“The ability to easily explain suffering is the clearest indicator of never having suffered.”
-Diane Langberg
The bright-blue sky begged to be let into the nursing home room as we held vigil over Mama’s dying body. Hours upon hours ticked by as the fall leaves outside the window reminded us how beautiful letting go can be.
In between the tears, we laughed; we told stories; and we ate the amazing food the staff tirelessly prepared for us. We listened to the therapeutic voice of Mom’s fisherman brother as he stood by her side and gently read his favorite fishing story from the Bible. We sang silly children’s songs because we were too emotional to sing anything serious or spiritual.
As Mom’s room filled with familiar voices, part of me believed she wanted to soak in all the glorious fellowship one final time before the long drought of being without us. The hospice nurse kindly advised us mom was hanging around because we were too much fun.
We held her hands; we brushed her hair; and we moistened her dry mouth with a cold sponge. We made promises to take care of Daddy, to take care of one another, and to raise strong and courageous children just as she had done. We promised her she would be a part of us as long as we had breath. And finally, we thanked her; we kissed her face; and we gave her permission to go home to Jesus.
Together we walked through the valley of the shadow of death. Inch by inch the pinkish, oxygen-rich colors in her body began to dim into dull grays. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Our time with her was ending. We were treading on hallowed ground. I nestled my nose along her frail and cold cheek and wrote on her heart the final thought I wanted her to take into eternity: “I will love you for always!”
Instinctually, our hearts and minds crave explanations when we face unspeakable pain and suffering. We want to nicely categorize our experiences. We want something to make sense when our world is spinning out of control. We want to label it, place it, and explain it. In 1969, Elizabeth Kubler Ross put forth that grief could be explained and contained to five stages: denial and isolation, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. While there was much to glean from Ross’s research, we are thankful that as believers we have access to an even deeper and richer understanding of grief.
John 11 tells the up close story of Mary and Martha’s grief when their brother Lazarus dies. But it wasn’t just Lazarus’ death that caused Mary and Martha to experience grief; they experienced grief in the waiting, in the wondering, and in the answer.
In the waiting
Mary and Martha were not ignorant to the miracles Jesus had been performing. Consequently, it is not strange that when their brother fell ill they immediately sent for Jesus. Their hope was in the right place by seeking out the True Healer. Being in relationship with Jesus, knowing Him and being known BY Him inspired them to run to Him when death was knocking at the door (John 11:3). When life’s cruelest pains are knocking on the doors of our lives, we are wise to slow our lives down and call for Jesus.
Mary and Martha find themselves in a waiting room, per se, after they send for Jesus, “When Jesus heard Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer” (vs 6). To the human understanding it looks like Jesus’ delay is unsympathetic, cruel, and detached. When we are in the throes of grief, often the cry of our heart is, “God, where are you?” “God, what are you doing?” We are in good company when our hearts echo those cries.
For instance, we see David, the man after God’s own heart (I Samuel 13:14), boldly ask God hard questions in times of grief. Psalm 13:1, “How long O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I take counsel in my soul and have sorrow in my heart all the day?”
If you are in a season of waiting on the Lord, if you are in your own personal waiting room, take heart! He is with you. He has not abandoned you nor forsaken you.
In the wondering
When Jesus finally made it to Jerusalem, Lazarus had been in the tomb for four days. Both Mary and Martha express the exact same sentiment when they encounter Jesus, “If you had been here, my brother would not have died” (vs 21, 32). Grief often invites us to an overwhelming game of wondering, “If this, then that.”
-If only I had prayed more, then maybe God would have heard me.
-If only I had been a better Christian, then maybe God would have given me what I wanted.
-If only I had read my bible more, then maybe God would have spared me this much pain.
Don’t misunderstand what I am saying, praying, becoming imitators of Christ, and being in God’s word are vital rhythms of the Christian life, but they do not insulate us from suffering. They give us access to Jesus while we suffer.
Jesus’ response to Mary and Martha encompasses the tender Savior we serve. He does not lash out with frustration, He does not question their allegiance to Him, He does not scold them for questioning Him. He is deeply moved by their pain (vs 33). The Greek word used here for deeply moved, is embrimaomai. It means to feel something strongly and deeply. Jesus allowed Mary and Martha’s grief to touch Him, to stain Him, to move Him so deeply that He wept.
In the answer
Mary and Martha sent for Jesus because they did not want their brother to die, and he died. We still send for Jesus during the darkest, hardest parts of our lives, and, oftentimes, we do not get the answers we want or think are best. Our family member dies from the horrible disease; our bank account runs dry; we do not get the job; our child receives the blinding diagnosis; healing does not come; heartache finds us; loneliness threatens to paralyze us; isolation drowns us; and we profoundly grieve.
Jesus knew He was about to raise Lazarus from the dead. He told Martha so in verse 23, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha misunderstood what Jesus was saying, but Jesus knew He was minutes away from raising Lazarus from the dead. He did not fast-forward through the grief His friends were experiencing. He did not minimize their grief with spiritual by-passing and bumper sticker comforts. We serve the same Jesus. He knows how our stories are going to end. He knows that His birth, life, death, and resurrection put an end to death for all time for those who trust in Jesus as our only Savior and Living Hope. Grief is not our final chapter. Grief does not get to have the final say in our story. It is hard to remember that when we are in the sea of grief, but we must cling to what is true. And this is what is true, Resurrection is our final chapter. And yet, God still moves into our grief, and He is still moved by the grief His children experience here and now. He sits in the trenches of our pain and suffering until He is deeply moved. He is Emmanuel, God with us, right now in our grief. Hallelujah, what a Savior!