Not Here, Not Yet

March 21, 2020

Today’s reading is from the Gospel of John, chapter 11–the story of the raising of Lazarus from the dead. Jesus’ affirmation that “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live” is one of the great promises in the Bible, often used at funerals. But there is in this chapter another, perhaps more pertinent message for us in these uncertain days. This incident is all about unanswered prayer. The words, first from Martha, then from Mary—“Lord if you had been here...” echo in our own hearts. How often have we prayed, even begged the Lord to show up and work his stuff, only to hear deafening silence in return?

“Why aren’t you here when we need you, Lord?” Where do we think he was when we prayed? Somewhere else, answering someone else’s prayer? Was he not hearing, not listening to the cry of our hearts? Martha and Mary’s cry is ours; “Why did our brother die? You could have done something, but you didn’t show up. Why is everything going wrong? If you had been here...” We dare not speak what we feel—that it’s all God’s fault. 

But as in chapter six, verse six, when he commanded his disciples to feed 5,000 people with whatever they had, he knew what he was going to do. The impossible was going to become possible! But there was still this unanswered prayer, and the sense of foreboding that was beginning to envelop them. Thomas gave expression to it when he said, “We might as well go, that we may die with him.” He knew the dangers that swirled in the shadows of Jerusalem.

So after all hope was gone, they went. Had Jesus gone to Lazarus immediately upon hearing the news of his illness, he would have healed him, but would have lost the occasion that put into motion the events leading to his Crucifixion. In verse four, he tells us this was all happening so God’s glory could be revealed in him. He wasn’t speaking of the raising of Lazarus, but of himself... upon a cross. God’s glory—the unveiling of God’s great love and holiness would come, but it had to pass through the unanswered prayers of Martha and Mary, who couldn’t understand, nor conceive of a greater good than the healing of their brother. 

We pray with clouded vision, seeing only that which is immediately before us. The mists of the mystery of God’s plan hide a greater glory, and the veil is not always pulled back for us to see. So we pray, sometimes seeing answers, but often not. Christ is not absent when we pray. He may choose to remain hidden, but he is here nonetheless. He may delay for a greater glory we cannot see nor understand. And we pray, not so he might come, but so we might see and trust him through the tragedy we see all too plainly, for a greater glory yet unseen.