By Jack Wyman

I hate to be late.

I don’t mind so much if others are—things come up. That’s understandable and we all have to be gracious and patient.

It’s no big deal.

A family emergency? That’s quite a different thing. We’ll leave immediately and head to the one we love. We’ll get there as soon as we possibly can. We’ll dodge traffic, speed, and might even go through a red light or two to get there.

One thing we wouldn’t do is delay. We wouldn’t get distracted or forget. If it’s urgent and immediate, then it’s the priority. We go.

Fast.

It must have startled and puzzled his disciples that on this occasion, as on most others, Jesus took his time. He traveled at his own pace. He moved unhindered and deliberate. He never worried, scurried, or hurried.

He had just received word that his close friend Lazarus was very sick. Back then, very sick meant very sick.

Just as he had said about the man born blind, Jesus told his followers that Lazarus would not die. “This has happened for the glory of God and the Son of God will receive glory from it” (John 11: 4). He spoke with a calm and gentle confidence.

John then tells us, “So although Jesus loved Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, he stayed where he was for the next two days” (John 4: 5-6, emphasis added).

He loved his friend. His friend was in critical condition. He delayed going to him. Jesus had healed strangers, but when it came to Lazarus, he took his time.

For two whole days!

“Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep,” Jesus told the disciples, “but now I will go and wake him up” (John 11:11, emphasis added). The disciples thought Jesus meant Lazarus was resting and getting better. They were wrong. Lazarus had died.

“And for your sakes, I’m glad I wasn’t there,” Jesus told them. “Now you will really believe” (verse 15).

When Jesus finally arrived in Bethany, Martha went out to greet him. “Lord,” she told him, “if only you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask” (verse 22).

Martha hoped so. Though she regretted Jesus not coming sooner, she still believed.

Lazarus had been dead four days. Jesus had delayed. At the grave, he wept. Then he prayed. Then he conquered. He looked with tender pity and compassion into Martha’s eyes. He told her:

“I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. And whoever lives and believes in me shall never die” (John 11: 25-26).

It was a promise given to Martha—and to all of us who believe in the One who made it. To all, through the corridors of time, who have ever stood at a graveside and found comfort.

Death strode boastfully at the entrance of Lazarus’ tomb. It defied Jesus to do something about it.

Death is powerful. We fear it. We marvel at it. We examine it. We are, literally, morbidly curious. We write books and make movies about it.

Then we try not to think about it. We seek helplessly to postpone it. We do our best to prepare for it, and a few of us live like we somehow will be able to cheat it.

Then we are, for some inexplicable reason, surprised when it happens.

On this day, Death need not have been proud. The Lord of Life was unafraid. In a loud voice that shuddered Hades, Jesus cried out: “Lazarus, come forth!”

Jesus wasn’t late. He was right on time.

The resurrection is the only thing that turns despair into hope. The cross would be a futile tragedy without the empty tomb. Only the resurrection gives lasting meaning to our faith.

It is the resurrection alone that validates the omnipotent truth of Christianity. Without it, we are just dust in the wind. Because he rose from the grave, we know our lives here are but the infinitesimal prelude to eternal bliss.

Nobody has ever more succinctly illustrated the central importance of Christianity and the resurrection than C.S. Lewis:

“I believe in Christianity as I believe the sun has risen; not only because I see it but because by it, I see everything else”

The Son has risen.

And by this historic, central, transforming, and triumphant fact you and I see everything else.

The resurrection is more than an annual ritual or seasonal celebration. It’s more than a doctrine; more than a theology. It’s a living, pulsating, relevant reality.

The resurrection defines us—our lives, our purpose, our confidence, our hope, our future. Nothing else does that. In the resurrection, you and I find the determination and strength to press on in this world and in our present lives; without it, nothing else matters—not our faith, not the Bible, not the church.  

Not even our lives.

Nothing.

Total darkness covered the earth for three hours during the crucifixion of our Lord. But on the third day, the stone moved at the break of a new dawn.

The resurrection is God’s eternal triumph of light over darkness, life over death, hope over despair, and joy over sadness. In the end, it’s what matters most. Without it, the death of Jesus would have been meaningless.

When you and I celebrate the resurrection this Sunday, we celebrate not only the central tenant of the Christian faith; we celebrate a way of life—and we celebrate a way of death. It’s the only reason you and I can live, not in fear, but in hope.

Nothing is more vital, more relevant, more powerful, or transcending than the reality of the resurrection.

You and I must live every moment of every day in the glorious light of its truth.

To order Jack Wyman’s book, “Everything Else: Stories of Life, Faith and Our World”, go to amazon.com, Christian Book Distributors or barnesandnoble.com. It is also available on Kindle and eBooks.

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