Grief and a Broken Hope (Megan Lawton)

TRANSCRIPT: GRIEF AND A BROKEN HOPE

Good morning, everyone! For those I haven’t met, my name is Megan Lawton.

Today we’re going to be continuing the trend of the past four sermons and talking about grief. I agreed to preach this Sunday before I knew it’d be the first sermon given after Rob announced he’s leaving Collective Church. I’m sorry for those of you who came today hoping for a lighter morning and instead are met with this bummer of a subject. If it’s any consolation, I promise to bring it all back to Jesus and our hope for something lighter.

Before we begin, please join me in prayer. 

The family Jesus loves

We’re going to be spending most of our time today in John 11, but before we get there, we need a little context. If you have your bibles or the bulletin, please turn to Luke chapter 10, verse 38.

As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”

“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”

Growing up, this message always ticked me off. I’m very much in Martha’s corner. When things need to be accomplished, you just go and get the things done. You can sit and hear stories when you’re finished. So for Jesus to tell Martha those things aren’t needed and she should be more like her sister Mary, sitting on the floor and listening to Jesus speak, just seemed needlessly insulting. But I digress. Today we’re not actually going to be talking about this story of Martha and Mary. We’re going to be talking about their brother, Lazarus. For that, we’ll need to turn to John chapter 11, verse 1.

Now a man named Lazarus was sick. He was from Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. (This Mary, whose brother Lazarus now lay sick, was the same one who poured perfume on the Lord and wiped his feet with her hair.) So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Lord, the one you love is sick.” 

We’re not going to go into verse 2 today, but I did make a note on your bulletin of where to find this story. It’s actually in John 12, and it gives a little more insight about who Mary is, and acts as a bit of an epilogue to the story in John 11. Today, we’re going to be talking about the raising, or really the death, of Lazarus. Because I don’t know about you, but death and grief have felt pretty all-consuming the last 22 months. 

I thought 2020 was a rough year. But 2021 has been the most grief-filled year of my life. Between February and October, I lost my grandmother, my uncle had a massive stroke, I lost my grandfather, my parents filed for divorce, and my sister decided she and my baby niece are moving out of state. And now, we’re all losing the honor of having Rob as our pastor. And it is a loss, and I have had to process this news and add it to my list of things I’m grieving this year.

But 2021 also contained one of the highlights of my life. In June, I gave birth to my first child, a baby boy named Daniel. And he’s amazing. I’m so happy he exists, but so much of his life has been spent surrounded by grief. And I know that’s true of many pandemic babies.

When my grandparents really began to hear about this “coronavirus” thing in the spring of 2020, they immediately took it seriously. They were in their late 70s and early 80s, and didn’t take any chances. They bought boxes of N95 masks. They started watching church services online. My grandpa only left the house for senior hour at the grocery store, and my grandma didn’t leave the house at all. The family was invited over one time in August for an outdoor, masked lunch to celebrate my sister being pregnant with their first great-grandchild. When cases spiked last fall, they decided not to see anyone for Thanksgiving or Christmas. They chose to stay isolated in 2020 so we could have everyone at the table in 2021. They did everything right.

The family didn’t know my grandma had been feeling sicker and weaker. She wasn’t telling anyone during phone calls, and we weren’t able to see her. And then, one morning in February 2021, my grandma was feeling very sick and dizzy. She laid on the bed and closed her eyes, and she never woke up.

I get confused looks when I say my grandma, my Nana, passed away ‘unexpectedly’. Yes, she was 79 years old, but for a 79-year-old, she really seemed to be doing fine. We had no idea the impact isolation was having on her, or how resistant she was to going to the doctor’s office because she didn’t want to waste their time or attention. Losing her was, at that point, the biggest loss I’d ever experienced. 

Two months after Nana passed away, my Uncle Tom, Nana’s son, had a massive stroke. He’s thankfully doing okay now, but for several days, we didn’t think he’d make it. He was in the ICU for weeks and is still paralyzed on half his body. And then, not even four months after that, less than six months after losing Nana, we also lost her husband, my Papa. Papa was devastated after the loss of his wife of 60 years. And he never recovered from the heartbreak.

Needless to say, it was a rough six months.

It is for God’s glory

John 11 continues in verse 4. 

When he heard this, Jesus said, “This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it.” Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. So when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days, and then he said to his disciples, “Let us go back to Judea.”

Isn’t that interesting? Jesus heard Lazarus was sick, and he loved this family, so he stayed put two more days. Jesuit author Brian Purfield gives some context.

Jesus is not ignoring or denying his natural humanity, his natural desire to rush to Lazarus’s side and to comfort Martha and Mary, but has to overcome this desire for some greater purpose, some greater part of God’s plan… Jesus directs our gaze not to himself but to his Father, and through his action we can come to know the Father better.

John 11 continues in verse 8. 

“But Rabbi,” they said, “a short while ago the Jews there tried to stone you, and yet you are going back?” Jesus answered, “Are there not twelve hours of daylight? Anyone who walks in the daytime will not stumble, for they see by this world’s light. It is when a person walks at night that they stumble, for they have no light.” After he had said this, he went on to tell them, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep; but I am going there to wake him up.” His disciples replied, “Lord, if he sleeps, he will get better.” Jesus had been speaking of his death, but his disciples thought he meant natural sleep. So then he told them plainly, “Lazarus is dead, and for your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.” Then Thomas (also known as Didymus) said to the rest of the disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.”

For a little more context, the Jewish understanding at the time was that a person did not truly die for three days. In that time, they were not truly dead, their soul was still nearby waiting to be brought back to life. But, by the fourth day, they were truly gone. Those who have heard this story before, or read ahead to the end of the chapter, know Jesus is about to go back to Bethany to raise Lazarus from the dead. His seemingly random comment, “I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe” is actually pointing to his plan to arrive after Lazarus has been dead four days, when everyone believed he was truly dead and gone, and then to raise Lazarus back to life anyway. 

Verse 17 continues.

On his arrival, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. Now Bethany was less than two miles from Jerusalem, and many Jews had come to Martha and Mary to comfort them in the loss of their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him, but Mary stayed at home. “Lord,” Martha said to Jesus, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.” Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha answered, “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.” Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?” “Yes, Lord,” she replied, “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, who is to come into the world.”

As I said, I’ve always considered myself a “Martha,” and I love her practical reaction to Jesus even in the face of her grief. Before Jesus even arrives in Bethany, Martha goes outside of town to meet him. She has a natural reaction of reminding Jesus, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died,” and then immediately thinks of the next logical step, “But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.”

And Jesus does offer Martha hope. We know when Jesus says, “Your brother will rise again” he’s speaking in the immediate. He’s saying, “I’m about to go and bring Lazarus out of the tomb.” But of course, Martha believes Jesus is instead offering her hope of eternal life, which is why she references “the resurrection at the last day.”

I can imagine Martha felt a bit frustrated at this response from Jesus. She’s just lost her brother. Being a practical person, Martha had likely thought through all the ways this situation could have progressed. She likely knows Jesus had a chance to return before Lazarus had been gone three full days, either preventing him from dying at all, or raising him to life when she believed there was still a possibility of doing so. I imagine hearing what seems to be the ancient equivalent to “but you’ll be together again one day” was less than comforting in that moment when Martha was actively grieving the loss of her brother in this lifetime.

And then, Jesus speaks with Mary. Verse 28 says,

After she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary aside. “The Teacher is here,” she said, “and is asking for you.” When Mary heard this, she got up quickly and went to him. Now Jesus had not yet entered the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met him. When the Jews who had been with Mary in the house, comforting her, noticed how quickly she got up and went out, they followed her, supposing she was going to the tomb to mourn there. When Mary reached the place where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet and said, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. “Where have you laid him?” he asked. “Come and see, Lord,” they replied. Jesus wept. Then the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” 

As much as I tend to side with Martha, I also love Mary’s greeting of Jesus. She ran outside of town, threw herself at Jesus’s feet, and, while weeping, accused Him of not doing enough to save her brother. You can feel the devastation in these words. And I think that’s why Jesus didn’t respond to Mary in the same way he responded to Martha. He didn’t offer words of hope or encouragement. Instead, “Jesus wept.”

Where is God?

How many times have we seen a tragic event or experienced a loss and asked, “God, where were you?” In my own life, one of the hardest parts of my faith to reconcile is a belief in an all-powerful, omniscient God who could fix every bad thing or, even better, prevent them from happening in the first place. And also knowing bad things do happen. And sometimes there is no fix, we just have to live with the aftermath. Worshipping a God who I know could fix everything, and yet chooses not to do so, is really hard sometimes. Why does God allow the children He loves to experience such overwhelming pain and heartbreak? And how are we supposed to continue hoping for a future resurrection when today, in this moment, we’re feeling so hopeless?

Losing my Nana was devastating. I had those moments of asking, “God, where were you?” My grandma had done everything right. She met her first great-grandchild in a parking lot for 15 minutes while wearing a mask because she was taking the pandemic seriously. It’s unfair that she didn’t get more time with my niece. It’s unfair that she isn’t here for the holidays we couldn’t spend together last year. It’s unfair that my last time seeing her in person included only a quick hug because we were both concerned about physical contact. It’s unfair that she never met my son.

When I agreed to speak today, I thought I’d be writing a sermon about holding both grief and joy at the same time. That’s what I really wanted to talk about. But I honestly don’t think I’m there yet. When Daniel was born, I experienced the joy of becoming a mom. But it was separate from the grief of losing my grandma. I wasn’t at a place where I could both celebrate his arrival and hold space for the pain I was feeling without my grandma there. I had to just wall off the sad part of my brain to focus on my son. When my grandfather died three months later, I couldn’t cling to the joy of knowing he met his great-grandson. I wasn’t enjoying being a mom that weekend or hopeful for the future. I was just sad.

I think God is okay with us making time for our grief. He meets us where we are. Martha was in a place to receive hope that her brother wasn’t gone forever. She needed to know the plan and tackle the logistics. But Mary wasn’t. She was overwhelmed by her pain. Jesus didn’t tell her to have faith or cling to hope. He wept with her. Jesus sat with the family in their pain before moving on.

When Nana died, I was hurting. I was confused and heartbroken. So I clung to the practical. I planned the funeral. Wrote an obituary and then a eulogy. Picked up flowers and coordinated payments. And God met me there. He showed me the blessing of knowing the day before she died, Nana heard my son’s heartbeat. I saw my grandpa and Uncle Tom begin to rebuild their relationship. I was in a place to hear story after story of how my Nana was a blessing to others. How her memory will be a blessing.

When Papa died, I was in a very different place. I had a 12-week-old infant and I was overwhelmed. I had a lot of feelings related to the way my grandpa died and how close it was to losing Nana. I had just gone back to work after maternity leave. I was not in a place to receive hope or to count my blessings. I was angry. I was exhausted. I was trying to manage my own emotions while surrounded by family members who were dealing with the same devastating circumstances. We were all overwhelmed and exhausted. And God met us where we were. My uncle was able to attend the service. We were surrounded by love. My infant slept through that night in an unfamiliar bed, which was a miracle in itself. And we wept. We grieved the loss of our family. The fact that things will never be the same.  

Now, three months later, I’m still grieving. Thanksgiving was really tough. Honestly, I’m not looking forward to Christmas. Nothing about my mood says, ‘holiday spirit’. But I know God’s okay with that. He isn’t scolding me for focusing on the practical concerns of going to work and raising my son. He hasn’t called me a doubter or a sinner for still feeling heartbroken and lost and devastated. I know He sits and weeps with me. He meets me where I am.

Therefore many believed

John 11 continues in verse 38.

Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb. It was a cave with a stone laid across the entrance. “Take away the stone,” he said. “But, Lord,” said Martha, the sister of the dead man, “by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days.”

Again, I love Martha’s very practical concerns. In verse 40,

Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?” So they took away the stone. Then Jesus looked up and said, “Father, I thank you that you have heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I said this for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe that you sent me.” When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face. Jesus said to them, “Take off the grave clothes and let him go.” Therefore many of the Jews who had come to visit Mary, and had seen what Jesus did, believed in him.

Jesus knew he was going to raise Lazarus from the dead. He knew it as soon as He heard Lazarus was sick. But that didn’t stop Jesus from allowing Martha, Mary, and all the mourners from experiencing their pain in that moment. He was willing to meet each of the sisters where they were, and to allow for hope to exist in whatever way they were able to receive it.

Jesus told the disciples Lazarus’s sickness “is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it.” When they learned Lazarus had died from his sickness, Jesus said, “and for your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe.” When Martha was understandably worried about removing the stone from the tomb, Jesus responds, “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?” As the stone was taken away, Jesus prayed, “I knew that you always hear me, but I said this for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe that you sent me.” And after all was said and done, “many of the Jews who had come to visit Mary, and had seen what Jesus did, believed in him.”

Why did Jesus wait two days to return to Bethany? Why did Jesus allow Lazarus to die before returning to be with the family? Why doesn’t God heal every person who’s sick, and stop death from devastating our lives? For the same purpose. So that we may believe.

Because that is God’s ultimate purpose. To bring as many children to Him in this lifetime as possible.

This story of Jesus raising Lazarus leads directly into the story of Palm Sunday, when Jesus rides into Jerusalem to crowds welcoming His return. Remember back in verse 8? The disciples actively tried to prevent Jesus from returning to Bethany because it’s so close to Jerusalem and so many in the city wanted Him dead. And then Lazarus was raised, and Jesus is welcomed back by a cheering crowd waiving palm branches. And then, Jesus is crucified. And then resurrected three days later. Without Lazarus, we may not have had the Cross.

Why did Jesus wait to return to his friends? Why didn’t He heal Lazarus and prevent Martha and Mary from experiencing their brother’s death? For a greater purpose.

But Jesus doesn’t bring that purpose with him to be with Martha and Mary in their grief. He doesn’t sit Martha down and walk her through His plan, step-by-step, from the death of Lazarus to His own death and resurrection (though I’m sure Martha would’ve loved an itinerary). Jesus doesn’t scold Mary for her heartbreak. He doesn’t ask where her hope has gone, or tell her “everything happens for a reason.” He meets each sister where they are. He allows them to experience their grief, even knowing He’s about to bring their brother back and redeem their pain.

Jesus allows them to hold onto a broken hope, or to lose hope entirely, because He understands the devastation of death and loss. He knows this is not how things are meant to be. He came to ultimately defeat death, but in the meantime, He is “deeply moved in spirit and troubled.”

In a U.S. Catholic interview, N.T. Wright says, “Many of the psalms of lament come through and out the other side into a fresh sense of the purpose of God. But often that is something you can only get to after experiencing the dark tunnel of lament.”

And so, maybe it’s not that grief destroys our hope or leads to hopelessness. Maybe the fact is, without grief – without suffering – we have no hope to begin with.

Romans 5:2-5 says,

And we boast in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.

Hope does not put us to shame. Some translations read, “hope does not disappoint.” Not a hope that’s been developed through suffering. It’s a rough hope. It’s not the shiny and new version of hope we have without hard times. But it’s real, and it’s lasting. And it’s worth working towards. 

What does hope look like?

Sometimes hope looks like Christmas decorations. Putting up a tree, knowing there will be empty seats at the table this year, but believing there’s still something worth celebrating.

Sometimes hope looks like a pregnancy test. After months or years of negative results, still believing one day you’ll have the family you’ve been praying for.

And sometimes, hope just looks like showing up. Continuing to move forward when you feel like you’ve given all you have to give. Believing one day won’t be as painful as today.

God sees you. He sees your battered, broken hope. He knows how hard you’ve fought to keep carrying on. He hasn’t forgotten you, or turned His back on your pain.

Hope does not disappoint us because it is hard-won. We fought for this hope. It’s been developed through our perseverance. God promises our faith will be rewarded.

It may not look like we want. It may not happen in the timeframe we wish. But we will see God’s hand in our lives and we will see our pain redeemed. Because we are a people of the resurrection. We know Christ is the resurrection and He is life. And yet, God, in His compassion and love, still gives us room to fall at His feet and ask, “Where were you? Why didn’t you stop this from happening?” And He doesn’t just let us wail and mourn and question and weep. He sits and weeps with us. He embodied humanity for this very purpose. To sit with us in all that makes us human. To feel the full weight of loss. To truly know what it means to be a slave to death. He did this for us. So that we might continue to hope. To persevere. To believe.

So, may you see Jesus exactly where you are. Whether you’re in a place to receive a message of hope and healing, or whether you’re overwhelmed by pain, doing all you can to just ask God, “Are you still here?”

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit (Romans 15:13).”

And may you know Jesus weeps with you. That He knows what you’re feeling and carrying and He’s not asking you to do it alone.

Because grief is heavy. It’s an exhausting burden to carry. But in Christ, we don’t have to bear our burdens alone. He holds our face, looks us in the eye, and says, “I’ve got this.”