Nineteen years ago, I had a “fifteen minutes of fame” moment.  Being on stage multiple times a day in front of more than twenty thousand people was a dream come true.  Sure, it was a niche event.  The recognition and appreciation would quickly fade.  But, for those five days, in that small city, we tasted glory.  

Parts of this experience were surreal.  Once, while waiting in a minivan for colleagues who’d gone to run an errand, we were surrounded by a crowd of students.  It was bizarre.  People were pressing against the van on all sides, jostling for the chance to look inside.  Students cheered, banged on the window and blocked traffic.  

Having dreamed of a moment like this, I should have found it intoxicating.  It probably would have been, except for fact that thousands of miles away, in a backwater town, mom was dying of cancer.  Just a few months before her sixtieth birthday, her cancer had come back swinging.  By the time I was strutting the boards, mom had given up the fight for recovery.  

Holding these experiences together was disorienting.  That week a wise friend suggested sitting in the story of Lazarus from John 11.  The story resonates with themes of love and death, glory and fame, disappointment and grief, even rejection and judgment.  This story has insight to orient our hearts and minds as we prepare for the coming of Holy Week.  

In John 11:4, Jesus says, “This illness does not lead to death; rather it is for God’s glory, so that the Son of God, may be glorified through it.”  On the surface, Jesus’ words seem untrue, even misleading.  Jesus knows that his friend is deathly sick.  He understands the unspoken request to come and heal his friend.  John introduces the sisters making this request not only as women that Jesus loves, but also describes a deed of lavish love and generosity he’d received from Mary.  Surely, if anyone has a claim on Jesus’ time, it’s this family.  

Jesus doesn’t come.  He intentionally delays his return to Bethany for two days, knowing that his friend will die.  The only justification we get is this puzzling phrase about God’s glory.  But how does a delaying to come and help someone in desperate need glorify God?  Wouldn’t it be better to come and heal Lazarus as Jesus had healed others?  

It’s tempting to make excuses for Jesus.  We want to rush ahead to Jesus raising Lazarus from the tomb and say, “see, everything worked out ok.”  But I’m not sure that’s wise.  Excusing suffering is rarely satisfying.  Explanations for suffering tend to trivialize it.  

What is Jesus talking about?  In John, the Son of God’s “glory” is Jesus’ death on the cross.  We conceive of glory as crowds cheering, celebrity treatment, recognition, and appreciation.  But, as I learned that week, this kind of glory is just a distraction.  It has no power over grief.  In contrast, Jesus reveals the glory of God by entering into suffering himself.

How might Jesus enter into your suffering / grief this week?  How might Jesus invite us to enter into the suffering of others?   

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