Introduction
You know that feeling when the repair guy says, 'We’ll be there between 8 a.m. and 5 p.m.'? So you cancel your plans, sit at home all day, peek out the window every time a truck drives by… and then 4:59 p.m. rolls around and still nobody’s shown. You start thinking: Where is he? Didn’t he say he was coming?
That’s exactly the question Martha was asking in John 11: 'Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died.'
I remember visiting a church member whose husband was very ill. I arrived later than I should have. The first thing she said when she saw me was: 'It’s about time.' I bristled inside. I thought she was scolding me for being late. But then I realized — she wasn’t talking about me. She was talking about him. Her dear husband. He didn’t have much time left.
She didn’t know how busy I had been that day, running from one thing to another. But in my heart I knew — I needed to manage my time better. That moment stuck with me, because it was about more than a pastoral visit. It was about the cry of the heart when time is slipping away and help hasn’t come.
That’s exactly where Mary and Martha were. They had sent word to Jesus. They were sure He would come. They kept looking down the road. But when He finally arrived, Lazarus was gone. And I wonder if you’ve ever felt that yourself — waiting, praying, believing — and then whispering the same words: 'Lord, if You had been here…'
This is not just their story — it’s ours. And in their disappointment, their bewilderment, and finally their joy, we discover three lessons for our own faith today.
Point 1 – Hold On When God Disappoints
We’ve all stood where Mary and Martha stood. We prayed, we asked, we waited… and nothing seemed to happen. The silence of heaven can feel heavier than the problem itself.
That’s where Martha’s words strike home: 'Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died.' She’s not doubting His power — she knows what He can do. She’s doubting His timing.
And isn’t that our struggle too?
- Lord, if You had been here, the cancer wouldn’t have spread.
- Lord, if You had been here, the job wouldn’t have fallen through.
- Lord, if You had been here, my marriage wouldn’t have ended.
We know He can. We just don’t understand why He didn’t.
Here’s what amazes me about Martha: in her disappointment, she still came out to meet Him. She didn’t slam the door. She didn’t turn her back. She walked down that dusty road and faced Him with her broken heart. And she added one little phrase that makes all the difference: 'But even now I know…'
Even now. That’s faith when the prayer wasn’t answered. That’s trust when the outcome looks final.
Faith doesn’t deny disappointment — it holds on in the middle of it.
Think of Abraham, who was told he would be the father of nations. Yet the years stretched on, his body grew old, Sarah’s womb was barren. Where was God? Abraham held on.
Think of Job, who sat in the ashes scraping his sores, after losing everything. Where was God? Job held on.
Think of David, who fasted and prayed for his dying child. The child still died. Where was God? And yet David got up and worshiped.
And think of the disciples, hiding in fear after the crucifixion. Jesus was dead. Their dreams were buried. Where was God? But on the third day, He rose.
Sometimes faith is nothing more than showing up, like Martha did. Walking out to meet Jesus even with questions on your lips. Even with hurt in your heart. Even when you don’t understand.
That’s the first lesson: Will you hold on when God disappoints? Will you keep walking toward Him, even with tears streaming down your face?
Point 2 – Look Beyond
When Jesus told Martha, 'Your brother will rise again,' she answered quickly: 'I know he will rise in the resurrection at the last day.' That was her theology speaking. It’s the right answer, the memorized line. It’s what you say at funerals when you don’t know what else to say.
And haven’t we all done that?
- Someone’s grieving, and we murmur, 'Well, God’s in control.'
- Someone’s sick, and we say, 'God won’t give you more than you can bear.'
- Someone’s bewildered, and we quote a verse like a bandage.
It’s not wrong. But it’s not enough.
Because underneath Martha’s words is a cry: 'Lord, where were You? You should have been here.'
Jesus doesn’t scold her. He meets her in it. He takes the abstract and pulls it down to earth: 'I am the resurrection and the life.'
Not someday. Not a doctrine. Not a distant promise. Me. Here. Now.
And that’s our temptation too. To put all our hope in 'someday.' Someday things will work out. Someday justice will come. Someday heaven. And that’s true — but Jesus says, 'I am here today.'
Hope isn’t tied to someday. It’s tied to Someone. Resurrection is not just an event — it’s a Person.
Paul put it this way: 'If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.' (1 Corinthians 15:19)
Job declared, 'I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that He shall stand at the latter day upon the earth.' (Job 19:25)
Hymns remind us too:
- 'Because He lives, I can face tomorrow.'
- 'I know that my Redeemer lives — what comfort this sweet sentence gives.'
So let me ask you: Where are your eyes today? Are they fixed on the grave, on the calendar, on what’s missing? Or are they fixed on Jesus, the Resurrection and the Life?
Martha thought she had to wait for someday. Jesus told her, 'I am here today.' And that changes everything.
Point 3 – Open the Door
When Jesus stood at the tomb, He didn’t just speak resurrection life into the air. He gave a command: 'Take ye away the stone.'
And Martha resisted: 'Lord, by this time he stinketh: for he hath been dead four days.' (KJV)
Isn’t that us? Sometimes we don’t allow God to work in our lives because we’re worried about the stink. What will people think if they see this part of me? What if the pain is too much to reopen? What if it’s safer just to keep it sealed?
But Jesus doesn’t flinch. He isn’t afraid of what’s rotting. He knows that the only way resurrection can step out is if the stone is rolled back first.
We all have stones we’ve rolled across parts of our lives:
- A disappointment we’ve buried.
- A wound we’ve sealed off.
- A failure we don’t want revisited.
And then Jesus shows up and says, 'Open it. Roll it back. Trust Me with what stinks.'
That’s hard. That’s the most courageous step of all. Because to roll away the stone is to admit the pain, to face what’s decayed, to let the light in.
But when they did — when Martha finally nodded and the men obeyed — Jesus prayed, lifted His voice, and cried out: 'Lazarus, come forth!' And life walked out, still wrapped in grave clothes, blinking in the sunlight.
Friends, sometimes the greatest miracle happens just beyond the moment of obedience. The stone has to move before life can step out.
So here’s the question: What tomb have you sealed in your life? Will you let Him speak life into the place you’ve given up on?
Conclusion
Mary and Martha’s story is our story. We know what it is to wait, to wonder, to whisper: 'Lord, if You had been here…'
But Jesus shows us three things in Bethany that still speak to us today:
- When God feels late — hold on anyway.
- When life looks final — look beyond what you can see.
- When He asks you to trust Him — roll away the stone.
Our problem isn’t that God is late. Our problem is trusting His timing. We want Him to move when we call. But sometimes He waits — not to hurt us, but to reveal something greater. Mary and Martha discovered that His timing is resurrection timing.
The same voice that cried, ‘Lazarus, come forth,’ shall call the righteous dead from their graves. That voice is to be heard by the whole human family, and to bring them forth to everlasting life.
That’s our hope. The One who spoke life into a sealed tomb has power over your problems, your disappointments, even your death. He may not move on your timetable — but His timing always brings life.
So here’s the final question: Will you trust Him with what feels too late in your life? Will you dare to open the door and let Him bring life into the places you’ve given up on?
Because when Jesus calls your name, it’s never too late. Even now.
