Ezekiel 37:12-14, Psalm 130:1-8 Romans 8:8-11, John 11:1-45
Each time I read John’s account of Lazarus being called back to life by Jesus, I am faced with opposing feelings. First, I think of my mom. Growing up, we had a children’s bible that used a whimsical depiction of Lazarus with one eye opened, peeking to the light at the entrance to the cave after Jesus called him to come out. Now, in my thirties, we still laugh about it together. Second, as with most scripture, something different always jumps out and moves me in a way I did not expect.
About 12 years ago, my fiancée passed away due to complications with Cystic Fibrosis. I was 20, and while I knew we wouldn’t have all of my lifetime together, I was happy with the time we were graced with. I was deployed to the Middle East, and she went into the hospital for routine care, but it quickly became evident that this time was different, and that the normal two weeks wasn’t going to happen. After about two months, I received the call that she was not going to get better. Thanks to a great leadership team (and now looking back, God’s hand), I made it home before she passed. I was lucky enough to spend some of her last few moments on this world with our families joined together to be with her. My faith faltered as I fought through misplaced anger with God. I battled with the regret of my imperfections in our relationship and fell into a downward spiral, demanding God to do something to ease the pain and the burden of loss. I raged with fury, wept, and was constantly trying to decipher why He hadn’t answered my prayers to make her well. Could He not feel my pain in losing my best friend? Could he not feel the dissipation of the life we had envisioned together? In this grief, I turned away from God, thinking of Him as uncaring and absent. In this sin, I couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Jesus wept.” Two words. Two inexplicably simple words that point to the duality of Jesus being fully man and fully God. Christ knows that He is about to raise Lazarus from the dead (fully God), yet He still grieved, empathetic not only for Lazarus’ suffering, but also his grieving friends and family (fully human). Grief is tough (what an understatement!). As Christians, we battle with the knowledge and hope that we reunite with our loved ones again and pray for their souls, but still grieve as we miss them fiercely. John’s Gospel shows us that Christ felt this exact same way. He KNEW that He would raise Lazarus from the dead, yet He still suffered in Lazarus’ loss.
As in the account of Lazarus, Jesus is with us in our suffering. He was with me in my grief and even through my sin, embraced me, and sat with me. He placed people in my life that brought me back to the church and a strong faith, including my now wife and two children. Without that grief, I would not be the man, the father, the friend, or the follower of Christ that I am today. For that, and all the blessings in my life, I am deeply grateful.
As we prepare throughout Lent, let us try to be like Christ. Let us be with people in their troubles, die to ourselves and respond, like Lazarus, to Jesus’ call to come out. Let us be unbound, letting go of our worldly desires in service to Jesus Christ. If we are suffering, or experience others suffering, let us remember that Jesus is there with us, loving each and every one of us, and that we are worthy of that love.
Our author today wishes to remain anonymous. He shares his story hoping that his journey may help someone who needs to hear these words.