Homilies on John, Homily 62

“Now a certain man named Lazarus was sick. He was from Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. It was this Mary who anointed the Lord with ointment.” [1.] Many people are offended when they see someone who pleases God suffer something terrible—for example, falling into sickness, poverty, or something similar. They do not realize that enduring these things falls especially to those who are dear to God. Lazarus, too, was one of Christ’s friends, and he was sick. At least, that is what those who sent the message said: “Look, the one You love is sick.” But let us consider the passage from the beginning. “A certain man,” it says, “was sick, Lazarus of Bethany.” The writer did not mention where Lazarus was from without a purpose or by chance, but for a reason he will explain later. For now, let us stay with the passage before us. For our benefit, he also tells us who Lazarus’ sisters were, and, beyond that, what more Mary had (than the other), going on to say, “It was this Mary who anointed the Lord with ointment.” Here some people raise a doubt: “How could the Lord allow a woman to do this?” First, then, we need to understand that this is not the prostitute mentioned in Matthew ( Matt. xxvi. 7 ), or the one in Luke ( Luke vii. 37 ), but a different person. They were prostitutes full of many vices, but she was both respectable and devoted; she showed her devotion in welcoming Christ. The Evangelist also means to show that the sisters loved Him too, yet He allowed Lazarus to die. But why did they not leave their sick brother and come to Christ, as the centurion and the nobleman did, instead of sending a message? They had great confidence in Christ and felt very close to Him. Besides, they were weak women, weighed down by grief. They later showed that they had not acted this way because they thought little of Him. It is clear, then, that this Mary was not the prostitute. “But why,” someone asks, “did Christ welcome that prostitute?” To take away her sin; to show His lovingkindness; so that you might learn that no illness can overpower His goodness. So do not look only at the fact that He received her; consider the other point too: how He changed her. But (to return), why does the Evangelist tell us this story? Or rather, what does he want to show us by saying, Ver. 5. “Jesus loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus.” That we should never be resentful or upset if sickness comes to good people who are dear to God. Ver. 3. “Look, the one you love is sick.” They wanted to move Christ to pity, for they still regarded Him as a man. This is clear from their words, “If you had been here, he would not have died,” and from their saying, not, “Look, Lazarus is sick,” but, “Look, the one you love is sick.” What, then, did Christ say? Ver. 4. “This sickness will not end in death, but is for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” Notice how He again declares that His glory and the Father’s are One. After saying “of God,” He adds, “so that the Son of God may be glorified.” “This sickness will not end in death.” Since He intended to stay where He was for two days, He sent the messengers away for the time being with this answer. We must therefore admire Lazarus’ sisters: after hearing that the sickness would “not end in death,” and yet seeing him dead, they did not take offense, although what happened was directly contrary to what He had said. Even then they came to Him and did not think He had spoken falsely. The expression “so that” in this passage indicates the result, not the cause. The sickness came about for other reasons, but He used it for the glory of God. Ver. 6. “And after saying this, He stayed two days.” Why did He stay? So that Lazarus would breathe his last and be buried, and no one could claim that He had restored him before he was dead, saying that it had been a deep sleep, a faint, or a seizure, but not death. That is why He stayed so long that decay began and they said, “He stinks now.” Ver. 7. “Then He says to his disciples, Let us go into Judea.” Why does He tell them here, when elsewhere He never told them beforehand where He was going? They had been badly frightened, and because they felt this way, He warned them in advance so that the sudden news would not upset them. What, then, do the disciples say? Ver. 8. “The Jews recently tried to stone You, and are You going there again?” They were afraid for Him too, but mostly for themselves, for they were not yet mature. So Thomas, trembling with fear, said, “Let us go, so that we too may die with Him” ( ver. 16 ), because Thomas was weaker and more unbelieving than the others. But see how Jesus encourages them with His words. Ver. 9. “Are there not twelve hours in the day?” He means either that “someone who knows he has done no evil will suffer nothing dreadful; only someone who does evil will suffer, so we need not be afraid, because we have done nothing deserving death”; or else that “someone who ‘sees the light of this world’ is safe; and if someone who sees the light of this world is safe, how much more is someone who is with Me, provided he does not separate himself from Me.” After encouraging them with these words, He adds that their reason for going there is urgent, and shows them that they are about to go to Bethany, not Jerusalem. Ver. 11, 12. “Our friend Lazarus,” He says, “is asleep, but I am going to wake him from sleep.” That is, “I am not going for the same purpose as before, to reason and argue with the Jews again, but to awaken our friend.” Ver. 12. “Then His disciples said, Lord, if he is asleep, he will recover.” They had a reason for saying this: they wanted to prevent Him from going there. “Are You saying,” one of them asks, “that he is asleep? Then there is no urgent reason to go.” Yet that was why He had said, “Our friend”: to show that going there was necessary. So when they showed some reluctance, He said, [2.] Ver. 14. “He is dead.” He used the earlier expression because He wanted to show that He did not like boasting. But since they did not understand, He added, “He is dead.” Ver. 15. “And I am glad for your sake.” Why “for your sake”? “Because I have told you of his death beforehand, without being there, and because when I raise him again, there will be no suspicion of deception.” Do you see how immature the disciples still were in their thinking, and how they did not understand His power as they should? This was because fears had come between them and understanding, troubling and disturbing their souls. When He said, “He is asleep,” He added, “I am going to wake him”; but when He said, “He is dead,” He did not add, “I am going to raise him.” He did not want to announce in words what He was about to establish beyond doubt by His deeds. Everywhere He teaches us not to seek empty glory, and not to make promises without a reason. And if He did make such a promise when the centurion summoned Him (for He said, “I will come and heal him,” Matt. viii. 7 ), He said this to reveal the centurion’s faith. If anyone asks, “How could the disciples think He meant sleep? How did they not understand that He meant death when He said, ‘I am going to wake him’? It would have been foolish to expect Him to travel fifteen stadia to wake him,” we would answer that they thought this was an obscure saying, like those He often spoke to them. Now they all feared attacks from the Jews, but Thomas more than the others. That is why he also said, Ver. 16. “Let us go, so that we too may die with Him.” Some say he wanted to die himself, but that is not so; the expression shows cowardice instead. Yet he was not rebuked, because Christ was still supporting him in his weakness. Later, however, he became stronger than all the others, and invincible. This is what is so remarkable: we see someone who was so weak before the Crucifixion become more zealous than anyone after the Crucifixion, once he had believed in the Resurrection. Christ’s power was that great. The very man who did not dare go with Christ to Bethany traveled through almost the whole inhabited world without seeing Christ, and lived among nations full of murder and eager to kill him. But if Bethany was “fifteen furlongs away,” which is two miles, how had Lazarus been “dead four days”? Jesus stayed two days; on the day before those two, someone had come with the message (and Lazarus died that same day); then He arrived during the fourth day. He waited to be summoned and did not come uninvited so that no one would suspect what happened. Nor did the women He loved come themselves; others were sent. Ver. 18. “Now Bethany was about fifteen furlongs away.” He has a reason for mentioning this: he wants us to know that it was nearby, and that many people were therefore likely to be there. So after stating this, he adds, Ver. 19. “Many of the Jews came to comfort them.” But how could they comfort women loved by Christ, when they had agreed that anyone who confessed Christ should be expelled from the synagogue? Either it was because the tragedy was so severe, or because they respected the women’s high birth, or else those who came were not among the wicked. At least, many even of them believed. The Evangelist mentions these circumstances to prove that Lazarus was really dead. [3.] But why did [Martha,] when she went to meet Christ, not take her sister with her? She wanted to meet Him privately and tell Him what had happened. But when He had given her hope, she went and called Mary, who met Him while her grief was still at its height. Do you see how fervent her love was? This is the Mary of whom He said, “Mary has chosen that good part.” ( Luke x. 42.) “Then why,” someone asks, “does Martha seem more zealous?” She was not more zealous; it was because the other had not yet been told, since Martha was the weaker one. For even after hearing such things from Christ, she still speaks in a low and earthly way: “By now he stinks, for he has been dead four days.” ( Ver. 39.) But Mary, although she had heard nothing, said nothing of the kind. Instead, she immediately believed and said, Ver. 21. “Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died.” See how great the women’s heavenly wisdom is, although their understanding is weak. When they saw Christ, they did not break into mourning, wailing, and loud cries, as we do when someone we know comes to us in our grief. Instead, they immediately showed reverence for their Teacher. Both sisters, then, believed in Christ, but not in the right way. They did not yet know for certain either that He was God or that He did these things by His own power and authority. He taught them on both points. They showed their ignorance of the first by saying, “If you had been here, our brother would not have died”; and of the second by saying, Ver. 22. “Whatever you ask of God, He will give you.” As though they were speaking of some virtuous mortal who had God’s approval. But see what Christ says: Ver. 23. “Your brother will rise again.” So far, He is refuting the earlier statement, “Whatever you ask.” He did not say, “I ask.” What did He say? “Your brother will rise again.” To have said, “Woman, your thoughts are still earthbound. I do not need anyone else’s help, but do everything by Myself,” would have distressed her and put a stumbling block in her way. But saying, “He will rise again,” was a way of speaking between the two extremes. And through what follows, He hinted at the points I have mentioned. For when Martha says, Ver. 24. “I know that he will rise again on the last day,” He replies, to show His authority more clearly, Ver. 25. “I am the Resurrection and the Life.” He shows that He needs no one else to help Him, if He Himself is the Life. For if He needed someone else, how could He be “the Resurrection and the Life”? Yet He did not state this plainly, but only hinted at it. But when she says again, “Whatever you ask,” He replies, “Whoever believes in Me, even if he is dead, will live.” He shows that He is the Giver of good things, and that we must ask Him. Ver. 26. “And whoever lives and believes in Me will never die.” Notice how He leads her mind upward. Raising Lazarus was not the only thing He sought; both she and those with her needed to learn about the Resurrection. So before raising the dead, He teaches heavenly wisdom through words. But if He is “the Resurrection” and “the Life,” He is not confined to one place. He is present everywhere and knows how to heal. So if they had said, as the centurion did, “Speak the word, and my servant will be healed” ( Matt. viii. 8 ), He would have done so. But since they summoned Him and begged Him to come, He accommodated their weakness and came to the place to lift them above the low opinion they had formed of Him. Still, even while accommodating their weakness, He showed that He had power to heal even when absent. This was also why He delayed: the mercy would not have been apparent as soon as it was given if there had not first been a foul smell (from the corpse). But how did the woman know there would be a Resurrection? They had heard Christ say many things about the Resurrection, yet even now she wanted to see Him. And notice how her thoughts remain earthbound. Even after hearing, “I am the Resurrection and the Life,” she did not say, “Raise him,” but, Ver. 27. “I believe that You are the Christ, the Son of God.” What is Christ’s reply? “Whoever believes in Me, even if he is dead, will live” (here He is speaking of the death common to everyone). “And whoever lives and believes in Me will never die” ( ver. 26 ), meaning that other death. “Since, then, I am the Resurrection and the Life, do not be troubled, even though your brother is already dead. Believe, for this is not death.” For a time He comforted her about what had happened and gave her glimpses of hope by saying, “He will rise again,” and, “I am the Resurrection”; and by showing that once he had risen, even if he died again, he would suffer no harm, so there was no need to fear this death. What He says amounts to this: “This man is not dead, and you will not die either.” “Do you believe this?” She says, “I believe that You are the Christ, the Son of God.” “Who is to come into the world.” The woman seems to me not to understand the saying. She knew it meant something great, but did not grasp its full meaning, so when asked one thing, she answered another. Yet for the time being, at least, she gained this benefit: her grief grew less intense. That was the power of Christ’s words. That is why Martha went out first and Mary followed. Their affection for their Teacher kept them from feeling their present sorrow so intensely. So these women’s minds were truly wise as well as loving. [4.] But in our day, among our other evils, one sickness is very common among our women: they make a great show of their funeral songs and wailing, baring their arms, tearing their hair, and scratching furrows down their cheeks. Some do this from grief, others for show and rivalry, and others from lust. And they bare their arms in front of men too. What are you doing, woman? Tell me, do you, a member of Christ, strip yourself indecently in the middle of the marketplace, with men standing there? Do you pull out your hair, tear your clothes, wail loudly, join the dance, and resemble Bacchanalian women throughout, without thinking that you are offending God? What madness is this? Will the pagans not laugh? Will they not think our doctrines are fables? They will say, “There is no resurrection—the Christians’ doctrines are mockery, trickery, and fabrication. Their women mourn as though there were nothing after this world. They pay no attention to the words written in their books. All those words are fiction, and these women prove it. For if they believed that someone who has died is not dead but has moved to a better life, they would not have mourned him as though he no longer existed. They would not have beaten themselves like this. They would not have said such things, full of unbelief: ‘I will never see you again; I will never have you back.’ Their whole religion is a fable, and if they so completely disbelieve the greatest of its good things, how much more must they disbelieve the other things they revere.” The pagans do not act so much like women; many of them have practiced heavenly wisdom. One woman, on hearing that her child had fallen in battle, immediately asked, “And how are things going for the city?” Another truly wise person was wearing a garland when he heard that his son had fallen for his country. He took off the garland and asked which of his two sons it was; then, when he learned which one, he immediately put the garland on again. Many also gave their sons and daughters to be slaughtered in honor of their evil deities. And Spartan women urge their sons either to bring their shield back safely from war or to be brought back dead on it. So I am ashamed that the pagans show true wisdom in these matters while we behave indecently. Those who know nothing about the Resurrection act like people who know, and those who know act like people who do not. Often, too, many people do out of shame before others what they will not do for God’s sake. Upper-class women neither tear their hair nor bare their arms. This very fact is a serious charge against them—not because they do not strip themselves, but because they behave this way out of concern that people might think they were disgracing themselves, rather than out of piety. Is their shame stronger than grief, while their fear of God is not? Does this not deserve the severest condemnation? What rich women do because of their wealth, poor women ought to do out of fear of God. But at present it is just the opposite: the rich act wisely out of vanity, while the poor behave indecently out of weakness of soul. What could be worse than this contradiction? We do everything for other people, everything for earthly things. And these people say things full of madness and absurdity. The Lord does indeed say, “Blessed are those who mourn” ( Matt. v. 4 ), speaking of those who mourn for their sins. Yet no one mourns that way or cares about a lost soul. Instead, we practice this other mourning, which we were not commanded to practice. “What, then?” someone asks. “Is it possible to be human and not weep?” No, and I do not forbid weeping; I forbid beating yourselves and weeping excessively. I am neither brutal nor cruel. I know that we naturally long for and seek our friends and daily companions; we cannot help grieving. Christ showed this too, for He wept over Lazarus. Do the same: weep, but gently, decently, and with the fear of God. If you weep this way, you do so because you cannot bear the separation, not because you disbelieve the Resurrection. We weep even over those who are leaving us to go to foreign lands, yet we do not do this out of despair. [5.] So weep as though you were sending someone on his way to another land. I say these things not to lay down a rule of conduct, but as a concession (to human infirmity). For if the dead man was a sinner who offended God in many ways, we ought to weep (or rather, not only weep, since that does him no good, but do what we can to obtain some comfort for him through almsgiving and offerings); yet we ought also to rejoice that his wickedness has been cut short. If he was righteous, again we ought to be glad that what is his is now secure, free from the uncertainty of the future; if he was young, that he was quickly delivered from the common evils of life; if he was old, that he departed after enjoying his fill of what people consider desirable. But you neglect to consider these things and urge your servant women to act as mourners, as though you were honoring the dead, when this is an act of extreme dishonor. Honor for the dead consists of hymns, singing psalms, and an excellent life, rather than wailing and lamentation. When a good man departs, he will depart with angels, even if no one is near his remains. But a corrupt man will gain nothing even if an entire city attends his funeral. Do you want to honor the one who has gone? Honor him in another way: through almsgiving, acts of kindness, and public service. What good do all the lamentations do? I have also heard another terrible thing: many women attract lovers with their cries of sorrow, gaining a reputation for devotion to their husbands through the intensity of their wailing. What a devilish purpose! What a Satanic invention! How long will we be nothing but dust and ashes, nothing but blood and flesh? Let us look up to heaven and think about spiritual things. How will we be able to rebuke the pagans or urge them to change when we do such things? How will we argue with them about the Resurrection? How about the rest of heavenly wisdom? How will we ourselves live without fear? Do you not know that grief brings death? Grief darkens the part of the soul that sees, keeping it from perceiving anything it should and doing it great harm as well. In one way, then, we offend God and benefit neither ourselves nor the one who has gone; in the other, we please God and gain honor among people. If we do not let ourselves sink, He will soon remove what remains of our despair. If we are resentful, He allows us to be given over to grief. If we are thankful, we will not despair. “But how,” someone asks, “is it possible not to grieve when someone has lost a son, daughter, or wife?” I do not say, “Do not grieve,” but, “Do not grieve excessively.” If we consider that God has taken them away, and that the husband or son we had was mortal, we will soon find comfort. Resentment belongs to those who seek something beyond their nature. You were born human and mortal; why, then, do you grieve because something natural has happened? Do you grieve because you are nourished by eating? Do you seek to live without it? Take the same approach to death, and since you are mortal, do not seek immortality yet. This has been appointed once for all. So do not grieve or play the mourner, but submit to the laws laid on everyone alike. Grieve for your sins: this is good mourning; this is the highest wisdom. Let us continually mourn for this reason, so that we may obtain the joy that is there, through the grace and lovingkindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory forever and ever. Amen.