Audio Transcript

Today on the podcast we look at God’s love to us. And we are going to look at his love to us when life hurts the most. This is one of those areas that proves especially challenging for us to grasp. But we must learn this lesson. And we do in the life and ministry of our Savior. Because it’s relatively easy to see and feel God’s love when things are going well in life. But what about when sickness hits? What about when we feel weak? What about when we come to the end of our resources? Even as we approach the end of life, how do we feel God’s love and his purposes in our pain?

For that answer, we turn to Jesus and watch how he handled the sickness of his good friend Lazarus in John 11:1–6. There are lessons here for all of God’s people. To explain, here’s Pastor John from a 2019 sermon, preached in Northern Ireland.

Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. It was Mary who anointed the Lord with ointment and wiped his feet with her hair, whose brother Lazarus was ill. So the sisters sent to him, saying, “Lord, he whom you love is ill.” But when Jesus heard it he said, “This illness does not lead to death. It is for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. So, when he heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was. (John 11:1–6)

Special Bond

Focus on John 11:1–2, just for a moment: “Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. It was Mary who anointed the Lord with her ointment and wiped his feet with her hair, whose brother Lazarus was ill.”

The striking thing about verse 2 is that that hasn’t happened yet in the Gospel of John. That’s odd. That’s going to happen in John 12:3, one chapter later — Mary’s going to anoint the Lord with her hair. And he says to the reader, “This Mary who’s asking him to come, that’s the Mary who did that. Now, I haven’t told you she did it yet. That’s the one I’m talking about.” What’s the point of that?

That’s the first instance in this text of how John is going to draw out the endearing, special, sweet, deep, precious relationship between Jesus and this family. He’s reaching forward to get a remarkable moment in the life of this woman, who’s going to love Jesus like that, and he mentions her that way here. So we can conclude, at least, that this is special between Jesus and this family, especially Mary.

Now, John 11:3: “So the sisters sent to him, saying, ‘Lord, he whom you love is ill.’” So this is now, I would say, the second instance of drawing out that he loves this family. Now he’s mentioning Lazarus in particular. This man loves this family, and Jesus is underlining it. He loves them, and he makes it explicit. He’s not dealing with a casual acquaintance, saying, “Please come. He’s sick.”

Glory of the Son

John 11:4: “But when Jesus heard it, he said, ‘This illness is not going to lead to death. It is for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.’” So the first thing Jesus does is connect the news of Lazarus’s sickness with the glory of God. Not many people think this way, and we need to. He put it in relationship to the glory of God. It’s about the glory of God. It’s about the glory of the Son of God, who’s going to be glorified through it.

So, “Take a deep breath, Mary and Martha. This is all about my glory. It’s not going to go the way you think, and it’s not going to go the way you want. It’s about my glory.” “This illness does not lead to death [the point of this illness is not death]. It is for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.”

You probably remember chapter 9, the blind man, and the disciples say, “Who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus answers, “It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him” (John 9:2–4). All these years of blindness are about glory.

Same thing here. He’s going to die, and Jesus knows he’s going to die. He’s going to let him die intentionally. We’ll see that in just a minute. And it’s all about glory.

Love of the Son

Here comes the third mention of love, in John 11:5: “Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus.” So there it is the third time. He loved her. Loved Mary. Loved Lazarus. Loved Martha. “Now Jesus loved Martha.”

So I’m overstating it, aren’t I, when I say it’s all about glory? No, it’s not all about glory. It’s largely about love. And that’s what clobbered me in this text, right? This is about underlining three times, “He loved them. He loved them. He loved them.” He let him die. That’s what’s striking.

“Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus.” So surely John the writer is writing this to help us come to terms in our experience with what the love of God is like for you. What is it like to be loved by Jesus? It’s like this. Love is not a minor theme in these six verses. It is a major theme. Three times he’s saying, “He loved them. He loved them. He loved them.” He doesn’t want you to miss that. And he wants you to put yourself in that situation and say, “Okay, I’ve been told that since I was little. Jesus loves me. Jesus loves me.”

“The world has no categories for understanding this kind of love.”

And these texts — this one in particular — is in the Bible to help turn our world upside down when it comes to understanding the love of Jesus, because the world doesn’t get this. The world has no categories for understanding this kind of love that we’re about to see, but you should. Apart from the Holy Spirit, this text is in inexplicable.

Lazarus’s Resurrection and Our Own

Here’s the second thing to think about. I think John, in writing chapter 11, is intentionally inviting us to see our own resurrection in relationship to Lazarus’s, our death and our resurrection as parallel to Lazarus’s.

Why do I think that? You might want to drop your eyes down to John 11:23–26. See if you think I’m right about this: “Jesus said to her [to Martha], ‘Your brother will rise again.’” So when he gets there, he gives them the hope he’s going to rise again. “Martha said to him, ‘I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.’”

Now here’s the connection: Jesus could have said, “Yes, and isn’t that wonderful news?” What he said was, “I am that resurrection of the last day. I just showed up. That resurrection is coming to the world — that power, that control, that life-giving force is me. And I’m here. And let’s show you right now what that’s going to be like because I want you, Martha, and all of you, to put the connection between Lazarus’s experience and what you will experience.”

So he continues. “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die” (John 11:25–26). In other words, “My raising your brother from the dead will be what will happen to you.” Which means that the way to think about Lazarus’s death is as a forerunner, a little trailer, of ours — our death and our resurrection.

So now as you step back and think, “Lazarus has died, and Jesus didn’t go, and he let him die because he loved him,” you shouldn’t whitewash that, diminish that, minimize that by saying, “Oh, he is going to raise him four days later” — because he’s going to raise you, too. And the distance between your death and the coming of Jesus, when the resurrection will happen, is a length of time that compares to four days as nothing compared to eternity — as nothing.

So your death and resurrection and Lazarus’s death and four days later rising are virtually the same — except yours is better. You never die again. Poor Lazarus; he had to go through this twice. So if you’re going to minimize Lazarus’s experience, you better minimize your own, and say, “No big deal to die; I’m going to rise in four days anyway” — I mean, more or less.

And you don’t do that. You know you don’t do that. You don’t minimize your death. You don’t minimize your loved one’s death. You take it seriously. You groan and you grieve. You ache. And that’s the way we should feel this.

How Is This Love?

So let’s look again at the logic of verse 5 and 6, because this is the main point I want you to feel, because it turns your world upside down. Verse 5: “Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. Therefore . . .” Because of that love — you with me logically? I don’t want to add anything here; I don’t want to make anything up. “Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus.” Therefore, because of love, “he stayed two days longer in the place where he was” (John 11:5–6).

And that’s what we have to understand. How is that love? How is it love? That’s what we’re supposed to see. John intends, Jesus intends, for everybody who reads this to ask that about your experience. He loves them; therefore, he does not heal them. He loves them; therefore, he does not save him from death. John intends, Jesus intends, for us to ask this about ourselves. How are we loved when we’re dying? He doesn’t heal him. He just lets him die. How is that love?

The answer is given, I believe, in verse 4. You just have to think a little bit. “This illness does not lead to death.” In other words, he’s going to die, but that’s not the point. What is the point? “It is for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” So the point of his death is not death. The point of his death is to reveal the glory of God, and particularly the glory of the Son of God, Jesus Christ.

So now you step back and you say, “Okay, the so at the beginning of verse 6 says that the meaning of the delay and the death is love. And verse 4 says that the meaning of the delay and the death is the glory of God.” And what would you do? I mean, how would you preach the sermon from here on out? What would you draw out for your life? Here’s what I draw out.

Show Me More Glory

The world doesn’t understand what love is. What is love? Love is doing what you need to do in order to reveal most fully and most durably the all-satisfying glory of God in Jesus. To be loved is to be shown glory — the glory of God. If we’re not a God-centered people, who see God himself in his Son as the greatest treasure, the most beautiful reality, the most all-satisfying friend, experience, and Father — if we’re not that way, that makes no sense.

“If God is the supreme treasure of life, then to have more of him is to be loved.”

You go out and do an average interview on the street with any unbelieving person in Belfast and say, “What is love?” They won’t go here. They won’t say to love is to have anything happen to me — life, death, sickness, anything — that will show me more of God. Nobody’s going to say that.

That’s true. If God is all to you, it’s true. If God is minor, if God is marginal, if your life is your most important thing, if your kids are your most important thing, your marriage is most important, your health is most important, that won’t make any sense. But if God is all, if God is beautiful, if God is the supreme treasure of life, then to have more of him is to be loved. That’s the point of the so at the beginning of verse 6.

So, here’s my definition of love based on this text: love is doing whatever you have to do, or whatever God has to do, at whatever cost, in order for the glory of God to be shown.

When suffering comes, we often stop and ask God to give us what we need to suffer well. Sometimes, the suffering itself unexpectedly becomes his answer to that prayer.

One experience of suffering — with the presence and help of God — can prepare us for some future experience of suffering. Scripture actually goes even further and says that when we receive and experience suffering in a certain way, we can actually begin to rejoice in our suffering. I haven’t suffered as much as many have, but I’ve suffered enough to want to know how that happens, how we can rejoice even while still in the midst of our sufferings. What miraculous filter could I put on my hardest days to make me respond like that? How could joy possibly take root and bloom in the dark and dry ground of suffering?

One of the clearest texts along these lines is Romans 5:3–4. If you’ve heard these words over and over before (like some of us have), read them again, but slow down enough to hear just how startling they are.

We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope. (Romans 5:3–4)

Who in your life talks about suffering like that? We don’t merely receive and tolerate suffering when it comes; we rejoice in it. Our hope doesn’t merely survive suffering; suffering strangely makes our hope stronger. Suffering produces endurance, which produces character, which produces hope. Has your experience of heartache and loss felt like that?

Before Suffering Comes

Now, suffering in itself does not produce hope from scratch. Suffering will not create hope where there is none. But it can serve to strengthen and refine an already living hope. No matter what we suffer and for however long we suffer, no one suffers well without a real and abiding hope in God. Look at the verses immediately before:

We have obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings. . . . (Romans 5:2–3)

“No one suffers well without a real and abiding hope in God.”

Before suffering can strengthen our hope, we first need to put our deepest, strongest hope in God. Those who can rejoice in the hope-building experience of suffering can only do so because they have some hope to build upon. They already rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.

That means the first step to suffering well is to die to all our confidence in self and learn to rely instead on God. If suffering turns you inward (as it tends to do), you’re likely to fall into downward spirals of despair, like so many do. If, however, suffering lifts your eyes to someone above and beyond this pain or problem, then it can become a staircase into greater courage and joy. The staircase may be arduous and harrowing, but it can carry you onto firmer ground and into fairer fields — if you are not own your hope in suffering. Suffering will not stoop to serve you if you will not bend your knee before God.

Suffering Produces Endurance

We all can see how hope might help someone embrace and endure suffering, but the apostle Paul doesn’t settle for mere survival. He demands that suffering strengthen hope and serve joy. So how does that happen? First, by showing us how much God can do when we come to the end of what we can do.

Part of the suffering of suffering is the creeping suspicion that we won’t make it, that this will cost us more than we have to give, that tomorrow will be the last straw. If you’ve felt like that, Paul knows what you feel: “We were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself. Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death” (2 Corinthians 1:8). That doesn’t sound like hope rising. That doesn’t sound like rejoicing. How could God rewrite a death sentence and make it give life? Next line: “But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead” (2 Corinthians 1:9).

We find hope at, and beyond, the end of ourselves — at the end of all we can do and say and feel — if we find God there. Suffering produces hope because it shows us, like nothing else can, that we can handle more than we think — with God. In other words, suffering produces endurance. As we lean on God, he strengthens us with all power, “according to his glorious might, for all endurance and patience with joy” (Colossians 1:11).

Endurance Proves Character

Second, suffering strengthens hope by revealing and refining who we really are. We may not like what suffering reveals, but it unveils us. We thought we were patient, until the car died for the third time this year. We thought we were kind and gentle, until our child pitched another fit at bedtime. We thought our faith was firm and unshakeable, until our spouse got sick, and then more sick, and then more sick. Suffering shakes our souls, bringing sin to the surface, revealing the worst in us.

And, if God has begun his work in us, suffering also reveals and nurtures the God-wrought best in us. The apostle Peter describes the beauty and worth of this painful process:

In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith — more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire — may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. (1 Peter 1:6–7)

The miracle of Spirit-filled patience shines brightest in moments that test patience. The miracle of kindness sparkles most where we expect to find irritation and rudeness. The miracle of love looks most miraculous when we have every painful reason to focus on self. Comfortable circumstances may draw a veil over these miracles, but suffering draws light to them, exposing the hidden work of God within us.

In other words, endurance produces proven character. Our patient perseverance through suffering, with joy, says we are real — that we are not the sin-enslaved soul we once were, but a new creation by God, one he promises to complete (Philippians 1:6).

Character Produces Hope

If we could see that we’re real in Christ, how would that make us feel about our future? If we’re real — if the King of heaven lives in us, and intercedes for us, and promises to come back for us — then our future is overwhelmingly bright and secure no matter how unbearable our present may feel for now. In other words, character produces hope.

Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. (James 1:2–4)

“Through suffering, we see that we are someone we could never have been without grace.”

Suffering demands endurance, allowing us to see what God can do when we come to the end of ourselves. Enduring hardship with God reveals what’s happening inside of us, as he conforms us degree by degree to the glory of his Son. As that happens, we get to see glimpses of the wonder of who we are in Christ. Through suffering, then, we see that we are someone we could never have been without grace.

Bigger Than Relief

So, instead of praying that God might preserve our hope through suffering, we might begin praying that God would build our hope through suffering — that this season of darkness actually might leave us nearer to and more confident in him. Instead of merely praying that God would heal us and restore us to where we were, we can pray that he would use suffering to grow us and lead us forward to where he wants us to be.

I’ve learned more about suffering well from Vaneetha Risner than from anyone else on earth. She’s suffered in more ways than most — diagnosed with post-polio (a painful and debilitating condition), lost an infant son because of a doctor’s mistake, and then in the midst of the hurricane of her pain and loss, was abandoned by her husband. And yet by God’s grace, she’s suffered more joyfully than most. When you meet her, you cannot explain her — but for God.

She says this about the transforming power of her trials:

I cried out asking God to help me to trust him, to reconnect, and to find hope in what seemed like impenetrable darkness. I needed peace and I couldn’t find it anywhere besides Christ. It was then that my faith radically changed. I found an inexplicable peace and hope that I had not experienced before — my easy trouble-free life had not yielded anything but an enjoyment of the present. But suffering was producing something unshakeable. Suffering is a catalyst that forces us to move in one direction or another. No one comes through suffering unchanged. (“Suffering Will Always Change You”)

Suffering will change us. The question is whether it will change us for the better, driving us nearer to Jesus and making us more like him. By all means, when suffering comes, pray that God would give what you need to receive it, to survive it, to endure it. But don’t stop there. Ask him to do what he has done again and again for Vaneetha. Ask him to make suffering a servant of your peace and hope and joy in him.

It’s a familiar feeling as the day ends. I kiss my kids goodnight, pray for them, sing them a song, and then walk out of their rooms. I replay the day: the frustrated response to their behavior, the time spent on my phone instead of in conversation, the way I brushed them aside instead of engaging in a game with them, the outburst of anger. It all weighs on me, and I can feel undone. The lost moments of the day seem to drown out any moments of faithfulness that occurred. Will they remember these failures? Have I scarred them? Is God unhappy with me?

Moms are often plagued with guilt and regret. Sometimes the guilt is legitimate because we have sinned against our kids. Sometimes it’s projected on us by our own unbiblical expectations. Either way, where can we go with our mom-guilt and regret?

The Psalms are a faithful guide in our struggle. They are filled with a myriad of emotions, from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows. The Psalms provide insight into how biblical characters experienced specific events. In doing so, they give us a window into the human soul, showing us that God cares about every part of our life experience. He cares about the details of the narrative, and he gives us language for responding to the story we find ourselves in, including our moments of deep regret.

Deal with Regret Like David

Life in a broken world means moms will experience regret. In Psalm 51, David is filled with regret over the murder of Uriah and his sexual sin with Uriah’s wife, Bathsheba. In other words, his regret is legitimate, not projected. He has sinned against God and others.

The most important step David takes when he feels regret is his first step toward God. We have a tendency to pull away from God when we sin. We can feel too shameful to come before a holy God. But this holy God is also merciful and gracious (Psalm 145:8). He delights to save his wayward children, if only they would come to him. Running away from him when we feel regret only leads to more regret. Running to him when we feel regret leads to life.

After coming before our Lord, we have to get honest. We’ve sinned, and we need help. David also acknowledges his sin. He doesn’t shy away from saying he has sinned, as he makes a passionate plea for God to cleanse him and make him new (Psalm 51:7–12). Without this request for forgiveness and cleansing, our sin will continue to weigh us down (Psalm 32:3–4).

And so, we come, with sorrow in our hearts, asking a holy God to forgive our sins. Because of Christ, he does so freely and liberally. We don’t have to stay in our sin and regret. We can come boldly to the throne of God’s grace and find help for our time of need (Hebrews 4:16). We can acknowledge our sin, look to the Savior who paid for that sin, and move on.

Two Types of Guilt

When we sin, we have an advocate in Jesus and a model for confession in David. But what do moms do with the regret that may not be owing to sin? What about feeling like we just didn’t measure up, or feeling like we didn’t do enough for our kids?

If we’ve truly sinned, then we can pinpoint that sin in the Bible. The outburst of anger, the unkind word, the selfish response, idolizing our children — these are all sinful choices, and Scripture speaks to them plainly (Ephesians 4:31–32; Philippians 2:3–4). Of course, sometimes we can’t tell if what we did was sinful or just owing to our human limitations. Sometimes what feels selfish is actually us acknowledging we need a nap. Sometimes what feels unkind is really just administering discipline so that our kids understand authority and boundaries.

Even when we can’t tell the difference between true sin and “feeling bad,” however, the answer is still the same: we have an advocate before the Father (1 John 2:1). Whether we’ve sinned or just feel like we could have done better, our standing before Jesus is immovable.

Psalm 131 helps to remind me of that standing place. There are realities too wonderful for me to grasp (verse 1); when I don’t understand the path to walk as a mom, I can quiet my soul and trust that God is holding all things together (verse 2). Just as a weaned child learns to trust where her next meal comes from, so I can learn to trust that my kids are all right. Any given day won’t ruin them. God ultimately has them, like he has me.

Finished and Free

Many moms have a tendency to want to do everything right. We want to know all the rules so that we can execute the task perfectly. We don’t want to disappoint people. Which means we need to keep something in mind through this entire process: our identity is secure.

If you’re trusting in Christ, he has already finished the work for you. Any amount of striving you do now is from faith, in delightful obedience to him, not out of a need to earn anything. Of course, he calls us to obey and walk according to his word — but we can’t add or take away from what Christ has already done for us. When we sin, it’s paid for by Jesus. When we disappoint people, that does not necessarily mean God is disappointed. When we make a mistake, God doesn’t condemn us. When we have regret, we have a path forward.

Our choices don’t have to shame us. We can walk in freedom before the Lord, knowing that in Christ we have everything — including the Holy Spirit, who gives us increasing wisdom to know what is sin and what is not.

We often say in our home, “Tomorrow there are new mercies and new opportunities to obey.” If you sin today, tomorrow is holding new mercies for you (Lamentations 3:22–23). If you get to the end of the day and wish you had done more, tomorrow is holding new mercies for you.

Regret doesn’t have the final word in your life — the resurrected Christ does. And because he said, “It is finished” (John 19:30), you can walk in newness of life today and every day after.