For reasons that are not 100% spelled out, upon hearing that Jesus was coming to visit the grieving sisters of dead Lazarus, Mary did not go out to meet him. Like any good story, we’re invited to enter into her heartache and fill in those blanks for ourselves. I imagine that she was held in place by two powerful forces.
First, grief over the loss of her brother. Some losses are so great that going outside, to be seen in the full light of day simply feels unbearable. Or even if we would want to, the will power to move our body is just drained.
Second, anger at Jesus for not arriving sooner. Because, (as she says to him the first chance she gets,) if he had come, she knows that he could have healed Lazarus and thus saved his life.
At some point each of us will be Mary. Grieving and angry. Broken and empty at a loss we do not know how to bear, and burning inside at the One who could have prevented it in the first place. At some point all of us will be painfully face-to-face with the tension of preventable suffering and the power of God that somehow was nowhere near.
The good news is that Jesus will not be absent and powerless for long. Nor will he be dismayed at our grief and anger when he shows up. It is often right smack in the middle of the darkest dark—where, if we are honest, we are not exactly eager for his light to shine—that his invitation comes to us.
“The Teacher is here, and is asking for you.”
Get up. Quickly. Go to him. Whether you really feel like it or not. With all your dark and twisty emotions, go to him.
