We have already noticed the three prominent subjects presented to us in John 11, namely, our Lord’s own path with the Father; secondly, His profound sympathy with us; thirdly, His grace in linking us with Himself, in so far as that is possible, in all His blessed work. He ever walked with God, in calm, unbroken communion. He walked in the most implicit obedience to the will of God, and was ruled in all things by His glory. He walked in the day, and stumbled not. The will of God was the light in which the perfect workman ever carried on His work. He found His only motive for action in the divine will—His only object in the divine glory. He pleased not Himself. He came down from heaven, not to do His own will, but the will of the Father, and in doing that will He ever found His meat and drink.
But His large loving heart flowed out in perfect sympathy with human sorrow. This we see attested, in the most touching manner, as He moved, in company with the afflicted sisters, to the tomb of their brother. If any question had arisen in their hearts during the season of trial, in the absence of their Lord, it was abundantly answered, yea, we may add, completely demolished, by the manifestation of His deep and tender affection as He moved toward the spot where the beams of the divine glory were so soon to shine out over the dreary region of death.
We do not here dwell upon the interesting interview between the two sisters and their beloved Lord, so full of teaching—so illustrative of His perfect mode of dealing with His people in their varied measures of intelligence and communion. We pass at once to the inspired statement in verse 33-35 of our chapter. “When Jesus therefore saw her weeping, and the Jews also weeping which came with her, he groaned in the spirit, and was troubled, and said, Where have ye laid him? They said unto him, Lord, come and see. Jesus wept.”
How wonderful! The Son of God groaned and wept. Let us never forget. He, though God over all, blessed forever; though the eternal Son of the Father; though the Resurrection and the Life; though the Quickener of the dead; though the Conqueror of the grave; though on His way to deliver the body of His friend from the grasp of the enemy—sample of what He will soon do for all who belong to Him—yet, so perfectly did He enter into human sorrow, so completely did He take in all the terrible consequences of sin, all the misery and all the desolation of this sin-stricken world, all the dreadful pressure of the enemy’s power upon the human family—so thoroughly did the blessed One take in each and all of these things, that He groaned and wept; and those tears and groans emanated from the depths of a perfect human heart that felt as only a perfect human heart could feel—felt according to God,—for every form of human sorrow and misery. Though perfectly exempt, in His own divine Person, from sin and all its consequences, yea, because exempt, He could, in perfect grace, enter into it all, and make His own of it, as only He could do.
“Jesus wept!” Wondrous, significant, suggestive fact! He wept, not for Himself, but for others. He wept with them. Mary wept. The Jews wept. All this is easily grasped and understood. But that Jesus should weep reveals a mystery which no created intelligence can ever fathom. It was divine compassion weeping through human eyes over the desolation which sin had caused in this poor world, weeping in sympathy with those whose hearts had been crushed by the rude hand of death.
Let all who are in sorrow remember this. Jesus is the same, yesterday, today, and forever. His circumstances are changed, but His heart is not. His position is different, but His sympathy is the same. “We have not an high priest that cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.” There is a perfect human heart on the throne of the Majesty of the heavens, and that heart sympathizes with us in all our sorrows, in all our trials, in all our infirmities, in all our pressure and exercise. He perfectly enters into it all. Yea, He gives Himself to each one of His beloved members here upon earth, as though He had only that one to look after.
How sweet and soothing to think of this! It is worth having a sorrow to be allowed to taste the preciousness of Christ’s sympathy. The sisters of Bethany might say, “Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.” But if their brother had not died, they would not have seen Jesus weeping, or heard His deep groan of sympathy with them in their sorrow. And who would not say that it is better to have the sympathy of His heart with us in our sorrow, than the power of His hand in keeping or taking us out of it? Was it not much better, much higher, much more blessed, for the three witnesses in Dan. 3 to have the Son of God walking with them in the furnace, than to have escaped the furnace by the power of His hand? Unquestionably.
And thus it is in every case. We have ever to remember that this is not the day of Christ’s power. By-and-by He will take to Himself His great power, and reign. Then all our sufferings, all our trials, all our tribulations, will be over forever. The night of weeping will give place to the morning of joy, the morning without clouds, the morning that shall never know an evening. But now it is the time of Christ’s patience, the time of His precious sympathy; and the sense of this is most blessedly calculated to sustain the heart in passing through the deep waters of affliction.
And there are the deep waters of affliction. There are trials, sorrows, tribulations, and difficulties. And not only so, but our God means that we should feel them. His hand is in them for our real good, and for His glory. True, it is our privilege to be able to say, “We glory in tribulation also; knowing that tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope; and hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost, which is given unto us.”
The Lord be praised for all this! But it is folly to deny that there are trials, sorrows, and tribulations of all sorts. Nor would our God have us insensible to them. Insensibility to them is folly; glorying in them is faith. The consciousness of Christ’s sympathy, and the intelligence of God’s object in all our afflictions, will enable us to rejoice in them; but to deny that there are afflictions, or that we ought to feel them, is simply absurd. God would not have us to be stoics. He leads us into deep waters, but He walks with us through them, and when His end is reached, He delivers us out of them, to our joy, and His own everlasting praise.
“He said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee; for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake; for when I am weak, then am I strong.” At the first, Paul longed to be rid of the thorn in the flesh, whatever it was. He besought the Lord thrice that it might depart from him. But the thorn in the flesh was better than pride in the heart. It was better far to be afflicted than puffed up—better to have Christ’s sympathy with him in his temptation than the power of His hand in delivering him out of it.
(To be continued, if the Lord will)