those who have been long sleeping there; look at it; remember the past since childhood; weep and say farewell; return, Martha and Mary, with wrung hearts to your home, and see the empty room and listen for a voice that is no more, and experience a second death in the emptiness, the silence of this changed abode, and let the heaviest burden of all be borne, the deepest sorrow of all be endured--_the doubt of a Saviour's love!_

Yes, that terrible agony of doubt was there. Other friends came to sympathise with them, and to be present with them at the funeral; but this Friend was absent, and did not send even one comforting message! Of what avail is His coming now? for Lazarus has been dead four days, and corruption is already doing its foul work on his body. Here is "darkness that might be felt!"

Would that we could feel how real all this mysterious sorrow must have been to those sisters--_our_ sisters, with our hearts, affections, and sympathies--that so we may be the more prepared to receive the blessed teaching which this narrative is designed to afford, and have our faith strengthened by seeing how the darkness and perplexity which belong so often to God's providential dealings towards us, may be caused by the deepest workings of that very love which we do not for a time see, and therefore may in our blindness and weakness for a time doubt.

But we must now look at the other portion of this history, which interprets the one we have been considering, and reveals the mind and ways of Jesus, now, as then, to His sorrowing friends.

We read that "_when_ Jesus heard that Lazarus was sick," "he abode two days still in the same place where he then was." But His thoughts and His heart were all the while in Bethany. He saw all that was taking place there. He was cognisant of every groan and tear; yet He did nothing to prevent the progress of the disease, or to lessen the intensity of the sorrow. At the very moment when the sisters watch their brother's last breath, Jesus "said unto them plainly, Lazarus is dead,"

Let us inquire, then, whether we can discover any reasons which could have induced our Lord thus to prolong His stay at Bethabara, and to absent Himself from Bethany. What means this deep calm and quiet at such a time beside the troubled waters of the Jordan?

Now, we must ever remember that the grand end of all our Lord did, was that "God might be glorified thereby,"--that the character of the Father might be revealed in the fullest possible manner in and by Jesus the Son. But in order that this, in the circumstances in which He was then placed, might be accomplished, He had many things to consider; many complex interests pertaining to the kingdom of God to weigh and to reconcile, so as to bring out of them all glory to God in the highest, with good-will to man.

(_a._) Jesus had in the first place to consider the _good_ of His beloved _friends in Bethany_. _They_ were thinking probably of their own _comfort only_, and of that too as coming but in one way, by the deliverance of Lazarus from sickness or death. But there is something of more importance to immortal beings than mere comfort. Love to souls is a very different sentiment, and manifested in a very different manner, than love to mere animals. To get quit of grief; to have tears dried up and smiles restored; to be delivered from all anxiety, and relieved from the heavy burden of sorrow, never mind _how_,--this is surely not the highest end which one who, wisely and truly loved, would seek for his brother in adversity? The highest, the best, the enduring and eternal interests of the sufferer must _first_ be considered. His comfort, doubtless, cannot be overlooked, but then it must be such comfort as God can sympathise with and rejoice in; a comfort, therefore, which is in harmony with true spiritual life, and which will strengthen that life unto life eternal. Every other comfort is a delusion, a cheating of the soul, a laughter that must end at last in the experience of a deeper sorrow than before. He who bids us seek _first_ the kingdom of God and His righteousness, cannot discipline us or aid us to seek any lower good first, because He loves our true and highest good most. Jesus had therefore to consider how He could bring true _good_, and therefore true comfort in the end, out of this sickness and death, to Martha, Mary, and also to Lazarus. To restore the brother to his sisters--was this best for _them_, taking into account every circumstance of their history within and without? To restore Lazarus to life--to a world of sin and temptation, again to die--was this the best for _him_? These were solemn questions, which Divine love and wisdom alone could answer.

(_b._) But Jesus had to consider the good of _His disciples._ For years these simple-minded men had followed Him, and had been educating by Him to become the teachers of the world. HOW then shall this event be best turned to account for the strengthening of their faith, for the enlarging of their spiritual vision of God's glory, as revealed by His Son? But Jesus remembered them also: "I am glad," He said, "for _your_ sakes that I was not there, to the intent that ye may believe."

(_c._) Beyond the inner circle of His friends in Bethany and His more immediate followers, there was the multitude of poor, ignorant, fanatical, and _unbelieving Jews_--the wandering sheep, many of whom, had to be gathered into the fold of this the Good Shepherd. Jesus had their interests also at heart, as is evident from His prayer subsequently at the tomb of Lazarus: "_Because of the people_ which stand by I said it, that _they_ may believe that thou hast sent me."

(_d._) Nor must we, in contemplating the many objects of love which occupied the thoughts of the Saviour, forget how _intimately connected the raising of Lazarus was with His own death_. That last great miracle of Divine power and love--almost, if not His last on earth--was to mark the beginning of His own deepest humiliation and sorrow. The hatred of the Jews was at this time so intense, that Thomas was amazed that He should hazard a journey to a place so near Jerusalem as was Bethany. "The Jews of late sought to stone thee; and goest thou thither again?" And so dangerous did this journey seem, that while bravely resolving to accompany Him, Thomas said, "Let us also go, that we may die with him." But this hatred was to be intensified by the display of Christ's glory at the tomb of Lazarus; for we read that "from _that_ day forth they took counsel to put Him to death." The opening of the tomb to bring Lazarus forth was thus the opening of His own to descend thither as "crucified, dead, and buried." The gratitude of Mary for having her brother restored was soon to be unconsciously expressed by her anointing his mighty Restorer for His own burial. No wonder that Jesus paused ere He took this last step which intervened between Himself and the death which should end His work and mission upon earth.

(_e._) And, as including all these considerations and many more, _His own glory_ as the Divine Son of God was involved in what was to take place at Bethany. And this, again, involved the destinies of the human race, and the good and comfort of the Church throughout coming ages. Whatever became of Martha or Mary or Lazarus,--though the sisters should weep out their little day of life, and though their brother's sleep should be unbroken till the resurrection morning,--what was all this to the revealing of Jesus as the Saviour of men, and as the "resurrection and the life" of human bodies and of human souls? Inconceivably less in proportion than are the interests of one person to those of the whole universe! And thus you see that while those humble mourners, in the weakness of the flesh, and in their earthly short-sightedness, were thinking only of themselves, Jesus the Saviour of mankind had to think of many persons and of many things, so that every interest might be attended to, and the good of the whole kingdom of God be remembered, while not a hair on the head of Martha, Mary, or Lazarus was forgotten. Oh, blessed Saviour and glorious King! who can thus govern worlds and mould the ages of human history, while His ear is open to the prayers, and His thoughts occupied with the concerns, of the humblest mourners, as if they alone existed in the mighty universe of God!

Before shewing the blessed teaching which sufferers may gather from this twofold picture of mysterious sorrow and of thoughtful love, let us study for a moment the circumstances attending the meeting of Jesus with Martha and Mary. Many of these are deeply interesting and full of instruction; but I confine myself to one point only, the evidence which I cannot but think they afford of the shaken faith of the sisters for a time in the love of Jesus.

Martha was the first to meet Him outside of the town, where in quiet, and undisturbed by the noisy mourners from Jerusalem, and by their sympathising friends, Jesus desired, with His considerate kindness, to probe and heal those sorely wounded hearts. And what was her salutation? "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died!" What means this? Is it an expression of confidence only in His power? Is it a confession of faith? Or does it not rather evidence unbelief? Does it not imply a sorrowing complaint, uttered, indeed, with reverence, and in such gentle language as was compatible with sincere faith, but still a complaint from a wondering and disappointed because wrung spirit, expressed in language which suggested the additional question asked only in the heart, "_And why wert Thou not here_?" Jesus reasoned with her. She believes, yet still doubts and questions why He had not come; she trusts Him, yet sees no light with reference to His dealings towards themselves. One thing she will do, however, amidst the darkness--she will cling to Christ as her only hope and refuge! Mary remains in the house. Why? Was it that she had not heard of the arrival of Jesus, or of Martha having gone to meet Him? Or is her heart so torn by distracting thoughts, that for a moment she knows not what to do? She dare not say to Him all she feels. Her keen and sensitive heart is agonised by entertaining for a moment even the bare suspicion of unkindness on His part. She fights against the horrid thought, which, like a demon, torments her, yet she cannot yet quite banish it, and meet Him with the full, unreserved, gushing love which something tells her is His due. But however this may have been, a message from Himself rouses her: "The Master is come, and calleth for thee; and as soon as she heard that, she arose quickly and came unto him." But how did she meet Him! Ah! Martha and she have surely been together pondering over the mystery of His absence, and they have inwardly come to the same conclusion; and so she too fell at the Master's feet, with the same wailing cry from her full heart, "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died!" As she uttered these words, "Jesus wept!" There are expressions and single words in Scripture which reveal a whole heaven of glory--like the opening in the telescope, which, though but as a pin-point of light, reveals the glory of sun, moon, and stars. What a revelation of love is this--"Jesus wept!" But what mean these tears? They are visibly significant of much sorrow. The cup of the "Man of sorrows" was always full; what caused it thus to run over? Only twice in His life do we read of the Saviour's weeping,--now, when at Bethany, and in a few days afterwards, when entering Jerusalem during the week of His crucifixion. Did Jesus now weep from mere human sympathy with sisters mourning for a dead brother? or did He weep because He mourned their own lost faith in His love to them? We are well aware of the tenacity with which most people cling to the former method of accounting for the Saviour's tears, and what pain it seems to give when the latter view is pressed upon them, as if they were thereby robbed of some special source of comfort in affliction, and left without any other declaration in the Word of God--at all events, without any other incident in the life of Jesus--fitted to inspire confidence in His sympathy. It is not difficult to account for this feeling on our part. For it is much easier to understand tears shed for mere human suffering, than tears shed for human sin. The one kind of sorrow is common, the other is rare. The one is almost instinctive, and necessarily springs from that benevolence which belongs to us as men, but the other can only spring from that love of souls which belongs to us as "partakers of the sufferings of Christ," and from possessing, therefore, a realising sense of the infinite importance of a right or wrong state of being towards God, and from beholding the darkness of evil casting its dread shadows over a dear one's spirit. Hence an atheist can mourn over our loss of friends by death, while the man of God alone can mourn over our loss of God himself by unbelief. Then, again, every person welcomes the sympathy of another in his sorrows; while he might at the same time have no sympathy with the grief experienced by another for his sins. The one might be gladly welcomed as most loving, but the other be proudly rejected as most offensive.

Why therefore should true Christians cling with such fondness to the idea of Christ weeping with Martha and Mary, because they lost their brother, and not rather see a far deeper love and a source of far deeper comfort in his tears, because they had, for a moment even, lost their faith? Surely those who know Christ do not depend solely on such a proof as this of the reality of His humanity, and of His sympathy with the affliction of His brethren; nor can that kind of sympathy be the highest which can be afforded by all men whose hearts are not utterly steeled by selfish indifference. Besides, however real Christ's sympathy was with sorrow of every kind, why did He express it on this occasion more than on any other? Nay, why did He weep at the very moment when He purposed, by a miracle of power, to restore the dead brother to his sisters, and in a few minutes to turn their sorrow into joy? Why weep with those whose tears were shed in ignorance only of the coming event which was so soon to dry them? But the Saviour's tears came from a different and a profounder source! They welled out of a heart whose deep and tender love was not trusted in, but doubted even by those whom He loved most deeply and tenderly, and at the very moment too when He was about to pour forth upon them the richest treasure of His love, and to do exceeding abundantly above all they could ask or think. Remember only how He of all men loved; how as a man He longed for His brother's sympathy, and how as a holy Saviour He longed for His brother's good. Remember how earnestly He sought for the one grand result, that of hearty confidence in His goodwill, as the only restorative of humanity fallen and in ruins through the curse of unbelief. Remember, too, how lonely He was in the world; how few understood Him in any degree, or responded even feebly to the constant, boundless outpouring of His affection; and how many returned His good with evil, His love with bitterest hate;--remember all this, and conceive if you can what His feelings must have been when returning to this home of His heart, to this green spot amidst the wilderness of hateful distrust, with His whole soul full of such glorious purposes of love and self-sacrifice, and then at such a time to find his best and dearest friends smitten with the universal blight, fallen to the earth and prostrate in the dust under the crushing burden of unbelief! He does not weep, at first, when Martha addresses him; but when Mary, the loving and confiding--she of all on earth--complains; when faith has failed in even her!--oh, it is too much for His heart! "And thou too!"--"Jesus wept!" Ah! that shadow of death in such a soul as this was infinitely sadder to Him than the dead body of her brother, nay, than the contents of all the festering graveyards of the world! For what is death to sin? and what is the power which can restore by a word the dead body to life, in comparison with that which is required to restore an unbelieving soul to God? It was this unbelief, the most terrible spectacle which earth presents to the eye of a holy and loving Saviour, that made Him weep as He beheld it for a moment, like a demon-power taking possession of His own best beloved. And it was this same essential evil, and this alone, which made Him weep once again as He entered Jerusalem, when He cried, "How often would I have gathered you, but ye would not!"

In perfect accordance with this view, we read that when some of the Jews said, as He walked towards the tomb of Lazarus, "Could not this man, which opened the eyes of the blind, have caused that even this man had not died?" "Jesus _therefore again_ groaning in himself, cometh to the grave." For again the words expressed lost faith in His power, or in His love to "this man." In like manner, when Martha, as if to persuade Him not to attempt impossibilities, reminded Him of the long time in which Lazarus had lain in the grave, saying, "Lord, by this time he stinketh," Jesus sternly rebukes her, "Said I not unto thee, _that if thou wouldest believe_, thou shouldest see the glory of God?" And tell me, is there not inexpressible comfort in this love which mourns over sin as the greatest loss and the greatest sorrow? I can get many, as I have said, in the world to understand and to feel with me in all my sufferings from loss of wealth, of health, of friends, or of any earthly blessing. Relations, acquaintances, strangers, even enemies, could be found who would do so. But who will so love me as to carry my crushing burden of sin? Who can fully understand its exceeding sinfulness I Who can fathom the depths into which I have fallen, or enter the body of death which imprisons my spirit. One only, the truest, the best, the most loving of all, my Saviour! And His hatred of my sin, and His sorrow for it, is just the measure of His love to me, and of His desire to deliver me, and to make me a partaker of His own blessed rest and peace, through faith and love in His Father and my Father, in His God and my God!

I shall pass by the remaining facts in this narrative, the raising of Lazarus, and the memorable scene when Jesus sat as a guest with the family of Bethany, again restored to one another, and to Himself in love; and when Mary with unutterable thoughts anointed His feet with ointment, and wiped them with the hair of her head. I would rather occupy the space which remains, in gathering from what has been said a few general lessons of importance chiefly to mourners.

My suffering brother or sister! permit me to address you as if personally present with you, seeing your distress, and sharing it as those cannot choose but do who have themselves experienced the darkness of sorrow. Such darkness and perplexity I have known, and I so remember with deepest gratitude the strength and comfort which were then afforded by the revelation of the ways of Christ, as illustrated by this narrative, that I desire to help others as I have been myself helped.