I’ve been very sadly reminded of this thought because there are a lot of heavy hearts both in my church and my family right now, as (I’m sticking with the analogy) we’re looking at many very big bills. With teary eyes, we’re looking at a lot of loss in the near future. These circumstances have led my wayward self back to seeking God’s Truth for hope and comfort. Like an icy hot balm on a bad burn, my journey has been both assuring and challenging.
There’s two things I’m striving to remember.
1) Death is an enemy that God will, quite passionately, defeat (Ezekiel 18:32, 1 Corinthians 15:26).
John 11 tells us the story of Lazarus’s resurrection. It’s an interesting chapter as it contains, in most versions, the shortest verse in the Bible (v.35, “Jesus wept”). This has caused the occasional question as to why Jesus is weeping. Was it sad disappointment in a lack of faith by Lazarus’s family members? Was it mere shared grief, even though Jesus planned to soon raise Lazarus from the dead? Most versions don’t quite give justice to verses 33 and 38, which help us understand why Jesus was weeping.
Keep in mind that funerals of the Ancient Near East are far from the quieter and “professional” ceremonies we have here in the modern West, where you can barely hear more than a sniffle. If the immediate family makes it through a ceremony without crying, some may say that they are “taking it well.” It was quite the opposite for Lazarus’s burial. They don’t hold back. Loud mourning and wailing is accepted, even encouraged. Sometimes there are even hired mourners, I imagine, to lead people in mourning as would someone in a corporate worship experience.
According to the original Greek of verses 33 and 38, Jesus was not merely “deeply moved.” He was outraged. So, Jesus’s aura at the burial was a combination of rage and weeping. Why?
Because death is not what he wants for his children.
Death, as Jesus could painfully and angrily see, was reigning with explicit gloom and despair all around that burial site. And Jesus conquered it.
Death is one thing that only God can conquer, and he has more reasons and authority to do so than anyone. I sometimes forget this. I complain to God about a certain person’s passing or loss, feeling as if it was wrongful or ill-timed, appealing to God as if he doesn’t quite understand the significance of a certain factor or issue, or as if he doesn’t quite have the full perspective (or at least my perspective) as he lets tragic things happen in this world. What? Am I crazy? I can easily hear him say, “You think I don’t know?”
Another significant verse in John 11 is verse 25, where Jesus gently tells a grieving Martha, “I am the resurrection and the life.” God is life, eternal, and that’s what he wants for all his children, and he has conquered death. As much as there’s been talk in recent theological and church circles about how the “full life” Jesus brought begins on earth, we need to remember that all the sufferings (and all the righteous pleasures) of this planet can’t compare to the eternal afterlife God wants to lovingly give his children, which brought me to the next point.
2) This world is not meant for us, so our lives will involve sacrifice and suffering (John 15:19, Romans 8:17).
I recently sat in on a conference where Phil Vischer, the creator of VeggieTales, made a point about the inherent suffering of the Christian life, exploring the true meaning of the cliche “taking up one’s cross,” a phrase found in three of the four Gospels.
“If you’re a 21st century Illinoisan, you respond, ‘Okay, I’ve got my cross. Where are we going?’ If you’re a 1st century Palestinian, you know exactly where you’re going. You’re going to die.”
The world hates Christians, and we’re also in the crosshairs of the demons who, as with Job, seek to sadistically disprove God in your mind and disprove you, by whatever means necessary.
Our very Savior was a commoner who was framed and brutally executed. The founding fathers of our Church spread Truth and love like wildfire, in spite of the vicious Roman government, and many were painfully killed. During the Black Death, many Christians risked their own lives to treat or transport the sick. Many heroes of the Reformation lived in hiding and in poverty and were burned at the stake, all the while fighting church corruption and standing for Truth. The number of converts to Christianity in China only grew faster than the number of executions Mao arranged. Today, as always, Christian missionaries, even their infant children, are killed on the mission field. Brave souls in the Middle East accept Christ into their hearts, knowing full well that, because of that exact decision, they will be disowned by their family, and then hunted and killed.
Needless to say, it’s not always “your best life now,” as Joel Osteen would say.
So, have I counted the cost?
Maybe I’m being naive in my optimism. Sure, I’d love it if all my remaining relatives lived what I would deem as long, full lives. I’d love it if I didn’t have to bury my wife or children, and if my daughters never broke my heart. That I’d die painlessly after a full-life of righteous blessing and productivity in God’s name.
But the Bible has never promised me any of that. How many people do I know that have had the life described above? When I wish and hope like that, I might be getting too attached, strangely, to the world.
Friends, for the sake of our own health, the work of the Church, and the glory of God, we need to surrender and trust to His will, wisdom, and love. He has overcome death, and he can help us to do the same. Death is menial compared to the life and glory God has prepared for his loved ones.
And I’ll be the first to tell you that I struggle to grapple with these truths.
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