“Lord! if Thou hadst been here?” Could she question for a moment that that loving eye of Omniscience had all the while been scanning that sick-chamber—marking every throb in that fevered brow—and every tear that fell unbidden from the eyes that watched his pillow?
“Lord! if Thou hadst been here?” Could she question His ability, had He so willed it, to prevent the bereavement altogether—to put an arrest on the hand of death ere the bow was strung?
O faithless disciple, wherefore didst thou doubt? But thou art ere long to learn what each of us will learn out in eternity, that “all things are for our sakes, that the abundant grace might, through the thanksgiving of many, redound to the glory of God.”
But the momentary cloud has passed. Faith breaks through. The murmur of upbraiding has died away. He who listens makes allowance for an anguished heart. The glance of tender sympathy and gentleness which met Martha’s eye, at once hushes all remains of unbelief. Words of exulting confidence immediately succeed. “But I know that even now whatsoever Thou wilt ask of God, God will give it Thee.”
What is this, but that which every believer exults in to this hour, as the sheet-anchor of hope and peace and comfort, when tossed on a tempestuous sea—a gracious confidence in the ability and willingness of Christ to save. The Friend of Bethany is still the Friend in Heaven. To Him “all power has been committed;” “as a prince He has power with God, and must prevail.”
Yes, gracious antidote to the spirit in the moment of its trial; when bowed down with anticipated bereavement; the curtains of death about to fall over life’s brightest joys. How blessed to lay hold on the perfect conviction that “the Ever-living Intercessor in glory has all power to revoke the sentence if He sees meet”—that even now (yes now, in a moment) the delegated angel may be sent speeding from his throne, to spare the tree marked to fall, and prolong the lease of existence!
Let us rejoice in the power of this God-man Mediator, that He is as able as He is willing, and as willing as He is able. “Him the Father heareth always.” “Father, I will,” is His own divine formula for every needed boon for His people.
How it ought to make our sick-chambers and death-chambers consecrated to prayer! leading us to make our every trial and sorrow a fresh reason for going to God. Laying our burden, whatever it may be, on the mercy-seat, it will be considered by Him, who is too wise to grant what is better to be withdrawn, and too kind to withhold what, without injury to us, may be granted.
Let us imitate Martha’s faith in our approaches to Him. Ah, in our dull and cold devotions, how little lively apprehension have we of the gracious willingness of Christ to listen to our petitions! Standing as the great Angel of the Covenant with the golden censer, His hand never shortened—His ear never heavy—His uplifted arm of intercession never faint. No variety bewildering Him—no importunity wearying Him—“waiting to be gracious”—loving the music of the suppliant spirit.
Would that we had ever before us as the superscription of faith written on our closet-devotions, and domestic altars, and public sanctuaries, whenever and wherever the knee is bent, and the Hearer of prayer is invoked—“I know that even now whatsoever Thou wilt ask of God, God will give it Thee.”