So That You May Believe

The small house was in tumult.  Mourners were strewn about the living room, wailing for the deceased.  It had been days, but the grief had not subsided.  After all, it wasn’t his time; he was too young.  This wasn’t how the story was supposed to end.

How different this house had been just five days earlier. A great calm had rested over the small family.  The two women alternated between doing chores and tending to their brother.  They were concerned, but they were not worried.  Each time their brother struggled for a breath, they would reassure him, saying, “Don’t worry.  The Master is coming.  He’ll be here any minute.”  But the minutes dragged on into hours. His condition worsened until, finally, Lazarus died.      

As their brother’s final breath left his body, a hundred questions entered the minds of Mary and Martha. What had they done wrong?  Hadn’t Jesus received their message?  Had He misunderstood?  Were they lacking faith?  Or, worse yet, did Jesus simply not care?  The possibilities swirled through their heads like gale-force winds, shaking the foundations of their faith.

It seemed to them that the situation was all wrong. Jesus was supposed to receive the message, rush over, sweep into the room at the last second, and majestically heal their brother.  But Jesus didn’t hurry. He didn’t come at all.  He waited.  In fact, He downright delayed, and it didn’t seem fair. Here was Jesus, gallivanting all around the countryside, healing everyone else’s brother, while their own brother lay dying. Who were those strangers to Him, anyway?  Jesus had loved Lazarus!   Mary and Martha had trusted Jesus.  But now their faith was shaken. 

It was getting hard to believe. 

Several days earlier, Jesus and His disciples had been a few cities away.  Jesus was just wrapping up a parable when, suddenly, a wheezing messenger ran up to Jesus.  Panting from the urgency of his journey, he informed Jesus that the one He loved was sick.  Hearing this, the disciples immediately began packing up shop.  They stuffed their bread into their knapsacks and fastened their sandals a notch tighter. Within moments, they were ready to go.  It was only then that they noticed Jesus hadn’t moved.  He stood quietly, watching them.  “Well, aren’t we going to go heal him?” they asked, puzzled by His apparent apathy.  

“Don’t worry. His sickness won’t end in death.  We’ll stay here for a few more days.” The disciples hesitantly glanced at each other, still clutching their bags.  He reassured them, “You have to believe me.” 

Two days later, however, Jesus began packing up.  
“Where are we going, Lord?” they asked.  
“Lazarus is dead.”
“But you said…”
“It wasn’t time to go to him yet.  Now it is time.  For your sakes I’m glad that we waited until things got to this point, so that you may believe.” Leave it to Jesus to have an answer like that, they thought as they re-packed their bags.

Cautious, pensive Martha was the first to meet Jesus outside the town. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but she was calm. “Lord,” she said, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Her voice broke, but she continued. “But even now, I know that God will do whatever you ask.” 
“Your brother will rise again,” said Jesus.
“Yes, I know he will rise again at the resurrection, but we were hoping…” She stopped. 
“Martha,” He said gently. “I am the resurrection and the life.  Those who believe in me will live, even though they die. Do you believe this?” With a quavering faith, she nodded her head.
“I do believe you know what you’re doing, Lord. But I don’t know how to explain this to Mary.”
“Will you send your sister to see me?” 

When Mary heard that Jesus was asking for her, she ran to him and fell to the ground. Her body shook with the force of her sobs. “Lord, if you had been here, my brother wouldn’t have died!” The mourners were right at her heels, weeping for their loss. The sorrow was palpable.
Something about the situation moved the spirit of Jesus. Maybe it was empathy for their grief. Maybe it was a holy sorrow at the state of a broken world. Some of the mourners thought He felt guilty for waiting too long.
That He could have prevented it was undeniable. Why He had not done so was inscrutable. All they knew was that Lazarus had died, and Jesus wept. 

As the group approached the tomb, the wailing reached a crescendo, but Jesus became quiet. Softly, he said, “Remove the stone.” His voice was barely audible to the crowd, but Martha had heard him. 
“Lord,” she said, “it’s too late.”
“Is it ever too late for God?” Jesus asked. Martha was quiet. “Remember, Martha, I am the resurrection and the life. Do you believe this?”
“I…”
Even more gently, He asked, “Do you believe?”
“I believe, Lord.”
The stone was rolled aside, the light of day shone into the tomb, and at the command of Messiah, Lazarus came forth. 

And all those who saw it believed.