There are times we find ourselves in the presence of death. It is near at hand. We lose those we love most and so do those we know and care for. It is a place, a chasm, of deep confusion and the most unsettling anguish. And we find ourselves asking, What am I to do here? What does standing with others look like? How am I to handle my own heart? What on earth does any of this mean? Who, even, am I? It is that disorientating.
If ever we need to know the presence and help of our blessed Lord Jesus it is in those moments. How did he treat death and loss? What do we see and how might it help us?
He was not shielded from its impact. It is assumed, probably correctly, that the absence of Joseph from the record of our Lord's ministry is an indication that he has already died. If correct, then our Saviour knows the grief of deepest familial loss.
But we also see his deliberate entrance into situations where death has invoked its desolating power - just outside the town of Nain (Luke 7:11-15); in the home of Jairus (Mark 5:35-43); in the town of Bethany (John 11:17-44). What do we see on those occasions:
Jesus feels and speaks with fathomless compassion:
He breathes hope into broken hearts: The day will surely come when the words of our Lord just outside Nain ("Young man, I say to you, get up."), to the daughter of Jairus ("Little girl, I say to you arise") and then to his dear friends ("Your brother will rise... Lazarus, come out!") will be translated into a final command to all his loved ones to rise and enter into life everlasting.
- As he encounters the desolate mother of the young man: "his heart went out to her and he said, 'Don’t cry." And he proceeds to touch the bier they were carrying him on - complete identification with all that has happened. Not standing apart and insulated at a safe distance.
- To the anguished Jairus, on hearing news that his daughter had now died: "Don't be afraid, just believe." And, having put out the crowd, he gently takes her by the hand and says, "Talitha koum".
- And at Bethany, his love for Martha and Mary and Lazarus is such that we're told "He was deeply moved in spirit...", that "Jesus wept" and that, "once more deeply moved," he came to the tomb of his friend.
He breathes hope into broken hearts: The day will surely come when the words of our Lord just outside Nain ("Young man, I say to you, get up."), to the daughter of Jairus ("Little girl, I say to you arise") and then to his dear friends ("Your brother will rise... Lazarus, come out!") will be translated into a final command to all his loved ones to rise and enter into life everlasting.
Every last vestige of decay and mortality will be removed from us as his instruction to "Take off the grave clothes and let [them] go" will be irrevocably fulfilled.
What certainty of joy and what joyous certainty lie before us. And what a compassionate, loving and tender-hearted Saviour walks with us, now, through these valleys and into the uplands of promised hope.
What certainty of joy and what joyous certainty lie before us. And what a compassionate, loving and tender-hearted Saviour walks with us, now, through these valleys and into the uplands of promised hope.
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From heavenly Jerusalem's towers,
The path through the desert they trace;
And every affliction they suffered
Redounds to the glory of grace;
Their look they cast back on the tempests,
On fears, on grim death and the grave,
Rejoicing that now they're in safety,
Through Him that is mighty to save.
And we, from the wilds of the desert,
Shall flee to the land of the blest;
Life's tears shall be changed to rejoicing,
Its labours and toil into rest.
There we shall find refuge eternal,
From sin, from affliction, from pain,
And in the sweet love of the Saviour,
A joy without end shall attain.
David Charles, 1762-1834; tr. Lewis Edwards 1809-87)
