NOW A MAN named Lazarus was sick. He was from Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. 2This Mary, whose brother Lazarus now lay sick, was the same one who poured perfume on the Lord and wiped his feet with her hair. 3So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Lord, the one you love is sick.”
4When 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.” 5Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. 6Yet when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days.
7Then he said to his disciples, “Let us go back to Judea.”
8“But Rabbi,” they said, “a short while ago the Jews tried to stone you, and yet you are going back there?”
9Jesus answered, “Are there not twelve hours of daylight? A man who walks by day will not stumble, for he sees by this world’s light. 10It is when he walks by night that he stumbles, for he has no light.”
11After 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.”
12His disciples replied, “Lord, if he sleeps, he will get better.” 13Jesus had been speaking of his death, but his disciples thought he meant natural sleep.
14So then he told them plainly, “Lazarus is dead, 15and for your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.”
16Then Thomas (called Didymus) said to the rest of the disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.”
17On his arrival, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. 18Bethany was less than two miles from Jerusalem, 19and many Jews had come to Martha and Mary to comfort them in the loss of their brother. 20When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him, but Mary stayed at home.
21“Lord,” Martha said to Jesus, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died. 22But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.”
23Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.”
24Martha answered, “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.”
25Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; 26and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?”
27“Yes, Lord,” she told him, “I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who was to come into the world.”
28And 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.” 29When Mary heard this, she got up quickly and went to him. 30Now Jesus had not yet entered the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met him. 31When 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.
32When 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.”
33When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. 34“Where have you laid him?” he asked.
“Come and see, Lord,” they replied.
35Jesus wept.
36Then the Jews said, “See how he loved him!”
37But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”
38Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb. It was a cave with a stone laid across the entrance. 39“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.”
40Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?”
41So they took away the stone. Then Jesus looked up and said, “Father, I thank you that you have heard me. 42I 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.”
43When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” 44The 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.”
45Therefore many of the Jews who had come to visit Mary, and had seen what Jesus did, put their faith in him. 46But some of them went to the Pharisees and told them what Jesus had done. 47Then the chief priests and the Pharisees called a meeting of the Sanhedrin.
“What are we accomplishing?” they asked. “Here is this man performing many miraculous signs. 48If we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and then the Romans will come and take away both our place and our nation.”
49Then one of them, named Caiaphas, who was high priest that year, spoke up, “You know nothing at all! 50You do not realize that it is better for you that one man die for the people than that the whole nation perish.”
51He did not say this on his own, but as high priest that year he prophesied that Jesus would die for the Jewish nation, 52and not only for that nation but also for the scattered children of God, to bring them together and make them one. 53So from that day on they plotted to take his life.
54Therefore Jesus no longer moved about publicly among the Jews. Instead he withdrew to a region near the desert, to a village called Ephraim, where he stayed with his disciples.
55When it was almost time for the Jewish Passover, many went up from the country to Jerusalem for their ceremonial cleansing before the Passover. 56They kept looking for Jesus, and as they stood in the temple area they asked one another, “What do you think? Isn’t he coming to the Feast at all?” 57But the chief priests and Pharisees had given orders that if anyone found out where Jesus was, he should report it so that they might arrest him.
Original Meaning
AS WE MOVE to chapter 11, we cross an important literary divide in this Gospel. Thus far we have examined the way Jesus’ ministry takes advantage of the various institutions and festivals of Judaism, making them interpretative vehicles for his self-revelation. In fact, chapter 10 concludes this section with a “closing frame”: Just as the narrative began with the story of John the Baptist (1:19ff.), so it ends on the same note (10:42). John the Baptist’s work frames the entire revelation of Jesus.
However, John 11 and 12 stand together as marking a new and significant step in the life and work of Jesus. Jesus now makes his final move to the region of Jerusalem by coming to the village of Bethany (a short walk from Jerusalem) to attend to his friend Lazarus. Here we read the story of the most dramatic, provocative miracle in this Gospel. Jesus is master of life and death and proves it by bringing Lazarus back from the grave. But he is also prepared for his own death. Mary anoints him for burial (12:3), and at last we learn that the hour of Jesus’ glorification, the hour we have anticipated since chapter 1, has arrived (12:23). Jesus describes himself as a grain of wheat that must fall into the earth and die (12:24).
Therefore these two chapters are about both death and life. The Lazarus story is a story about one man whom Jesus rescues from the grave; but it is also a parabolic story, telling us far more about Jesus, his power, and his upcoming experience in the grave. In order to help us understand this deeper message, the story employs double meanings in the same manner we have observed in previous chapters. For instance, in 11:12 Jesus comments that Lazarus is asleep, but his followers take this literally: “Lord, if he sleeps, he will get better.” But Jesus means death in its fullest sense. Ironically death for Jesus is much like sleep because Lazarus must be awakened. Death does not bear the same finality for Jesus as it does for every other person.
Chapter 11 has invited numerous scholarly criticisms over the years, but it is not within the scope of this book to address them all. Objections have been raised, for instance, against the sheer enormity of the miracle itself. This is certainly Jesus’ most dramatic sign. Those who have difficulty with the miraculous will find themselves stumbling here. However, John’s entire theology aims to affirm that God has indeed intervened in the history of the world. An incarnational theology at once makes room for a story like this, in which this God who comes into history has power over the natural human processes over which he is master.
Other scholars have posited that this story is simply a reworking of the Lazarus parable of Luke 16:19–31. True, both stories use the same name and center on a resurrection motif. But actors in Jesus’ Synoptic parables generally remain anonymous, and in this case the parallels between the two accounts are limited.1 The name of Lazarus was popular in the first century (as can be attested from both literary and archaeological remains). Moreover, the two stories serve different purposes. The Lazarus parable is an exhortation to obey the words of the prophets; the Lazarus miracle points to Jesus’ lordship over the grave. It may be that the parable took the name of its central actor from the miracle, whose resurrection was well known.2
The Death of Lazarus (11:1–16)
BETHANY WAS A village just east of Jerusalem over the Mount of Olives, about one and a half miles away (11:18). In the fourth century Eusebius located it at the second Roman milestone from Jerusalem to Jericho, and today the Palestinian town of El-Aziriyeh (taken from the name of Lazarus) is located here.3 Jews traveling from Jerusalem to Galilee commonly took the route east to Jericho and then north to Galilee in order to avoid Samaria. This explains Jesus’ frequent movement through Jericho (hence the stories of Bartimaeus, Mark 10:46; Zacchaeus, Luke 19:2; the good Samaritan, which takes its setting from this road, Luke 10:30–37) as well as his familiarity with Bethany, which was along this road. When he was in Jerusalem, Jesus used Bethany as his base (as he used Capernaum in Galilee). This is why the Gospels contain multiple stories related to the village (Matt. 21:17; 26:6) and why Jesus likely lived here during the final week of his life.
Here in this small Judean community live a family extremely dear to Jesus. Two sisters, Martha and Mary, are the centerpiece of a story in Luke 10:38–42. Martha is likely the oldest since in Luke’s story she is the host, and even here in John 11 she is named as the representative of the family (11:5). Their brother, Lazarus,4 lives in the village as well; the three of them may have become something like an extended family for Jesus. No indication is given that they live together and we should not assume it. It would be most natural for them all to be married. That Jesus loves this family is affirmed again and again (John 11:3, 5, 36)—in this Gospel only the Beloved Disciple is described like this (13:23). John assumes that Mary (11:2) is so well known to his readers that he can refer to her as the one who anointed Jesus with oil even before he describes the scene (12:1–8).5
The women send a report to Jesus, not mentioning Lazarus by name but referring to him as “the one you love” (11:3). Jesus would know immediately whom they mean. It is interesting that the women know how to find Jesus. Does this suggest that they have been keeping up with his movements? Or is there a network of supporters the sisters tap? Although they do not request Jesus to come, it is implied since he is well known as a healer and later both women express regret that if Jesus had only come on time, Lazarus would not have died (11:21, 32). No doubt they are in a dilemma. They know about the hostility of the Jerusalem’s leadership toward Jesus (11:8) and conclude that for Jesus to visit would mean considerable risk.
When Jesus hears the report about Lazarus’s illness, his response (11:4) parallels his comments about the man born blind (9:1–5). The final result of this tragedy is that God will be glorified, not that death will win the victory. It is not a denial of Lazarus’s death since this is the thrust of the whole story, but that death will not gain the final word in this man’s life. The tragedy is not by God’s design, but God will use it for an opportunity to glorify his Son.
After affirming Jesus’ love for these three followers once more (11:5), John reports that Jesus does not respond immediately and come to Bethany (11:6). Paradoxically, he waits two days. Note that Jesus’ delay is not the cause of Lazarus’s death (as if a prompt response would have avoided it). According to John 11:17, when Jesus arrives in Bethany Lazarus has been dead for four days. We know from 10:40 that Jesus is now in “Bethany across the Jordan” (i.e., in Perea), and surely it does not take four days to travel to Bethany near Jerusalem.6 It likely took the messengers one day to find Jesus, Jesus continues to work where he is two days, and then he takes one more day to travel to Bethany. This means that Lazarus likely died right after the departure of the messengers. When they meet Jesus, Lazarus is already buried.7
Nevertheless, we should assume that in the narrative Jesus has divine knowledge of what is happening in Bethany (just as he could see Nathanael in 1:48 and the Samaritan woman in 4:18). He tells his followers before they arrive that Lazarus is asleep (11:11), which invites the usual Johannine irony of misunderstanding: “Lord, if he sleeps, he will get better.” But Jesus must say clearly that Lazarus is dead (11:14). If Jesus has this knowledge and if he knows the moment of Lazarus’s death, his delay serves not to promote the death, but to heighten the significance of his own miraculous work. Jesus is proceeding with his own sense of timing, in which he can say again and again that the urgency felt by others is not necessarily the same as the divine timing within which he works (2:4; 7:5–9). His aim is to reveal the glory of God’s work in him and thereby to promote the faith of his followers (11:15).
The decision finally to go up to Judea must have been frightening to Jesus’ disciples (11:8). Throughout the story we have learned of the growing tensions surrounding Jesus’ contact with the religious leadership. During the previous autumn celebration at the Feast of Tabernacles the authorities tried to arrest him (8:44), and rumor was out that they wanted to kill him (7:25). At one point a crowd tried to stone Jesus (8:59). A few months later at Hanukkah they tried to arrest him (10:39), and again there was the threat of stoning (10:31). The events of John 11 are set sometime between the winter Hanukkah Feast and the upcoming spring when Jesus is crucified—and the tension must have been palpable. The threat is not simply to Jesus but to his disciples as well, so that Thomas speaks up, “Let us also go, that we may die with him” (11:16).8
While in the Synoptics Thomas only appears in the lists of Jesus’ disciples, in John he appears here and in three other places. He offers a question in the Upper Room (14:5), he appears a week after Easter in the famous “doubting” narrative (20:24), and he is fishing with Peter in the final resurrection miracle (21:2). But here he shows himself with courage and faithfulness (even though Thomas is certainly filled with misunderstandings about Jesus).9
Some interpreters suggest that if we take into account the profile of Thomas elsewhere in the Gospel, we should see in these words a cynicism characteristic of the man who refused to believe in the resurrected Jesus until he gained his own personal audience with him. I prefer to see these words as another case of Johannine irony. Even if Thomas is less than sincere, he likely does not understand the profound truth he utters. This parallels the role of Caiaphas later in the chapter (11:49–50), when the high priest says that Jesus’ death will be expedient for the nation. Indeed it will be—but not as Caiaphas imagines it. So too being a disciple will pose dangers, even martyrdom, for anyone who follows Jesus (as Peter learns in 21:18–19).
Jesus’ reassurance to Thomas and his followers appears in 11:9–10. We should remember that Jesus has described himself as “the light” (8:12; 9:5). Thus, to walk in the light of day is in some manner to walk in concert with the work of Jesus. So long as they are with him—and since he understands the “hours” of his life and work—they can be confident that he will guide them through this treacherous trip to Judea. But the reference to “twelve hours” means more than this. It means that there is work to be done and that the day cannot be extended. Jesus must move to Bethany because night is coming. There is a crisis awaiting on the horizon (a tragedy that will be turned to glory nonetheless), but it is a crisis that is within the control of Jesus’ will (10:17–18).
Jesus Comes to Bethany (11:17–37)
WHEN JESUS FINALLY arrives in Bethany Lazarus has been dead for four days. This note is significant. There was a well-known Jewish belief (attested from about A.D. 200) that the soul of a dead person remained in the vicinity of the body “hoping to reenter it” for three days, but once decomposition set in, the soul departed.10 John wants us to know clearly that Lazarus is truly dead and that the miracle of Jesus cannot be construed as a resuscitation.
Lazarus’s death was not a private period of mourning for his family. Life in New Testament Palestine was lived publicly and community ties were strong. As in today’s Middle East, relatives whom Westerners would consider distant cousins still had intimate contact with each other. Thus, many Jews (friends and relatives) have come to Bethany even from nearby Jerusalem to comfort Martha and Mary (11:19). There would be great wailing and crying (cf. Mark 5:38; Acts 8:2), some beating their chests in grief (Luke 18:13; 23:48). Hiring flute players was also common (Matt. 9:23; m. Ketuboth 4:4); even the Jewish oral law encouraged it.
Formal mourning lasted for seven days, called in Hebrew the shibah (cf. Sir. 22:12), and it commenced immediately on the day of burial, which took place on the same day as death.11 We can assume that Lazarus was buried in a rock-cut tomb of the type that have been discovered throughout the hills of Judea.12 Inside a cave room (perhaps ten to fifteen feet square) burial benches were carved in stone along the inner wall. The body was prepared here and then laid in horizontally cut burial tunnels (Heb. kochim) about six feet deep and there left to decompose. After a year or so, the body was removed from the koch and the bones placed in a limestone “burial box” (an ossuary). The tomb was closed (and reopened for further burials) with a wheel-shaped “rolling stone” fitted to cover the entrance in a stone channel.
Therefore when Jesus arrives on the outskirts of Bethany, Lazarus is buried in a koch, the tomb is “closed,” and there is tremendous commotion surrounding Martha and Mary. The extent and passion of mourning reflect the honor and esteem of Lazarus in the village. Friends and family from far off came to join the scene. By referring to Jerusalem (11:18) the text increases our sense of Jesus’ jeopardy when he arrives. His presence in Bethany just over the Mount of Olives would certainly become known to his enemies in Jerusalem. He could not slip into Bethany incognito and comfort the sisters.
The story follows the two sisters as each makes contact with Jesus. First Martha (11:20–27), then Mary (11:28–37), talk with Jesus; this is followed by the miracle itself (11:38–44). Commentators are quick to make comparisons between the two women and contrast their activity here with that given in Luke 10. In both narratives the key is that Martha is the oldest and so has the responsibility of hospitality and food preparation (cf. Luke 10) as well as overseeing the activities of this day and greeting Jesus (John 11). It is wrong, therefore, to look for nuances in the story (Doesn’t Mary fall at his feet in devotion?) and make key points from them. The sorrowful complaints of both women (11:21, 32) are virtually the same.
Martha meets Jesus before he enters the village (11:30), and her words in 11:21 are an affirmation of faith in Jesus’ healing ability. “Lord” here is a polite form of address (much like “sir”). Despite what she says in 11:22, she likely does not expect Jesus to raise Lazarus from death since in 11:39 she objects when Jesus wants to roll open the tomb. Instead, she is expressing faith, not wanting to imply any criticism of Jesus since he was not in Bethany to rescue her brother. Martha’s words can be paraphrased: “If you had been here, you could have healed Lazarus. Nevertheless, I still believe in you, that God works through you mightily.” Martha continues to be confident in Jesus.
But Jesus pushes Martha to a second, deeper level of discussion (11:23–27). “Your brother will rise again” can be seen on one level as words of comfort, appealing to the common Jewish belief in the end-time resurrection.13 Lazarus would enjoy eternal life. Martha misses entirely the more immediate application Jesus has in mind. His correction leads to one of the most famous and significant “I am” sayings in John’s Gospel. Jesus does not say that he can provide resurrection and life (though this is implicit). That in itself would be astounding. In fact, the Synoptics recount stories of Jesus’ authority over death and his ability to call someone back to life (e.g., the widow’s son in Nain in Luke 7:11–17; Jairus’s daughter in Mark 5:21–43). But Jesus says that he is resurrection and life.
In other words, eternal life and rescue from the finality of death are not merely gifts obtained by appeal to God; they are aspects of what it means to live a life in association with Jesus. If Jesus is life, then those who believe in him will enjoy the confidence and power over death known by him. This does not mean that Jesus’ followers will not die a physical death (11:25b), but that life will be theirs beyond the grave; they will not suffer death in eternity.14 Moreover, they will have a life now and do not have to await the end of human time and history in order to enjoy the benefits of Jesus’ power.
Jesus’ question to Martha, “Do you believe this?” has little to do with her faith in Jesus’ ability to bring her brother from the grave. Nor is Jesus pointing to her commitment to the end-time resurrection. Jesus is asking if her faith can embrace a belief in Jesus’ lordship over death itself. If it is true that in Jesus the power of resurrection life is present in Bethany, the logical implication is that this may lead to something for Lazarus. Lazarus’s resurrection becomes a proof of Jesus’ statement.
At this point, however, Martha cannot draw this conclusion directly. Her affirmation (11:27) shows that she is following Jesus’ thinking. She says “yes” when undoubtedly the implications of this “yes” are beyond her comprehension. She is trusting in Jesus’ power as a personal commitment, but she is also ready to make a cognitive commitment to who Jesus must be. If he has this sort of authority, by extension he must also be the “Christ [the Messiah], the Son of God,” whom Judaism sought on its future horizon.
Mary then enters the scene (11:28) while Jesus is still outside the village and inaccessible to the crowd. It is a deeply touching scene since Jesus knows that his ministry here is not simply to Lazarus, but to both of these women whom he has known. When Mary runs from the house, she is followed by other mourners (11:31), which once again reinforces the public context of this scene. Mary (like her sister) explains in dismay their sorrow over Jesus’ absence while Lazarus was alive and then is overcome with grief (11:33). The NIV’s “weeping” leaves the impression of quiet tears of sadness, but the Greek tells a different story. The verb klaio describes loud wailing and crying, which is echoed by the people standing around Mary. Such loud public displays of grief (relatively foreign to us in the West) were common in this culture.
When Jesus sees and hears their wailing, he is moved powerfully. But there is confusion in how to translate an important phrase in 11:33. The meaning of “in spirit” is clear enough; these words refer to Jesus’ deepest self (not to the Holy Spirit). But the NIV’s “deeply moved” may not be the best reading of the Greek verb embrimaomai.15 In classical Greek this word describes the snort of a horse (in war or in a race). For humans it describes outrage, fury, or anger. This nuance appears in its Synoptic uses (Matt. 9:30; Mark 1:43; 14:5) and undoubtedly must be applied here.16 Beasley-Murray cites Schnackenburg: The word “indicates an outburst of anger, and any attempt to reinterpret it in terms of an internal emotional upset caused by grief, pain, or sympathy is illegitimate.”17 This is further seen in the explanation John attaches: Jesus was not only outraged but “troubled.”18
But what arouses Jesus’ anger? Why is he outraged in the deepest level of his being? He is certainly not angry at Martha, Mary, or their mourners. Rather, he is overcome by the futility of this sorrowful scene in light of the reality of the resurrection. God’s people possess knowledge of life; they should possess a faith that claims victory at the grave. But here they stand, overcome in seeming defeat. And here stands the One in whom victory, life, and resurrection are powerful realities. Jesus is angry at death itself and the devastation it brings. His only interest now is to locate the tomb (11:34) and begin to demonstrate divine power over humanity’s foe.
Jesus’ tears (11:35) are not for Lazarus, whose removal from the grave is imminent and whose life is going to show God’s glory.19 He knows what good surprises are in store for his good friend! Jesus’ tears should be connected to the anger he is feeling so deeply. The public chaos surrounding him, the loud wailing and crying, and the scene of a cemetery and its reminders of death—all the result of sin and death—together produce outrage in the Son of God as he works to reverse such damage.
As happens so often in John’s stories, the audience provides different responses (11:36–37). The same will happen later in the chapter when the Sanhedrin makes its judgments. Here before the tomb, some witness the depth of Jesus’ love for Lazarus and are duly impressed; others recall the stories of Jesus’ works of healing (such as the blind man, ch. 9) and marvel that of all the people Jesus might heal, certainly Lazarus should have been one of them. Are they merely confused? Is this sincere questioning? Or is this cynicism and disbelief?
Lazarus is Raised to Life (11:38–44)
AS JESUS STEPS to the tomb itself (11:38), he is “once more deeply moved.” The verb used here is the same one as in 11:33 (embrimaomai), which suggests he is outraged at what he sees. The Lord of life is now directly confronting his opponent, death, symbolized in the cave-tomb before him. The description of the tomb indicates that it is a “rolling stone” tomb (see notes above), which was designed to be opened. The vertical “wheel” could be rolled back, permitting access to the main receiving room of the burial cave.
Martha’s response in 11:39 is critical for John’s report of the scene. Note how Martha is described as “the sister of the dead man.” She further warns that since Lazarus has been dead four days, decomposition has set in and there will be an odor. In an early medieval Jewish tradition (which may well go back to the first century) Jews would return to the cemetery after three days to check to see if the person was living (b. Semahot 8:1). All of this serves to remind us that Lazarus is truly dead and that the miracle of Jesus is not simply one of resuscitating his friend. He must be “awakened” (11:11) from death. In 11:4 Jesus had explained to his followers that Lazarus’s illness would result in the glory of God. Although he has not said this directly to Martha, his exhortation to her in 11:40 serves as a summary of what he meant in 11:21–27. God’s glory will lead to the glorifying of his Son (11:4).
When the stone is rolled back, Jesus prays (11:41–42). This prayer is interesting on several counts. (1) It implies that Jesus had prayed already for Lazarus and that he is now coming to this great miracle fully prepared for what will take place. This is not a “last minute” request.
(2) Jesus prays publicly, and he does so “looking up” (no doubt with hands upraised). This was a common posture for Jewish prayer. Audible prayers were more common in Jesus’ world than private prayers. Jesus is certainly not praying to impress the audience of mourners. But his followers could use prayers to learn things about the life and thought of their Master (cf. the Old Testament prayers of Moses). Thus Jesus is aware that his prayer is also for the benefit of these bystanders (11:42).
(3) Jesus addresses God as “Father” (not “our” father) and shows his personal intimacy with him (12:27–28; 17:1). He also demonstrates that his work is done in concert with God’s will, for he never acts autonomously. In 5:19, Jesus remarked, “I tell you the truth, the Son can do nothing by himself; he can do only what he sees his Father doing, because whatever the Father does the Son also does.”
The dramatic high point of the story is reached in 11:43 when Jesus calls to Lazarus “in a loud voice” to come out. This is not a whisper or a firm request. It is a shout of raw authority. The Greek kraugazo is used six times in John—in addition to here, once for the crowds on Palm Sunday (12:13) and four times for the cries of the crowds calling for Jesus’ crucifixion (18:40; 19:6, 12, 15). When Lazarus emerges from the tomb, he is bound in grave wrappings, which were strips of fabric wound around his limbs and filled with burial spices. Jewish burials likewise tied the jaw closed and covered the face with a linen cloth.20
Lazarus’s coming from the grave must have been an amazing spectacle witnessed by a growing crowd of people, many of whom carry news of this miracle back to Jerusalem (12:9, 17). Lazarus stands before Jesus wrapped tightly. Jesus is no doubt talking to him (what does he say?), and the crowd undoubtedly shrinks back in awe. Jewish superstitions took great interest in cemeteries (as do most cultures), and strict ritual laws of purification (clean/unclean) were attached to dead bodies. Should anyone come near the man? Martha? Mary? Jesus loved Lazarus, and it is not hard to imagine him being the first to embrace his friend. Jesus had a reputation for touching those deemed “untouchable” (Matt. 8:3; 9:20), and while the text is silent, such an embrace here would have left the crowd stunned. Jesus remains in command and orders that someone unbind him (John 11:44).
The Sanhedrin Plots to Kill Jesus (11:45–57)
MOST OF THE miracles and discourses in the Book of Signs (John 1–12) led to a sharp division in the audience. The same occurs here. Many of the Jews in Bethany who witnessed the events of that day “put their faith in him” (11:45)—one of John’s favorite phrases to express true belief in Jesus.21 They have seen the glory of God at work (as promised) and rightly link it to the person of Jesus. John’s sharp contrast with the “others” (11:46), who go directly to the Pharisees, suggests they do not believe.
The popularity of Jesus and the sheer power of this breakthrough sign on the outskirts of Jerusalem bring a crisis to the ruling council of Jerusalem (the Sanhedrin). Even if the story of Lazarus were untrue (as some of the leaders no doubt contend), still the rumor of it will spread in the city like wildfire.
The Sanhedrin deliberations (11:47–50) are noteworthy. (1) There is genuine fear that the populace will accept Jesus as the Messiah. This is not simply religious rivalry, but a paralyzing concern that if a messianic claimant is embraced by the city, the Roman armies will suppress it. “Our place” (11:48) refers to the Jerusalem temple (NRSV, “our holy place”; cf. Acts 6:13–14; 7:7; 21:28). The Romans had shown their intolerance to this sort of messianism in the past (viewing it as a political challenge), and Jerusalem’s leadership know the seriousness of the threat now.
(2) John summarizes the view of the reigning high priest, Caiaphas (11:49–50). This man ruled the Sanhedrin from A.D. 18 to A.D. 36 and took personal responsibility for the political stability of the country.22 He worked for ten years alongside the Roman governor Pilate, and together the two men forged an uneasy peace in the country.23 For Caiaphas, then, political expediency is the key: If there must be a sacrifice, better to lose one man than the entire nation. Therefore the high council begins planning how they can kill Jesus (11:53).
Just as Jesus’ discourses have double levels of meaning, so too these voices say more than even they expected. John knows this (11:51–52) and tips us off to look beneath the surface. Indeed, both of the comments from the Sanhedrin bear some truth. (1) The Romans will eventually come and bring their judgment on the city and its temple. From A.D. 66–70 Jerusalem was under siege, which concluded with the burning of the temple. (2) But also Caiaphas is right in a way he cannot perceive. Jesus will die for the salvation of the nation. An unwitting prophecy here points to the cross since the salvation Judaism needs has less to do with Rome than it does with Jerusalem’s spiritual jeopardy.
John knows that the death of Christ will perform a work that is far more profound than anyone imagines. It is not simply the city of Jerusalem or the people of Judaism that will be saved, but the “scattered children of God” (11:52). To a Jew, such a phrase would describe Jews living in the “Diaspora” (or the dispersion) of Gentile countries around the Mediterranean. But here John is no doubt referring to Gentiles, who likewise need to come into the family of God. This thought parallels what we read in 10:16, that Jesus is a good shepherd whose flock includes many unexpected sheep. His work is to bring together into unity the diversity of God’s people.
The formalized threat to Jesus leads him to make a judicious political move (11:54). Today we would say that he goes “underground”—Jesus cannot risk being a public figure in the same manner any longer. He knows the hour of his glorification and will not permit anyone or anything to interrupt his mission. With characteristic geographical precision, John says that Jesus moves to Ephraim, a small town likely near Bethel, about a dozen miles north of Jerusalem (cf. Old Testament Ephron, 2 Chron. 13:19).24 Here Jesus is safe from the Sanhedrin, but he is also close enough to attend the upcoming Passover in Jerusalem.
As an orthodox Jew, Jesus would have faithfully obeyed the requirement of attending the annual pilgrimage festivals such as Passover. As men and women begin moving toward the city from throughout the country (11:55), they look for Jesus. Residents of Jerusalem no doubt spread the story of Lazarus (12:9), and the city is buzzing with talk about the intentions of the religious authorities (11:57). An open announcement of arrest is circulating for Jesus. If he is seen, he will be captured. With the crowds filling the city, “Jesus stories” added to the excitement. There will be a showdown. What about his supporters from Galilee? Will his twelve followers try to defend him? What will this do to the upcoming Passover celebrations?
But from Jesus’ point of view, his public ministry among his people is completed. No longer will he provide any miraculous signs for them. No longer will we hear of new audiences of Jews “believing in him.” Jesus is finished. He now will spend concentrated private time with those families (e.g., Martha, Mary, Lazarus), friends, and followers who know him, trust him, and believe in him. Jesus will indeed return to the public square once more during the Passover Feast following his triumphal entry, but only to give an impassioned plea for belief (12:44). No longer will he provide public signs that evoke belief. The next time after this he appears in public, he will be a prisoner.
Bridging Contexts
THIS IS A profoundly ironic chapter in the Gospel of John. As one of its longest narratives, it draws us into the story with excellent dramatic development. It records the most remarkable miracle in Jesus’ ministry. Its climax is Jesus’ gift of life to his dead friend Lazarus—and here is the irony—its conclusion finds his enemies (represented by Caiaphas) plotting Jesus’ death. The Lord of Life demonstrates that he is victor over death and in the end, he has death pronounced on himself. He dispenses life while his enemies try to take it away.25 We are even given signals in 11:55–57 pointing us to the festival (Passover), which is going to be the final feast of Jesus’ life. Life and hope as well as dread and doom hang over the chapter ominously.
The nature of Jesus’ work. We should see this chapter as an important statement about the character of Jesus’ work. John includes this story so that Jesus’ message does not “sink into a general symbolic mysticism.”26 His works are concrete. He is not just the light; he gives sight to a blind man. Jesus is not just the resurrection and the life; he brings a man from the tomb. The revelation of Jesus does not take place apart from concrete acts in history. Therefore the historicity of this passage (so often assailed in modern criticism), the truth about this story, is not to be found in the inspiring narrative it builds but in the deed it records. Something happened in Bethany that was unparalleled. God (who alone is sovereign over life) has acted decisively in Jesus Christ.
This follows the general pattern of John’s message in his Gospel. Jesus has entered into human history and brought a number of “signs” that point us to his true identity. As such the raising of Lazarus is the seventh and final sign of Jesus.27 It is interesting to compare the first and seventh signs of Jesus—Cana and Bethany—for in each Jesus unveils his glory in the company of personal friends (2:11; 11:4, 40).
It is no accident that the final number (seven) is a symbolic biblical number of completion, since it is the most important sign of all. It not only unveils the ultimate power of Jesus, but it points to what may be the ultimate and all-encompassing sign of all, the death and resurrection of Jesus. As we will note later (see comments on chapters 19–20), the story of Lazarus’s empty tomb anticipates the story of Jesus’ empty tomb. The Lord who has power over life has power over his own life as well. “The reason my Father loves me is that I lay down my life—only to take it up again” (10:17). If resurrection is the final, climactic sign, how much more will Jesus’ glorification be the ultimate sign of the Gospel!
There are four principal themes (and a number of secondary ideas) that step from this chapter and deserve our closest attention as we try to communicate this text in a modern setting. The story is telling us a great deal about Jesus in history and this cannot be neglected. It will not do simply to say that the Lazarus story is about men and women coming from death to life metaphorically, having their grave clothes removed as they are converted to Christ.28 This is an important theme, but is better suited to John 3 or 4, where people move toward faith out of their religious (and irreligious) contexts. John 11 is about real life and real death. It is about Jesus’ death (and life) as well as our own.
A reverse pattern. This is the first Johannine narrative that reverses the pattern of sign and discourse. In all of the chapters we have seen thus far, Jesus works a miracle (a sign), which is then followed by a thoroughgoing explanation. In John 9, for example, Jesus heals the blind man; this event is followed by clarifications (buried in the drama) that unfold for us the deeper meaning of the sign.29 In John 11 the explanation comes in the dialogues with Martha and Mary, particularly 11:25–26, which tell us explicitly that the coming miracle is an opportunity to glimpse the glory of Christ. This coaches us so that we will not miss the importance of the sign. John wants his readers to comprehend and believe.
Once again John tells us that there are many who will witness the sign and fail to believe. Of course, people such as Martha and Mary (who share the revelation we enjoy as readers) will believe since they have been told what this sign means. But others (11:46) resist belief and instead go to the authorities. What does this mean in the revelation of Christ? Must explanation accompany sign? How should this be integrated into the ministries of the church?
The lordship of Jesus. The narrative is built to tell us about Jesus, not Lazarus. This may seem obvious to some, but many miss this basic point when explaining the chapter. The Lazarus story is a vehicle to take elsewhere, to help us reflect on the confidence and power of the person of Christ, and to wonder at the truth and glory of his presence on the earth. As we have seen in other chapters (e.g., chs. 1, 4, 9), John 11 provides another catalogue of names for Jesus so that we as readers will not miss who this central character is (Jesus, rabbi, Lord, Christ, Son of God, he who is coming into the world, the resurrection and the life). Therefore John 11 teaches us not simply about an idea, but about a person. And knowing right things about this person, such as his identity and his relation to his Father, are important to getting the story right.
We have seen John’s Christological interests throughout the Gospel. The new vision we have of Jesus here is his lordship over death. Jesus is confident when he faces the grave of his friend Lazarus. He has prayed that God will work in and through him. If anything, the chief emotions we see are anger and grief. Lazarus has become a victim of something Jesus yearns to defeat. What does it mean to face a grave in the company of Jesus? How do we take seriously the genuine suffering of women like Martha and Mary—and our own anguish at the threat of death—and still maintain faith in the power of Christ?
The looming crucifixion. If the lordship of Jesus over death is the chief motif in this chapter, the prospect of Jesus’ own crucifixion is a theme that comes close behind. The drama of Jesus’ trial began at the very start of this Gospel, and I suggested that John may have even designed it with a “courtroom drama” in mind (see the discussion of the trial motif in the comments on John 5). Here too we have hints (ironic hints) that if indeed Jesus is master over the grave, he will have an opportunity to demonstrate this mastery by dying himself. At the beginning of the chapter Jesus is warned that people in Judea wish to stone him (11:8); as it closes, we listen to the Passover crowds in Jerusalem speculating whether Jesus will appear and meet his accusers face-to-face (11:55–57). The disciples understand soberly what it means to approach Jerusalem. Even they may die (11:16). The shadow of death stalks the entire chapter.
But we are given advance notice that this death is not going to be a tragedy. What Jesus can do for Lazarus by opening the Bethany tomb is now foreshadowing what he can do for himself. The tomb that cannot contain Lazarus cannot hold him either. Moreover, we are told that the death of Jesus is not simply an obstacle to be overcome by resurrection. Caiaphas tells us that Jesus’ death will be purposeful. Jesus will die for the people and the nation (11:50). Jesus will give life only by giving his own life. Central to any explanation of this chapter, therefore, must be a confident and compelling explanation of Jesus’ saving death and his personal victory over his own grave.
Tension between life and death. We would be remiss if we did not explore the implications of this tension between life and death within the experiences of the characters in the narrative. All the themes of grief and dismay and loss are appropriate subjects for careful exploration. When we do so, we should place ourselves in the narrative and identify what it means to lose someone to death who is as close to us as Lazarus was to his sisters. We dare not trivialize death. We dare not say that Martha was wrong to grieve because Jesus was present. Even Jesus himself wept. But it is clear from his conversation with Martha that Jesus expects God’s people to have an understanding of death and possess confidence in God’s power.
However, there is an unexpected turn in the story. Martha is gently corrected (11:24) so that she will see that her hope is anchored not merely to the far future resurrection of the last day, but to a present experience with Jesus Christ. There is something in Christ that exceeds the hope we have on the Day of Judgment. Jesus brings a present reality to our victory over death. But how is that realized for us today? It is one thing to say we are “saved,” but quite another to understand what it means to possess “life” now in the present. How do I proclaim this? How do I possess this without denying the reality of death?
Contemporary Significance
JOHN 11 TOUCHES on themes that are immediately relevant to the modern heart. Every age struggles with the finality of the grave and the incomprehensibility of death. Throughout history societies have surrounded death and burial sites with mystery and superstition, and this is no less true of modern, Western society.
In some respects, we also live in an age that does its best to deny death. People rarely die at home surrounded by their loved ones. Their bodies are no longer “dressed” and prepared for burial by the family (as they were not too many decades ago). Today this process has been sanitized, taken over by professional hospitals, hospices, and morticians. As a result, few of us have seen someone die, and I dare say that before the twentieth century there were few who had not seen someone die. We build coffins that look like plush, oversized jewelry boxes and cemeteries that evoke the peace and serenity of a botanical garden. We use euphemisms (“Mrs. Taylor passed away on Tuesday”) to gloss over what we dare not say. All of this is cultural, springing from the heartfelt wish to make death pleasant. But it masks a profound anxiety that even the prettiest funeral service cannot disguise.
Perhaps this is why in the work of the church, funeral services become such potent opportunities for ministry. Here the raw vulnerability of our lives stands naked and we are confronted by a personal fate we would rather not look at directly. The story of Lazarus draws us directly into the pathos so deeply rooted in our hearts. Lazarus is a friend who has died. He is a brother whose illness should never have been terminal. His grave is a reminder of every grave we have visited and a parable of the grave we must all visit—our own. Numerous themes come from the story that make for fruitful reflection today.
Sign and explanation. In Luke 16 Jesus tells the parable of the rich man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19–31). While there are limited links with John 11 (see comments above), the conclusion of the parable says something provocative. While the poor man Lazarus is being comforted in Abraham’s bosom, the rich man calls out for help. When none is forthcoming, he pleads with Abraham to send a messenger to his home to warn his five brothers what the afterlife may hold for them. Then Abraham gives a stunning answer:
“Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the Prophets; let them listen to them.’
“ ‘No, father Abraham,’ he said, ‘but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.’
“He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’ ”
According to Jesus, even a resurrection miracle will not be sufficient to persuade some people of the power and the reality of God. This is apparent in John 11. There were many standing among the mourners of Bethany that day who were friends with Lazarus, who knew he was dead, and who participated in his burial. But when he stepped from the grave, they refused to believe in Jesus. This is amazing. Signs alone cannot provoke faith. Miracles do not of themselves transform lives. “They will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.” Since Luke is writing from a vantage that already knows about Jesus’ resurrection, he no doubt is thinking about Jesus’ resurrection too. People living in Jerusalem refused to believe despite Jesus’ return from death. As John writes this chapter for us, he knows the Christian story too. Even when Jesus came from the grave, some refused to believe.
This understanding of the limited success of the miracle is at the root of John’s link between “sign and explanation” (or miracle and discourse). A sheer experience of the power of God is insufficient to persuade the human heart. It is incomprehensible, easily misunderstood, fleeting. And if it does become the basis of faith, the event itself becomes the object of faith rather than the One who has worked such a mighty deed.
Therefore, in the activity of the church, words must accompany deeds. It is foolhardy to think that if God supplies us with a compelling miracle, our spiritual communities will be energized. Signs from God must have a spiritually true context to be understood correctly, to be grounded as they should. This explains, for instance, Luther’s argument that whenever the sacraments of the church are presented in worship, the gospel must be preached. Word must accompany deed. It also provides a worrisome critique of churches whose worship pursues spiritual encounters as ends in themselves. When spiritual activity—from acts of healing to eucharistic worship to praise choruses—is engaged without a richly rooted theological context, we are vulnerable.
I recall talking recently with a friend from Central America. There in his homeland, the traditional Catholic churches did not have a tradition of practical instruction and teaching. He explained how a great deal of pagan superstition (from native religions) had joined with Christian practice to give “deeper meaning” to ceremony and worship. People sought mystical, power experiences with God; because of a lack of theological guidance, this had taken thousands of Christians far from their traditional faith.
Not long ago I attended a worship service that had almost an hour of praise singing that left little time for the sermon. “Never mind,” someone said to me afterwards, “the worship was wonderful and that’s what matters.” This is the pursuit of power and experience—of signs—without explanation or context. John insists that these two dimensions be wed or else misunderstanding of God’s interests will result. Sign must be linked to explanation; spiritual experience must be united with spiritual teaching or preaching.
The power and confidence of Jesus. When Paul prays for the Ephesians at the beginning of his letter, he asks God to confirm in their hearts the features that come with having an identity completely wed to the person of Jesus Christ. Listen to his words:
I pray also that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and his incomparably great power for us who believe. That power is like the working of his mighty strength, which he exerted in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly realms. . . . (Eph. 1:18–20)
Paul prays that Christians will know the hope and the power available to them in Christ. He prays that the reality of their rich inheritance will transform them and that they will have a glimpse of the power of God at work when Jesus came from the grave. This is an apt description of the sort of confidence he carried as he stepped into Bethany that afternoon: God is victor over death. Jesus, as his Son, likewise understood God’s “incomparably great power” to call a man like Lazarus out of the tomb.
As I stand at a graveside today, I need to ask: What difference does it make that my Lord is this Jesus who possesses power over the tomb? One remarkable feature of leading a funeral service is the array of reactions visible in the audience. Grief and anxiety affect Christians who know the hope they possess, but who are overwhelmed with the sorrow of the moment.
When I was in seminary, I had my first internship at a Lutheran church where I was asked to lead a group of high school students. It was a wonderful experience, in which I was mentored for the first time by a pastor and experienced lay leaders. The layperson working closest to me was a woman named Barbara. She was a model of conviction and hope, whose heart was devoted to the church and its ministries. For six months I valued every moment in which she provided advice and inspiration to continue in the ministry. And then one day Barbara gave me a phone call I will never forget. She said she had a brain tumor, which explained the gradual deterioration of her otherwise athletic physique. Most remarkable of all, the tumor was inoperable. I watched as Barbara wasted away. Two months later, just before she died, I remember Barbara taking my hand and talking with confidence about her faith. She knew this was hard for me. And her last words to me were these: “Don’t worry about me. I’m about to go on the greatest adventure of my life.” Soon after, she died.
This story is important because it says that Barbara’s confidence in death was not a shallow optimism that denied the anguish of her experience. She looked it straight in the eye. Nor was she persuaded concerning the doctrine of the resurrection, as if that alone would hold some importance to her. Her confidence was grounded in the strength of her knowledge of Jesus Christ. She knew him. She knew who he was. She knew his power and his ability. And she knew that he was waiting for her the moment she died. Therefore the Christian’s confidence at the grave has little to do with our intrinsic potential to survive death. It has everything to do with our understanding and confidence in the power of Jesus. Jesus overpowered death at the tomb of Lazarus. Jesus likewise overpowered the dread of death for Barbara.
The raising of Lazarus does not mean that now this man and believers like him are no longer subject to mortality and death. Lazarus eventually died (again!). Barbara died. But imagine for a moment Lazarus’s thoughts as he laid on his “second” deathbed some years after the death and resurrection of Jesus. Normal feelings of worry and fear were there in the corners of his soul, no doubt. But he had confidence. He knew that Jesus had a relationship with death like no other. Jesus was “resurrection and life,” and so he was not going to the grave alone.
Jesus’ death and resurrection. When tourists come to Jerusalem, one of the most important places for them to visit is the church commemorating Jesus’ burial and resurrection.30 Guidebooks written in English refer to it as “The Church of the Holy Sepulchre.” Arabs and Jews are used to this, so when they find pilgrims wandering around Jerusalem’s “Christian Quarter,” they send them in the right direction. But the ancient churches of Jerusalem have a different name for this church. For countless centuries, Arab Christians have known it as “the Church of the Resurrection,” recalling the truly important events that happened here. If you ask an Arab Christian for the “church of Jesus’ tomb” in Arabic, he likely will not know what you mean. The church recalls not the tomb, but the resurrection life that came from this place. It is a place of victory and life, not sorrow and defeat.31
John is taking the long view of Jesus’ work when he describes the events that surround Lazarus’s new life. Jesus proves he has power over death; but more, we also learn that Jesus’ death will play a role in the work that he still has to do. That Jesus must die is said explicitly in the chambers of the Sanhedrin (11:51). Moreover we learn that Jesus is the one man who must die for the people (11:50). We also know that Jesus is “the resurrection and the life” (11:24). Therefore in order to vanquish death for himself and in order to bring the benefits of his work to the world, he too will demonstrate his power by his own resurrection from the tomb. This is why the Jerusalem Christians are right in refusing to let their central church become a memorial to Jesus’ death. It is not. This is a monument to Jesus’ completed work, by which he embraces death fully and defeats it, standing triumphant before his own grave.
The raising of Lazarus thus provides us with theological foreshadowing. It points us elsewhere, reminding us that Jesus’ work is greater even than this. Jesus is not demonstrating that death has a limited grip over humanity. It does not. But his own death and resurrection affect the reality of death permanently for those who believe in him.
Paul reminds us of this same idea. Reconciliation and salvation are achieved by both the death of Christ and his resurrection (Rom. 4:25; 5:10). Baptism connects us to Christ’s death (6:3), but it also connects us with his resurrection (6:4). Paul summarizes, “If we have been united with him like this in his death, we will certainly also be united with him in his resurrection” (6:5). The point here is that the work of Christ is not simply a matter of reliance on the work of the cross. The work of Christ is his comprehensive effort by which he enters the world as a human, embracing the totality of our humanity. He dies on the cross, becoming a sacrifice for our sins, and he is raised to new life, bearing with this life the very humanity he has embraced. To use Paul’s words, death no longer has dominion over Christ (Rom. 6:9; 1 Cor. 15:21ff.). Therefore in Christ humanity has found a way to defeat death, and we are joined to the benefits of Christ’s work through faith.
Our graveside experience. We have seen that Christ understood the power of God just as he understood the nature of his own mission. Christ overwhelmed the grim scene of Lazarus’s grave with his own power, and he faced the specter of his own death with the confidence that the same power of God would rescue him from the grave. John 11 is thus a story designed to encourage us, to give us strength to face our own mortality (or the death of someone near to us) by virtue of the Lord whom we worship. Resurrection is not now a new principle imposed on human life; the Lord who is resurrection has now imposed life where there was only the prospect of death.
While the chief thrust of chapter 11 is theological, the dramatic setting of the story also invites reflection. (1) In some Christian circles Jesus’ power over the grave is embraced with such conviction that there is no permission to mourn the tragedy of death. To grieve is to show a lack of faith; funerals are to be celebrations of eternal life and victory. To a degree this is true, but it denies a basic human need to express the sorrow and dismay that comes with loss. One obvious thing about John’s story is a thing we may pass over quickly: Martha and Mary were crying. Jesus did not say to Martha, “If you believe in the resurrection, why are you wasting your time and your tears?” He did not say to Mary, “If you have victorious faith, you should stand clear-eyed and confident because I am here.” No. Jesus did not impede this family’s grieving; instead by joining with them, he gives generous permission. It is right to describe death as terrible and painful and horrible without compromising the quality of our faith. Jesus himself cried in anger at the wreckage death brought to one family. Death is a foe that in Christ is being defeated.
(2) Jesus is telling us that the reality of the resurrection is not something that simply awaits us in the end of time. As we saw, Judaism held this belief popularly. But Jesus is expressing a truth that is sometimes missed. Resurrection describes an aspect of life that we can experience now. Martha says that Lazarus will be raised in the future. But Jesus says that Lazarus is going to be raised now. This means that there is a real power available in the present experience of Christ that is unknown to the Jewish framework of Martha and Mary. The power of God resident in our lives today is the same power that will enable us to live for eternity. John no doubt hopes that this will be no small comfort for us. As L. Morris puts it, “Death is but a gateway to further life and fellowship with God.”32 As we think about death, it should be a passageway, not a terminus. Jesus’ power is in us and it will continue to carry us through that darkest hour, for nothing can ever separate us from God’s mighty love (Rom. 8:35–39).
Two minor notes. John 11 has two minor notes with some genuine practical importance. (1) We saw in 10:16 that Jesus is conscious that there are other sheep “not of this fold,” who likewise must be included in his flock. In 11:52 this idea is reinforced. Jesus must die not only for the nation (of Israel) but “to bring [the scattered children of God] together and make them one.” As Jesus leaves the mainstream of Judaism (where his self-revelation is complete), he shows how his kingdom extends beyond the usual national, racial, and cultural boundaries of Judaism. The same theme will appear in John 12, when some Greeks come to see Jesus at the temple (12:20). In other words, we may not limit the work of Christ to a particular people, excluding some as Judaism excluded the Gentiles. As modern Christians we need to wrestle with our worldviews, inquiring who are those “scattered people” for whom Christ died.
(2) I find it interesting that Jesus treats Martha and Mary with such respect. In 11:28 Martha calls Jesus “teacher.” This reminds us of Jesus’ appearance in Martha’s home in Luke 10, where Jesus is teaching these women. Even in John 11 we have a description of Jesus teaching Martha (11:21–27). This is important because women were not taught by the rabbis in the first century. Jesus dignifies these women as full participants among his followers. If he is their rabbi, they are his disciples (not unlike the other men who followed him). When Lazarus becomes fatally ill, his sisters know immediately how to locate Jesus despite the fact he is far away. Were they well-connected among the Jesus’ followers in Judea? Were they “women of prominence,” not unlike Prisca, Junia, Phoebe, and Mary, whom Paul greets in Romans 16?