Back in the 1970s, there was a series of TV commercials for a brokerage firm named E.F. Hutton. Every commercial followed the same basic script. Two people were in some crowded, busy location—jogging down a busy street … picking up their luggage at the airport baggage carousel …at a fancy wedding reception— and having a casual conversation about their investment portfolio. The first person says, “My broker says blah-blah-blah. What does your broker say?” And the second person would reply, “Well, my broker is E.F. Hutton, and E.F. Hutton says …” and with that everything around them would come to a complete standstill—people would freeze, tilt and turn their head, and put their hand behind their ear so they could hear what E.F. Hutton had to say.
When I was in college, we had a talent show called PowWow where each class had to come up with a class skit. One year we decided to do “commercials we’d like to see” and did spoofs of some of the more familiar TV ads of the day—one of which were these E.F. Hutton commercials. The setting we concocted was a viewing at a funeral home with a number of people grieving and crying and consoling each other. One person said, “My broker said it’s never too early to start preparing for your death. What does your broker say?” And then Person #2 said, “My broker is E.F. Hutton, and E.F. Hutton says …” and then everyone froze and put their hand to their ear. But what brought the house down was when the guy in the cardboard casket we’d created slowly raised up, tilted his head, and put his hand to his ear so he could hear as well.
When I read in John 11 the account of the raising of Lazarus—an account where a dead man comes back to life—it reminds me of this silly episode. But there’s something Jesus says in the course of the conversation leading up to what is perhaps the most remarkable miracle He performed—an analogy he uses … a metaphor he employs … a picture he paints—that is really worthy of our attention. To get the real meaning of what he’s saying, we need to revisit the story and establish the context.
Now a man named Lazarus was sick. He was from Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. (This Mary, whose brother Lazarus now lay sick, was the same one who poured perfume on the Lord and wiped his feet with her hair.) 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.” Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. So when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days, and then he said to his disciples, “Let us go back to Judea.” (John 11:1-7, NIV)
Put yourself in Mary & Martha’s shoes. They knew the love and fondness Jesus had for them and their brother Lazarus—they believed him to be their good friend. They knew of his power to heal people—in fact, they’d witnessed it and seen it on display. And while they didn’t specifically ask Jesus to heal their brother, the reason why they alerted him as to Lazarus’ condition was because they believed He would and could. They assumed this good friend who’d miraculously met the needs of so many others would meet theirs as well. They wanted him to be aware of what was going on so he could make his way to Bethany as quickly as possible.
But Jesus, interestingly, stayed put for two days after he learned of Lazarus’ failing health. He didn’t alter his plans or shut down what he had going—in fact, Lazarus was already dead before he made his first move toward Bethany. And his reasoning? “It is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it” (v. 4).
Jesus is expressing something here that is hard to grasp and, frankly, rubs many of us the wrong way. We grew up believing God exists to serve us … to meet our needs … to step in and alleviate our suffering. But what Jesus is saying here is that our comfort, health, and happiness is not the highest priority in life—that we are not the center of the universe. The greatest good in life is that God be glorified and to believe otherwise—to go through life as if our concerns and wellbeing are supposed to be the center of God’s attention … as if God exists to serve us rather than we existing to serve and glorify Him—is a gross misunderstanding and bad theology.
Which means there will be things in life that happen to us that don’t make sense. There will be times when we feel like God has forgotten or abandoned us. There will be times when we face situations that are puzzling, confusing, or painful—that don’t add up! But think with me: Can’t God be glorified through someone who remains firm and strong in the face of crisis just as much as He can thru His miraculous intervention into, and lessening of, that crisis? Can’t He be glorified through someone who faces a tragic situation with courage and resolve just as much as He can through His supernatural insertion into that tragedy? I believe so—the lessons we learn in those hard times and the heightened sense of connection they foster can be an equally effective avenue for the glory of God to be manifest. God’s glory can be displayed just as effectively through faith in the face of adversity as it can through His miraculous mitigation of that adversity.
But to Martha and Mary, it probably seemed like Jesus didn’t care. They undoubtedly believed, like most of us, that if He’d really cared He’d have come immediately to address the situation. Listen to the conversation that ensues when Jesus arrives on the scene:
“On his arrival, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days” (John 11:17 – NIV)
This is an interesting detail. There was a Jewish superstition that believed a person’s soul stayed near the body for three days hoping to return to the body. But on day four it was accepted that there was no hope of resuscitation. In other words, with this detail, John is saying Lazarus is really dead—it’s beyond the window of when we might hope or believe something miraculous could happen.
Now Bethany was less than two miles from Jerusalem, and many Jews had come to Martha and Mary to comfort them in the loss of their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him, but Mary stayed at home. “Lord,” Martha said to Jesus, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.” Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha answered, “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.” Jesus said to her, “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. Do you believe this?” (John 11:18-26 – NIV)
While Jesus’ words are very tender and caring, there’s a deep misunderstanding between what he’s saying and what Martha’s hearing. She thinks he’s talking about heaven, but he’s telling her about something that’s going to unfold in a few minutes. And when she responds in v. 23 with those “If you’d have been here …” words—well, I’d have loved to have heard her tone in her voice. Was she cold and accusing? Was she disappointed or hurt? Or was she merely trying to give Jesus the benefit of the doubt while being resolved to the fact it was too late? We don’t know. She was undoubtedly glad Jesus was there, but we can’t really discern the inflection in her words.
Jesus responds by saying, “Your brother will rise again” … words that sounded to her like some of the cliches people offer us at a funeral or viewing. We assume the person is talking about the hope of heaven, or the second coming of Christ. Jesus’ words are helpful and comforting and true, but he wasn’t offering up a trite cliche. So he clarifies …
“I am the resurrection and life, and the person who believes in me will live even though He dies. And the one who lives and believes in me will never die.” (John 11:25-26a - NIV)
When Jesus asks Martha if she believes this, she does like we’d do if this was spoken to us casually at a funeral home or cemetery. We all know that hollow, empty feeling—the form of someone we know and love hovering over a grave. It feels so final … so wrong … so meaningless and empty. She politely nodded in the affirmative but had no clue as to what was about to happen.
Of course, we know how the story plays out. Jesus instructs some of those present to roll the stone away from the grave. Martha, meanwhile, is concerned the body has begun to decay and, when the grave is unsealed, they’re going to be hit with an aroma that will knock them over. But Jesus calmly and coolly thanked God for answering His prayer and called for Lazarus to come out. And still wrapped up, Lazarus shuffled out. I can’t begin to imagine the pandemonium that broke out. I’m sure there were a variety of reactions: Some stood there stunned—their jaw dropped. Some looked around to see how others were reacting—they wanted to make sure they weren’t imagining things and were really seeing what they were seeing. Some immediately caught on and broke out in celebration. But as it became more and more apparent what had transpired in their midst, a sense of amazement and disbelief took over. The realized they’d just witnessed something inexplicable—a miracle unlike anything Jesus had done up until this point.
Jesus’ statement “I am the resurrection and the life” … is one of seven “I am …” statements recorded in the book of John. It’s quite clear that Martha and Mary, upon hearing these words, thought he was talking about something connected to some dim and misty future—some distant and general resurrection. That was a topic of significant debate in Jewish circles of that day. The Sadducees, for instance, denied the existence of an afterlife, so there’d be no need for a resurrection—they didn’t believe in it. The Pharisees, on the other hand, vigorously affirmed the notion. Even though it had yet to happen, they believed, at some future point, the body would be raised to life and reunited with the spirit of an individual. It’s clear where Mary and Martha fell on the matter; they clearly identified with those who hoped for some future happening when all of humanity would be raised and restored to life. But they certainly didn’t anticipate what was about to play out. They didn’t have a sense that their brother who, just a few days earlier had been placed in this grave, was about to walk out.
But here’s the thing to note. Jesus didn’t claim that he understands all the secrets surrounding the ideas of resurrection and life. He said, “I am the resurrection and the life.” He presented Himself as the champion over death—the victor over the grave and everything associated with our mortality. Now, that doesn’t mean that those of us who believe in Jesus will never die physically … that death is some sort of illusion or mirage. We will die someday. The mortality rate of the human race is right at 100%. And when Jesus spoke these words, Lazarus was still in the grave. He had yet to go to the cross and experience the humility and disgrace of his ignominious death. So … what Jesus is saying is that, in Him, death has lost its eternal significance. In Him, death is no longer this terrifying or intimidating thing we need to fear. It’s no longer the bully in the school hallway we need to try to avoid and cower in the face of. Death is not indicative of defeat but is the doorway to the greatest victory. It is not this punitive means of retribution we need to shudder at the thought of and be apprehensive about. It is, rather, an invitation to a celebration at the palace—an opportunity to experience the manner of existence, vitality, and life for which we were truly made. In Jesus, as Paul says in his letter to the Corinthians, death has lost its sting. And to verify that he knew what he was talking about and was able to provide what he said he could provide, he asked Lazarus to emerge from the tomb.
So, the question for us is this: How can we have this assurance and trust in the face of death? How can we be delivered from the dread of death and experience the confidence and certitude of which Jesus speaks? That is in each of our laps. We have the ability to determine whether death will be a domineering tyrant or a welcome reality. And it boils down to what we do with Jesus. If we treat him as some historical figure from the past, or even as a sage or philosopher from a bygone era who had some compelling and thought-provoking things to say that are intriguing but not terribly pertinent and relevant to our life, death will be that domineering tyrant. But if we believe that he was who he said he was and could do what he said he could do—if we embrace Him as the Son of God who stepped into this world to not only to reveal to us the character and heart of God but who served as our substitute and paid the price that we could never pay—then death becomes for us a welcome reality. If we view Jesus not as one we can embrace and/or dismiss as we see fit, but as one who made it possible for us to live life in constant connectedness to God—in fact, the only one who can enable that possibility—then death becomes for us not an inevitability to be frightened by but a certainty to set our heart upon and look forward to. For the One who overcame death—the One who introduced resurrection into the world--said that when we place our belief and trust in Him, that legacy becomes our inheritance as well.
“I am the resurrection and the life”, Jesus said. And then he asked Martha, “Do you believe this?” He challenged her not to a debate and not merely to express a tepid sense of intellectual assent. He challenged her to belief—to an unflagging confidence that he was who he claimed to be. That’s the same issue that stands before each of us … to see Jesus not as some astute thinker or some invented figure that we’ve created—one who exists to alleviate our suffering, meet our every need when we want and make life easy for us. We need to embrace Him as who he claimed to be—Savior … Lord … the One who’s meant to serve as the leader of our life and, because His glory is the highest good, will occasionally allow hardship to enter into our life so it can serve as a vehicle for such.