The Friendship and Sympathy of Jesus

Chapter 11 THE FRIENDSHIP AND SYMPATHY OF JESUS.

Now Jesus loved Martha, and her sister, and Lasarus . . . Jesus wept John 11:5; John 11:35

It is difficult to realise the fact of our Lord's true humanity. It fades away from our view in the splendor of His Divinity, so close was the union of man with God. But it was nevertheless a distinct manhood, as perfect in itself as that worn by any of our race. The entire record of Christ's life proves the assertion. He was born as the children are born ― a partaker of their 'flesh and blood;' and He was nursed as the children are nursed ― growing ' in wisdom and stature.' He was hungry, and He ate; He was thirsty, and He drank; He was weary, and He lay down; He was fatigued, and He slept; He was smitten, and He died. Still it is no easy task to picture out to ourselves the merely human sensations and tendencies which characterized the man Jesus. We believe that His human nature, sin excepted, was as ours; but it is scarcely possible for us to feel it and imagine it, from the over-shadowing glory of His higher essence. In consequence of this failure, we are apt to miss no little instruction and comfort as we read the incidents and travel over the scenes of His life. We invest the man with attributes belonging to the God, and unconsciously deify His humanity. Let us, therefore, humbly endeavor to form a just conception of one element of His veritable humanity ― his friendship and sympathy. Both are purely human emotions, and both existed unmistakably in Christ. The Divine Love showed itself in these earthly forms. We are not to throw a veil over them, and regard them as shapes of saving grace; but we are to look upon them as essentially the same with such virtues and affections in ourselves. As a man, our Lord had His own attachments and predilections, distinct altogether from His love as a God, and His compassion as a Saviour. There was among His apostles one singled out as the disciple whom Jesus loved; and among his acquaintances and entertainers in general society there was one circle specially endeared to Him. The sacred record states that 'Jesus loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus.' Let us approach with reverence, and contemplate with amazement ―

1. The Reality of Christ's Friendship. That Jesus should have passed His life in solitude was impossible; nor could it be that His spirit, wrapped up within itself, should be alien to all human impulses. He did not move through society in cold isolation, or teach and act as one whose soul dwelt in a sphere of its own, far apart and high. Nay more, as He mingled among men and women, He must have met certain forms of character which had special attractions for Him. He was moved to friendship by what He liked, as really as to sympathy by the suffering which He saw. What disposes our hearts to friendship, must have operated on His spirit with a similar result. So it was; and how it was will be seen in the following paragraphs. In that village which lies at the base of the eastern slope of the Mount of Olives, there lived a family noted for their harmony and piety. It consisted of a brother and two sisters. The neighbors noted the earnest welcome which they uniformly gave to an occasional visitor, who was also invited sometimes to partake of the hospitality of Simon the leper. This visitor was of serene and august appearance, and it was soon noised abroad that He who so came and went was Jesus of Nazareth, whose appearance had created such sensation in various parts of the country. He who had not where to lay His head,' found a home under the roof of Martha, who ' received Him into her house.' After the work of the day was over, and the crowds had dispersed, He felt special relief in this domestic retirement. It must have been a happy circle which assembled around that hearth ― bosom opening to bosom without reserve, thought eliciting thought in free and happy conversation. Jesus Himself was at ease, unbending from all His public cares, conscious of being out of the reach of spies and slanderers, reposing in confidence on the love of His hostess, quietly telling what was in His heart, and partaking cheerfully of the fare set before Him; while Lazarus enjoyed His precious company, drinking wisdom from His lips, and Mary sat at His feet, listening devoutly to His lessons, and looking up into His face with awe and wonder. This hallowed intercourse was continued for some time, till it ripened into earnest and steady friendship. The family grew into Christ's affection, and His heart intertwined itself with theirs. At length they regarded Him as one of themselves, and He responded to their congenial attachment. He was the friend of the family of Bethany, joyed with them when they joyed, and we know that He wept with them when they wept. Had any one of the sisters been wedded. His presence at the nuptial feast would have been as heartily coveted as it was at the sickness, death, and funeral of the brother. In all that concerned them, He sympathized, and He made no secret of His interest in them, but spoke to His disciples of ' our friend Lazarus.' This friendship grew as do other human friendships. How and when He and they met we know not. There may have been some air of restraint at their first interview. When Martha invited Him, she might wonder whether He would accept her offer; and she and the family might not well know how to treat Him the first night. He feasted and slept under their roof. Their demeanor would be that of reverent attention. But frequency of interview soon produced a respectful familiarity, and as there followed a perfect understanding and appreciation of one another, the forms of courtesy soon became the easy and living tokens of reciprocal union. Heart was knit to heart in amity, and Jesus was no longer as a guest, but as an inmate. The Saviour condescended to accept of various entertainments. He sat a guest at many a table, and must have always endeared Himself to those about Him by His amiability and wisdom. The love of His bosom must have shown itself in the commonest acts of convivial intercourse, and in the interchange of the ordinary civilities of social life. But it did not always mature into friendship. To love another as a sinner, and labour for his salvation; to love him as a Jew, and have a special anxiety for a countryman's spiritual welfare; to love him as a townsman with whom he had once held juvenile communion, and, urged by such a reminiscence, to seek his benefit in his riper years; to love him as a relative, and to feel his kinship in blood to be a very tender motive for blessing him; ― all these forms of love must have been often felt by Jesus, and as often exemplified by Him. But none of them are identical with that affection which He cherished towards Lazarus and his sisters. They were his friends ― He loved them as one loves the confidants of his soul. He loved humanity, indeed, and came down to die for it; but general philanthropy did not absorb his special likings. He preached with power, and crowds listened to His addresses; but He did not commit himself to them. He pitied and healed the sick and maimed ― received their professions of gratitude, and then dismissed them. Amidst multitudes of disciples in whom He rejoiced, there was yet an inner circle, of which alone he said, ' ye are my friends.' In other words, apart from His high and generous sympathies as Redeemer, and His pure and fervent patriotism as the Jewish Messiah, and different still from His mediatorial grace as the God-man, the Lord had perfectly human attachments. Human, we call them, as they sprang from those instinctive sensibilities which everywhere characterize our nature.

We may not be able to tell all the reasons of Christ's friendship. But we doubt not that it was based on mutual esteem and like-mindedness, on certain elements of character which the four possessed in common, and which were so blended and harmonized as not to be easily detected or specified. There must have been in the family of Bethany a vital piety lying deep in an ardent nature,"feelings of rare delicacy, and quick susceptibility; integrity crowned with generosity, innate sympathy with the good and noble: the open mind and the gentle heart ― all yearning to meet with their own likeness, and rejoicing to find it so fully in Him, whom they first ' took in' as a stranger, then entertained as a guest, and finally cherished as a friend. Jesus and they were instinctively drawn to each other: 'Jesus loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus.' It was not divine grace, nor redeeming kindness, nor relational union, nor neighborly good-will, nor a vague liking, nor official attachment; but it was the affectionate fondness of a man ― the love of a friend.

Let it not be objected that among its inculcation of virtues, the gospel forgets friendship, when its Author sets so true an example of it. Let it not be objected that friendship is swallowed up in general good-will to the race, or special attachment to the church. We are summoned to love one another; but within the sphere of this love there may be closer circles of Christian friends, formed on kindred tastes and mutual intimacy. There are various fields of Christian labour, and associates in it are ever ready to embrace each other in a dearer fellowship, if they are ' true yoke-fellows.' There are also assemblages and consultations for more special objects, and they who there speak ' often one to another' usually pass into the bonds of companionship. They whose natures are cast in the same mould, or who have been educated by the same experience ― whose mental constitution is not dissimilar, or whose history has been checkered by the same vicissitudes, are prepared to become each to each ' a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.' And if there be in this procedure no exclusive partiality or selfish predilection, it is a friendship formed on the model of Jesus and the household of Bethany. Still piety must lay the foundation. It alone can secure lasting confidence and cement friendship on earth by the thought, that though it be interrupted for an interval it shall be renewed in glory. It divests such alliances of all selfishness, refines them from earthly grossness, and preserves them unbroken by human frailty. Heathen sages have expatiated on the pleasures of friendship; but have not Christians better reason? Theirs is a closer fellowship; for it is that of spirit as well as of mind ― linked together not only by the sameness of creed, but by oneness of destiny. It is a fellowship exercised in tastes not merely refined, but sanctified; and in pleasures not only dignified, but divine; while it is associated with hopes that are not bounded by the grave, and with enjoyments that rise from the imperfection of earth into the tranquil rapture of heaven. Ours is an immortal friendship; for it rests on an imperishable basis. It is not union so long as we travel together, but union, too, in our everlasting rest.

' A few short years of evil past,
We reach the happy shore,
Where death-divided friends at last
Shall meet, to part no more.'

2. We remark, that the Friendship of Jesus is not affected by varieties of individual temperament. This family was one in spirit; but there was diversity in the midst of unity. The one living faith dwelt in their hearts and filled them; but each heart had its special and distinctive peculiarities.

"We do not know much of Lazarus. It is plain, however, that his character endeared him to Jesus. The appeal of his sisters for him was, ' Lord, behold, he whom thou lovest is sick.' "When Jesus stood by the grave of him whom He had called ' friend,' and as the tears rolled down his cheeks, the spectators truly said, 'Behold how he loved him.' He had ' sat at meat' with Jesus, and enjoyed a close and tender intimacy with Him. The character of Martha is marked by broad and distinctive lines. In some sense, the mansion at Bethany was hers ― she ' received him,' the evangelist tells us, ' into her house.' The management of the family was also devolved upon her. Her sphere was activity, and she honoured Jesus in specially ministering to His physical comforts. When she was 'cumbered about much serving,' she requested Jesus to urge her sister to assist her. Not that she was unwilling to prolong her service, or grudged that her sister was disengaged; but her desire was to abridge the labour, by dividing it, that she too might listen to the Divine Instructor.! Nor is she to be wholly blamed. Such duties as belonged to her must be attended to in their place; and had not Martha been working, Mary could not have been sitting at the feet of Jesus. Were there no Marthas, there could be no Marys. But probably Martha attached too much importance to her housekeeping, and erred in showing, so much in this way, her kindness to the Master. She laboured to set forth a feast worthy of the occasion, and Jesus hinted to her that honour meant for Him might assume another form. ' One thing is needful,' and to it everything else should yield. He required but little serving, and much serving only troubled the mistress of the mansion. The mind of Martha was robust. Under the sad bereavement that fell upon her, she did not lose self-possession. When she heard that Jesus was coming to visit her, she went and met Him; ' but Mary sat still in the house.' At once did she accost Him with the declaration, 'Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.' The statement has the semblance of a complaint, that Jesus might have hastened His steps on receiving the news of the illness of Lazarus. But she indulged in no paroxysm of sorrow ― being able to add a declaration, of the full meaning and force of which she was not aware, ' I know, that even now, whatsoever thou wilt ask of God, God will give it thee.' The Saviour assured her of her brother's resurrection, and she replied at once, ' I know that he shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day.' This article of her creed gave her solace in the hour of sorrow. The Saviour spoke yet again to her of His own function as the resurrection and the life, and she avowed her belief in His Messiahship. The mind that could thus express its hopes and give its reasons, was a mind whose natural strength had been augmented by a healthy and vigorous faith. On the other hand, Mary was calm and pensive. She had chosen the 'good part,' and it formed the theme of continuous meditation. What was fixed 'and intelligent belief in her sister, was in her deep and tender sentiment. The conversation of Jesus had a special charm for her, and her favourite posture was at His feet. He was to her the incarnation of wisdom and love. She might admire the busy hands and nimble feet of Martha, but she would not stir to assist her, lest she should lose one of the pearls that dropped from the Loved One's lips. Under the shock of bereavement her sensitive spirit was sorely crushed. She sat and mourned, brooded over her loss, and felt it the more keenly, as she had so twined herself round her brother's heart. Hers was one of those delicate natures that feel their need of some one to lean on, as the soft tendril that clings instinctively to the oak for support. "When the visit of Christ was announced, her sister rose up to meet Him, ' but Mary sat still in the house.' The thought of seeing her brother's friend, brought so vividly their past intercourse to remembrance, that her heart bled afresh. "When at length Martha roused her by the secret intelligence, ' the Master is come and calleth for thee,' 'she rose up quickly,' and yet when she met Him she could not speak like her sister; but 'she fell at his feet.' Those happy evenings when her brother sat with Him and she listened had come to an end, and Lazarus was now in his tomb. The shadow of death that had fallen upon her dwelling, had also descended upon her heart. The friends who had come to offer their condolence intimated their perfect knowledge of her character, when they conjectured, as they saw her so hastily leave the house, that she had gone to the grave 'to weep there.' The character of the two sisters is thus quite distinct. Both were pious ― both believed in Christ. Both were warmly attached to Him, and in their kindness to strangers, had entertained a higher than angels. Both delighted to honour the Messiah. But Martha showed it more as a hostess, Mary more as a disciple; Martha spared no pains on her feast, and Mary none in her efforts to hear and learn. Activity for Him characterized the one, submission to Him filled the other. That the distinguished stranger should be entertained as He ought to be was Martha's motive ― that His visit should be spiritually blessed to herself was Mary's ruling passion. Martha's was an active, energetic nature; Mary's a more passive and confiding temperament. When 'they made him a supper,' Martha was happy in serving; but during the feast, Mary, with true womanly devotion, slipped behind the couch on which He reclined, knelt and anointed his feet with a very costly perfume, ' and wiped them with her hair.' When Jesus went to the grave of Lazarus and said, 'Take away the stone,' Martha at once interposed, but Mary offered no resistance. Martha imagined that Jesus wished to obtain the natural gratification of looking on His deceased friend's face; but believing that the process of decomposition was far advanced, she shrunk from the prospect of looking again on her brother's ghastly remains, and would have arrested the process of opening the sepulcher; but Mary, in the courage of her unresisting weakness, could have endured the sight; at least she made no objection to the Lord's proposal.

Now, such varieties of temperament have existed in all ages. Mental characteristics are not obliterated by conversion. Divine grace does not produce uniformity in human nature. It left in their own prominence, the valor of David, the genius of Isaiah, the pathos of Jeremiah, the fervour of John, and the reasoning powers of Paul. The innate elements of the mind and character stamp an individualizing distinction on us. No two individuals have precisely the same features, nor have they the same intellectual conformation. Partakers of the ' common salvation,' their Christianity is tinged by their personal peculiarities. Nay, it is also affected by difference in race and blood, as may be seen in the ancient and modern churches of Europe, and in missionary stations over the world. Simplicity, docility, and a confidence that does not seek to analyse its warrant, and explain all its grounds, are found in one region; while another is distinguished by a marvellous subtlety of intellect, and a love of argument, which are not uniformly promotive of faith or love. Thus, while the lakes are filled with water ― each of them has its own shape and dimensions ― its own species of herbage and shrubbery upon its banks. There may be sameness in confidence and hope, in devotion and service, but there will be minor differences of aspect and manifestation. For religion, though it sanctify mental power in the children of God, does not give it an equal strength in all of them; and while it elevates and purifies the heart, it does not produce a uniform evenness of ardor and love. There are some believers in whom intellect predominates, and the 'full assurance of understanding' is their goal; others in whom emotion has a constitutional empire, and who find a more natural delight in devout meditation than in profound reflection. Some have an instinctive tendency to ruminate on the past, and on what He has done for their soul; others are led forward to sanguine expectation, and find their paradise in the 'full assurance of hope.' One class tends to look more to Christ without them in His atonement; and another class inclines to look more to Christ within them by His Spirit. There are those of a darker hue, who prefer to walk in the valley, humming psalms of penitence; and there are those of a bright nature, who love to traverse the mountains, chaunting hymns of triumph. Babes are found by the side of perfect men. Activity has its sphere contiguous to that of quiet contemplation. This one is forward to tell his experience, and that one shrinks from laying bare his bosom. One member of the church gives largely and cheerfully; another is concussed into liberality by the repeated protestations of his conscience. On the one hand, you meet with one who carries his religious spirit into his business, firmly and without ostentation; and, on the other hand, you meet with another, who is afraid to mingle with the world, and who leaves its bustle, that in his retirement he may walk with God. I feed on doctrine, says one; I live in practice, responds another. The world is dangerous ― beware of it, is the motto of this party. The world is sinful ― but try and better it, is the maxim of another party. The nature of one excites him to battle as a missionary; and the nature of another fits him to endure as a martyr. To this one, earth appears as a scene of duty, on which to ' fight the good fight;' and, to that one, as a field of trial ― a valley of Baca, where the pilgrims weep as they go. And lastly, some expire in calmness, and others die in triumph.

Now all such complexional varieties of piety are the result, not of education or training, but of original temperament. Men are born so; and these inborn peculiarities, though they may be greatly modified, are never erased. They resemble the features of the face, the larger lines of which, amidst many changes, remain unaltered; and they serve, like them, to produce recognition. Besides, every gift is useful in its place; no talent is superfluous ― all being consecrated to the glory of God. The prayer for revival is as needful as the effort for extension. Adherence to principle is useful, if it rise not to intolerance; but so is catholicity of spirit, if it sink not into latitudinarianism. The prayer of Moses on the hill sustained the courage of Joshua in the vale. The tongue that pleads for Liberal things,' and the enterprise that acts upon them, are as important as the ' liberal soul' which ' deviseth' them. ' The Lord hath need' of every variety of gift and grace in His church. When, therefore, faith dwells in the heart, and the Divine Spirit occupies it, amidst all the diversities created by Him who gave us existence, the friendship of Christ may be enjoyed. Various as were the mental habits and spiritual tendencies of the members of the family of Bethany, it is nevertheless a blessed fact, that ' Jesus loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus.'

3. We remark, that the Friendship of Jesus does not exempt its possessors from affliction. He put forth no miraculous power to prevent Lazarus from falling into sickness. The good man was seized with some overpowering malady, and gradually sunk beneath it and died. Jesus might easily have ordered it otherwise, for the effect of a miracle did not depend upon his personal presence at the scene of operation. Nor was it in ignorance of his suffering that Jesus allowed him to descend into the grave, for He was well aware of the instant of his death, and intimated it, in His own form, to His disciples. Nay more, on being informed of his illness, not only did He not haste to his relief, but actually, on receipt of the intelligence. He ' abode two days still in the same place where he was.' Even the appeal to His friendship did not move Him; for the message was couched in these terms of simple pathos, 'Lord, behold he whom thou lovest is sick.' Severe agony and death were thus permitted to Lazarus; and a heavy trial of bereavement were allowed to fall on the family whom Jesus loved. The religion of Christ does not free us from suffering. It often leads to it. Not only are we liable to the ills which press upon humanity, but special chastenings are set apart for us. Believers have sufferings in common with others; but they have also trials adapted particularly to themselves. The object of Christianity is to train the mind; and it takes advantage of suffering to aid it in the process of tuition. It works in the sphere of experience. It does not simply set lessons before us, but it produces changes within us. It does not do with us, as the sculptor with the block of marble, when he gives it only the external form, aspect, and drapery of humanity; but it descends into the recesses of our nature, and there operates so mightily that, under its guidance, the sharp edge of affliction traces out the living image of God.

Experience is the offspring of religion. We should never know thoroughly the character of God, unless we felt our need of His grace. We read of His ' tender mercies;' but their tenderness is never really understood save by the sufferer who feels it. Who but she who has been made a widow, can truly fathom the depth of grace in the statement, that He is 'the husband of the widow?' The orphan, solitary and unbefriended, has the only clue to the whole meaning of the promise, 'Leave thy fatherless children: I will preserve them alive.' The bright stars appear as the gloom falls upon the earth; so 'promises assume a new lustre and power to the spirit lying under the shadow of suffering. They only know what God is, who have experience of what He has done to themselves. They may imagine that they knew such things before, for their creed was pure and full, and they might be able to expatiate on the perfection and loveliness of the Divine character; but now, since they have been in trouble, they have received a deeper insight, for themselves are a living lesson and argument of God's goodness and pity. I may rejoice in the attachment of my friend, though I have never put it to a severe trial; but if I am suddenly brought to ruin, and he as promptly rescues me, even at great sacrifice to himself, I may safely say that I never knew the profoundness and value of his friendship. It is therefore in the period of suffering and bereavement that the soul is brought into nearer contact with God, and knows Him, not from what it believes, but from what it enjoys ― not from what it has been taught, but from what it has experienced. We are all aware that our Lord is named the ' Man of sorrows,' and we are taught that He is 'touched with the feeling of our infirmities;' but we do not adequately comprehend the truth, till, under the pressure of infirmity, we enjoy His sympathy; and then we can say, Now we know it, for we have felt it. There is truly a sublime meaning in the words which He spoke to Martha, ' I am the Resurrection and the Life;' but only those circumstanced as she was ― the grave having closed over her brother ― can really' enter into their nobility and triumph. He who has never felt the pang or desolation of bereavement ― whose heart has never been pierced by the barbed and mortal shaft ― who has never gazed on the corpse of parent, brother, or child, and seen it closed up from view ― who has never made one of the group of weeping mourners that stand, in inexpressible solemnity, by the grave, and feel a sad sinking of heart as they leave behind them, in dust and darkness, that form which they shall not see again till Christ descend and the trumpet sound ― such a scathless and untried believer cannot, though he would, unfold to himself the sweetness and comfort of the saying, ' I am the Resurrection and the Life.' There is no Christian heart that does not hold by the pledge, ' My grace is sufficient for thee;' but it is only when ' weakness' overpowers it, that it can really find that His ' strength is made perfect.' Without affliction, the purest and closest knowledge of God could never be acquired; a vail would still seem to lie upon Him. The glory that surrounds Him might dazzle us; but we should still be comparative strangers to the tenderness and love of His heart. Still at a distance from Him, we would indeed trust Him; but when He lays His hand upon us and brings us nearer Him, then do we acquaint ourselves with His loving-kindness, no longer by report, but by tasting it. You may have seen the solar beam thrown back in yellow splendor from the crystal rocks, as they glistened with gold; but now you have found and gathered the precious ore. It is one thing to admire the beauty of His pavilion, and another thing to be in it; one thing to know Him from what He has said, and another to know Him in what He has done. Surely experimental intimacy far excels theoretic information; but it is gained only in the school of affliction.

Did, therefore, the friendship of Christ secure us against suffering, it would shade from our view these prime and happy lessons. But Christ is anxious that we learn them, and therefore, though He loves us, He permits us to suffer, that we may yearn for a fuller sense of His presence, and, penetrating into His heart, know, because we feel, the love and power of our Beloved and Friend.

There was some lesson which the family of Bethany needed to learn. Perhaps they indulged the thought that Christ's friendship might ward off all affliction from them. They might fondly dream, that as He ministered such help to others in healing their diseases. He would guard them from the very approach of sickness. It would, they might reason, be as loving a token of His regard to prevent affliction altogether, as to remove it after it had been sent. And thus they gradually presumed upon His friendship as a safeguard, for each of the sisters by herself, in this spirit, thus accosted Him, ' Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.' A similar impression rested on the minds of such as knew the Saviour's previous intimacy with the family. 'And some of them said, Could not this man, which opened the eyes of the blind, have caused that even this man should not have died?'

Now, such a notion, however naturally formed, was based on an erroneous estimate of His character and relationship. It was lifting their own wisdom to a level with His; it was deciding by themselves what was best for them; it was, in short, prescribing a channel for Christ's affection. Therefore' Lazarus sickened when Christ was away, and the kindest of friends did on purpose prolong His absence. An earnest message came, but He obeyed it not. The sisters were then effectually taught that they were not to interfere with Christ's modes of operation, and that they enjoyed no undue favoritism from their intercourse with Him. How anxiously they must have looked, hour after hour, for His approach! How brightly they would picture out their brother's immediate restoration to health from His presence and touch! How their souls would sink in gloom when Lazarus became worse and worse, and his pale and collapsed countenance betokened the near and sure approach of the last enemy! With what ' searchings of heart' they would try and frame reasons for Christ's seeming indifference to them in the period of trial and sorrow! And at length when they had closed their brother's eyes, and swathed him in the dress of the tomb, how they would still ponder over the reasons of Christ's inexplicable conduct towards them. It was on the fourth day that their Friend came to them ― not as they had anticipated, to heal the sick, but to condole over the dead, and mingle His tears with those of the bereaved household. But now, in Christ's studied refusal to their touching solicitation, and in the subsequent resurrection of their brother, they learned that God's ways are higher than man's ways, and are therefore not to be judged of in human weakness ― that it is dangerous to pass an opinion upon any divine process till we have seen the result ― that affliction is one of God's most effective methods of tuition, and that the endurance of it is no proof of any failure in Christ's friendship, for His love assumed a new tenderness and a more glorious form of manifestation in the day of their visitation and anguish.

They might have questioned His friendship during the lapse of those four mysterious days, but now they saw, as they could not have seen it otherwise, how He loved them. He did not begin to comfort them with the usual appliances ― did not bid them adore the awfulness of the dispensation, and pray for grace to improve it ― did not point them forward to a happy re-union ― did not say that their loss was gain to Lazarus, and that they were not to sorrow ' even as others which have no hope' ― but He went to the tomb and there He wept, commanded the stone to be rolled aside, summoned the sleeper back to life, and gave him to the embrace of his sisters. But for the sickness, death, and funeral of Lazarus, and Christ's absence in the interval, this miracle, set in such love, would not have greeted them. As they returned, in company with their brother, from the tomb, and saw him again in his own raiment, in health and happiness, did they wonder now why his sickness was permitted, and why Jesus was absent? The greater evil fell upon them that the greater good might be possessed. The joy of the rebound was in proportion to the depth of the previous descent. Their gladness in his resurrection derived its glow and fervour from the agony of the preceding death and bereavement. The triumph of love was mightier by far at the sepulcher than it could have been at the sick-bed. They had learned the lesson which they needed, their faith was confirmed in Jesus as Messiah, and their hope rested on Him as The Resurrection and the Life.'

Wonder not, then. Christian, thou that lovest Jesus and feelest, too, that Jesus loves thee, why thou art afflicted or why thou art bereaved. Never suppose for a moment that Christ has forgotten thee, or that His friendship toward thee has cooled. But seek in very earnest to feel the benefit of the discipline, and in its issue thou shalt behold new and multiplied tokens of is love. True, He has power to guard thee from suffering, but He loves thee better, and He consults thy interests more wisely than to give thee total exemption. Is not this His own language: 'For a small moment have I forsaken thee; but with great mercies will I gather thee. In a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a moment; but with everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee, saith the Lord, thy Redeemer.' Do not perplex thy mind with insoluble questions, but listen again: Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened unto you; but rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ's sufferings; that, when his glory shall be revealed, ye may be glad also with exceeding joy.' Do not, in fine, compare thy case with that of others, and gather in upon thee dark and shadowy conclusions. O rather lay hold on the apostle's assertion, and find unfailing comfort in it: ' There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man; but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.' But we remark ―

4. While the friendship of Jesus does not exempt from affliction, it deepens into Sympathy with those who endure it. Even during His absence, the soul of Jesus was in Bethany. Once and again, as if the matter was dwelling upon His mind, did He refer to it in speaking with the disciples. At first he told them generally, 'this sickness is not unto death.' Then He proposed to go back to Judea; and next He said, Our friend Lazarus sleepeth; but I go that I may awake him out of sleep.' The disciples thought that their Master spoke of a natural sleep ― the common index that the crisis is past; and they answered, ' Lord, if he sleep he shall do well.' ' At last Jesus told them plainly, 'Lazarus is dead.' His mind was thus brooding; over the scene, and the sympathy of His heart was all the while extended to the bereaved and sorrowing sisters. Though His enemies had threatened to stone Him in Judea, He had now no hesitation in returning to the province on this errand of love. He felt that He was immortal till His work was done; and therefore he set out for Bethany. By the time He arrived, Lazarus had been four days dead, and Himself had not been more than a day's journey distant. The family He had loved were in deep distress, and 'many of the Jews came to comfort Martha and Mary concerning their brother.' Both sisters had deeply loved him, and both must have felt forlorn and desolate. It may be that each sister would not have felt the loss of the other so keenly as both felt the loss of Lazarus ― the representative to them of a deceased father, and a head and protector to the household. Many things he could do for them or with them, which, according to the usage of their country, and the barriers thrown around their sex, they were not permitted to do for themselves. So that to them he was clothed with a parent's authority, tempered with the equality of a brother's affection. The Saviour, as He met Martha, could speak in a firm tone of assurance to her; but when He saw Mary lying at His feet, weeping in the bitterness of her soul, and the mourners and relatives weeping in company with her. He was deeply moved ― 'He groaned in the spirit, and was troubled.' Under the pressure of deep emotion, He could only command Himself so far as briefly to ask, ' Where have ye laid him?' The reply was, Come and see.' And as He took the first step to the tomb of His friend, His emotion could no longer be restrained; His bosom heaved, and His eye filled: 'Jesus wept.'

Marvelous spectacle! Jesus wept, as the mourners about Him wept! The sight of such sorrow overpowered Him, and He could not refrain. That was a true manhood, which felt this touch of nature, and burst into tears. There was no Stoicism in His constitution. There was no attempt to train down His sympathies, and educate Himself to a hard and inhuman indifference. Neither was He ashamed of His possession of our ordinary sensibilities. He felt it no weakness to weep in public with them that wept. So sinful did sin appear in its penalty of death ― so saddening was the desolation which death had brought into that happy home ― so humbling was the picture of Lazarus, alive and active but a few days before, but now laid in the narrow vault, and carefully concealed from view, that the Saviour bowed to the stroke, and in the impulse of genuine sympathy, 'Jesus wept.' Perhaps the prospect of His own death and entombment rose up suddenly before Him ― the thought that He should soon be as Lazarus now was, a cold and inanimate corpse, with weeping mourners making a similar procession to His tomb. And though He had but to take a few steps more, and the greatest of His miracles should be achieved, and he that was dead should be raised ― so powerful and tender were His mingled sensations, that 'Jesus wept.' Shall we use the common term, and say that He was, ' unmanned?' No. Such an epithet originates in a grievous misinterpretation of our nature. Is man to be denied the relief of tears, and woman only to be so privileged? Is it beneath his masculine robustness to show a moistened eye? Is he to be a traitor to deepest and purest emotion, and to attempt to cauterize the fountain of tears? No, Christ, the model of manhood, the mirror of all that was noble and dignified, did not deny Himself the relief; and shall men be looked upon as effeminate, as falling from the dignity of their sex, if, with emotions like Christ, they shed tears like Him? No. Perish that dignity which would aspire to a transcendental apathy that man was not made for, and which Jesus despised. The tear is as genuine as the smile. He who would do such violence to his nature, insults his Creator, and would foolishly set himself above the example of his Redeemer. Instead of raising himself above humanity, he sinks beneath its level. The brow that never wore a smile, is not more unnatural than the eye that never glistened with a tear.

Therefore do we vindicate for the afflicted mourner the privilege of tears. You are not giving way to sin, when you are giving way to tears. Man is not disgracing his manhood, nor woman showing herself to be but a woman, when they weep under bereavement. Try not to be above the Saviour. It is not sin to mourn, but the sin is to murmur ― to fall into querulous repining, as if God had wronged you, and it needed an effort on your part to forgive Him. We are sure that Jesus harbored no grudge of this nature against His Father in Heaven; and yet He wept. To forbid tears is to impose a cruel penance ― is to deny a luxury to the mourner in which his Lord indulged. O thou of the bruised-heart, when thou goest to the sepulcher where the beloved dust is garnered, weep, but not in dejection ― weep, but repine not; disturb not the unbidden tear, as thou art in the place of burials. The dust thou sorrowest over cannot indeed respond; but the time is coming when thy tears shall be wiped away by the very hand that inflicted the stroke. Did Jesus ever smile? The question is superfluous. His brow had not always a cloud upon it. He was no anchorite; He came 'eating and drinking,' and He wrought his first miracle at a marriage feast. But there is no record that He did smile, and there needed none. But He wept, and we are told of it; for it might be surmised that One so pure might be above the reach of all infirmity ― that One who healed disease might be untouched by the aspect of it; and that He who had shown His power over death, might be disturbed by no human emotions in view of the tomb. But lest we should associate such callousness with perfection, and reckon His elevation of character a proof that He could not stoop to be touched by the sorrows of a sinful world, the shortest verse of scripture tells us that ' Jesus wept.'

These tears are proof of His genuine humanity, that He was moved as we are moved to weep. Had that humanity been of a higher order than ours, or been a mere phantom in the guise of man, such as that which an angel might take upon him, the spectacle of the weeping Saviour would never have, given assurance of His sympathy to the world. Let not the spectators of His life imagine that He cannot be ' touched with the feeling of their infirmities.' As they hear Him speak in those tones of sublimity, and rebuke in those accents of sternness, they may say of Him, ' not a man, but more than a man.' As they see Him still the winds and walk upon the waves, hush the demoniac and feed the crowds, their inward thought may again be, ' not a man, but more than a man.' Or again, when they behold Him seeming to disown all relationship of blood with His mother. His brothers, and His sisters, and affirming that a true disciple was to Him as 'brother, sister, and mother,' the conclusion would only be strengthened, ' not a man, but either different from humanity, or far above it.' But did they follow Him on this journey to Bethany, and watch Him as He spoke arguments of consolation to Martha, and breathed His words of sympathy into the ear of Mary; and did they accompany Him to the tomb of Lazarus, and mark that as His bosom heaved, His countenance quivered, and His eyes at length overflowed, would they not retract their previous inference, and cry, 'Yes, more than a man it may be, but beyond all doubt a man still ― the wearer of a real humanity?' And therefore the mourners may reckon on His sympathy. These tears were shed not for Himself, but for the sorrows of others.

Many have wept for themselves, and some with selfish intensity. As she cast her son under a shrub to die, Hagar wept for her loss. When Esau found that he had been forestalled in his father's blessing, the chivalrous hunter wept under his disappointment. The wife of Samson employed her tears as her best weapon of victory over her weak-minded spouse. Hannah wept under the taunts and provocation of her domestic rival. The king and his people wept as they were forced into exile by the unnatural rebellion of Absalom. Often, too, have tears been shed under a sense of pain and bereavement. 'Abraham came to mourn for Sarah, and to weep for her.' The face of Job was 'foul with weeping.' Rachel is depicted as ' weeping for her children, and refusing to be comforted.' David wept over his dying child; and Hezekiah, as he felt himself under sentence of death, ' turned his face to the wall, and wept sore.' But tears have also sprung from other than selfish sources. Joseph wept once and again as he beheld his brethren, and a flood of early and tender recollections rushed upon him. Job says of himself, ' Did I not weep for him that was in trouble?' and his own friends, when they came to comfort him, and could scarcely recognise him, Lifted up their voice and wept.' In the bonds of a pure and steady friendship, Jonathan and David 'wept with one another, until David exceeded;' and after he ascended the throne, he was moved to tears at the grave of Abner, and with him 'all the people wept.' Under the reproof of the angel, the camp of Israel wept so violently that the place was called Bochim, or the scene of weepers. Elisha wept as his mind's eye took in the future atrocities of Hazael. The captives mingled their tears with the streams of Babel. As Jeremiah thought of the desolation of his country, he wished that his head were ' waters' and his eyes ' a fountain of tears.' The priests who had seen the first temple, wept at the inauguration of the second and humbler edifice. Peter wept as the look of Christ entered his soul, and the Ephesian elders taking farewell of the apostle at Miletus, ' fell upon his neck, and wept.' But the tears of Jesus were those of purest sympathy, and He was moved to them by the tears of others. May not those who weep be assured that their tears will still command His fellow-feeling ― that He will 'hear the voice of their weeping?' For what a variety of suffering our Lord passed through! ― such experience being the basis of His sympathy. For sympathy is not innate goodness, it is acquired from suffering. It belongs not to the Father, but it has opened a place for itself in the bosom of the Son ― 'In that He Himself, hath suffered, being tried, and He is able to succour them that are tried.' Are any of you in poverty? He had not where to lay His head; His cradle belonged to the beasts, and His corpse lay in a borrowed grave. Is any one frowned upon by the world? 'He was despised and rejected of men.' Do you complain of Satan's malignant assaults? Ah, He knew the hour and felt the 'power of darkness.' Does there seem to be an eclipse on your Father's face? O listen to that awful wail, ' My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?' Or is it that suffering lies heavily upon you, and your fevered lips are parched, and long to be moistened? He felt the same sensation, and cried, 'I thirst.' Or must it be that when you come to die there will be a new and terrible bitterness in death, in that you leave behind you those so near and so dear to you wholly unprovided for? Did not He suffer a similar pang, sharper than any of the nails that pierced Him? and from His cross He commended His aged and widowed mother to the care of the beloved disciple. Or perhaps bereavement has been producing desolation of soul. Is it a father who has laid in the grave his child of winning looks, and in the first bloom of existence? Or has death snatched from thee a youth as he was ripening into a manhood so like thine own, or a daughter, the lovely memorial of a mother under whose premature decease thou hast bowed and wept? Or is it a mother grieving over the babe, that still clung to her bosom as its fountain of life; or over the boy, whose rosy lips were learning to lisp out her name, and prattle in the witchery of broken language on her knee; or over that little girl, whose ways and works have reminded her so often of her own maiden years? Or it may be that death has severed that union which is significantly called one flesh,' and the husband sees his other self laid low in the dust. Or, alas! it is the widow, in lonely sorrow, bereaved indeed ― deprived, in one hour, of partner and friend, shield and provider ― an empty hearth and an unfurnished table ― a dark present and a darker future. Or is it the child that has followed a parent's remains to the dark and narrow house ― those of a father who had watched its budding years, and trained it with affectionate success ― or those of a mother, of all names the holiest and tenderest, whose every look beamed with love, and whose smile will remain for ever engraven on the memory? Whichever of these forms of bereavement oppresses you, be comforted by the thought that ' Jesus wept' ― that He who so wept is still unchanged in nature ― that the heart which was so troubled is as susceptible now as then, and will beat in unison and sympathy with you under such trials and sorrows. What a comforter is the Elder Brother! who knows what it is to be bereaved, and will, out of such experience, soothe and solace His people. Nay more, for eighteen hundred years the man Jesus has been employed in binding up the bleeding in heart, and healing all their wounds. Every variety of grief He has dealt with, and with every element and form of it He is perfectly familiar.

If there be power in human sympathy to lighten the load of woe, how much more in the sympathy of Him who 'bore our griefs and carried our sorrows' ― whose words of comfort reach the heart ― who gives Himself to be loved in room of the object taken away ― and gathers the departed into a blessed company before the throne, with the prospect of a happy and unclouded reunion! Let the mourner never forget the image of the weeping Saviour. O how it will reassure him, and fill him with unspeakable consolation! Thou weepest ― but ' Jesus WEPT!'

5. But we remark in the last place, that the Friendship of Jesus is not interrupted by Death. What breaks up all other ties has no such effect upon it. It survives that shock, which, from its awful power, men have named dissolution, as it unbinds every connection and relationship. Even that union founded in Eden, and chosen from its closeness to symbolize the oneness of Christ with His church, is, according to the apostle, so completely sundered by death, that, the husband being dead, the wife is ' loosed from the law of her husband,' and free to be ' married to another man.' Friends walk arm-in-arm, till they come to the tomb, and then one of them resumes his solitary path. The family presents a happy and a numerous circle; but years roll on, and death comes in and thins it, till at length but one is left, the sole survivor of his father's house. All societies experience the same constant changes, and ever and anon some one stands out in the isolation of a hoary age, the last representative of a bygone generation. Who has not felt link after link giving way round about him; and when he thinks of his friends, how many of them are now in eternity! That companion of youth, that friend of riper years, that colleague in office, that partner in business, that neighbour or fellow-traveler ― ah, how soon you miss them! ― death has intervened, and all connection is severed. They are associated in the memory of the past: but the hearty embrace is to be felt no more ― no more the voice of wisdom will be heard, or the courtesies of social life exchanged. Each one feels, ' I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.' How often in general conversation does the expression turn up, 'our late friend,' ― a confession that such friendship in its earthly form is for ever at an end.

'My thoughts are with the dead, with them
I live in long past years,
Their virtues love, their faults condemn,
Partake their hopes and fears.

'My hopes are with the dead ― anon
My place with them shall be:
And I with them shall travel on
Through all futurity.' But the friendship of Christ brooks not any interruption. Our Lord said of him who had died, ' Our friend Lazareth sleepeth.' He recognised the friendship as still existing. Lazarus was yet His friend, after he had expired ― His friend after he had been entombed. And He proved the reality of that enduring friendship. In spite of the enmity existing against Him 'in Jewry,' He went to Bethany, spoke with both his sisters, and proceeded to the tomb. Then He wept with the mourners, whose sorrow had again broken out at the place where, but a few days before, they had laid the dead in the dust. In profound and mysterious agitation, Jesus approached the sepulchral cave, commanded the stone to be rolled away, and, as tears almost choked His utterance. He offered up a brief prayer to His Father. Then rolled from His lips those brief words of power, Lazarus come forth, and Lazarus obeying came forth arrayed as he had been buried. What a thrill, approaching to alarm must have shot through the spectators as they beheld the apparition of the moving grave-clothes. With what curiosity they must have gazed upon that face when the napkin was removed; and with what strange sensations they who perhaps had wrapped him in his winding sheet helped now to unroll it, and saw again the free action of hand and limb! We cannot, though we would, conjecture the conflicting emotions of Lazarus as he awoke at the voice of friendship. His last agony as he died, the couch at Bethany, and his weeping sisters, would be associated in his memory with the feeling of unaccountable relief as he rose. And then on his sudden restoration to consciousness to find himself in the garb of a corpse, lying in the family tomb, the vaults of parents and relations round about him, and making what effort he could, tightly swathed as he was, to come out to the light of day. Nor could he perhaps fully comprehend the scene as he saw Martha and Mary, the mourners, Jesus, and His disciples, in groups round about himself ― an object as much of wonder as affection. How the leal heart of Mary would turn from her brother to Christ, and feel Him to be in truth a friend! When the command to loose him was given, Martha's busy hands would soon assist in performing the task; but the deep feeling of Mary's heart would hold her in motionless rapture and gratitude. Truly Christ proved Himself 'a friend that sticketh closer than a brother,' or even a sister. The sisters had laid Lazarus in his grave, and left him there; they could stick no longer to him, save in spirit and memory: but Christ's friendship was not to be barred out by the sepulchre, and He brought His dead friend back to fellowship and life. They had spent some evenings without their brother; but Christ would spend none in Bethany without him, and so He filled the vacant seat with its former occupant, ere He entered their house. The circle was not complete without Lazarus; Jesus would have him by His side, and therefore He raised him. Will it be doubted that Christ's friendship dictated the miracle? The entire record seems to prove that this mightiest of His works sprang from His attachment and sympathy. His friendship descended to the grave, and brought up again its object. Nor is it otherwise now: Jesus is unchanged. The objects of Christ's affection, when taken out of the world, are brought into closer union with Himself. "We feel that death puts an end to our friendships; but Christ's friendship only moves a step closer when mortality intervenes. It is not for a moment suspended. The spirit rises to Himself, to the enjoyment of His presence, and to forms of intercourse and endearment which cannot now be imagined. So it was in the history of Enoch: today he ' walked with God' on earth ― tomorrow he walked with Him in heaven. So far then from severing Christ and His friends, death only destroys the distance existing between them, and brings them face to face. Nor is the body forgotten or dismissed from His regards. It is His, and He claims it, though it be in the tomb. What He did for Lazarus, He will do for it; aye, and more. He will call it forth from its concealment. His power will not fail to achieve its resurrection, though it have lain centuries in the tomb, and have long faded away into dust. And it will be raised a glorious structure ― flexile, ethereal, spiritual, and immortal ― fitted for the pure soul which shall again inhabit it, and capable of enjoying Christ's friendship without fatigue and without end. It is said of Lazarus after he had been raised, that on one occasion he 'sat at meat' with Jesus; but the glorified saints shall have an endless feast with Him in His banqueting chamber, and His banner over them shall be love. Tradition reports of Lazarus, that after this solemn crisis in his life, he was never seen again to smile; the occupant of the tomb could never throw off the shadow of death. But His friends are for ever to be happy with Him ― no vestige of their previous mortality clings to them, for they have shaken themselves so completely from the dust ― and they live and love with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads.' Did not Lazarus descend again to the tomb at his appointed time? Those, however, raised by His love at the last day, are for ever beyond the attack of disease, and above the stroke of death. And thus they are with Him ― ever with Him ― in His presence, and under His smile. And now, how shall we compute the value of Christ's friendship, and by what means shall we acquire an interest in it? The unbelieving heart can have no share in it: he who will not have Christ as Saviour, cannot enjoy Him as friend. Come to Him, then, in His official character, and you will soon possess His personal regard. Despair of yourselves, and trust in Him, and He will admit you to His confidence. The path to His bosom is by His cross. Strive, too, to be like Him in everything; and if you two are so agreed, you will walk together in undivided fellowship. How terrible it must be to have Christ for a foe! The Lamb of God is also ,the Lion of the tribe of Judah. The soul which is unlike Him, must be exiled from His presence. It shall blast itself, and the whole universe shall unite in condemning it.

Ye friends of Jesus, stand not aloof, but surround Him in closer circle. Is there not a true interchange of thought and sentiment between you and Him? Prove the reality of your friendship by doing whatsoever He has commanded you. Avow it and glory in it, and long for a fuller enjoyment of it. Have ye not tasted and seen that it is good, and that no earthly tie can be compared with it? What solace it has given you in times of distress and bereavement! You may have had trials, but you had His welcome presence.

'Hast thou lost a friend or brother?
Seen a father's parting breath?
Or gazed upon a lifeless mother
Till she seemed to start from death?' ―

Then thou knowest how thy Friend did visit thee, weep with thee, and cheer thee; and as thou rememberest what He said and what He did, thou wilt also indulge the hope that the missing one has gone to His embrace, and that the grave, now filled and closed up, will give back its tenant on the morning of the resurrection. Indulge no bitter regrets ― use not the cold and unmeaning language of the world ― give way to no frantic sorrow. Let those around thee see that the Comforter has spoken with thee. And in that better world friendship will never be broken in upon. Immortality is stamped upon it. The great and good of former ages ― Abel and Noah, Abraham and Moses, David and Isaiah ― prophets and apostles, saints and martyrs, shall all rejoice in undying union and intercourse with one another and with Christ. to he found at length in that happy company, and the praise shall be Thine, Thou Friend of Friends. To Thee, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, be all glory, for ever and ever. Amen.