Presented by Jenn Miller

Let’s look at Mary and Martha. You might be most familiar with these two sisters for their opposite personalities—Martha, being type A and consumed by what needs to get done, and Mary being the one who applauded for resting and sitting at Jesus’ feet. All throughout the gospel accounts, these sisters and their brother, Lazarus, offered hospitality to Jesus and became some of his dearest friends. But in John 11, word comes to Jesus that Lazarus is sick, actually very sick. The sisters contacted Jesus out of faith. They knew Jesus was able to heal the sick—they had seen his miracles, and they put their faith in him and called on him to come heal their brother. Jesus’ response is quite confusing though.

Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. Yet when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days (John 11:5-6).

If someone you love is extremely sick, and you have the ability to help, wouldn’t you get up and rush to their side? Isn’t that what love does? The Bible reassures us of Jesus’ love for each of them, and yet, he deliberately chose to stay. And he waited. And Lazarus died.

When Jesus finally came to Bethany, Lazarus had been dead four days. As we think through lament, I want you to put yourself in Mary and Martha’s shoes for a minute. They were trusting Jesus to heal their brother. They implored him to come. They waited and waited. Perhaps they took a break from tending Lazarus’ sick bed to go outside and see if Jesus was coming around the corner. But he wasn’t. And these two sisters watched their beloved brother die, wrapped his body, and placed him in a tomb. Imagine what Mary and Martha were feeling.

Perhaps you know the intense pain of losing a loved one. This year I suddenly lost a family member that seemed perfectly healthy. The shock was jarring and painful. The death of a loved one is absolutely a reason to lament. And yet, as terrible as losing Lazarus was, I think there was an even greater lament for Mary and Martha. They both spoke to Jesus when he arrived separately and the first thing they said was, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Do you hear the pain of confusion? Do you hear the notes of disappointment and feelings of betrayal? I think the deeper lament is that these women put their faith and hope in Jesus and were left disappointed.

That is not something good Christians like to talk about, but I have experienced those moments. Have you? Have you prayed earnestly in faith and received an entirely different outcome than you expected? Have you committed yourself to teaching your children faithfully only to watch them fall away? Have you tried to live obediently to the Lord and yet you look at your life, and it is not what you imagined it would be like at all? Do you feel like Jesus has let you down? If you feel that way, know you are not alone.

Life can be confusing and disorienting. And when it doesn’t make sense and you are hurting, come to Jesus. That is what Mary and Martha did, and it was the first step in their healing. They both shared their feeling of bewilderment and even possibly betrayal that Jesus waited to come, chose not to heal Lazarus, and let him die. Satan wants you to hold that hurt and confusion and let it fester into resentment, bitterness, and unbelief. But when you come to Jesus and honestly pour out your heart, however messy or honest it is, that is when Jesus meets us in the lament. And he met Martha and Mary in two very different ways that show his character.

First with Martha, Jesus comforts her with the truth of his character.

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die” (John 11:25).

This was one of Jesus’ I am statements, and he chose to reveal himself as the resurrection and the life first to Martha in this moment of deep grief. But he doesn’t stop there. Jesus follows this truth with a question. He asks her, Do you believe this? (John 11:26).

Friend, in your pain, immersing yourself in the attributes of the Savior is extremely helpful. Jesus is loving. He is your shepherd. He sees and hears your misery. He is powerful to save and works all things for the good of those who love him. But it is not enough just to read these statements. In your pain, Jesus comes to you and asks, “Do you believe this?” Martha could not have possibly understood all that encompassed the truth of Jesus being the resurrection and life. And Jesus didn’t expect her to. But with what faith she had in that moment, she responded,

Yes, Lord. I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who was to come into the world (John 11:27).

When everything in life is chaos and you can’t make sense of your pain, hold on to what you do know about Jesus. Asking why is rarely helpful, but choosing to sit in who you know and have already experienced Jesus to be will comfort your soul.

Interestingly, Jesus responds very differently to Mary. She comes to him with the exact same words as Martha, Lord…if you had been here, my brother would not have died (John 11:21).

Instead of revealing truth to her, Jesus weeps with her. Friend, you have a savior who is moved by suffering and weeps. I don’t know about you, but that is so comforting to me! Jesus might have been moved by seeing Mary in such pain or by his own grief or by his hatred of death as an enemy or all of it. Either way, he wept. And Jesus wept even though he knew the end of the story. He waited to let Lazarus die to reveal himself not only as healer but as the one who can resurrect. He knew Lazarus’ time in the grave was almost over, but he still wept. Jesus sees your whole story and knows it will turn out for your deliverance, and yet amid your suffering, he comes along side you tenderly. He doesn’t rebuke you for a lack of stoic faith or say, buck up. No, he is the almighty savior who understands our weakness and meets us with compassion. That means the world to me.

Mary and Martha did receive their brother back, but in the moments of lament, they didn’t know the ending. In their lament they were called to believe the truth about Jesus and experience his tender care. And you and I are called to do the same. No matter what the root of our lament is, the Lord invites us to pour out our souls to him, to believe he sees and hears, and to receive his tender care. Because of Jesus’ death and resurrection, all who trust in him are promised a gloriously happy ending. But in the meantime, life is hard. May we be women who cling to truth and to the loving care of Jesus himself. Let’s pray now to that end.

Heavenly Father, you know the burdens and hardships each person reading right now is facing, and none of it is too heavy for you to bear. I pray you would comfort each hurting heart with your tender care. Would you remind each soul of who you truly are—that you are good, that you are working all things to make those who love you more and more into the image of your Son, that you will one day make all wrongs right, that nothing can separate those in Christ from your love. Give us greater faith to believe those truths more and more each day. I entrust each of my fellow lamenting sisters to your perfect care. In Jesus’ precious name we pray. Amen.