07.05. Around The Tomb

5. Around the Tomb

He mingle with the company of mourners. The Master has come, and Martha has called her sister, and somewhere in the outskirts of the little town, Mary pours out her sorrowful complaint into the ear of the merciful Redeemer. The Jews follow her, and imagine that she goes again to weep at her brother’s tomb. To that mournful spot, Christ bids them come. So, gathered together in that sorrowing group, we see the two sisters, and with them the friends, who in truest kindness, would do their best to comfort them — and, above all, death’s Conqueror, the Prince of Life, the great Burden-bearer, the one Friend and Helper of all who flee to Him for support. He comes there to fulfill His own office, "to bind up the broken-hearted, to comfort all that mourn, to give oil of joy for sadness, and the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness." With tears and groans He goes to the tomb. Scarce a word is spoken; but in silent grief they walk along with Him who mingles His tears with theirs — and yet is able effectually to wipe away all tears from their eyes.

Thrice we read in Holy Scripture Jesus wept, and it is hard to say on which occasion we learn most from the tears of the Son of Man.

1. On Olivet’s slope, while the multitudes were rejoicing, crying aloud, "Hosanna," and casting their garments at His feet — the Savior was weeping over the beloved city. He foresaw the coming doom; He foresaw the cruelty of the Roman soldiers that would soon come and lay waste that fair city, and miserably destroy her sons and daughters. Yes, and He saw, moreover, the fearful woe beyond, to which sin and unbelief would bring them. Yes, Jesus wept over perishing sinners — and we too should weep.

2. Then, too, in Gethsemane’s lonely garden did Jesus weep. As He was entering the dark cloud — as He began to taste the exceeding bitterness of the cup of wrath, which for us He drained even to the dregs. We read of His thrice-repeated prayer, of His agony, of His sore wrestling, yes, of His strong crying and tears. (Hebrews 5:7.) How these tears tell of sin’s bitterness, of sin’s curse, of the sure condemnation of those who bear their own sin and refuse the full atonement which Jesus has brought! Yes, how they tell of the madness of a life of hollow mirth, while God is angry, and judgment is following swiftly at men’s heels!

3. But in this narrative we have Christ’s tears at Bethany. "Jesus wept."

Perhaps we might have thought that since the brother was so soon to be restored, there was little need that Christ should weep. Yet surely there was. For their sakes who saw Him, for our sakes still more, and for His Church in all ages; for we read in those tears, as we could scarcely do elsewhere — the true character of Him in whom we trust and love.

We may learn to know Christ as we listen to His gracious words. What a revelation of His heart is given in that short sentence spoken to the sons of Zebedee, when He refused to call down fire on the Samaritan village: "The Son of Man has not come to destroy men’s lives, but to save them."

We may learn to know Christ as we behold His works of mercy. As we see Him going about doing good, healing the lepers, feeding the hungry, and scattering on all sides the blessing of health and gladness — we trace in it all His marvelous bounty and kindness.

We may learn to know Christ as we look upon the wounds in hands and feet and side. "He loved me and gave Himself for me!" is the message that each seems to speak. But those tears of Christ seem also, in a most touching way, to show His compassion and sympathy. Very evidently did they subdue for the moment the hearts of those who saw them. "Behold how He loved him!" was the spontaneous feeling of the mourners around.

If we seek to discover more particularly the cause of the tears which Jesus shed, we would probably be right in regarding it as of a very mingled character.

1. There were tears for the death of a friend.

"When sorrowing, o’er some stone I bend
Which covers what was once a friend,
And from his voice, his hand, his smile,
Divides me for a little while,
You, Savior, marks the tears I shed,
For You did weep o’er Lazarus dead."

2. There were tears of sympathy for the bereaved sisters. By reason of His Divine knowledge He could tell, as none other could, the terrible void in those loving hearts which their brother’s death had made — and therefore He wept. "In all their affliction, He was afflicted."

3. And was there not also a look stretching far beyond that particular case of sorrow, and embracing in one field of vision all the havoc and misery and woe that the king of terrors has ever brought into this world of ours? Yes, and beyond this, a look into the very root and fountain of it all — that accursed thing Sin — the parent of all evil! The great lesson of this part of the story of Bethany, seems to be the sympathy of Christ — and to this I desire to direct the attention of those who read these pages. Dear reader, the religion of the Gospel has many consolations; but none greater, none sweeter than this: "For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are — yet was without sin." Hebrews 4:15

Remember, the sympathy of Christ is within the reach of those who are yet strangers to God. It is the sympathy of One without sin — and yet not without sin — for He bore our sins in His own body on the tree, that He might bring the blessing of His salvation near to the guilty.

I have no doubt that very many who read this book have not yet found a home and a refuge in God. But are you shut out from the grace and love of Christ? Only if you shut the door of mercy against yourself. A few months ago, I had an opportunity of visiting a poor murderer in his cell. Had I been able to offer him a free pardon signed by the Queen’s own hand, how eagerly would he have grasped it! But suppose, under such circumstances, instead of doing so, he had rejected it, shut to the door, and sullenly preferred death — what could be said but that the fault was his own? Even thus, dear reader, does Jesus stand by your door, offering to you full remission and a sure salvation. It is within reach. It is very near. You have but to accept it, and it is your own.

It is a very common error for people to imagine that we must first of all raise ourselves a certain distance of holiness — and then Jesus will come down to meet us.

Nay, this would be no good news to those so helpless, so fallen, so guilty as we are! What could the lost sheep, exhausted and weary and footsore, do for its restoration, were not the Shepherd to come and carry it home to the fold? What could the soldier lying on the field of battle, faint from loss of blood, wounded, and near to death — what could he do unless a friendly hand bring support, and carry him to a place of safety? What could the man who fell among thieves and was lying half-dead on the way to Jericho — what could he do, except the good Samaritan had come to his help? And what can the lost sinner do without Christ? But He comes near to you. He bends over you, even as you are. Lost, strengthless, wounded, perishing in your blood — Jesus waits to lift you up, to heal your wounds, to bear you in His arms, to save you forever. Oh, that the tears of Christ might show what a compassionate Savior is yours — if only you will yield yourself to Him!

Ah, poor wanderer, you are not happy! Perhaps the chain of some sin is around you — you can not break away from the snare of drink or some other perilous vice. But your Redeemer is merciful, and your Redeemer is strong, and by His cleansing blood and His all-powerful Spirit He can make you a happy, holy Christian. "He who despises Him, wrongs his own soul. All those who hate, Him love death."

Again, remember the sympathy of Christ reaches all the depths and peculiarities of human sorrow.

Strange and appalling is the variety of wretchedness and woe that burdens our earth. Go to that beautiful valley where the stream glides peacefully along, and all is lovely and fair; or go to the spot where the smoke of the factory or the furnace makes all around look dark and dreary — and in both you find aching hearts and weary troubled souls. Go to the mansion of the rich man, or the poor cottage of the laborer, or the confined room of the mechanic — and in some shape, the enemy comes to each. But in Christ there is a rich fullness of sympathy that reaches every case.

"Yes, and as if You would be God
Even in misery,
You have left no sorrow but Your own
Unreached by sympathy!"

I can imagine, among the readers of these pages, one who is laboring for souls in a large town, sorely discouraged and depressed by the evil around. You have but scanty help, and those who are willing to help have neither large means nor much ability — and as you plod on, you see but a small number gathered in for Christ. And yet you go on. You often sigh over the sin you witness, but cannot prevent. You often lift up your heart in some such prayer as that of the Psalmist, "Oh, let the wickedness of the wicked come to an end, but guide the just!" Or, perhaps, in the beautiful words of Bonar:

"Come, Lord, and take away
The curse, the sin, the stain;
And make this blighted world of ours,
Your own fair world again!" But is there no loving eye that sees you — no loving heart that feels for you? Surely there is. He knew the very grief you feel. He labored on for His day of toil, preaching and teaching everywhere, speaking as never man spoke — yet at the end but few cleave to Him, and many of those who had heard Him, joined in the sin of crucifying the Lord of Glory!

He knows your desire, and He accepts it. Your work is not lost. Your words for Him shall be a sweet savor unto God. He will be glorified, and some, at least, brought home to God, who shall be your crown in the day of His appearing.

Or, I picture to myself a very different case. You are not a worker, but a sufferer. The tide of busy life rolls on around you — but you the while are scarcely able to move from room to room. A terrible disease has laid its hand upon you, and neither day nor night brings rest or relief. Sleepless nights and agonizing pain are your constant portion. More than this, your faith is weak, and you are not sure of your acceptance with God; but you know your sins, and you flee to the Savior, and have no hope but in His precious blood. Ah, how the Savior feels for you! He counts each tear, and marks each sigh, and tells each groan, and would cheer your heart by His own word, "It is I — do not be afraid. I will surely forgive, and save, and comfort. I will hold you by your right hand. I will bring you through the waters; yes, in the furnace you shall not be burned. You shall see the end, that the Lord is very pitiful and of tender mercy." Or I take another case. You have a lifelong trial in your own home. You might be very happy and comfortable, you have means that might easily suffice, if rightly used, but — but — all goes one way. The one who ought most to help you — the one who promised years ago in God’s presence to love and to cherish until death should part between you — is now your greatest fear and sorrow. You are worse than a widow. Your burden grows heavier day by day; and yet you pray and try patiently to bear up, and return kindness for cruel wrong. But you see no prospect of any change. Hopeless misery seems to lie before you. Nay, but remember Christ thinks upon the oppressed. Read Psalms 37:1-40, Psalms 40:1-17, Psalms 46:1-11, Psalms 57:1-11, and Psalms 62:1-12 — and see whether there may not yet be a door of hope. Have Christ on your side, and be sure that He will be a husband to you, and your prayers shall come back to your own bosom.

How they shall be answered I know not; whether in the salvation of the one for whom you plead, or in some other way; but this I know — they shall so return in blessing that your heart shall sing for joy, and the voice of sighing and weeping shall give place to the sound of joy and thanksgiving. Very possibly it may be here in this world — but if not, it shall surely be hereafter. Or I imagine another case. You have lost an only child. Around him all your thoughts had centered. You had watched over him in his infancy, you had loved to listen to his first lispings, and marked his growth from year to year, and did your best for his schooling — and after all, he was taken from you. It was but a short illness and you were obliged to part, and now life is a blank and its interest is gone, and you feel scarcely able to do your work. Again and again the remembrance of your loss comes back to you afresh, and perhaps a flood of tears comes to relieve your distress.

Oh, remember Jesus in your grief! In very faithfulness He has caused you to be troubled. He took your child, that He might give you Himself. Perhaps, but for this, you would have had no room for Him. Your child would have been your idol, and would have occupied the temple where the Savior Himself should dwell. But now Christ comes; you have learned your need of Him, and He comes to supply it. In deepest, in truest sympathy, He is by your very side. Think how He cared for the sisters when their one brother was taken. Think how He cared for the widow of Nain when her only son was called away. Think how He cared for Jairus when his only daughter was lying dead. And He is still the same. His compassions are ever new. He thinks on your sorrow, and will heal your wounded spirit by the exceeding consolations of His love. And yet, there is one other testing trial — the Christian pilgrim passing through the river of death. Think of the dying Christian. There he lies; all has been done for him that man can do, but in vain. Hope is over. Those around him can only wait until the solemn moment comes, and he follows the path that leads to an eternal state. What thoughts may be crowding in while the lips refuse to speak! It may be, the willing spirit happy in Christ, anticipates and enjoys a sweet foretaste of the Lord’s presence in glory. But "heart and flesh are failing," and "the flesh is weak." Christ’s sympathy is needed, and it is near. In that hour of final conflict, what more fitted to dispel fear and strengthen hope, than the thought of Bethany and the Savior standing by the tomb?

"Jesus wept! That tear of sorrow
Is a legacy of love.
Yesterday, today, tomorrow,
He the same does ever prove.
Lord, when I am called to die,
Let me think of Bethany."