The Final Word

John 11:17-37

By the time Jesus arrives in Bethany of Judea, Lazarus has been dead four days (vv. 17-18). The timing is not an accident. After four days there’s no doubt Lazarus is dead. It’s too long for it to be a mistake. It also allows a crowd of mourners to gather and witness the power of Jesus. However, before Jesus reaches their house, Martha comes out and meets him and expresses her disappointment (vv. 20-22). She had a plan. She called Jesus, and he could have fixed Lazarus, but he didn’t come in time. Her intense disappointment reveals her deep confidence in Jesus. She knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that Jesus could have healed Lazarus. Now here he is four days late! Nevertheless, she still expresses great faith (v. 22). She essentially tells Jesus, “I don’t know what you can do now, but I know you can do whatever you want.”

Jesus responds with a simple statement with profound implications: “Your brother will rise again” (v. 23). Martha knows the Old Testament. She understands God’s promise that this life is not all there is. She knows the grave is not the end (v. 24). But Jesus is talking about something even bigger, even more remarkable. Jesus says, “I am the resurrection and the life” (v. 25). He doesn’t say, “I can resurrect people, and I have life.” He says, “I am resurrection, and I am life” (emphasis added). Our hope is not in an event (resurrection) but in a person (Jesus). Nothing can hinder him from giving life because he doesn’t have life; he is life. This is just one of the ways Jesus is different from you and me. You have life. He is life. You can lose your life. He cannot and will not lose his life. He laid it down, but his resurrection was proof that death could not take life from him.

Jesus then makes a promise that goes beyond what he’s going to do for Lazarus (v. 26). What he does for Lazarus proves that he has the power to keep his promise. He promises that those who believe, though they die physically, will live on forever. Those who live spiritually will never have to worry about their spiritual life ending. Christians live with great hope for the future. We hope in Jesus Christ. We believe, like Martha, that he is the Son of God, come into the world, just as God promised, to rescue us from death and hell. We know that he is the only one we can trust with our lives, so we give our lives to him.

After Martha responds in faith, she goes to get her sister Mary (vv. 28-30). Mary says the same thing, word for word, to Jesus that Martha said (v. 32; cf. v. 21). How many times before Jesus got there had they discussed it? How many times in their grief had they said, “If only Jesus had been here, our brother would not have died”? This was their plan. They were sure Jesus would heal Lazarus. But he didn’t, and it hurt.

The next few verses show Jesus’s response to Mary’s and Martha’s sorrow (vv. 33-38). Jesus knows what he’s going to do, but before he does it, he responds with deep compassion. Followers of Jesus are commanded in Romans 12:15 to “weep with those who weep.” We do what Jesus did. We love others enough to enter their suffering. Oh, to be more like Jesus. Oh, to willingly enter others’ suffering. The most remarkable part is that Jesus is going to do something that takes their suffering away, but before he fixes their problem, he joins their pain. He enters their grief before he exiles it. We can’t be afraid to enter other people’s pain. We need to be more like Jesus in this way. So often we shy away from the uncomfortable. We try to smooth over the brokenness. We need to, out of love, sit and weep with those who weep. Pray for a heart that breaks with heaviness when others suffer.

John 11:38-44

After entering their grief, Jesus moves to end it (vv. 39-42). Why did Jesus let this happen if he knew he was going to raise Lazarus from the dead? Why did he let those he loved experience four days of grief? Jesus is doing things we can never grasp. He’s God. He’s got purposes far beyond what we can even imagine. We don’t know all that Jesus is doing, but we should never doubt his love for us, his desire for us to experience his glory, and his call for us to trust him. His love, his glory, and our need for faith are often most clear in the darkest times. This miracle was about something bigger than removing their grief. This miracle was about the power of Jesus over death. They were intimate witnesses to death’s demise. It was high noon, and they were lining the streets to watch the duel between Jesus and death. That never would have happened if Jesus had submitted to the sisters’ plan.

The end of the story is almost anticlimactic (vv. 43-44). It seems more should be said. Why so few words about the resurrection of Lazarus? Because if Jesus really is life, then this wasn’t a fair fight. The outcome had been decided long ago. It was a mismatch from the moment Jesus was born. When Lazarus walks out of the tomb, he is still wrapped in the funeral garments. Ten chapters later we read about another resurrection. As big as this one is, that one’s even bigger. If this is the first blow, the next resurrection is the knockout punch. Jesus is life, and death never stood a chance.

Jesus and death fought, and Jesus got the last word. Up to this point, death always won. Death would sweep in, and whoever was in the way lost. Death always got the final word. Even if a person seemed to rally, death would eventually silence him. Back in verse 4 Jesus told the disciples, “This sickness will not end in death.” But it did, didn’t it? Yes and no. For Lazarus the train stopped at death, but the journey didn’t end there. The train started up again. Death didn’t get the last word. The sickness didn’t end in death but in resurrection.

Few passages are filled with more hope than this one, because no occasions feel more hopeless than when a person dies. It’s all over. No more chances. No more hope. Death has spoken, and it is final. Not anymore! Jesus has spoken. He has the final word, and the final word is this: “I am the resurrection and the life” (v. 25).