The patriarch Job experienced the darkness and mystery of sorrow when he thus spoke:--"Know now that God hath overthrown me, and hath compassed me with his net. Behold, I cry out of wrong, but I am not heard: I cry aloud, but there is no judgment. He hath fenced up my way that I cannot pass, and he hath set darkness in my paths. He hath stripped me of my glory, and taken the crown from my head. He hath destroyed me on every side, and I am gone; and mine hope hath he removed like a tree." "Even to-day is my complaint bitter; my stroke is heavier than my groaning. O that I knew where I might find him! that I might come even to his seat!" "Behold, I go forward, but he is not there; and backward, but I cannot perceive him: on the left hand, where he doth work, but I cannot behold him: he hideth himself on the right hand, that I cannot see him. But he knoweth the way that I take: when he hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold."
The sweet singer of Israel sung in darkness when he said:--"My heart is sore pained within me; and the terrors of death are fallen upon me. Fearfulness and trembling are come upon me, and horror hath overwhelmed me. And I said, O that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest." "Thou hast laid me in the lowest pit, in darkness, in the deeps. Thy wrath lieth hard upon me, and thou hast afflicted me with all thy waves. Thou hast put away mine acquaintance far from me; thou hast made me an abomination unto them: I am shut up, and I cannot come forth."
The prophet Jeremiah cried out of the depths of mysterious sorrow when he poured forth these lamentations:--"I am the man that hath seen affliction by the rod of his wrath. He hath led me, and brought me into darkness, but not into light. Surely against me is he turned; he turneth his hand against me all the day." "He hath set me in dark places, as they that be dead of old. He hath hedged me about, that I cannot get out; he hath made my chain heavy." "And thou hast removed my soul far off from peace: I forgat prosperity. And I said, My strength and my hope is perished from the Lord: remembering mine affliction and my misery, the wormwood and the gall. My soul hath them still in remembrance, and is humbled in me."
And did not our blessed Lord himself experience, as a man, the mystery of sorrow when he cried in Gethsemane, "If it be possible, let this cup pass from me;" and when, during that "hour and power of darkness" on the cross, He exclaimed, "My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?"
If, then, our Father visits us with any sorrow which is to us dark and mysterious, let us "not think it strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try us, as if some strange thing happened to us." Let us rather gratefully remember, that ever since our Lord has ascended up on high, and given us His Spirit to teach us and to abide with us for ever, and for our profit has recorded in His holy Word not only His acts, but also His
ways towards the children of men, we are enabled to see much, light piercing our greatest darkness and sorrow, and so to know God as to strengthen our faith in His wisdom and love.
I do not know any narrative in the whole Word of God which at once reveals so much of this darkness and light--of the mystery of sorrow for a time, and the solution of the mystery afterwards--as that of the sickness, death, and resurrection of Lazarus.
That family in Bethany, we know, consisted of Lazarus and his sisters, Martha and Mary. They were poor, and unknown to the great and busy world; but their riches and rank in the sight of the ministering angels were great indeed, for Jesus "loved them." This was the charter of the grandest inheritance. But though loved by Jesus, that love did not hinder them from being visited by a sudden affliction, and plunged for a while into deepest gloom. We are able in spirit to cross their lowly threshold, and to understand all that took place in that humble home: for human hearts and human sorrows are the same in every age. Lazarus, the head of the house, is laid on a bed of sickness. We need no details to enable all who have watched the progress of disease in the beloved member of a family--and who has been exempted from this anxiety?--to realise how the symptoms of illness, treated at first perhaps lightly, would become more serious, then alarming, until foreboding thoughts of death pained every tender affection; and we can understand how advice would be asked from kind neighbours, and every possible remedy applied. But in vain! The sufferer gets worse, and the signs of approaching dissolution rapidly succeed in delirium, prostration of strength, or altered features, until the chill of hopelessness creeps over the hearts of the sisters, and hot tears fill their watching eyes, and prayers tremble upon their pale lips, as in silence they wait for the dread hour of death to their dear one! We see it all!
But ere this last moment was reached by Martha and Mary, they are full of hope that it may be averted, for they have a secret source of relief in a Physician of body and soul. So long as they have Jesus with them, they cannot despair. He is not, however, in Bethany, but at Bethabara beyond the Jordan, a day's journey off. Yet they can send for Him; and they accordingly do so, with this simple message, "Lazarus, whom thou lovest, is sick." It is enough. There is not a word of their love, or of the love of Lazarus to Him. The appeal is to His own heart. No request is proffered. Everything is left to Himself.
Did they not, however, feel assured that Jesus would manifest His love to them in the way which seemed to
them the best way,--nay, the one way only by which they could receive comfort, and be relieved from their anxiety and sorrow,--and that was by delivering Lazarus from sickness and death? For they could not but recall at that moment the many instances in which Jesus had displayed His power and love during the three years He had lived amidst the sorrowing and suffering in Judea; how unwearied His goodness had ever been; how "multitudes" had come to Him, and "He healed them all;" how health had flowed from His hands and His lips, and from His
very garments; how He had showered down His blessings upon Gentile as well as Jew, upon those who were aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and were accounted as "dogs;" how He had healed by merely speaking a word at a distance, and even anticipated prayer, by restoring a dead son to his widowed mother, who had never asked or expected such a blessing. And now! will He refuse to help His own beloved friend? Shall strangers, heathen, publicans and sinners, be promptly heard and answered, and Lazarus whom He loved forgotten? Impossible! The healing word must be spoken, or Jesus himself will come and manifest Himself as mighty to save!
Who can doubt but that such were the anticipations of Martha and Mary, when they sent in their distress the message to their Lord and Friend--"Lazarus, whom thou lovest, is sick?"
The messenger has departed. With what anxiety must they have measured out the time within which it was possible for Jesus to receive the intelligence. They who have sent far away for a physician in a critical case, when every minute was precious, can sympathise with their anxiety. Time passes: has the Saviour yet received the tidings of their grief? Probably not, for there is no improvement in Lazarus. The healing word has not been spoken. Time passes: now He must have heard! Yet Lazarus is no better. Time passes: and the messenger has returned, but without Jesus! Yet surely not without some message of consolation? some hope held out of relief? He brings neither! Jesus had said, indeed, that this sickness was not unto death, or rather, was "unto death only for the glory of God, that the Son of God might be glorified thereby." But what means this? Does it mean that Lazarus was to die? Has Jesus, then, actually refused to aid them? Though He did not promise to come, or had not spoken the word of healing, He must surely do either I It cannot be, no it
cannot be, that He will desert them, or leave them alone in this trial! "Jesus, tarry not!" might have been their wailing cry: "Lazarus whom thou lovedst is sinking fast, and soon all will be over with him. Friends, neighbours, look along the road, watch the brow of that distant hill, look along that valley, and see if there are any signs of His coming?"
Alas! 'tis all in vain Lazarus is dead! And beside that silent body the two sisters are breaking their hearts. Life and death, faith and unbelief, are struggling terribly for the mastery, and strange thoughts of Christ flit across their minds like storm-clouds athwart the sun. One brother is gone, the other has not come. The one dearly loved them; the other!--they had believed in Jesus as the Messiah: they had loved Him with reverent and deep affection, they had worshipped--and now!--God of Abraham, forsake us not utterly! Our fathers trusted Thee, and were not put to shame! Oh, deliver our feet from falling, and our souls from going down to the pit! Lord, help our unbelief!
In some such form as this the storm of doubt and anguish must have torn the minds of those mourners. But the storm is not yet over; the deepest darkness has not yet come. Their brother is dead. Death with his marks, which once seen can never be mistaken, stamps every lineament of that well-known countenance. It is death's colour on the cheek; death's cold stiffness in the limbs; and no hand but his could so close those eyes and make rigid those lips. There is no swoon here! Swathe him then in the garments of the grave; make ready for the funeral; let him be buried for ever out of sight; follow him to the ancestral tomb, and let the other household dead be remembered, and the other sad processions from the home of the living to the home of the lost and gone be recalled, and think that as they never returned, so never can he. Lay the body gently down beside those who have been long sleeping there; look at it; remember the past since childhood; weep and say farewell; return, Martha and Mary, with wrung hearts to your home, and see the empty room and listen for a voice that is no more, and experience a second death in the emptiness, the silence of this changed abode, and let the heaviest burden of all be borne, the deepest sorrow of all be endured--
the doubt of a Saviour's love! Yes, that terrible agony of doubt was there. Other friends came to sympathise with them, and to be present with them at the funeral; but this Friend was absent, and did not send even one comforting message! Of what avail is His coming now? for Lazarus has been dead four days, and corruption is already doing its foul work on his body. Here is "darkness that might be felt!"
Would that we could feel how real all this mysterious sorrow must have been to those sisters--
our sisters, with our hearts, affections, and sympathies--that so we may be the more prepared to receive the blessed teaching which this narrative is designed to afford, and have our faith strengthened by seeing how the darkness and perplexity which belong so often to God's providential dealings towards us, may be caused by the deepest workings of that very love which we do not for a time see, and therefore may in our blindness and weakness for a time doubt.
But we must now look at the other portion of this history, which interprets the one we have been considering, and reveals the mind and ways of Jesus, now, as then, to His sorrowing friends.
We read that "
when Jesus heard that Lazarus was sick," "he abode two days still in the same place where he then was." But His thoughts and His heart were all the while in Bethany. He saw all that was taking place there. He was cognisant of every groan and tear; yet He did nothing to prevent the progress of the disease, or to lessen the intensity of the sorrow. At the very moment when the sisters watch their brother's last breath, Jesus "said unto them plainly, Lazarus is dead,"
Let us inquire, then, whether we can discover any reasons which could have induced our Lord thus to prolong His stay at Bethabara, and to absent Himself from Bethany. What means this deep calm and quiet at such a time beside the troubled waters of the Jordan?
Now, we must ever remember that the grand end of all our Lord did, was that "God might be glorified thereby,"--that the character of the Father might be revealed in the fullest possible manner in and by Jesus the Son. But in order that this, in the circumstances in which He was then placed, might be accomplished, He had many things to consider; many complex interests pertaining to the kingdom of God to weigh and to reconcile, so as to bring out of them all glory to God in the highest, with good-will to man.
(
a.) Jesus had in the first place to consider the
good of His beloved
friends in Bethany.
They were thinking probably of their own
comfort only, and of that too as coming but in one way, by the deliverance of Lazarus from sickness or death. But there is something of more importance to immortal beings than mere comfort. Love to souls is a very different sentiment, and manifested in a very different manner, than love to mere animals. To get quit of grief; to have tears dried up and smiles restored; to be delivered from all anxiety, and relieved from the heavy burden of sorrow, never mind
how,--this is surely not the highest end which one who, wisely and truly loved, would seek for his brother in adversity? The highest, the best, the enduring and eternal interests of the sufferer must
first be considered. His comfort, doubtless, cannot be overlooked, but then it must be such comfort as God can sympathise with and rejoice in; a comfort, therefore, which is in harmony with true spiritual life, and which will strengthen that life unto life eternal. Every other comfort is a delusion, a cheating of the soul, a laughter that must end at last in the experience of a deeper sorrow than before. He who bids us seek
first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, cannot discipline us or aid us to seek any lower good first, because He loves our true and highest good most. Jesus had therefore to consider how He could bring true
good, and therefore true comfort in the end, out of this sickness and death, to Martha, Mary, and also to Lazarus. To restore the brother to his sisters--was this best for
them, taking into account every circumstance of their history within and without? To restore Lazarus to life--to a world of sin and temptation, again to die--was this the best for
him? These were solemn questions, which Divine love and wisdom alone could answer.
(
b.) But Jesus had to consider the good of
His disciples. For years these simple-minded men had followed Him, and had been educating by Him to become the teachers of the world. HOW then shall this event be best turned to account for the strengthening of their faith, for the enlarging of their spiritual vision of God's glory, as revealed by His Son? But Jesus remembered them also: "I am glad," He said, "for
your sakes that I was not there, to the intent that ye may believe."
(
c.) Beyond the inner circle of His friends in Bethany and His more immediate followers, there was the multitude of poor, ignorant, fanatical, and
unbelieving Jews--the wandering sheep, many of whom, had to be gathered into the fold of this the Good Shepherd. Jesus had their interests also at heart, as is evident from His prayer subsequently at the tomb of Lazarus: "
Because of the people which stand by I said it, that
they may believe that thou hast sent me."
(
d.) Nor must we, in contemplating the many objects of love which occupied the thoughts of the Saviour, forget how
intimately connected the raising of Lazarus was with His own death. That last great miracle of Divine power and love--almost, if not His last on earth--was to mark the beginning of His own deepest humiliation and sorrow. The hatred of the Jews was at this time so intense, that Thomas was amazed that He should hazard a journey to a place so near Jerusalem as was Bethany. "The Jews of late sought to stone thee; and goest thou thither again?" And so dangerous did this journey seem, that while bravely resolving to accompany Him, Thomas said, "Let us also go, that we may die with him." But this hatred was to be intensified by the display of Christ's glory at the tomb of Lazarus; for we read that "from
that day forth they took counsel to put Him to death." The opening of the tomb to bring Lazarus forth was thus the opening of His own to descend thither as "crucified, dead, and buried." The gratitude of Mary for having her brother restored was soon to be unconsciously expressed by her anointing his mighty Restorer for His own burial. No wonder that Jesus paused ere He took this last step which intervened between Himself and the death which should end His work and mission upon earth.
(
e.) And, as including all these considerations and many more,
His own glory as the Divine Son of God was involved in what was to take place at Bethany. And this, again, involved the destinies of the human race, and the good and comfort of the Church throughout coming ages. Whatever became of Martha or Mary or Lazarus,--though the sisters should weep out their little day of life, and though their brother's sleep should be unbroken till the resurrection morning,--what was all this to the revealing of Jesus as the Saviour of men, and as the "resurrection and the life" of human bodies and of human souls? Inconceivably less in proportion than are the interests of one person to those of the whole universe! And thus you see that while those humble mourners, in the weakness of the flesh, and in their earthly short-sightedness, were thinking only of themselves, Jesus the Saviour of mankind had to think of many persons and of many things, so that every interest might be attended to, and the good of the whole kingdom of God be remembered, while not a hair on the head of Martha, Mary, or Lazarus was forgotten. Oh, blessed Saviour and glorious King! who can thus govern worlds and mould the ages of human history, while His ear is open to the prayers, and His thoughts occupied with the concerns, of the humblest mourners, as if they alone existed in the mighty universe of God!
Before shewing the blessed teaching which sufferers may gather from this twofold picture of mysterious sorrow and of thoughtful love, let us study for a moment the circumstances attending the meeting of Jesus with Martha and Mary. Many of these are deeply interesting and full of instruction; but I confine myself to one point only, the evidence which I cannot but think they afford of the shaken faith of the sisters for a time in the love of Jesus.
Martha was the first to meet Him outside of the town, where in quiet, and undisturbed by the noisy mourners from Jerusalem, and by their sympathising friends, Jesus desired, with His considerate kindness, to probe and heal those sorely wounded hearts. And what was her salutation? "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died!" What means this? Is it an expression of confidence only in His power? Is it a confession of faith? Or does it not rather evidence unbelief? Does it not imply a sorrowing complaint, uttered, indeed, with reverence, and in such gentle language as was compatible with sincere faith, but still a complaint from a wondering and disappointed because wrung spirit, expressed in language which suggested the additional question asked only in the heart, "
And why wert Thou not here?" Jesus reasoned with her. She believes, yet still doubts and questions why He had not come; she trusts Him, yet sees no light with reference to His dealings towards themselves. One thing she will do, however, amidst the darkness--she will cling to Christ as her only hope and refuge! Mary remains in the house. Why? Was it that she had not heard of the arrival of Jesus, or of Martha having gone to meet Him? Or is her heart so torn by distracting thoughts, that for a moment she knows not what to do? She dare not say to Him all she feels. Her keen and sensitive heart is agonised by entertaining for a moment even the bare suspicion of unkindness on His part. She fights against the horrid thought, which, like a demon, torments her, yet she cannot yet quite banish it, and meet Him with the full, unreserved, gushing love which something tells her is His due. But however this may have been, a message from Himself rouses her: "The Master is come, and calleth for thee; and as soon as she heard that, she arose quickly and came unto him." But how did she meet Him! Ah! Martha and she have surely been together pondering over the mystery of His absence, and they have inwardly come to the same conclusion; and so she too fell at the Master's feet, with the same wailing cry from her full heart, "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died!" As she uttered these words, "Jesus wept!" There are expressions and single words in Scripture which reveal a whole heaven of glory--like the opening in the telescope, which, though but as a pin-point of light, reveals the glory of sun, moon, and stars. What a revelation of love is this--"Jesus wept!" But what mean these tears? They are visibly significant of much sorrow. The cup of the "Man of sorrows" was always full; what caused it thus to run over? Only twice in His life do we read of the Saviour's weeping,--now, when at Bethany, and in a few days afterwards, when entering Jerusalem during the week of His crucifixion. Did Jesus now weep from mere human sympathy with sisters mourning for a dead brother? or did He weep because He mourned their own lost faith in His love to them? We are well aware of the tenacity with which most people cling to the former method of accounting for the Saviour's tears, and what pain it seems to give when the latter view is pressed upon them, as if they were thereby robbed of some special source of comfort in affliction, and left without any other declaration in the Word of God--at all events, without any other incident in the life of Jesus--fitted to inspire confidence in His sympathy. It is not difficult to account for this feeling on our part. For it is much easier to understand tears shed for mere human suffering, than tears shed for human sin. The one kind of sorrow is common, the other is rare. The one is almost instinctive, and necessarily springs from that benevolence which belongs to us as men, but the other can only spring from that love of souls which belongs to us as "partakers of the sufferings of Christ," and from possessing, therefore, a realising sense of the infinite importance of a right or wrong state of being towards God, and from beholding the darkness of evil casting its dread shadows over a dear one's spirit. Hence an atheist can mourn over our loss of friends by death, while the man of God alone can mourn over our loss of God himself by unbelief. Then, again, every person welcomes the sympathy of another in his sorrows; while he might at the same time have no sympathy with the grief experienced by another for his sins. The one might be gladly welcomed as most loving, but the other be proudly rejected as most offensive.
Why therefore should true Christians cling with such fondness to the idea of Christ weeping with Martha and Mary, because they lost their brother, and not rather see a far deeper love and a source of far deeper comfort in his tears, because they had, for a moment even, lost their faith? Surely those who know Christ do not depend solely on such a proof as this of the reality of His humanity, and of His sympathy with the affliction of His brethren; nor can that kind of sympathy be the highest which can be afforded by all men whose hearts are not utterly steeled by selfish indifference. Besides, however real Christ's sympathy was with sorrow of every kind, why did He express it on this occasion more than on any other? Nay, why did He weep at the very moment when He purposed, by a miracle of power, to restore the dead brother to his sisters, and in a few minutes to turn their sorrow into joy? Why weep with those whose tears were shed in ignorance only of the coming event which was so soon to dry them? But the Saviour's tears came from a different and a profounder source! They welled out of a heart whose deep and tender love was not trusted in, but doubted even by those whom He loved most deeply and tenderly, and at the very moment too when He was about to pour forth upon them the richest treasure of His love, and to do exceeding abundantly above all they could ask or think. Remember only how He of all men loved; how as a man He longed for His brother's sympathy, and how as a holy Saviour He longed for His brother's good. Remember how earnestly He sought for the one grand result, that of hearty confidence in His goodwill, as the only restorative of humanity fallen and in ruins through the curse of unbelief. Remember, too, how lonely He was in the world; how few understood Him in any degree, or responded even feebly to the constant, boundless outpouring of His affection; and how many returned His good with evil, His love with bitterest hate;--remember all this, and conceive if you can what His feelings must have been when returning to this home of His heart, to this green spot amidst the wilderness of hateful distrust, with His whole soul full of such glorious purposes of love and self-sacrifice, and then at such a time to find his best and dearest friends smitten with the universal blight, fallen to the earth and prostrate in the dust under the crushing burden of unbelief! He does not weep, at first, when Martha addresses him; but when Mary, the loving and confiding--she of all on earth--complains; when faith has failed in even her!--oh, it is too much for His heart! "And thou too!"--"Jesus wept!" Ah! that shadow of death in such a soul as this was infinitely sadder to Him than the dead body of her brother, nay, than the contents of all the festering graveyards of the world! For what is death to sin? and what is the power which can restore by a word the dead body to life, in comparison with that which is required to restore an unbelieving soul to God? It was this unbelief, the most terrible spectacle which earth presents to the eye of a holy and loving Saviour, that made Him weep as He beheld it for a moment, like a demon-power taking possession of His own best beloved. And it was this same essential evil, and this alone, which made Him weep once again as He entered Jerusalem, when He cried, "How often would I have gathered you, but ye would not!"
In perfect accordance with this view, we read that when some of the Jews said, as He walked towards the tomb of Lazarus, "Could not this man, which opened the eyes of the blind, have caused that even this man had not died?" "Jesus
therefore again groaning in himself, cometh to the grave." For again the words expressed lost faith in His power, or in His love to "this man." In like manner, when Martha, as if to persuade Him not to attempt impossibilities, reminded Him of the long time in which Lazarus had lain in the grave, saying, "Lord, by this time he stinketh," Jesus sternly rebukes her, "Said I not unto thee,
that if thou wouldest believe, thou shouldest see the glory of God?" And tell me, is there not inexpressible comfort in this love which mourns over sin as the greatest loss and the greatest sorrow? I can get many, as I have said, in the world to understand and to feel with me in all my sufferings from loss of wealth, of health, of friends, or of any earthly blessing. Relations, acquaintances, strangers, even enemies, could be found who would do so. But who will so love me as to carry my crushing burden of sin? Who can fully understand its exceeding sinfulness I Who can fathom the depths into which I have fallen, or enter the body of death which imprisons my spirit. One only, the truest, the best, the most loving of all, my Saviour! And His hatred of my sin, and His sorrow for it, is just the measure of His love to me, and of His desire to deliver me, and to make me a partaker of His own blessed rest and peace, through faith and love in His Father and my Father, in His God and my God!
I shall pass by the remaining facts in this narrative, the raising of Lazarus, and the memorable scene when Jesus sat as a guest with the family of Bethany, again restored to one another, and to Himself in love; and when Mary with unutterable thoughts anointed His feet with ointment, and wiped them with the hair of her head. I would rather occupy the space which remains, in gathering from what has been said a few general lessons of importance chiefly to mourners.
My suffering brother or sister! permit me to address you as if personally present with you, seeing your distress, and sharing it as those cannot choose but do who have themselves experienced the darkness of sorrow. Such darkness and perplexity I have known, and I so remember with deepest gratitude the strength and comfort which were then afforded by the revelation of the ways of Christ, as illustrated by this narrative, that I desire to help others as I have been myself helped.
The one grand lesson which it teaches us is,
never, in our darkest hour, to lose confidence in the love of Christ towards us, as if He had forgotten to be gracious, and either could not or would not help us. Banish the sinful thought! "Beware lest there should be in any of you
the evil heart of unbelief." For such unbelief is the greatest calamity which can befall us. It is, verily, "sorrow's crown of sorrow," Let us rather "hold fast our confidence, which hath a great reward."
Like the family in Bethany, you too, I shall suppose, are visited with a sudden and "mysterious" bereavement. Like them you may pray to Christ, and ask a specific blessing; and like them you may think He has not heard your prayer, nor ever will answer it, because He does not do this at the time or in the manner you wished or anticipated. His thoughts and ways with reference to you may thus be utterly dark--darker than blackest night. Yet the servant of the Lord, "though he walks in darkness, and has no light," must "trust in the Lord, and stay himself upon his God." For the ways of Christ to His suffering friends in Bethany, when absent from them beyond the Jordan, are a revelation of His ways to us now, when He is in glory beyond the tomb. Now, as then, He never forgets us, never overlooks the least circumstance in our history, and never ceases for one moment to have that interest in us which is possible only for such a Brother or Saviour to possess. But now, as then, He has
manifold interests to consider; ten thousand times ten thousand complex and crossing consequences to weigh. While we, perhaps, have our thoughts wholly occupied with but one desire, our own individual comfort, our own deliverance from this or that trial, the wise and all-loving Jesus has to provide for much more than this. Our own good and growth in grace--the good of those in sickness--the good of children, relations, friends, yea, it may be of generations yet unborn, who may be affected at this crisis in our family history by what Jesus does or does not,--all this must be considered by Him who loves all, and seeks the good of all, and who alone can trace out the marvellous and endless network of influence by which man is bound to man from place to place and from age to age. No one, therefore, but the Lord of all can decide what is best to be done in the circumstances of each case, in order that most good may be done, and that God may be glorified thereby. He alone knows how this link of "sickness unto death" is connected with other links in the mysterious chain of human history. And if so, then surely it becomes us, poor, ignorant, blind, selfish creatures, to bow before His throne with holy reverence; to yield ourselves and all our concerns meekly and lovingly into His hands, in the full assurance of faith that our interests are there in best and safest keeping; to feel that it is our first duty and noblest privilege to trust Him when we cannot trace Him, being persuaded that He does all things well, and
that what we know not now we shall know hereafter.
Amidst all darkness, perplexity, and apparent confusion, remember the certainties which abide unmoved, and "shine aloft as stars." It is
certain that "all things work together for the
good of those who love God;" that "thou wilt keep him in perfect
peace, whose soul is stayed on thee, because he trusteth in thee;" and that "nothing can separate us from the love of Christ," (His love to us.) It is
certain that our Christian dead are in His presence; and that no one knows them or loves them as that Saviour does, who made them with His own hands, and redeemed them with His own blood. It is
certain that if we are believers in Christ, we are still united to those departed ones, in labour, in worship, in love, in hope, and in joy; for, "whether we wake or sleep, we live
together with Him." It is
certain, that if "we are Christ's," "all things are ours, whether life or death, things present or things to come!"
Hold fast, then, O mourner, thy confidence in thy Lord! Have patience, fret not, despair not, and a day shall come to thee like that which came at last to the mourners in Bethany--it may be here, it may not be until we meet Him beyond the bounds of time, yet come it must--when all this earthly history, and all His doings towards us, shall be read in the clear and full light of perfect knowledge; when out of this seeming chaos and confusion the most perfect order will be evolved before our wondering eyes; and when we shall joyfully acknowledge with what majestic grandeur the world has ever been governed by its glorious King! Then, when we hear how He has governed ourselves, and trace the path along which He has led us since childhood, and understand the reasons which induced Him at such a time and in such a way to afflict us;--then, when the ways and thoughts of that mind and heart are laid bare;--and then, too, when we recall our fears, our doubts, our rebellions, our want of confidence in Him, what shall our thoughts and feelings be? When His love and ours, His wisdom and ours, His plans and ours, are thus contrasted, as we sit down at the great supper with our own Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, and every one worthy of our love restored to us for ever, beholding the unveiled face of our Lord in glory; oh, then, it might seem almost essential to our peace to be able to weep bitterly, and repent heartily, for our unworthy suspicions and ungenerous treatment of such a Friend and Saviour! But, blessed be His name! we shall then be able to give Him all He asks,
our whole hearts, and, like Mary, kneel at His feet, and there pour forth the sweet fragrance of our gratitude, love, and joy, as we too hear from His lips such words as these uttered amidst the light and glory of the upper sanctuary: "Said I not unto thee, that if thou wouldest believe, thou shouldest see the glory of God!"
[The end]
Norman Macleod's essay: Mystery Of Sorrow