Today I’m thinking through this story in John 11 from the perspective of Lazarus.

When this chapter is busted out in church, we typically think about what Mary and Martha are thinking. Sometimes, we think about the disciples and their feelings. We may even think and talk about Jesus and his experience here.

But we don’t often take the time to ponder what’s going on with Lazarus.

After all, he was Jesus’ friend. He’s referred to as one of Jesus’ loved ones. They’d spent time together, hanging out, eating, talking, laughing. They had history, and I’m pretty sure Lazarus figured Jesus had his back. He got sick, but probably thought he’d get better like usual. But he actually started getting worse. Eventually, he’s in bed and it must have occurred to him that he might not get better.

Did it ever cross his mind to ask Jesus for help? Did he think Jesus may be too busy? Did he assume, once his sisters had sent a message to Jesus, that the one who’d walked the countryside healing total strangers would certainly come rescue a close friend?

What must it feel like to know your life is ebbing away and one of your best friends has the power to fix it? What must it feel like to have that friend not show up?

It’s probably not that hard for you to imagine what Lazarus must have felt. You’ve probably felt it at some point in your life. You believe God could fix things, but he delays his arrival. While you wait and wait and wait, well-intentioned people say things like, “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” Or, “I’m sure he’d be here if he could. Something must have come up.”

But he said he was your friend. Was he just saying that? Did he say that to everyone? Why would he help people he didn’t even know but not help you now?

And then you die….

Something’s not right about that. Something about it rubs us the wrong way. Sure, we may pretend it doesn’t bother us, or we may pretend like we’re not supposed to ask questions like this. The Psalmist didn’t carry any of those illusions. In fact, the psalms can be divided into several categories — different kinds of psalms — and the largest category of psalms are the psalms of lament (which is a fancy theological way of saying “psalms of complaint”).

Maybe Lazarus quoted some of those psalms on his deathbed. Jesus sure did.

Regardless, Jesus didn’t show up to help Lazarus until it was (from our perspective) too late. Lazarus was dead for four days. He closed his eyes and stopped breathing.

Then the next thing he knew he heard a familiar voice. It was Jesus telling him to come out. Did Lazarus know where he was or why he was all wrapped up? Was he consciously aware of being dead?

I don’t know about you, but I’ve got lots of questions about this.

At some point in time, the dots must have gotten connected. Lazarus either figured it out or was told that he’d been dead and brought back to life. But did he realize that it was just temporary? That he’d have to go through death all over again at sometime in the not too distant future? I wonder how that would make you feel.

How would you live if you knew you’d already died and been brought back to life on this earth for a finite period of time?

In some ways, that’s the challenge to all of us. Those of us who have died to self and been brought back to a new kind of life know that our remaining time on earth is short. So, as much as I’m called to live like Jesus, I’m also busy being Lazarus over here — wondering why Jesus didn’t show up when and how I wanted him to but thankful for another chance — brief though it may be — to really live before I die.

This entry was posted on Thursday, February 4th, 2010 at 2:31 pm and is filed under Jesus. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.