If You had been here...

As of late, I've been struggling with a few specific issues where reality has not lined up with my expectations.  Frustrated, tired and ready to just give up,  my mentor encouraged me to turn again to the story of the death of Lazarus.

In case you don't remember the story (found in John 11), Lazarus- the brother of Mary and Martha- was ill.  The sisters, knowing the healing power of Christ, sent for Jesus.  But instead of immediately coming to their aid, Jesus takes his sweet time, eventually showing up after Lazarus is dead.

Mary and Martha are pissed (that's the Liz translation.)  First Martha confronts Jesus: ""Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. ²²But even now I know that whatever you ask from God, God will give you."  Then, a little later, it's Mary's turn: "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." 

The Gospel tells us that Jesus was deeply moved by Mary's weeping (apparently Martha's matter-of-factness was less moving), and upon seeing the dead Lazarus, Jesus himself weeps.  Eventually, we see that Jesus wakes Lazarus from his slumber, and lots of people believe.  Yay!

 
But the part that really hit me this time isn't the healing; there is something about the words of both Martha and Mary that sum up almost exactly how I feel about some of the things I'm struggling through right now: "if YOU had been here, my brother would not have died."  It's the feeling of, "Come on God, you're the ONE PERSON who can do something about this!"  "If you really loved me, this wouldn't have happened/been happening."


But what does Christ do?  Wave his magic wand? (Well, eventually, yes.  But that's not the point.)  He, first and foremost, meets each woman where she is- validating their frustrations and standing with them in their struggles.

I think sometimes when I struggle with things that I know God could do something about, I miss the part in the middle where Christ enters in with our sufferings.  That he literally wants to mourn with us.  I'm so quick to have him "work His magic" that I forget that a big part of real relationship is allowing Him into these horribly intimate moments of despair and hurt. 

And then I see His words at both the beginning and end of the passage: "Lazarus is dead, and for your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him" and Then Jesus looked up and said, “Father, I thank you that you have heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I said this for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe that you sent me.”

I have to believe that the experience of frustration has some sort of purpose in producing belief.  I don't really understand it completely, but I can't deny that it's very clearly there.  There is something to be said about believing we will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living and, ultimately, as Jesus himself says in this passage, rest in the promise of life eternal: “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die."


I've been reminded and encouraged that Christ wants to enter in with us in our times of pain.  Not just so He can "make it better" but because this is what real relationship looks like.  And at the same time, I'm encouraged that He does sometimes do things to help our unbelief, to encourage us to trust and believe more deeply in Him, His providence and His grace, ultimately pointing to the greatest thing He ever did, laying down his life for us.