Douglas Vandergraph

There are passages in Scripture that teach you something, and then there are passages that touch you. There are chapters that offer information, and then there are chapters that open the deepest parts of your soul and show you that God has been nearer than you realized. Gospel of John Chapter 11 is one of those chapters. It is not simply a miracle account. It is not simply the story of Lazarus rising from the dead. It is the story of love expressed through delay, faith expressed through tears, and resurrection expressed through a God who steps into the very heart of human pain.

John 11 is the chapter you turn to when life doesn’t make sense. When the prayers take longer than you expected. When your heart feels heavy and your mind feels tired. When the silence feels loud. When you’re standing at the grave of something you thought God would save. When your faith knows God can do anything, but your emotions don’t understand why He hasn’t done it yet.

This chapter is not just for Bible scholars.
It is for the one who is exhausted.
It is for the one who is grieving.
It is for the one who feels forgotten.
It is for the one who wonders if God is late.
It is for the one who has been trying to stay strong for too long.
It is for the one who still believes — even through tears.

John 11 begins with a message, not a miracle. Lazarus is sick. Mary and Martha send word to Jesus: “Lord, the one You love is sick.” That’s it. No dramatic speeches. No manipulation. No long explanations. No begging. Simply the truth that love already connects them.

This is how God wants you to pray — not as someone trying to impress Him, but as someone who knows they are loved. Not as someone afraid to ask, but as someone confident that God cares. Mary and Martha did not appeal to Lazarus’ worthiness; they appealed to Jesus’ love.

But then the story moves in a direction that always challenges the heart: Jesus delays. He doesn’t hurry. He doesn’t send a miracle from afar. He doesn’t rush to heal His friend. He stays two more days where He is.

And if you have ever waited on God…
if you have ever stood in the tension between what you prayed and what you saw…
if you have ever wondered why God took longer than your heart wanted…
you understand this moment deeply.

It is often the delay that hurts more than the crisis.
The waiting that wounds deeper than the loss.
The silence that feels louder than the suffering.

But Jesus is never careless with your pain.
When He delays, there is purpose woven inside the waiting.

Jesus says something important to the disciples: “This sickness will not end in death. It is for God’s glory.” Notice His wording — it will not end in death. Death may come. Pain may come. Confusion may come. But the ending belongs to God, not to the crisis.

You may feel like something in your life is dead.
Your peace.
Your confidence.
Your hope.
Your joy.
A dream you once held close.
A relationship you prayed would last.
A future you thought was certain.

But God never writes endings the way human beings do.
Where you see “finished,” God sees “not yet.”

John writes one of the most difficult sentences to accept and one of the most comforting sentences to understand: “Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. So He stayed where He was two more days.”

Love… so He stayed.
Love… so He waited.
Love… so He did not rush.
Love… so He let the situation become impossible so that the miracle would be undeniable.

Sometimes God loves you enough to delay you.
To stretch your faith.
To build something inside you that cannot be built quickly.
To show you His glory in a way you would never see if things happened instantly.

When Jesus finally says, “Let us go to Judea again,” the disciples panic. They remind Him of danger. They try to talk Him out of it. But Jesus never lets fear determine His direction. Where resurrection is waiting, He is always willing to walk.

Then Jesus tells them plainly: “Lazarus is dead.” But He doesn’t stop there. He adds something no one expects: “And I am glad for your sakes that I was not there, so that you may believe.”

It sounds harsh until you understand the heart behind it.
Jesus isn’t glad Lazarus died.
He is glad the disciples will witness a resurrection that will shape their faith forever.

Sometimes God allows situations to reach a point where only resurrection is possible.
Not to hurt you — but to show you who He really is.

When Jesus reaches Bethany, Lazarus has been dead four days. Four days of mourning. Four days of questions. Four days of staring at a tomb. Four days of wondering where God was. Four days of replaying the moment they sent for Jesus… and waiting for a miracle that didn’t come.

Martha, in her grief, runs out to meet Him. And her first words echo the cry of so many hearts:

“Lord, if You had been here…”

That sentence comes from a place of broken faith — not because she stopped believing, but because the pain was deep. Her words are a mixture of trust and confusion. “I know You could have healed him. I know You have the power. So why didn’t You come?”

If you’ve ever felt this way, Martha is speaking for you.
When you say, “God, why didn’t You stop this?”
When you whisper, “Why didn’t You step in sooner?”
When you pray, “Lord, where were You when this happened?”
You are in the company of someone Jesus loved deeply.

And notice this — Jesus doesn’t rebuke her.
He doesn’t shame her.
He doesn’t accuse her of lacking faith.
He doesn’t get frustrated with her feelings.
He meets her exactly where she is.

Then He gives her one of the greatest revelations in Scripture: “I am the resurrection and the life.” Not “I can bring resurrection.” Not “I have resurrection power.” But “I am the resurrection.”

This is who He is.
Resurrection is His identity.
Life is His nature.
Restoration is His essence.

Then He calls Martha into a deeper kind of trust with one simple question: “Do you believe this?” He doesn’t ask if she understands. He doesn’t ask if she feels secure. He doesn’t ask if she has no doubts.

He asks: “Do you believe?”

Because sometimes belief is all you have left when everything else feels broken.

Mary arrives moments later, falls at Jesus’ feet, and her grief breaks Him open. She cries. He cries. The shortest verse in the Bible — “Jesus wept” — is a doorway into the heart of God. Jesus doesn’t weep because He’s hopeless. He weeps because He loves. He weeps because your pain matters to Him. He weeps because your tears are not small to Him. He weeps because grief touches God.

He stands at the tomb, the place of finality, the place that ends every earthly story. And He says: “Take away the stone.”

Martha immediately objects. “Lord, he has been dead four days. By now there is a stench.” This is the vocabulary of despair:

“Lord, it’s too late.”
“Lord, it’s too far gone.”
“Lord, this situation has decayed.”
“Lord, I don’t want to reopen what hurts.”
“Lord, I don’t want to smell what I buried.”
“Lord, I don’t want to relive this.”

But Jesus answers with a promise: “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?”

They roll the stone away.
Light enters the darkness.
Hope enters the grave.
And Jesus lifts His voice — no whisper, no suggestion, no quiet thought — but a shout that cuts through death itself:

“Lazarus, come forth!”

Imagine standing there.
Imagine the air still heavy with grief.
Imagine the shock of hearing Jesus address a dead man directly.
Imagine the silence afterward.
Imagine the sound of the grave shifting.
Imagine the first glimpse of movement inside the tomb.
Imagine the gasp of people watching as a man they buried walks out alive.

It is not a partial resurrection.
Not a symbolic resurrection.
Not a spiritual resurrection.
It is a literal return of life.

But Jesus doesn’t stop with resurrection. He says, “Unbind him, and let him go.” Because God doesn’t just want to revive you — He wants to free you from every grave-cloth that tried to hold you.

The story ends with many believing — not because the situation was prevented, but because resurrection came after the disaster.

And this is the truth John 11 brings into your life:

There are things God allows to die.
There are things God allows to be buried.
There are moments when God’s timing confuses you.
There are seasons when your faith feels stretched beyond comfort.
There are days when grief feels overwhelming.

But God has never abandoned you.
God has never forgotten you.
God has never ignored you.
God has never been late — not once.

He waits because He is working.
He delays because He is developing something deeper.
He weeps because He loves you.
He calls because He has authority over what you buried.
He resurrects because endings belong to Him, not to fear.

Whatever you thought was gone…
Whatever you thought was hopeless…
Whatever you thought was over…
Whatever you thought was too late…
God speaks resurrection into it.

Walk with this truth today:
Your God is not intimidated by death.
Your God is not defeated by delay.
Your God is not limited by time.
Your God is not overwhelmed by grief.
Your God is the resurrection and the life.

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Douglas Vandergraph

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