John 11:17 - Meaning and Application

After the matter was settled, that Christ would go to Judea and the disciples would go with him, they set out on the journey. On the way, other events happened that the other Gospel writers record, such as the healing of the blind man at Jericho and the conversion of Zaccheus. We should not think we are wasting time while we are on the way to do good. Nor should we focus so much on one good deed that we neglect another.

At last, he came near Bethany, which was about fifteen furlongs from Jerusalem, or about two miles (John 11:18). John points this out because, in effect, this miracle was done in Jerusalem’s neighborhood and counted against the city. Christ worked more miracles in Galilee, but the ones in or near Jerusalem were more striking. There he healed a man who had been sick for thirty-eight years, another who had been blind from birth, and he raised a man who had been dead four days.

When Jesus came to Bethany, notice what he found there. When he had last been with his friends, it is likely he left them healthy and joyful. But when we part from our friends, even though Christ knows, we do not know what changes may come to us or them before we meet again. He found his friend Lazarus in the grave (John 11:17). As he came near the town, likely by the burial place for the town, someone told him, perhaps a neighbor or someone he met, that Lazarus had been buried for four days.

Some think Lazarus died on the same day the messenger brought Jesus the news of his sickness, and they count two days for the messenger’s trip and two for Jesus’ journey. I think it more likely that Lazarus died at the very moment Jesus said, “Our friend sleeps; he has just fallen asleep.” Then the time between his death and burial, which among the Jews was short, together with the four days in the grave, filled up this journey. Christ traveled openly, as shown by his passing through Jericho, and his stay at Zaccheus’s house took time. Promised rescue always comes surely, but often it comes slowly.

He also found his surviving friends in grief. Martha and Mary were deeply sorrowful over their brother’s death, which is shown by the fact that many of the Jews came to comfort them. Where there is death, there are usually mourners, especially when the one who died was kind to family and useful in life. The house where death comes is called a house of mourning (Ecclesiastes 7:2). When a man goes to his long home, the mourners go about the streets (Ecclesiastes 12:5), or they sit alone and stay silent.

This was Martha’s house, a house where the fear of God lived and God’s blessing rested, yet it was still made a house of mourning. Grace will keep sorrow from ruling the heart (John 14:1), but not from the house. And where there are mourners, there should be comforters. It is our duty to mourn with those who are hurting and to comfort them, and our sharing in their grief can comfort them as well. When grief is fresh, we often forget the things that would help us. So it is a mercy to have people remind us, and it is also our duty to remind others.

The Jewish teachers placed great importance on this, requiring their students to make comforting mourners after burial a serious duty. They comforted Martha and Mary concerning their brother by speaking of him, not only of the good name he left behind, but of the happy place he had gone to. When godly relatives and friends are taken from us, we may grieve for ourselves because we miss them. Yet we have reason to be comforted for those who have gone before us to a happiness where they do not need us.

This visit from the Jews to Martha and Mary shows that they were respected people and made some impression in the world. It also shows that they were kind to others, so even those who did not care for Christ were civil to them. There was also God’s wise ordering in it, so that many Jews, likely Jewish women, would come together at just this time to comfort the mourners. They could then be clear witnesses of the miracle and see how poor their comfort was compared with Christ’s. Christ did not usually call witnesses to his miracles, but if only family members had been there, people could have objected. So God arranged for these people to come together by chance, to testify to the miracle and silence unbelief.

Now we come to what passed between Christ and his surviving friends at this meeting. When Christ delays his visits for a while, they become all the more welcome when he comes. That was true here. His absence makes his return sweeter, and his delay teaches us to value his presence.

We are told first about the meeting between Christ and Martha (John 11:20). She went out to meet him. It seems Martha was eagerly waiting for his arrival and asking about it. Perhaps she had sent messengers to bring news of his approach, or she had kept asking, “Have you seen the one my soul loves?” So the first person who saw him ran to tell her the good news. In any case, she heard he was coming before he arrived. She had waited long and often asked, “Is he here?” and had heard nothing, but the one long expected came at last. At the end, the vision will speak and will not lie.

When she heard that Jesus was coming, Martha dropped everything and went out to meet him, showing him a loving welcome. She left aside all ceremony and the polite attention due to the Jews who had come to visit her, and hurried to Jesus. When God, by his grace or providence, comes toward us in mercy and comfort, we should go out to meet him with faith, hope, and prayer. Some think Martha went outside the town to meet Jesus so she could warn him that several Jews were in the house who were not his friends, and so, if he wished, he could avoid them.

When Martha went to meet Jesus, Mary stayed in the house. Some think Mary had not heard the news because she was in the room receiving people who had come to comfort her, while Martha, who handled the household matters, got the first report. Perhaps Martha did not tell her sister that Christ had come, because she wanted the honor of receiving him first. Others think Mary did hear that Christ had come, but was so overwhelmed with sorrow that she did not move. She preferred to stay with her grief, sitting and thinking over her loss, and saying that she was right to mourn.

Looking at this story together with Luke 10:38, we can see the different temperaments of these two sisters, along with the temptations and strengths of each. Martha was naturally active and busy. She liked to be up and doing, involved in everything, and that had once become a trap for her, because it left her “worried and troubled about many things” and kept her from devotion. But in this season of sorrow, that same active nature helped her. It kept grief from closing in on her heart, made her quick to go out and meet Christ, and so she found comfort from him sooner.

Mary, on the other hand, was by nature quiet and reflective. That had once been a good thing, because it put her at Jesus’ feet to hear his word and helped her attend to him without the distractions Martha felt. But in this time of trouble, that same temperament became a snare. It made her less able to face her grief and inclined her toward sadness, so “Mary stayed in the house.” We should learn from this how wise it is to watch carefully against the temptations, and use the strengths, of our natural temper.

Here we also have the full conversation between Christ and Martha. Martha begins by speaking to Christ in John 11:21-22. First, she complains about his delay and absence. She said it with sorrow over her brother’s death, but also with some hurt that the Master seemed unkind. “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” In that statement there is some faith. She believed in Christ’s power, that he could have healed Lazarus even in a serious illness and kept him from dying. She also believed in his pity, that if he had seen Lazarus in his last sickness and his loved ones weeping, he would have had compassion and spared them this grief, because his mercies never fail.

But there is also sad unbelief in her words. Her faith was real, but weak, like a bruised reed. She limits Christ’s power by saying, “If you had been here,” when she should have known that he could heal from a distance, and that his grace was not bound to his bodily presence. She also questions his wisdom and kindness, as if he had not chosen the right time to come. It is almost as if she thinks that coming now is as useless as not coming at all. And for any help at this point, she can hardly allow herself to hope.

Still, she checks herself and comforts herself with the thought of Christ’s power in heaven. At the very least, she stops herself from blaming her Master and from suggesting that he has come too late. “But even now I know that whatever you ask from God, God will give you.” Notice how willing her hope is. She does not dare to ask Jesus to raise Lazarus, since there had been no case yet of anyone being raised after lying dead so long. But like a humble petitioner, she lays the matter before the wise and compassionate Lord Jesus. When we do not know exactly what to ask or expect, we should in general leave ourselves to God and let him do what seems good to him. When we do not know how to pray, it is a comfort that the great Intercessor knows what to ask for us and is always heard.

Yet her faith is still weak. She should have said, “Lord, you can do whatever you will,” but instead she says only, “You can obtain whatever you ask of God.” She had forgotten that the Son has life in himself and works miracles by his own power. Still, both truths belong in our encouragement: Christ’s authority on earth and his intercession in heaven. He holds the golden scepter in one hand and the golden censer in the other. His power is always greater, and his intercession always prevails.

Then comes the comforting word Christ gives Martha in reply to her plea, in John 11:23: “Your brother will rise again.” In her grief, Martha was looking backward, regretting that Christ had not been there. She was thinking, “If he had been here, my brother would still be alive.” We often do this and add to our sorrow by imagining what might have been. “If only this method had been used, or that doctor called, my friend would not have died.” But we do not know that, and such thoughts do no good. Since God’s will has been done, our duty is to submit to him.

Christ turns Martha, and us with her, to look forward instead, to what will certainly be. “Your brother will rise again.” In one sense, this was especially true of Lazarus, since he was about to be raised. Yet Christ speaks broadly, as something that will happen, not by stressing that he himself will do it. In this way our Lord speaks with humility even about his own works. He also leaves the timing somewhat unclear at first, so that Martha’s faith and patience may be tested.

At the same time, these words apply to all believers and to their resurrection at the last day. It is a comfort to us when we have buried godly friends and family to remember that they will rise again. As the soul is not lost at death, but has gone before, so the body is not lost, but laid up. It is as if Christ is saying, “Your parent, your child, your spouse will rise again. These dry bones will live.”

Martha then joins faith and unbelief in her response, in John 11:24. First, she treats this as a true and faithful saying, that he will rise again at the last day. Even though the doctrine of the resurrection would later be fully confirmed by Christ’s own resurrection, it was already revealed, and she believed it firmly (Acts 24:15). She believed that there will be a last day, when all the days of time will be counted and finished. She believed there will be a general resurrection then, when the earth and sea will give up their dead. She also believed in a personal resurrection, that she herself would rise again, and so would this dear brother of hers. As bones will come back to their bones on that day, so friends will come back to friends.

Yet she seems to think this promise is not as helpful as it really is. “I know he will rise again at the last day, but what good is that to us now?” It is as if the comfort of eternal life and resurrection were not worth much, or could not balance her present grief. Here we see our own weakness and foolishness. We let what we can feel right now make a deeper mark on us, whether sorrow or joy, than the things we believe by faith. “I know he will rise again at the last day,” and should not that be enough? She seems to think it is not.

So our discontent under present troubles greatly lowers our view of future hopes. It treats them as if they were not worth much attention.

Christ then gave Martha further teaching and comfort. He will not put out the smoking wick or break the bent reed. He said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life” (John 11:25, John 11:26). In these words, Christ gave her two truths to trust in, and these are the same truths our faith should hold onto in hard times.

First, there is Christ’s power, his ruling power. He is the resurrection and the life, the source of life and the one who brings the dead back to life. Martha believed that God could give anything if Jesus prayed for it, but Christ wanted her to know that he could do anything by his own word. She believed in a resurrection at the last day, and Christ told her that this power was in his own hand. The dead would hear his voice (John 5:25). If he could raise a whole world of people who had been dead for many ages, then surely he could raise one man who had been dead only four days.

This is a great comfort to all true Christians, that Jesus Christ is the resurrection and the life, and will be that for them. Resurrection means a return to life. Christ is the one who gives that return, and the life to which it returns. We look for the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come, and Christ is both the source and the basis of that hope.

Second, there are the promises of the new covenant, the new agreement God makes with his people through Christ. These promises give us further reason to hope that we shall live. Notice, first, to whom these promises are made: to those who believe in Jesus Christ, who agree with him and trust in him as the only Mediator, the one who brings God and people together. They receive God’s testimony about his Son, honestly obey it, and answer the great purpose of it.

The condition of the second promise is stated this way: “Whoever lives and believes in me.” This can be understood in two ways. It may mean natural life: whoever lives in this world, Jew or Gentile, wherever he lives, if he believes in Christ, he shall live by him. Yet this also sets a time limit. Whoever believes while he is alive, while he is still in this state of testing, shall be happy in Christ. After death, it will be too late. Or it may mean spiritual life: the one who lives and believes is the one born again by faith into a heavenly and divine life, the one for whom to live is Christ, because Christ is the life of his soul.

Second, notice what the promises are. In John 11:25, 26, Christ says that though he die, yet he shall live. In fact, he shall never die. Human beings have both body and soul, and God has provided for the happiness of both.

For the body, there is the promise of a blessed resurrection. Though the body is dead because of sin, and there is no avoiding that death, it shall live again. All the hard things about the state of the dead are passed over here and treated as nothing. Though the death sentence was just, though death feels dreadful, though death’s chains are strong, though a man is dead and buried, dead and decaying, though the scattered dust is mixed with common dust so that no human skill can tell it apart, or separate it, take the strongest possible case against it, and still we are sure that he shall live again. The body shall be raised a glorious body.

For the soul, there is the promise of blessed immortality. The one who lives and believes, who is united to Christ by faith and lives spiritually through that union, shall never die. That spiritual life will never be put out, but will be brought to full completion in eternal life. Since the soul is by nature spiritual, it is therefore immortal. So if, by faith, it lives a spiritual life that matches its nature, its happiness will be immortal too. It shall never die, never be anything but easy and happy, and its life will not be broken up the way bodily life is. The dying body will at last be swallowed up by life, but the life of the believing soul will at death be swallowed up at once by immortality.

“He shall not die forever.” That is how Cyprian quoted it, in Latin. The body will not stay dead in the grave forever. It dies, like the two witnesses, only for a time, times, and half a time. When time is over, and all its parts are finished, a spirit of life from God will enter it. But that is not all. The soul will not die the death that lasts forever. It will not die eternally. Blessed and holy is the one who, by faith, has a share in the first resurrection and has a share in Christ, who is that resurrection. On such a person, the second death, which is death forever, will have no power (John 6:40).

Then Christ asked her, “Do you believe this?” Can you agree with it and take it to yourself? Can you trust my word for it? When we read or hear Christ’s word about the great things of the world to come, we should seriously ask ourselves, “Do I believe this? Do I believe this truth in particular, this truth that has so many difficulties, this truth that fits my own case? Does my belief make it real to me and give my soul assurance of it, so that I can say not only, ‘I believe this,’ but also, ‘This is how I believe it’?”

Martha had been focused on her brother being raised in this world. Before Christ gave her hope about that, he turned her thoughts to another life and another world. As if to say, “Never mind that. Do you believe what I am telling you about the future state?” The troubles and comforts of this present life would not affect us so strongly if we believed the things of eternity as we should.

Martha gave Christ a sincere answer, and accepted what he said (John 11:27). We have here Martha’s confession of faith, the same kind of good confession that Peter was praised for making (Matthew 16:16, Matthew 16:17), and it brings the matter to its close. First, the rule of her faith was the word of Christ. She took it exactly as he had spoken it, without change, exception, or condition. “Yes, Lord,” she said, which means she agreed that every part of what Christ had promised was true in his own meaning: “Even so.” Faith echoes divine revelation. It repeats the same words and stays with them. Queen Elizabeth said, “Yes, Lord, as the word made it, so I believe and accept it.”

Second, the basis of her faith was the authority of Christ. She believed this because she believed that the one who said it was Christ. She went back to the foundation to support what was built on it. “I have believed,” she says, “that you are the Christ, and therefore I do believe this.” Here we should notice, a.

What Mary believed and confessed about Jesus all came to the same point. First, she believed he was the Christ, the Messiah promised and long expected, the anointed one. Second, she believed he was the Son of God, as the Messiah is called in (Psalm 2:7), not only by his office, but by his nature. Third, she believed he was the one who was to come into the world, the long-awaited blessing the church had hoped for through many ages.

From that confession, Martha drew a clear conclusion. If Jesus is the Christ, then there is no hard thing left in believing that he is the resurrection and the life. If he is the Christ, then he is the source of light and truth, and we can trust everything he says as God’s own word. He is the prophet we must hear in all things. If he is the Christ, then he is also the source of life and blessedness, so we can trust both his power and his truthfulness.

How else could we believe that bodies reduced to dust will live again? How else could we believe that souls, as burdened and clouded as ours are, will live forever? We could not believe this unless we believed in him who promises it, the Son of God, who has life in himself and gives life to us.

Next comes the meeting between Christ and Mary, the other sister. When Martha had said this, she went away, now at peace, and called her sister Mary. Martha had first wanted Mary to leave Christ and come help her with serving (Luke 10:40), but here she tries to bring Mary to Christ instead. Having received comfort herself, she wants her sister to share it.

She called Mary quietly, because there were others present, Jews who were not friends of Christ. In that, there is a picture of the special call by which Christ draws his people to himself. It is a hidden and personal invitation, given to them and not to the world around them. They have food to eat that others do not know about, and joy that strangers cannot share.

Martha called Mary by Christ’s direction. He had told her to go and call her sister. Any call that truly reaches the heart comes from Christ, no matter who carries it. “The Teacher is here and is asking for you.” She calls him the Master, a teacher, which was how they commonly spoke of him. She rejoices in his arrival: “The Master is come.” He whom they had long wanted and waited for had come, and that was the best comfort in their grief.

Lazarus was gone, and their comfort in him was gone too. But the Master had come, and he was better than their dearest friend. He had in himself what could more than make up for every loss. He is the one who teaches us how to get good from sorrow (Psalm 94:12). He teaches, and so he comforts. Martha also invites Mary to go and meet him. He is asking for her, she says, and wants her brought to him.

When Christ our Master comes, he calls for us. He comes in his word and in his ordinances, the appointed ways of worship and obedience. He calls us to them, through them, and through them to himself. He calls for you in particular, by name (Psalm 27:8). If he calls you, he will heal you, and he will comfort you.

Mary responded at once. As soon as she heard the good news that the Master had come, she got up quickly and went to him. She had not realized how near he was, for he is often closer to those who mourn in Zion than they know. But once she learned he was near, she ran to meet him in gladness. A lively faith catches the smallest hint of Christ’s gracious approach and answers at once.

When Christ had come, Mary did not stop to think about the usual customs of mourning. She forgot ceremony and ran through the town to meet him. We should never let careful concerns about propriety keep us from meeting with Christ. She also did not stop to consult the Jews who had come to comfort her. She left them all and went to him, without asking their advice or even their permission.

We are told where she found the Master. He had not yet entered Bethany, but was at the edge of the town, where Martha had met him. This shows Christ’s love for his work. He stayed near the grave so he would be ready to go there. He would not go into town to rest from his journey until he had done the work he came to do. He also stayed out of town so it would not look like he was putting on a display or gathering a crowd to watch the miracle.

Mary’s quick coming also shows her love for Christ. Even after his seeming delay, she still loved him deeply, and she took nothing bitterly from him. We should also go to Christ outside the camp (Hebrews 13:13).

The Jews who were with Mary misunderstood her sudden departure. They thought she had gone to the tomb to weep there. Martha was able to bear this trouble better than Mary, who had a gentle and sorrowful spirit by nature. People with that kind of temperament need to guard against sadness overtaking them, and they should be met with patience and help. The comfort the Jews gave did not help her, and they decided that when she left so quickly, she must be going to the grave to cry there.

This shows both the weakness of mourners and the wisdom of comforters. Mourners often make their own grief heavier and turn sorrow into something worse. We can even take a strange kind of comfort in feeling our own pain, as if it were right to keep pressing our sorrow to the limit. But why should mourners go on grieving as if they had no hope? Affliction is already hard enough. We should not make it harder by refusing God’s will in it.

Comforters should try, as much as they can, to keep sorrow from coming back with too much force and to turn the mind to better things. Those Jews, though mistaken about Mary, were still led by their following her to Christ, and they became witnesses of one of his greatest miracles. It is good to stay close to Christ’s friends in their sorrows, because that may help us know Christ better.

Then Mary came, with her small company of comforters around her, and fell at Jesus’ feet. She was overwhelmed with grief, and she said through many tears, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Martha had said the same thing before, and they had often said it to one another.

Mary’s posture is very humble and submissive. She fell at Jesus’ feet, and this went beyond Martha, who had a better grip on her emotions. Mary did not fall like a broken mourner alone, but like a humble petitioner, someone asking for mercy. She had once sat at Christ’s feet to hear his teaching (Luke 10:39), and now she is there for another reason.

Those who place themselves at Christ’s feet in peaceful times, ready to learn from him, can come there with confidence in trouble. They may cast themselves at his feet and hope for his favor. Mary’s act also showed that she accepted his will in what had happened and trusted his goodness in what was still to come. When we suffer, we should come to Christ with sorrow for sin, humble ourselves before him, and accept God’s rule with patience.

Her falling at Jesus’ feet was also a sign of deep respect and reverence. People used to honor kings and rulers this way. But Jesus was not showing earthly glory like a worldly prince, so those who worshiped him in this posture were surely treating him as more than a man. They were giving him divine honor.

Mary was publicly confessing her faith in Christ just as Martha had done. In effect, she was saying, “I believe you are the Christ.” Bowing the knee to Christ and confessing him with the mouth are linked together as the same response (Romans 14:11; Philippians 2:10, 2:11). She did this in front of the Jews who had come with her, who were friendly to her family but hostile to Christ. Still, she fell at his feet before them all, not ashamed to honor him and not afraid of displeasing her neighbors. Let them think what they will, she would still bow before him.

We serve a Master we have no reason to be ashamed of, and his approval is enough to outweigh human mockery and insult. Mary’s words were also very moving: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Christ’s delay had a wise purpose and turned out for the best, but both sisters spoke to him in a way that sounded like blame, as if he were responsible for their brother’s death.

Jesus had every right to take offense at this repeated charge. He could have told them that he had more to do than wait on their timing, and that he must come when his work allowed. But he did not say a word of that. He understood their grief, and he knew that people in loss often feel free to speak too sharply. So he passed over their rudeness and gave us a model of gentleness and meekness in suffering.

Mary said less than Martha had said, but she wept more. The words she lacked, she made up for with tears. Her tears were full of devotion, and such tears have a voice, a strong and persuasive voice, in the ears of Christ. There is no speech more powerful than that.