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.