Now there was a certain [man] sick, Lazarus of Bethany, of the village of Mary and Martha her sister.
A man falls ill in a small village. John marks the place not by a landmark but by the two sisters who lived there, and from this quiet start comes one of the most moving chapters in the Bible.
One writer asks what gives a place on earth its importance:
When the Spirit of God speaks of places down here, we see what it is that gives them their importance. Bethany was the town of Mary and Martha, and Lazarus, whom Jesus loved. That is how places on earth become interesting; some whom Jesus loves are living there. "The LORD loves the gates of Zion more than all the dwelling places of Jacob." "And of Zion it shall be said, 'This one and that one were born in her.'"
There is also a plain reason John could name the village this way:
The two verses that open this chapter show that John wrote this Gospel when the other Gospels were well known. He names Bethany as the town of Martha and Mary, and he assumes his readers know the women better than the village.
The chapter opens with sickness inside that favoured home:
You might suppose that sorrow, sickness, and death would never touch such a favoured household. Anyone who thinks so does not know that Messiah the Prince was also the Man of Sorrows. And where He is the Guest, it should be no surprise if afflictions come along with Him.
Another writer says what God's love does with suffering instead:
This was the brother of the Mary who anointed the Lord. Yet being related to that famous woman did not make him immune from suffering… What a boundless blessing to be loved by Jesus — but even this did not keep sickness away. The work of divine love is not to guarantee freedom from suffering, but to make it serve the divine end.
The verse calls it the village "of Mary and her sister Martha," while a few lines later the order flips. One commentator finds a lesson in the two orderings:
The reader will notice that in this beautiful scene there is no record of any clash between Martha and Mary. Each had her place to fill. There was room for both. "Jesus loved Martha and her sister." Here Martha comes first. In verse 1 we read of "Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha." From God's standpoint, no one has any reason to clash with another in the smallest degree. And there is no need whatever to compare one person's sphere with another's. If Christ is our one absorbing object, there will be lovely harmony in action, though our line of things may differ.
One writer names what marks out John's Gospel:
Here we begin with what was most characteristic of our Gospel — His divine Sonship displayed in resurrection power… It was John's place, above all, to mark Him out as Son of God. The Holy Spirit does this by giving us the resurrection of Lazarus in his Gospel. In resurrection Christ is the life-giving Spirit, in contrast with Adam. But He is the Son from all eternity, and the Son gives life to whom He will, before death no less than after resurrection.
One writer says why this story was recorded:
What happened at Bethany, with its touching and moving details, shows how God weaves the golden threads of His purpose into the darkest fabric of the lives of His saints. It was surely written to comfort His own people who must face what may be the bitterest sorrow of this valley of tears.
- Place — Bethany matters because of who lives there. A place takes its importance from the people Jesus loves.
- People — John names the village by Mary and Martha. His readers knew the sisters better than the village.
- Pain — Nearness to Christ brought no immunity; where He is the Guest, affliction may come with Him.
- Purpose — Love does not remove the suffering; it makes the suffering serve God's end.
- Point — John records this illness to show Jesus as Son of God in resurrection power. It stands written to comfort everyone who grieves.
It was [the] Mary who anointed the Lord with ointment and wiped his feet with her hair, whose brother Lazarus was sick.
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.
The sisters therefore sent to him, saying, Lord, behold, he whom thou lovest is sick.
Lazarus is dying, and his sisters send Jesus a message of just a few words. They ask for nothing and suggest nothing — and why they thought that was enough is the heart of the verse.
They send to Jesus and lean on the one thing they are surest of.
The family at Bethany had learned the love of Jesus so well that, with the confidence such love gives, they draw on His love in the day of their trial. The sisters do not ask the Lord to come, nor do they suggest that He should heal their brother. With simple confidence in the love of the Lord, they spread their sorrow before Him. Neither do they plead their love nor the love of Lazarus to the Lord, but they plead the Lord's love to Lazarus. Their confidence in the Lord and His love is such that, having made their trouble known and pleaded His love, they know they can safely leave themselves in His hands.
Our love for Christ can waver. His love for us cannot.
It was not their love for the Lord or the love of Lazarus for Him that they pleaded, but His love. His love was sure. It could not be questioned. It had flowed out to them without limit; they knew it and had experienced it. It was the cause and the strength of their confidence in Him.
The New Testament uses two Greek verbs for love. The sisters choose the warmer, more personal one — not the general word used two verses later.
John 11:5 states plainly the place the little circle at Bethany held in the heart of the Lord Jesus: "Jesus loved (agapao) Martha..." But the sisters' appeal in verse 3 rests on what they had the best right to know — the Lord's personal affection for their brother: "he whom you love (phileo) is ill." This is what strikes the Jews when they see Him weep: "See how he loved (phileo) him!"
They are close enough to Him to say nothing but the plain truth, yet they still begin with a title. Warmth toward Christ never turns into casualness.
They spoke with Christ freely. Even so, there was no undue familiarity, no forgetting the great difference between Him and them. "Lord" was the message. Then they told Him how things stood with Lazarus. They asked for nothing, they suggested nothing. They told Him the fact, and left it there, still sure that His love would not fail them at such a time. They counted on it.
Their confidence went further than the prayers of others who came to Him.
It was not an insistent, passionate petition. It was calm and restful, sure that their message would stir the Lord's concern at once. It rose above the prayer of the leper: "Lord, if you will, you can make me clean." Surely the leper had not gone beyond faith in the Lord's power, while the sisters knew and believed His love as well as His power.
Being loved by Christ did not keep trouble away. Lazarus was loved and dying at the same time.
How infinitely blessed to be someone Jesus loves! But even this did not give immunity from sickness. The work of divine love is not to guarantee freedom from suffering, but to make it serve the divine end.
He could have healed Lazarus without going to Bethany at all.
He had healed the official's son at Capernaum while He Himself was miles away from that city. He could have healed Lazarus at Bethany in the same way, had He pleased, while He was still beyond the Jordan. But He did not. The messenger carried the message and came back, with no promise that the Lord would come to Bethany, and no promise that the sick man would be healed.
The sisters expected Him to come at once.
Now it was a very simple message, but a very touching one. Those sisters would say to each other, He will be sure to come as soon as our message reaches Him. But He did not come. Perhaps you have been praying for something and the answer has not come. Something else has come. The very reverse of what you were praying for. God does not always answer our prayers according to the terms of them. And I think it is an immense mercy.
- Right Person. They sent to Jesus Himself, spread the trouble before Him, and asked for nothing — no plan, no suggestion, just the fact.
- Right Plea. They named His love for Lazarus, not their love for Him — the one ground nobody could question.
- Right Word. The verb they use is the warmer one, personal affection; the same word the onlookers use later when they see Him weep.
- Right Distance. "Lord" comes first. Their freedom with Christ never slipped into familiarity.
- Right Silence. Being loved brought no immunity from sickness. The answer came late and in another form — an immense mercy, one writer says.
But when Jesus heard [it], he said, This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God, that the Son of God may be glorified by it.
Word reaches Jesus that His friend Lazarus is ill, and He answers by saying what the illness is for. Lazarus then dies, which raises a hard question: how can an illness that kills not lead to death?
The Lord is not predicting that Lazarus will stay alive. He is naming the purpose that governs the whole affair.
Jesus' love was trusted here, and Jesus did love them all: "This illness does not lead to death." Not that the illness was not deadly in character. Not that it did not in fact produce death and end in death. He knew it did. But that was not the final result. God allowed the evil for His own glory — that is, so that He might triumph over it for the creature, and do so in the Person of the Son, so that the Son of God might be glorified by it. … So it was mercy to let the evil have its full results, though painful mercy, because that gave us full ground to be sure of God's love through it all.
For a while the words looked plainly wrong. The Lord, though, was speaking from the end and not from the start:
So here the Lord knew the end from the beginning when He said, "This illness does not lead to death." But anyone quick to judge by the beginning was bound to judge wrong. What would that man have thought when he heard Him say, "Lazarus, come out," and saw the dead man walk out of the burial cave?
Healing was in His power, and He held it back on purpose.
He could have healed him, but He waited, and His glory shone out beside a grave of death and decay. It is not ascension and glory that mark out the Son of God, but resurrection.
God let events run on, and the enemy seemed to be winning:
God let things take their course, as we say. He let death enter that much loved home. But all of this was for the glory of God. The enemy looked as if he had it all his own way, but that was only appearance. In reality death itself was building the platform on which God would display His glory.
The verse names God's glory and the Son's glory together. That pairing unlocks the whole chapter:
The key to the chapter is verse 4. That is a magnificent word. That was God's purpose. If we look at outward things, at sorrows and trials, apart from God's aim in sending them, we fall short of God's thoughts about us and of our link with His glory. In this chapter the glory of the Son cannot be separated from the glory of God Himself.
Power that raises the dead proves who He is.
God gave the strongest proof of His power in Christ's resurrection. Yet we already see that same divine power in the raising of Lazarus, and we will see it again in the resurrection of all saints. He was, and is, the resurrection and the life. The power of resurrection is the proof that He is Son of God.
Some illness among God's people is His correction. Lazarus' illness was not.
Many a sickness that comes on the people of God is in no way discipline for sin. As with Lazarus, it is for the glory of God (John 11:4). Still, God does deal with His people as the One who governs them. If we see a fellow believer whom God is disciplining by some sickness because of a particular sin, we can pray for him, as long as the sin is not a sin that leads to death.
Telling the two apart takes care. We are quick to read every trouble as punishment:
We need spiritual discernment about this kind of dealing from our God. People are too quick, like the friends of Job, to read God's hand on a person as a sign that He is dealing with that person for some sin or evil course.
What He said over one man's illness, faith may say over any trial.
What a blessing to stand beside a friend's sick bed and say, "This illness does not lead to death. It is for the glory of God!" And this is faith's privilege. Yes, and not only in the sick room but at the open grave, the true believer may see the beams of God's glory shining over it all.
- Purpose, not prognosis. The illness really did kill Lazarus. What the Lord denies is that death was the end God had in view.
- Delay by design. He could have healed from a distance and did not, so that His glory would shine at a graveside instead of a sickbed.
- Glory doubled. God's glory and the Son's glory stand together here. One family's trial served both.
- Sonship proved. Power over death proves who He is. We see it in Lazarus, then in His own resurrection, and at last in the raising of all His people.
- Comfort transferred. Not every sickness is correction. So faith can stand at a sickbed, or even at a grave, and say the same words.
Now Jesus loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus.
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.
When therefore he heard, He is sick, he remained two days then in the place where he was.
A message reached Jesus about a sick friend, and He did not move. He stayed where He was for two more days while that friend sank toward death. The verse forces the hardest question faith ever asks — what does it mean when the One who loves you does not come?
The verse opens with "So." The delay comes straight after the words about His love for Martha, her sister and Lazarus. One writer takes that link head-on:
Strange it must have seemed to them, when He had received their message, "He stayed two days longer in the place where He was." He did not move. He waited until the sickness had done its work and Lazarus lay dead. What a test that must have been to their confidence in Him. We may be sure that the devil was not far away from them. As those days dragged slowly by, he would suggest that their trust had been misplaced. He would suggest that Jesus could not deal with that special kind of sickness, or, worse still, that He had stopped caring. It was then that the Holy Spirit gives us this telling comment: "Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus." No lack or loss of love kept Him from them. Indifference did not make Him delay. It was the perfection of His love, the wisdom of it. He had something in store for them which was infinitely better than the best they had expected of Him.
He answered other people at once. Against that, the silence here stands out:
It was not His custom to receive the requests for help addressed to Him this way. Usually the answers came swift, and sure, and abounding. A woman touched Him in the crowd. A Roman officer sent Him a message. A Syro-Phoenician woman cried out to Him. Each one got an immediate and fitting reply. But the desire of these, His very dear friends, received no direct response.
We assume that real love must move the moment we call. One writer calls that a false claim on Christ:
It is hard to think it good when the Lord does not stop the evil we dread. It is hard when He does not come the first time love asks Him. The evil may even have come from our own unbelief or sin. Yet we hold this wrong confidence in Jesus' love: that He must be at our beck and call to remove it. Surely He has indeed made Himself our Servant from first to last, but in His wisdom (for that is love), not ours… When the right time has come, He is as ready to go at all cost… He offers to come at cost at the wise moment, and that proves it was no lack of love that held Him back or delayed Him.
He stayed, and later He walked into a place where people wanted Him dead. Both moves came from one source:
His staying in the same place for two days was not the impulse of human feeling. In the same way, His going to the place of deadly hatred followed the light He walked in and was… He lives in dependence. He waits for His Father's will. When His Father gives it, it settles His movements at once.
Later in the chapter Jesus tells the disciples what the delay was for:
Then we learn that He stayed the two days for the blessing of His disciples. The Lord says, "For your sake I am glad that I was not there, so that you may believe." This crushing sorrow had overtaken the two sisters. It would become the occasion of glory to the Father and blessing for the two sisters in their loss. It would also lead to the blessing of others.
The pause left room for suspicion — and there is a settled answer to it:
Yet He paused. The enemy might throw in all sorts of suggestions, and their own hearts might invent all sorts of reasonings… But there is a divine remedy for all the heart's reasonings, and a triumphant answer to all the enemy's dark and horrible suggestions. What is it? Unshaken confidence in the eternal stability of the love of Christ.
Applied to prayer, the principle is blunt:
His delays in answering prayer are always because of a love that is wiser than we understand.
- Love delays. The two days stand right after the statement that Jesus loved this family. The waiting came out of that love, not despite it.
- Love waits. He moved by the Father's will, not by human impulse — silent until the word came, then going at all cost.
- Love withholds. Others got swift answers; these close friends got none, so He could give them something better than a healing.
- Love is tested. In the gap the enemy whispers that He has forgotten or changed. The remedy is unshaken confidence in the stability of His love.
- Love enlarges. The delay served the sisters, the disciples' faith, and the blessing of others. One sorrow turned into glory for the Father.
Then after this he says to his disciples, Let us go into Judaea again.
Two silent days lie between the message from Bethany and this word to the disciples. This verse is the moment the silence breaks. Why did Jesus wait, and why does He now choose to return to the very region where His enemies had picked up stones?
The pause was not indecision, and the move was not impulse. The Father's will governed both.
He had come to do the Father's will. So we see Him here waiting on that will, governed wholly by it, and not by His own affections, pure and perfect as they were. He had received the touching appeal — an appeal to His heart: "Lord, he whom you love is ill." Even so, He would not move until the Father's appointed time had come. How differently we often act! Would it not be enough for most of us to hear that someone in need wanted us there, someone bound to us by close ties? Let us learn that there is a higher region than even the promptings of the tenderest affection. The will of God is the Christian's only law.
Once the Father made that will known, nothing held Him back — not even the warning of what waited for Him there.
During these two days He had received no direction from His Father to go to Bethany. He loved this family, and the two sisters reminded Him of it. Still He stays where He was, without stirring. Then His Father made His will known to Him, and He goes without hesitation to the place of danger He had left. The light of day was on His path, the light of His Father's will. There He always walked.
Two days of silence after "he whom you love is ill" can look like coldness. Commentators read it as love working on a wiser timetable.
Love is glad to be called on, and will not disappoint the confident appeal of faith. At the same time, divine love acts according to divine wisdom. It acts, at times, in a way that seems so strange and contrary to the way of human love and human prudence... Human love would have gone at once; human prudence would never have gone at all. Whether He stays or goes, Jesus does not act by the thoughts of nature. He depends on the Father's will and acts according to it.
The sisters who sent the message had their own lesson in the waiting:
Such delays are a great trial to faith and patience. But He was teaching them to wait for His time, and for Him alone. We cannot hurry Him.
"Again" carries weight. Judea is the place of danger He had left, and the disciples had not forgotten it.
He who was God, and loved as no man ever did, stayed two days where He was. Then He calmly said to the disciples, "Let us go to Judea again." They wonder. Did He not know better than they the murderous hatred of the Jews? Had He forgotten how often they had tried to stone Him? Why then did He propose to go there again? He was here to do the will of His Father; and here was a work to do for His glory. His eye was always undivided, His whole body full of light.
He does not announce a solo journey. The invitation follows a pattern in His dealings with His twelve disciples.
The Lord had chosen the twelve disciples so that they might be "with Him." They were His personal attendants, and He kept joining them with Himself in His service... During His travels we often find Him graciously including them with Himself when He spoke of what He meant to do next. For example: "Let us go to Judea again" (John 11:7); "Let us go across to the other side" (Mark 4:35); "See, we are going up to Jerusalem" (Matt. 20:18).
His companions heard the call but could not read it. Their replies show how far behind Him they were.
It is faith alone that can move along the path where Jesus leads. To mere nature that path is dreadful. It is rough, dark, and lonely. Even those standing around our blessed Lord when Lazarus died seemed quite unable to grasp His thoughts or to follow His steps with understanding. When He said, "Let us go to Judea again," they could think only of the Jews stoning Him. When He said, "I go to awaken him," they replied, "Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will recover."
- Waiting. The two days were not neglect; He would not move until the Father's time had come.
- Word. When that word came, it settled everything at once — affection had not moved Him, and danger could not stop Him.
- Wisdom. Human love would have gone at once; human caution would never have gone at all. Divine love followed the Father's will instead.
- With. "Let us" folds the disciples into His journey, as with "Let us go across to the other side."
- Walking. Only faith can follow where He leads; nature hears the invitation and sees only the stones.
The disciples say to him, Rabbi, [even but] now the Jews sought to stone thee, and goest thou thither again?
The disciples hear "Let us go to Judea again" and think of the stones men had lifted against Him there. Their question weighs the road by its danger; He weighs it by His Father's will.
They address Him with the ordinary Jewish title for a teacher.
A title of respect among the Jews, meaning "master, teacher." It was applied to the Lord, though often translated "master."... Jesus forbade the disciples to be called Rabbi, for one was their Master, even Christ.
Behind their question lies a suspicion that He has forgotten something.
He who was God, and loved as no man ever did, stayed two days where He was. Then He calmly said to the disciples: Let us go to Judea again. They wonder. Did He not know better than they how murderous the hatred of the Jews was? Had He forgotten their repeated attempts to stone Him? Why then did He propose to go there again? He was here to do the will of His Father; and here was a work to do for His glory.
Their surprise came from what they had already watched Him do.
They had seen Him calm a great storm, overthrow the power of demons, and even break the power of death. But when men tried to murder Him, He used no power at all. He simply escaped out of their hands and withdrew beyond the Jordan River. They felt that He was safe there and that they were safe with Him. And when He proposed to return to Judea they thought it a very foolish thing to do, and asked in surprise why He was going back.
Neither His own love nor other men's threats set His timetable.
His disciples, in the timidity of unbelief, bring in their human fears, and would talk Him out of returning to Judea; there is a lion in the way! ... The precious, tender love of His human heart could not move Him towards Judea until He had the Lord's word in His ear. And now no fear of Jewish hatred or of Satan's opposition will hold Him back from going. The will of Him who sent Him had fallen on His opened ear, and that is enough.
Two natural reactions to the news, and the Lord followed neither.
Human love, thinking only of relieving the sick one, would have set off at once for Bethany. Human prudence, thinking only of self, would never have gone at all — as the disciples' question shows. The Lord, rising above both human love and human prudence, acts according to divine love moved by divine wisdom.
What surprised them was not the delay but the destination.
The disciples do not understand the motives that governed the Lord. They wonder, not so much at His delay, but at His decision to return to the land where the Jews had so recently sought to stone Him. They were looking at circumstances and speaking by the light of natural prudence. The Lord was walking in the light of the Father's will, and so there were no stumbling steps in His path. We at times, looking only at circumstances, stumble and stray: our way is uncertain and dark. It is only as we spread all our difficulties before the Lord, looking only to Him, and seeking to walk according to His will, that we shall walk in the light.
A word from God is what turns a dangerous road into a lit one.
Suppose He had gone off two days earlier — He would have been walking in the night, because He had no word for it. That was an impossibility with Him! When He went, He had the word, He walked in the light, and never stumbled. This is what I long for in my own heart, and for all believers — this nearness to the Lord. May we walk so close to Him that, when we have to go somewhere, we put our hand in His and do not take the wrong street. There is always a right street and a wrong one in every journey.
- Fear speaks first. The disciples answer His plan with the last thing they saw — stones — and call the trip back to Judea foolish.
- Fear counts risks. Self-protection would never have gone. Human love would have rushed off days earlier. He did neither.
- The word decides. He waited until He had His Father's word, and once He had it, no hatred could hold Him back.
- The word gives light. His steps never stumbled, because He walked in the Father's will. The disciples read only the circumstances, and walked in the dark.
- Light leads to glory. He went to Judea to do a work for the glory of God — the very thing their fear could not see.
Jesus answered, Are there not twelve hours in the day? If any one walk in the day, he does not stumble, because he sees the light of this world;
The disciples heard "let us go to Judea again" and thought only of the stones waiting there. Jesus answers with a picture from ordinary life: a working day of set length, lit while it lasts. The question is what that daylight stands for, and why it puts the danger to one side.
The image is not about sunlight but about direction. When we know God's will, it is daytime, and whoever walks in it does not stumble.
If it was the will of the Father, it was day. Jesus was not only sent by the living Father; He also lived because of Him. So for the disciple He is the light and the food and the motive. The known will and word of God is the light of day; to be without it is to walk in the night, and stumbling is the sure consequence.
He had already stayed two days after hearing Lazarus was ill. The same principle that held Him back now sent Him forward — and it silenced two opposite pressures.
And so, just as He would not be moved by the precious, tender love of His human heart to go toward Judea until He had the Lord's word in His ear, so on the other hand He will not be held back from returning there by any fear of Jewish hatred or Satanic opposition. The will of Him who sent Him had fallen upon His opened ear, and that is enough.
Writers reading this section see it as a window into how He lived at every point, not one isolated decision.
His every step, His every act, His every word had direct reference to the claims of the Father's glory. Deep personal affection did not take Him to Bethany, and no personal fear could keep Him away. In all He did, and in all He did not do, He found His motive in the glory of God.
What is "the day"? And notice the wording: the one who walks in it sees the light — he is never said to own it.
"The day" was the time of Jesus' presence in this world as the Light of the world. When the time of service is ended, our departure is equally clear.
There is this distinction. The one who walks in the day has the light of the world. The one walking in the night has no light in himself: it is night, and all is total darkness. It is never said that we have light in ourselves. We have no light in ourselves; but the one who has the light walks in the light — as the believer does — in the Light of this world, Christ.
The One answering their fear was Himself the light He pointed to.
He not only saw the light, He was the Light of the world — not merely a child of light, but the Fountain of light. His disciples, however, are slow to hear. They neither recognise the voice of the Son of God nor see the path of the light of life. They judge that death for Himself, rather than life for others, lay ahead.
Twelve hours is a fixed span. While the hours run, no enemy can cut the work short. One writer applies that to Paul, and to God's people ever since.
So long as He had a work for Paul to do, no one could injure him or frustrate His purpose. And so it has been throughout the whole history of the church, and will be: afflicted, but not hemmed in; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. Her confidence through it all is the same as her Lord's: there are twelve hours in the day, and if she walks in the light of His will, no one can injure her or make her stumble.
The test is not whether a road looks safe, but whether we have His word for taking it.
Apply them to Christ, and to our own path too. He saw the light, and He walked in it. Suppose He had gone two days earlier — He would have been walking in the night, because He had no word for it. That was impossible for Him! When He went, He had the word, He walked in the light, and never stumbled. This is what I long for in my own heart, and for all believers: this nearness to the Lord. May we walk so close to Him that if we have to go to a certain place, we can put our hand in His and not go by the wrong street. There is always a right street and a wrong one in every journey.
Another writer takes the same words to a hard road that leads home.
"Are there not twelve hours in the day?" were the words of Jesus. He had to suffer, and so may we; but is it the way there — the way to the home my affections are set on? This settles every question and delivers from ten thousand sorrows. The strength of God holds me up in it; the love of God carries me through.
- Day means will. Daylight here is the known will and word of God; to act without it is to walk at night, and stumbling follows.
- Word before movement. Love did not send Him to Bethany early, and fear did not keep Him away — He waited until He had the word, then went.
- Light outside us. We are never said to have light in ourselves; the believer walks in Christ, the Light of this world.
- Hours are counted. The day has a fixed measure. While the work lasts, no enemy can shorten it — Christ's confidence becomes His people's.
- Right street. The practical outcome is nearness: hand in His, so we take the right street and not the wrong one.
but if any one walk in the night, he stumbles, because the light is not in him.
The disciples had just warned Jesus that going back to Judea meant stoning. His reply moved the danger onto different ground: not what men might do, but whether a person walks in the day or in the night. This verse is the dark half of that picture — what happens to anyone who moves without light.
The "day" in the Lord's answer is not a stretch of hours. It is a condition. One writer ties it to the Father's will, and warns what happens to anyone who acts without it.
If it was the will of the Father, it was day. Jesus was not only sent by the living Father; He also lived because of Him. In the same way, for the disciple He is the light and the food and the motive. The known will and word of God is the light of day; to be without it is to walk in the night, and stumbling is the sure consequence. If Christ is before us, the light will be in us, and we do not stumble. May we always heed His word!
The phrase "the light is not in him" could sound as if some people carry an inner lamp and others do not. One writer says no one owns light at all. The light is a Person, and having Him is the only difference between the two walkers.
Here is the distinction. The one who walks in the day has the light of the world. But the one who walks in the night has no light in himself. It is night, and all is in complete darkness. It is never said that we have light in ourselves. We have no light in ourselves. But the one who has the light walks in the light — and this is the believer — in the Light of this World, Christ, the living One who obeys God's will, as the Image of His Person. That was the state of the Jews after they rejected Him. They went on in darkness, though they thought they were walking and tried to walk. They had no light in them. The disciples were different: they had the light with them.
The Lord had already waited two days after hearing that Lazarus was ill. One writer reads that delay through this verse.
What do verses 9, 10 mean? Apply them to Christ, and to our own path too. He saw the light, and He walked in it. Suppose He had gone off two days before — He would have been walking in the night, because He had not the word for it. That was an impossibility with Him! When He went, He had the word, He walked in the light, and never stumbled. This is what I long for in my own heart, and for all believers: this nearness to the Lord. May we walk so close to Him that when we have to go somewhere, we put our hand in His and so do not take the wrong street.
The disciples were not being reckless. They were being sensible. One writer shows where that kind of common sense still leaves us.
The disciples did not understand the motives that governed the Lord. They wonder at His delay, but even more at His decision to return to the land where the Jews had just tried to stone Him. They were looking at circumstances and speaking according to the light of natural prudence. The Lord was walking in the light of the Father's will, and so there were no stumbling steps in His path. At times we look only at circumstances. Then we stumble and stray, and our way is uncertain and dark. We shall walk in the light only as we spread all our difficulties before the Lord, look to Him alone, and seek to walk according to His will.
One writer turns the warning into an example.
A man must have light to guide him. If he walks on without light from heaven, he is sure to stumble. Christ walked in the day. We see what that means, lived out in full perfection in Him. That is how the Shepherd goes before the sheep! He walks in heavenly light. He teaches us to walk in the same path, but He walks in it first Himself.
- Day. The day is not a span of time but the known will and word of God; while you have that, it is day, whatever the danger looks like.
- Borrowed. No one carries light inside himself. The walker in the night is dark because Christ is not with him — the disciples had the light with them.
- Word. Christ waited two days because He had no word to go. When the word came, He walked into the place of stoning and never stumbled.
- Prudence. Reading circumstances is not the same as seeing light. Plain caution left the disciples in the dark, while the Lord walked in His Father's will.
- Shepherd. He does not send us down the lit path — He walks it first, then teaches us to walk it after Him.
These things said he; and after this he says to them, Lazarus, our friend, is fallen asleep, but I go that I may awake him out of sleep.
Jesus tells His disciples that Lazarus has died — but He never uses the word "dead." He calls him a sleeping friend, and says He is going to wake him.
The Lord does not say "My friend" or "your friend." One writer draws out how much that small word carries.
One thing stands out in the chapter and holds you by its charm. It is the friendliness of our Lord, and the wisdom of that friendliness. There was a circle at Bethany where He was free and at home. It was He who said, "Our friend Lazarus" — not your friend, or My friend, but "our friend." That happy circle took the disciples in. Where friendship is true and real there is no restraint, and a friend may be better than a brother. We do not tell our secrets to strangers. To a friend we love and trust we tell our deepest thoughts and unload our cares. Friendship rests on confidence and love.
Jesus does not call it death. One writer explains why the gentler word is the truthful one.
"Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep." It was only a gentle sleep. Death is not death in the presence of the Prince of life. The grave is only a sleeping place. "I go to awaken him." He could not have said that if Lazarus were being raised from a sick-bed.
So what is asleep? Writers are careful here: the word covers the body, not the soul.
It is important to notice that here, as everywhere, the word sleep applies to the body. It is the suited word of faith for death. How dark is the unbelief that twists it, as some do, into making the soul something material! He who is the truth speaks of the thing as it really is. He knew that He was about to raise Lazarus.
Another writer tests the point by asking where Jesus went.
The Lord said Lazarus had fallen asleep, and that He was going to wake him. Then He went to the grave where Lazarus was, and called with a loud voice, "Lazarus, come out." If it was the spirit of Lazarus that slept, why not go where his spirit was? Why go to where the body was?
Jesus was miles away when Lazarus died. The way He announces it suggests otherwise.
He says, "Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep." He speaks as if He had been sitting by the bedside, watching. And with what sovereign calmness! In the middle of all their anxieties there was One who they thought was neglecting them. His eye was watching there, and He saw the eyelids closing. All of this was so that He might show them, and us as well, the full power of His love.
His staying away now makes sense. He was not too late. He was waiting for the moment when no human help was left.
This, then, was the reason why Jesus kept away from His beloved friends. He waited for the fitting moment. That moment came when Lazarus had already lain in the grave four days. Every human hope had vanished. Every human effort was powerless and worthless. "I go" — not to raise him from a sick-bed, but "to awaken him." The stage was cleared of every human prop, so that the glory of God might shine out in all its brightness. "Man's extremity is God's opportunity," and it is easy to see that the grave gave God a far better opportunity than a sick-bed.
What Jesus said of one man, Scripture goes on to say of many.
When death comes to the Christian it is only sleep — sleep for the body until the Lord wakes it at His coming. That is why Scripture says of Stephen, "And when he had said this, he fell asleep" (Acts 7:60).
One writer notices that Jesus did not empty the whole burial ground at Bethany.
So Lazarus is a picture of the saints who will be "asleep" when Christ comes. Others besides Lazarus were dead and lying in their tombs at Bethany. But the Lord spoke to only one — the one He knew and loved. He made a selection among those who were in the grave. And when the Lord comes down from heaven with a shout, only those who know that voice will answer.
- Friend. He says "our friend," not "My friend." That puts the disciples inside the Bethany circle. He tells them the trouble as a friend tells a friend.
- Watched. The wording sounds like a man speaking from the bedside; He was far away, but His eye was on the moment Lazarus died.
- Renamed. In the presence of the Prince of life, death loses its name and becomes sleep, and the tomb becomes a sleeping place.
- Body. The word sleep covers the body, never the soul — Jesus went to the grave, where the body lay, to wake him.
- Waited. He held back until every human hope was gone, so the awakening would be all God's glory. One voice calling one name is the pattern for the day He calls His own out of their graves.
The disciples therefore said to him, Lord, if he be fallen asleep, he will get well.
Jesus had just told His disciples that their friend had fallen asleep and that He was going to wake him. Their reply sounded like good news, but they missed everything He meant.
The word they used for "recover" is worth a second look.
When the Lord said to His disciples, "Our friend Lazarus is asleep, but I go that I may awake him out of sleep," they replied, "Lord, if he sleeps, he will do well." That is literally "he will be saved." They used a related word — the verb formed from the same root as "Saviour."
Older versions read "he will do well" where the ESV has "he will recover."
They took the word at its surface, and missed why He had chosen it.
Jesus spoke this way because death took on this character in His eyes. The power of resurrection and of life was in Him. The apostles apply His words literally to natural sleep, so He explains them.
What made their answer so far off was not only the misheard word, but the size of what they were expecting from Him.
The Lord begins to show what He was about to do. But they were slow to think of death on the one hand, or of His resurrection power on the other. Preventing death, healing disease, falls far short of triumph over death. The disciples were to be strengthened by the sight of resurrection before He died on the cross and rose again.
So why call it sleep at all? The answer lies in who was speaking.
What touching affection! What gracious intimacy! What a tender linking of Himself with the family of Bethany on the one hand, and His disciples on the other! "Our friend Lazarus sleeps." It was only a gentle sleep. Death is not death in the presence of the Prince of life. The grave is only a sleeping place. He could not have said such words if Lazarus had been raised from a sick-bed. "Man's extremity is God's opportunity," and it is easy to see that the grave gave God a far better opportunity than a sick-bed.
One question remains: what is it that sleeps?
Here, as everywhere, sleep refers to the body. It is the fitting word of faith for death. How dark is the unbelief that twists it, as some do, into making the soul something material! He who is the truth speaks of things as they really are. He knew He was about to raise Lazarus.
Their mistake was not wasted.
They did not understand what the Lord said. But their ignorance, as always, becomes the occasion of our knowledge. Here our Lord shows plainly that He meant Lazarus's death when He said he "sleeps." And so the common expression is the expression of truth: he "fell asleep," "those who sleep in Jesus," and the like.
Their half-informed sentence turns out to be true.
Many passages in the New Testament describe the death of the Christian as sleep. No other word in English says so much about quietness, peace and rest, and about the absence of weariness and worry. Sleep is the word chosen by the Holy Spirit to describe the death of the Christian. How well we may say, as the disciples did, "Lord, if he sleeps, he will do well." Yes, indeed, the one who sleeps through Jesus does well. On the other side of such a sleep there is eternal life, strength that never fades, the presence of the Lord, and the day of God's everlasting favour that will never know a night.
- Word. Their "he will recover" is literally "he will be saved" — from the same root as the word "Saviour."
- Miss. They heard sleep as rest and looked for a healer. But preventing death falls far short of triumph over death.
- Meaning. He called it sleep because of who was speaking. Death is not death in the presence of the Prince of life, and the grave is only a sleeping place.
- Limit. Sleep always refers to the body, never the soul. Faith uses the word; unbelief twists it.
- Gain. Their ignorance drew out His plain answer. Their own words became our language for death: those who sleep through Jesus do well.
But Jesus spoke of his death, but *they* thought that he spoke of the rest of sleep.
The disciples had just heard that Lazarus was asleep and answered that sleep would do him good. Verse 13 is John's own note on what the Lord meant. The gap between what Jesus said and what they heard opens a word of deep comfort for anyone who has lost someone they love.
This verse is not part of the conversation. It is a note for the reader, and John's Gospel has more like it.
It is the Holy Spirit who, through John, gives us this commentary on the Lord's words. Such commentary is not peculiar to this place, but a recurring feature of John's Gospel. For other examples see John 2:21; 7:39; 11:13; 12:33; 21:19, 23. The misunderstanding of the Lord's words is carefully noted, and their real meaning is set out.
There is a reason behind His choice of word.
Jesus spoke this way because death took on this character in His eyes. The power of resurrection and of life was in Him. The apostles applied His words literally to natural sleep, so He explains them.
The same power changes what the grave is.
"Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep." It was only a gentle sleep. Death is not death in the presence of the Prince of life. The grave is only a sleeping place.
Their mistake went deeper than the word itself.
The Lord begins to reveal what He was about to do. But they were slow to think of death on the one hand, or of His resurrection power on the other. Preventing death, or healing disease, falls far short of triumph over death. Seeing resurrection would strengthen the disciples before He died on the cross and rose again.
Some have used the word "sleep" to argue that the soul itself shuts down. One commentator answers that sharply.
It is important to notice that here, as everywhere, sleep is said of the body. It is the fitting word of faith for death. How dark is the unbelief that twists it, as some do, into making the soul material! He who is the truth speaks of the thing as it really is.
Another writer tests this by where Jesus went, and by what His death changed.
The Lord says of Lazarus, "Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I go to awaken him." Then He went to the grave where Lazarus was, and called with a loud voice, "Lazarus, come out." If it was the spirit of Lazarus that slept, why not go where his spirit was? Why go where the body was? Since our Lord by His death has removed the sting, which is sin, we are only said to sleep when we die.
One good thing came out of their mistake. It shaped the way believers still speak about dying.
They did not understand what the Lord said. But their ignorance, as always, becomes the occasion of our knowledge. Here our Lord shows plainly that He meant his death when He said he "sleeps." And so the common expression is the expression of truth: he "fell asleep," "those who sleep in Jesus," and the like. Sleep only closes the memory on the sorrows of the world now past. Then we wake up in fresh strength for a day that will never wear it out.
- Said — Jesus spoke of Lazarus's death. He called it "sleep," because that is what death looked like to Him, who had resurrection power in Himself.
- Heard — the disciples took Him literally and expected recovery. They were slow to grasp either death or His power over it.
- Explained — John adds his own note here, as he does elsewhere. No reader can then mistake the Lord's meaning.
- Limited — the sleep is of the body only; Jesus went to the tomb, not somewhere else, to wake His friend.
- Given — their misunderstanding drew out the plain word. So "sleep" became the settled way of speaking about a believer's death: rest from this world's sorrows, then waking in strength that never wears out.
Jesus therefore then said to them plainly, Lazarus has died.
Between a sick friend and a grave stands one flat sentence. He had said sleep, and they heard rest and recovery — so now He gives them the plain fact, and says He is glad He was not there.
The disciples had answered His talk of sleep with cheerful common sense, and He does not argue with them. He changes vocabulary.
He speaks so quietly that they do not understand Him. The shadow of death lies on all their souls, but the thought of sleep is not even a shadow. "Lord," they say, "if he has fallen asleep, he will recover." So He comes down to their everyday language: "Lazarus has died, and for your sake I am glad that I was not there, so that you may believe." How little like faith their mood was! "But let us go to him."
The plain word is not a rebuke but a rescue:
But the Lord Who tries faith meets the weakness of His disciples, and clears up the difficulty. He tells them plainly, "Lazarus has died." He says He is glad for their sake that He was not there — not there, that is, simply to heal — so that they would believe, once they better knew His power to give life and raise the dead.
The earlier word had a reason behind it, and that reason lies in who Jesus is.
Jesus spoke like this, because death took this character in His eyes, the power of resurrection and of life being in Him.
The figure has limits, and they matter. It is the body, not the person, that sleeps.
Notice that here, as everywhere, sleep refers to the body. It is the suited word of faith for death: how dark the unbelief that twists it, as some do, to make the soul material! He Who is the truth speaks as the thing really is. He knew that He was about to raise Lazarus.
The Lord announces a death, then says He will go to him — and that phrase carries its own teaching.
"But let us go to him" completed what the Lord had to say. "Go to him" He said. Lazarus was dead. But Lazarus had not ceased to exist. He was still a living creature, though not in his body. Lazarus was sleeping. He would go to awake him out of sleep. Death does not end a person's existence, as the dying thief learnt, who was to be with Christ after death in paradise.
The gladness is the hardest part of the sentence. Set it against everything the Lord was carrying at that moment.
Whatever the Saviour's thoughts were, and however hard circumstances pressed on His soul, they never overcame Him. They never held back the most perfect love. "For your sake I am glad that I was not there" (v. 15). If it was a trial to Him to seem lacking in love for these poor women, He was still perfectly obeying His Father's will, which is confirmed here. And in the middle of the deep exercises of His heart — the power of life and all the weight of death meeting in His mind — He rejoiced at the good the disciples were about to gain from it.
The delay is explained here, and the reason names people who were not the ones grieving.
Then we learn that He stayed those two days for the blessing of His disciples, for the Lord says, "For your sake I am glad that I was not there, so that you may believe". This crushing sorrow had overtaken the two sisters. It would bring glory to the Father and blessing to the two grieving sisters, and it would also lead to the blessing of others.
Jesus said it out loud before He reached Bethany. So His own word becomes part of the evidence that the death was real.
But had he really died? Had life left his body? The Lord announced the fact of his death two days after the messenger had reported his illness (14). The sisters were sure that Lazarus had died (21, 32). The Jews in the company of Mary testified to it (37). And four days had he been dead and buried (17, 39). So no one could deny the miracle. If Lazarus came forth from the tomb, it was the Lazarus who had died.
- Plainly. The picture of sleep confused them, so He used their own plain words and stated the fact. He met their weakness instead of arguing with it.
- Sleep. He called it sleep because that is what death looks like to the One who has resurrection life in Himself. The word describes the body, not the soul.
- Alive. "Let us go to him" says Lazarus had not stopped existing — death ends a life in the body, not a person.
- Glad. He is not glad at the death. He is glad at what His absence would produce: faith in disciples who had not yet grasped His power to raise the dead.
- Wider. One home's grief brought glory to the Father, comfort to two sisters, and blessing to others beyond them.
And I rejoice on your account that I was not there, in order that ye may believe. But let us go to him.
Jesus has just told the disciples plainly that Lazarus is dead. He shows no regret at staying away. He says He is glad. Two questions follow: how can love stay away on purpose, and what did the disciples gain by it?
He had already healed people at a distance. So the delay is hard to explain, and one writer puts the difficulty bluntly:
But man is a poor judge of divine love, and even saints learn it only by faith. Jesus will have us trust His love… If a mere man, with power to heal, loved someone who was sick, how quickly he would have healed the patient! And Jesus had already shown His power to heal in that same hour. No matter what the distance in between, or how unconscious the sufferer, why not speak the word on behalf of Lazarus? Did He love the nobleman of Capernaum and his boy, did He love the Gentile centurion and his servant, better than Lazarus? Certainly not. It was for the glory of God, so that the Son of God might be glorified by that very sickness. He did not stop it; He let it run its course.
A cure and a resurrection do not prove the same thing.
He says, "for your sake I am glad that I was not there, so that you may believe," because He was going to raise him from the dead. Healing would have been no such proof of His divine sonship. It is just what they all say, "Could not this man, who opened the eyes of the blind, have kept this man from dying?" But there Lazarus was, dead, and the question was the power of the Son of God who raises the dead.
The two days of waiting were not only about Bethany. Jesus names the disciples as the ones who benefit.
The Lord meets the disciples' confusion of thought by plainly stating, "Lazarus is dead." Then we learn that His waiting the two days was for the blessing of His disciples… This crushing sorrow that had overtaken the two sisters would bring glory to the Father, and blessing to the two grieving sisters. It would also lead to the blessing of others.
He says this with His own death close ahead.
In all of this He thought of the need of His disciples, as He wanted them to see the glory of His divine person. What a heart is Yours, blessed Lord! Your own death was also ahead, and still at such a moment You express Your love for Your poor disciples! And You are always the same — the same to us as to them.
The aim was not new faith, but real faith in those already His own.
He was glad that He had not been there — for the sake not only of Lazarus and his sisters, but of the disciples. If He had been there, no doubt Lazarus would not have died (vv. 21, 32). But he had to die if the Lord was to show His resurrection power in him, and stir up real faith in His own.
Both unbelief and affection misread this moment.
How blind unbelief is! It looked for the Saviour's death. Yet at that very moment He was about to raise a dead man from the grave, and so be marked out as Son of God in power. Evil was being allowed to have its way. Yet how blessed to hear our Lord say, "Let us go to him!" It was in the power of One who is the Resurrection and the Life. "Let us also go, that we may die with him" is the best that affection can do, short of the faith of resurrection power.
The delay at Bethany has something to say to every unanswered prayer.
How this should quiet our hearts in the presence of God when He seems slow to answer our cries! Urgent need or pressing danger is usually demanding and impatient. "Has not God said," we repeat at such times, "that He will hear our prayers? How then is it that we have cried in vain?" Ah, no! we never cry to Him in vain… If the Lord waits, He waits only for His own glory, and our fuller blessing.
- Absent on purpose. He had healed at a distance before; staying away was a decision of love, not a failure of it.
- Absent for a greater proof. A healing would not have proved His divine sonship. Raising the dead does.
- Absent for their sakes. The two days served the disciples' faith, so one family's sorrow became blessing for others.
- Absent, yet thinking of them. With His own death ahead, His concern was that they should see the glory of His person.
- Absent, then "let us go to him." He speaks of a dead man as still within reach. That is the voice of the One who is the Resurrection and the Life. The best affection could offer was to go and die with Him.
Thomas therefore, called Didymus, said to his fellow disciples, Let *us* also go, that we may die with him.
Thomas speaks here for the first time in John's Gospel. Jesus has just said He is going back to Judea, where His enemies had tried to stone Him, and Thomas answers with words that are loyal and bleak at once.
Almost everything we know about Thomas comes from John — starting with his name, and ending with the doubt he became famous for.
The name Thomas means "a twin," and so does Didymus, which John uses three times. Only John tells us anything about him after his call and appointment. His refusal to believe the news of the resurrection has passed into a proverb (John 20:24-31).
He was a man of few words, and that shapes how his words land.
Thomas Didymus was not a talkative man like his friend Simon Peter. He was a man of few words, but when he did speak it was to the point, showing the sort of man he was. Only John records his words, and we may be sure that the Holy Spirit who inspired him to write his Gospel had a purpose in that.
Who is the "him" Thomas means? Readers have taken it two ways.
"That we may die with him." As in the first edition, "him" here has a small first letter, because its exact meaning is uncertain. Zahn, like Grotius, takes it to mean Lazarus. Most commentators, however, understand it to mean Jesus. See verse 9 and following.
There is a reason behind Thomas's proposal, and it lies a few verses earlier.
Comparing verse 8 with verse 16 makes it plain, I think, that Thomas expected nothing but death for the Lord from the hatred of the Jews. Since the Lord had decided to go into Judea, Thomas proposed that the disciples should share their Master's fate. No doubt there was love in such a resolve. But how blind unbelief is! It looks for the Saviour's death at the very moment when He was about to be marked out as Son of God in power. He would do it by raising a dead man from the grave! "Let us also go, that we may die with him" is the best that affection can do, short of the faith of resurrection power.
Underneath his courage lay a wrong idea — that men could take Jesus' life.
Whatever made him stumble, we see how attached his heart was to Christ. There was a fine devoted heart! But he ought to have known better; he ought to have counted on it that Christ could not die unless He gave Himself up.
Jesus and Thomas were looking at the same journey. They did not see the same thing at the end of it.
Thomas, as often happens with us, cannot rise above the circumstances. He says, "Let us also go, that we may die with Him." The Lord has life before Him; Thomas can only see death. Walking in the light of the Father, the Lord sees life beyond death. Walking under the power of circumstances, Thomas can only see death as the end of life. Still, his words show that even in the darkness of his way his love clings to Christ... The love of Thomas would rather die with Him than live without Him. It is possible to be more intelligent than Thomas, but with less affection.
His courage was real. So was its limit.
It looks as though some of them were holding back, but not he. He had cast in his lot with his Master and would share His fortunes in life and in death, whatever others might do... He had affection for Him, there can be no doubt about that, but faith and spiritual intelligence were greatly lacking. Anyway, he would die with his Lord; he meant that, though when the fury of hell began to rage he fled like the rest of them.
This verse is the first step in a line that runs downward before it turns.
John's first reference to Thomas (John 11:16) shows that there is a good measure of affection for Christ in his heart. The next mention, in chapter 14, shows how completely he had missed the greatness of the One whose disciple he was. In chapter 20 he seems, in his disappointment, to have fallen into unbelief... Those precious marks of suffering love made their impact on Thomas. They moved his affections and enlightened his mind. His fervent response, "My Lord and my God," gladdened the heart of Christ. It also showed the full measure of Thomas's recovery.
- Name. Thomas, called Didymus, means "a twin." After his call, only John tells us anything about him.
- Loyalty. He reads the trip to Judea as certain death. Even so, he will not hold back, and he calls the others to share their Master's fate.
- Blindness. He expects a grave at the very moment Christ is about to raise a dead man. That is love — love that cannot see past the circumstances.
- Limit. Dying with Jesus is the best that affection can offer, short of faith in resurrection power. Thomas had not grasped that no one could take Christ's life unless He gave it up.
- Recovery. The same heart that clung to Him in the dark ends at "My Lord and my God." Christ's wounds moved his affections and enlightened his mind at last.