Sermon from this week
22nd March 2026 Reflection – Rev Chris
John 11:17–37
We grieve over many things - people we love, relationships that end, dreams that never materialise, seasons of life that are gone, and versions of ourselves that no longer exist. Life is about loss as well as exploration and growth. And grief is an experience common to us all.
Our reading today addresses a specific grief, the loss of someone we love.
The Bible never pretends that grief is simple or quick. It also tells us that it can’t be avoided. Scripture does not rush us through sorrow or tell us to “get over it.” Indeed, the sorrow of Lamentations is as raw and powerful today as when it was recorded. Psalm after psalm rage. Prophets major and minor weep at their visions. And in our passage this morning, we see directly that God mourns with us in our loss of those we love.
Our reading invites us into a home filled with loss. When Jesus arrives in Bethany, Lazarus has been dead for four days. That detail is important; at the time it was believed that the spirit of the deceased stayed near the body for three days before departing. By arriving after three days, Lazarus was considered truly dead.
Jesus walks directly into this grieving home. We hear Martha goes out to meet Jesus first. She does not hide her disappointment and anger at him. Her words are honest, even painful: “If you had been here, my brother would not have died.” This is grief speaking and the anger that comes with grief.
There are times in our lives that we have also felt this. We ask ourselves- why did God let this happen? We may even say to ourselves I didn’t deserve this, and you, God, are being unfair. And if it is something is truly monstrous that has happened, we may begin to believe that God is not benevolence and love. Indeed, we may even get to the point that we believe that God is an angry, punishing sadist.
And accepting we may be feeling angry, betrayed or doubtful of a benevolent God is simply to be human. So, like Martha we might even rage. But in doing so we do it in the knowledge that God is listening to us. Honesty before God is not rebellion—it is relationship. Faith does not require pretending everything is fine. In fact, it is the opposite- I believe God wants our honesty, not our pretence. God already knows our pain. Surely it is disrespectful to pretend.
Of course, one of the chestnuts that we often are confronted with as critics of Christianity is why does God allow bad things to happen. And to be honest, we haven’t helped ourselves by trying to explain away things in unconvincing ways. While God’s ways might be mysterious, it is hardly a satisfactory answer to tragedy.
For me, it is really quite simple. We assume that health, good fortune and every good thing is the default of our lives. It isn’t. Our lives are a mixture of joy and sorrow, love and despair, illness and health. Why because both good and bad things happen. The book Ecclesiastes has this advice, in the end everything is like smoke and our job is to find happiness in an unfair world. Sometimes things just happen. Sometimes we are our own worst enemies. Sometimes others wound us either by commission and omission. Being born is to begin to die.
We are not insulated against any of this because we show up on a Sunday.
Indeed, there may be times when we are compelled to put ourselves in the way of trouble and grief in order to help others and make the world a better place. There is a phrase for this- Good Trouble. It is the Good Trouble of prophets and saints.
Being part of a faith community in times of grief is a comfort. Because we are surrounded by community. A community that will hold us up when we cannot go forward ourselves. A community seeking to make this world a better place by prayer and service. And also, an understanding that God is always with us - no matter what happens. And also that as a community we are here to alleviate pain sorrow and misfortune as the following of the Saviour we read of this morning.
But getting back to our reading, Jesus does not get angry with Martha. He does not blame her for questioning or accusing. He does not accuse her back of weak faith. He listens and understands. Jesus responds to Martha by speaking about resurrection and life. He offers hope—but doesn’t discount her feelings. Hope does not cancel grief. Believing in resurrection does not mean we stop mourning.
Then Mary comes. She says the same words as Martha, but her grief is different. She falls at Jesus’ feet, weeping. The best translation of the word is wailing. The people around her are wailing too.
Jesus sees Mary’s tears. He sees the wailing crowd. And he is deeply moved. The language used suggests emotional pain, even agitation. Jesus is not detached. He is not calm and distant. He feels this moment fully.
Then we are told something simple and profound: Jesus weeps. Or in contrast to Mary’s wailing the best translation is crying silent tears.
These are not tears of helplessness. Jesus knows resurrection is moments away. And still—he cries. Jesus weeps tears that are a sign of love. For anyone who has tried to be “strong” when their heart was breaking, Jesus’ tears say: you don’t have to hide them. And his tears are also recognised by the crowd for what they are- love.
Grief is a response to love. And Jesus’ tears affirm that love is worth the pain it brings. The depth of our grief is also the depth of our love. Before the miracle. Before the stone is rolled away. Before Lazarus is called out—Jesus stands with the grieving and weeps. He does not offer reasons or explanations. He offers presence.
And this is the gift we can give the grieving. Simply being there. Not theologising, explaining or excusing. Not telling others how we feel but simply being there, offering space and sometimes practical help. A cake or a card, or an offer of practical help is often more healing then cold theology or endless attempts at empathy.
This passage also recognises that we can simultaneously live in grief and hope. Like Jesus in this passage, we know resurrection is a reality. We often believe that after the pain and sadness often accompanied by the ending of a life, that they are at rest. And yet even in the certainty of resurrection we are still sad because we do not have them in our lives anymore. I often feel faith is an enormous comfort. But it does not banish our sadness. And sometimes we simply need to sit in this sadness for a time. Psychologists tell us that it can take up to two years to heal from grief. Grief is part of a healing process.
John 11 reminds us that the heart of God is not distant from human sorrow. We worship a God who weeps. A God who stands at tombs. A God whose love is strong enough to feel pain and powerful enough to bring life.
And after this healing we can never be the same. But this doesn’t need to be a bad thing. Our own pain can either coarsen us or make us more open to the pain of others. By using our own sadness as a prompt for us to live our own life fully or to alleviate the sadness of a hurting world is a way of healing ourselves or our world.
So, as a summation. Grief is a universal experience and whether we wail, rage or simply weep God is there in the middle of where we are. What is required of us is honesty, about what we feel and how we need to respond. That Hope and Grief live simultaneously in the grieving process for those who follow Christ. We are not exempt. But when we stand in places of loss—whether literal or figurative—we are not alone. The Jesus who weeps is with us. Our church family is with us. And because of this, grief does not have the final word.
Amen.