« Return to the St. Paul Lutheran Website

The Glory of God

Seminarian Todd Liefer
March 27, 2011

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father, and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Today we gaze upon the glorious Word of God found in John chapter 11. Dear friends in Christ.

If you were looking for the glory of God, where would you go?

If I was looking for the glory of God, I might try a Chris Tomlin concert-where you can see thousands of people singing God's praise. If I was looking for the glory of God, maybe I would go to the Basilica of St. Louis, where you can see the magnificence of God spread across the massive mosaics of that cathedral. Or if I was looking for the glory of God, I know where I would go. I would go to the labor and delivery floor of a hospital, where you can literally see God's work of life room after room after room.

But if I was looking for the glory of God, I think the last place I might look would be a funeral. A funeral is not a glorious thing, is it? You know that; you've been there before.

There she sits, a heart-broken spouse, surrounded by dozens of family members. There she sits, and in the midst of all the commotion, all she finds herself doing is staring into the corner. She never imagined life without her husband. All she wants is more time. One more walk together. One more talk, just the two of them. One more chance to say I love you. But there she sits, knowing that those days have passed. There she sits, heart-broken, confused, completely unable to hold back the tears. That's the reality of a funeral, and there's nothing glorious about that.

A man comes up to her, an old friend of her husband. He gives her a long, warm hug, and offers the usual condolences: “Oh, he was such a great man. The world was a better place because of him.” She nodded, smiled, and thanked him for coming. She had heard the same things all day. “Oh, he lived such a good, full life. Oh, at least now his suffering is over. Oh, look how this has brought the family together again-just what he would have wanted.”

She knew they meant well, but in reality, she knew everyone was just glazing over the truth. Everyone was trying to tell her all the good things about her husband, and all the good things that were happening that day. But she knew the truth. She learned it so long ago. “The wages of sin is death” (Romans 6:23). That's why her husband died. He was a sinner. Just like her, just like everyone else around her, just like the first humans to walk the face of the earth. Sure her husband did some good things with his life, but he did some pretty terrible things, too. He was a sinner. That's why he's lying in that coffin. And that's why she has to bear this awful, awful day.

What this mourner knows is what everyone knows, in a deeper way, at a funeral. Death is death, and there's nothing glorious about it. Death is not what we were created for. Death is not natural ... that's why it hurts so deeply, every time. Seeing our loved ones die, seeing our own death on the horizon-these are the painful, heart-wrenching consequences of our sin. When death stares us in the face, something has gone terribly wrong, and we all know it.

So if we're looking for something glorious at a funeral, if we're looking for something glorious about death, we're looking in the wrong places, aren't we? Because there's nothing glorious about a funeral. There's nothing glorious about death. And maybe nobody knows that better than another heart-broken woman-this time, it's our grieving sister, Martha.

There sat Martha, at her own home, surrounded by family and friends offering their own condolences. “Oh, he was such a good man.” “He went too soon, but he lived a full life.” One by one, they offered their stories, their memories-anything that might shed some light on this dark, dark day. But that's not what Martha was looking for that day. Martha heard the words-she nodded, she smiled, she thanked them for coming-but her eyes kept flickering out the window.

“Where was he?” she thought to herself. “Shouldn't he be here by now? For goodness's sake, it's been ten days!”

Ten days ago she sent a message to Jesus saying that her brother, Lazarus, was sick. He was dying, she was sure of it. His fever wasn't breaking, he was moving in and out of consciousness, his breathing grew weaker and weaker. And imagine Martha right there, right by his side, waiting. She's waiting for a miracle. She's waiting for Jesus to come. She knew Jesus could make him well again. She'd heard how he made the paralytic in Jerusalem walk. She'd heard how he made a man who was blind from birth see. Surely, he would come and heal her brother.

There she sat, day after awful day-holding Lazarus' hand. There she sat, day after day, eyes flickering out the window, waiting for a glorious miracle that would never come. There she sat in horror as her brother breathed his last. There she watched in agony as her brother was wrapped in burial linens. And from there she stood in misery as her brother was carried away and buried in a dark, dark cave, never to be seen again.

So now there sat Martha, four days after her brother's death, surrounded by friends and family. Lots of people by now would have let the grief sink in, but not Martha. She hadn't lost all hope. It wasn't in her nature. Sure, Lazarus was gone, but Jesus was still coming. And when he comes, something great, something glorious was going to happen, she was sure of it.

Which is why the second she hears that Jesus was coming into to the city, Martha marches right out her front door and meets Jesus a mile or so down the road. She knew she probably should have stayed sitting in the house, and waited for Jesus to come to her, but who needs Jewish piety! Jesus was here! She's going to see something glorious.

And so she said to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now, I know that whatever you ask from God, God will give you.” She didn't know what she was looking for from Jesus. Maybe he would intercess on Lazarus' behalf. Maybe he would give her a vision of her brother, at peace with God. She could see it already, her brother radiant and joyful, glowing with a full smile, telling her everything was fine.

Martha's eyes were beaming with hope, waiting for her Lord to speak. And then he did. He said, “Your brother will rise again.”

And at this, Martha's face fell. Was this it? Was this what she had been waiting for? This wasn't anything she didn't already know. He will rise again? Of course he will rise again! Each and every person who came to mourn her brother could have told her that. And most of them already had!

“Lord,” she said, “I know he will rise again on the resurrection on the last day.”

And that's when he really lost her. Started talking about being the Resurrection and the Life. Martha heard the words, but that's not what she was looking for that day. There she stood, eyes on the ground, hope deflated; this was all Jesus had to say. She had been waiting, longing, looking for so long, looking for something glorious in the midst of her brother's death. But now, for the first time, Martha realized she was looking in vain. Even standing before her Lord, suddenly, the dark, dark day had gotten only darker.

A lot else that happened that day kind of passed by in a haze for Martha. She went back to her home, got her sister Mary, and brought her to Jesus. They talked, they grieved, and eventually Martha found herself back at her brother's tomb, with Jesus, and her sister, and a full gathering of people weeping for her brother. Martha couldn't bear the sight. It was four days ago all over again.

And then to her shock, to her horror, she heard her Lord say the unthinkable. “Take away the stone.”

And by now Martha is just beyond herself. “Take away the stone? Take away the stone? He can't be serious. My brother has been rotting in that cave for four days, and he wants us to take away the stone? Haven't I seen enough already? I don't want to see him ... again ... like this.”

Martha was so taken aback, she didn't know what to say. But she had to say something. Let's be real here. No one wants to look inside that tomb. All that was in that tomb was death. That's the reality. The smell alone would be too much to bear. Which is why with the last bit of patience she can muster, she says, “Lord, by this time there will be an odor, for he has been dead four days.”

But then Martha's eyes met the eyes of her Lord. And he said, “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?” And for first time in ten days, in those eyes, Martha saw just a glimmer of hope. And they took the stone away.

“Lazarus ... come out!” Martha couldn't believe the words of her Lord. Her brother's name? What was this? She stared deeply into that dark, dark cave, but saw nothing but darkness. Martha turns her face to the ground; she had seen enough of that already. But something-was it a noise, or a shadow?-something made her lift her head again. And when she does, her eyes stream with tears, because coming out of the darkness of that tomb is the most glorious sight she has ever seen: her brother, Lazarus... alive. He may have been wrapped in ragged linens. He may have been covered with dust and dirt. But to Martha, he was radiant.

Standing there at the tomb, Martha knew she was gazing upon the glory of God. She saw life come out of the very depths of death. What had been the darkest days of her life had now been illuminated by the glory of God. And as she stood there at the tomb, Martha realized that her eyes beheld the two most glorious sights she'd ever seen. Her brother, raised from the dead. And her Lord, the Resurrection and the Life.

When we gaze upon Christ, we, too, behold the glory of God. Christ is the glory of God! Christ has come to the world to have victory over a world cursed with death. With three words he brought a man who was four days dead back to life. He did the same for the twelve-year-old daughter of Jairus. He did the same for the son of a widow of Nain. But not only that. Christ himself entered the dark, dark, depths of death. He himself entered the tomb where he has overcome all death, for all people, of all time.

Which is why in the midst of our grief, Jesus is the most glorious sight we will ever see. He has overcome Lazarus' death, his own death, and even your death. That, my friends, is the glory of God. That, my friends, gives us hope. Hope that death isn't forever. Hope that Christ-not death-has the final say. Hope that one day out of the darkness we ourselves will hear the words of our Lord:

“Nathan, COME OUT!”

“Joshua, COME OUT!”

“Matthew, Mary, Michael, COME OUT!”

“Douglas, Deanna, Ryan, Rachel, Britney, Benjamin, Christopher, Carrie, Ashley, Alex, Lisa, Luke, Lindsey, COME OUT!”

What a sight we'll see. Tombs bursting open in every town, of every region, of every nation of the world. Death has been destroyed. The Resurrection and the Life has made all things new. And forever we will behold the glory of God. Amen.