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?"