Martha, Mary and Resurrection Hope

He had the big picture.

He knew how the story would end. It would be good. Glorious, in fact.

But the sisters were still in the dark. And they were hurting. Badly.

Martha

Martha heard that her Lord was coming. At last.

They had sent for him days ago. The Great Healer. Their personal friend. But he had not come then. And now it was too late. Much too late.

She slipped away from the activity of the house. Shoulders slumped, dressed in a drab tunic befitting a sister in mourning, she shuffled towards her Lord. In response to his nod of invitation, she sat beside him on a low stone wall just outside the edge of town.

Holding her emotions in check, a pounding headache the only sign of the tension within, she initiated the conversation. “Lord,” Martha said, her voice artificially calm and controlled, “If you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

Logical and methodical she was, even in her grief.

“But even now, I know that God will give you whatever you ask.”

What was she expecting? Her incredulity an hour or so later at Jesus’ suggestion that the tombstone be rolled away from her brother’s resting place would suggest that she did not expect to receive her brother back from the dead that very day.

Quietly, Jesus uttered the unimaginable. “Your brother will rise again.”

And then, in the context of back-and-forth questions and answers on the topic of ‘resurrection’, Jesus revealed a profound truth about himself. It is a truth that has encouraged believers in the centuries since, myself included.

I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die.

John 11:25-26 NIV

Mary

As soon as she heard that Jesus was asking for her, Mary bolted out of the house. I imagine her hair flying behind her in disarray. The Bible tells us that her friends, who were trying to comfort her, followed behind, supposing that she was rushing to the tomb to mourn.

It was a noisy group that approached Jesus. Mary wept, as we know from Scripture. Being so expressive, I expect that she did so loudly and without restraint. Her friends wept too. Can you imagine the cacophony?

Upon reaching Jesus, Mary threw herself on the dusty ground, her tears dripping onto the dirt. She looked up from the ground, mud now marking her flushed face. “Lord,” she sobbed, “If you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

Unlike his interaction with Martha, Jesus did not try to teach deep theology to Mary in that moment. No, he simply said, “Where have you laid him?”

And then salty tears flowed down his own face. His shoulders crumpled and he, too, sobbed.

The big picture

All along, Jesus had the big picture. The sisters did not. Yet Jesus met with each of them where they were, with logic for Martha and emotion for Mary. His responses were not contrived. The sympathy was genuine.

Days earlier, upon receiving news of Lazarus’ illness, Jesus had prophesied something quite extraordinary. The Bible explains it like this.

So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Lord, the one you love is sick.”

When he heard this, Jesus said, “This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it.” Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. Yet when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days.

John 11:3-6 NIV

Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus.

Yet he stayed where he was two more days.

For there was to be a glorious end to this saga.

Dad

Fast forward to 2021.

It has been a year. A full 365 days.

On 9 August 2020, my father breathed his last. In the weeks prior to that, kind staff members had wheeled him to a window at pre-arranged times so that we could observe his decline.

Lockdown sucks.

I can’t begin to fathom what glory is like, but that’s what Dad experiences now. He was released from lockdown – both in the community around him and from his failing body – a full year ago.

But some of us, like Martha and Mary, still grieve. Oh yes, it is right to grieve. And we have a very great hope for an eternity with God. Yet in the interim, Jesus meets us where we are at. He meets logical, restrained people like Martha with theological explanations. He meets emotional, ‘let-it-all-out’ people like Mary with tears.

He has met me through what I understood was a ‘requirement’ to meditate on the passage on which this blog post is based (John 11:17-27) this past weekend as preparation for an online gathering. Actually, it wasn’t required after all. But it was helpful, and I accept that as a gentle touch from Jesus himself.

He knows our limitations. He knows our personalities. And he meets us in our weaknesses and short-sightedness.

HOPE

Martha and Mary trusted their Lord implicitly. And, in his sovereignty, he saw fit to call Lazarus back from the dead as a powerful pointer to the glory of God, a glory which he embodied.

We don’t have that luxury. And, to be honest, much as I miss Dad, I am actually pleased that he has missed a year filled with frequent lockdowns.

When I ‘zoom out’ to the perspective that Jesus had that day when he met Martha and Mary outside of Bethany, I am filled with hope for eternity. But when I ‘zoom in’ to the perspective of the two grief-stricken sisters, I am sad. We miss those we loved.

I take comfort in two truths gleaned from this meditation on the story of Jesus’ interactions with Martha and Mary just before he called Lazarus back from the dead.

First, Jesus meets us where we are at, understanding our finite perspective, as well as how we are wired. He meets us and he cares for us.

Second, Jesus has authority even over death. In a very real way which my finite mind struggles to fathom, those who have died in Jesus are now enjoying life in all its fullness.

As our Lord promised, those who believe in Jesus will live, even though they die. And whoever lives and believes in Jesus will never die.

And so we hope.

Even as Jesus meets us in our sadness.