Slideshow image

As I reflect on the journey we've been on through the Gospel of John at our church, I can't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude and anticipation. Amen? It's been quite the adventure already, and there's so much more good stuff ahead. This past Sunday, we delved into John chapter 11, verses 28-37—a passage that resonates deeply with all of us because it touches on the raw realities of life: grief, doubt, and the transformative power of trust in God.

If you've been following our series, you know we're building up to the seventh miracle in John's Gospel: the raising of Lazarus. But before we get to that astonishing event, let's pause and let this story sink in. It's not just a historical account; it's a mirror to our own experiences. Imagine finding yourself in overwhelming grief, staring at a situation that feels utterly hopeless. I've been there, and I suspect you have too. Whether it's the sudden loss of a loved one, a life-shattering diagnosis, or a dream cruelly snatched away—like that new house or car you had your heart set on—these moments hit without warning. And in them, we often whisper to God: "Why didn't You do something? Why didn't You heal that person? Why didn't You show up sooner?"

These doubts creep in like a dark shadow, making us question not just our circumstances but God Himself. Does He really care? Was His timing off? I've walked through my own seasons of heartache and pastored countless others through theirs. Each time, it reminds me of our fallen human nature, marred by sin's legacy of fear, self-reliance, and separation from God's perfect peace. That's what fuels the doubt—the refusal to trust His goodness amid the storm.

But here's the challenge I posed to our congregation, and now to you: When will we come to a point where we simply believe who He is and trust Him, no matter what? This isn't abstract theology; it's real life. Right? All of us have been there—perhaps even this week. And as a pastor, I know the danger: When I preach on trust, God often brings opportunities to practice it. Just this past Monday night, our well pump failed at home. No water. I knew the issue, called for help, and got the verdict: "It's locked up. You need a new one." The cost? Daunting. My first question wasn't doubt in God exactly, but "Why now?" Yet, in that moment, God was teaching me—and us—that He loves us so personally He'll allow trials to draw us into deeper trust.

As we unpacked John 11:28-37, I got excited all over again. We've been studying this for weeks, and it reveals the raw emotion of Jesus Christ. Standing at Lazarus' tomb, He weeps with Mary and Martha amid their pain and questions. God lays bare His heart in a way we often miss. Choosing trust over doubt—that's the core idea. We must let go of our doubts about God and trust Him for who He is. When we do, we begin to see His true heart of compassion.

Let's revisit the story. Martha hears Jesus is approaching Bethany and runs to meet Him on the outskirts. "If You'd been here sooner, my brother wouldn't have died," she says. Jesus responds, "I am the resurrection and the life. Do you believe this?" That question echoes for us today: In your trial, do you trust Me? Then Martha secretly calls Mary, who rushes to Jesus, falls at His feet—a posture of worship she often takes—and echoes the same lament. Jesus sees her weeping, the Jews weeping with her, and He groans in His spirit, troubled. "Where have you laid him?" He asks. "Come and see," they reply. And then: "Jesus wept." The Jews note, "Behold how He loved him!"

We're right there with Mary and Martha, observing raw grief. If you've lost someone dear, you know—it's like part of you is ripped away. I've felt it multiple times, and it's never easier. We identify with their sorrow, looking to Jesus who could have prevented it. But this grief doesn't just mirror our doubts; it unveils God's profound compassion through Jesus' tears.

Point one: Choosing trust over doubt unites us in finding God's heart. As I studied this, I saw God's heart vividly displayed. If we see Him as He truly is, it helps overcome doubts when things go wrong. These people grappled with deep heartache, but God experiences emotional hurt too—something not often preached. He's powerful and sovereign, yet emotional, entering our pain.

Jesus, God incarnate, shows us this. We often view God as distant, indifferent. But when Lazarus died, the pain touched Jesus' heart. Those two words—"Jesus wept"—offer profound insight. He was deeply moved, groaning because He loved them and felt their grief. What a takeaway: Our struggles touch God to His core. He's compassionate, gracious, long-suffering (Psalm 86:15). Hebrews 4:15 reminds us He sympathizes with our weaknesses, having been tempted yet without sin.

Think of Christmas: God born humbly to understand us. He cries when we hurt, rejoices when we live for Him. As C.S. Lewis-inspired wisdom puts it, "Trusting God must be a foundational decision that is not based on our current circumstances. He is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow." Another quote: "Let your life reflect the faith you have in God. Fear nothing and pray about everything. Be strong, trust God's word, and trust the process." In tough times, hold this: You're not alone; God weeps with you.

But doubting Him while He weeps with us? That's not right. Point two: Trusting God's love sustains us through hurt. We assume trials mean He doesn't care—far from truth. Rely on His love; it transforms sorrow. Mary and Martha doubted, as did the crowd: "Could not this man have saved him?" Yet, no one denied His love for Lazarus.

Questioning God's motives signals distrust in His plan. Grief clouds us, but shift to trust: "God is in control, loves me, allows this for glory." Proverbs 3:5-6 urges: Trust in the Lord with all your heart; lean not on your understanding. Acknowledge Him, and He'll direct your paths. With my well pump, I got lost in details—cost, who to call—becoming irritable. My wife and I paused: "Why not trust God?" It wasn't magically fixed, but He directed us.

1 Corinthians 10:13 assures no trial is unique; God provides escape. His grace suffices (2 Corinthians 12:9). Challenges foster growth, like fertile soil.

To illustrate, consider real-life stories. In "In the Valley of the Shadow of Death," four Christians share losing loved ones but finding hope in the gospel's resurrection promise. One woman, after multiple losses, learned to combat lies with Scripture, trusting God's goodness anew. Another, grieving a child, discovered God close and real, walking with her. These echo our challenge: Trust reveals compassion.

Finally, don't go alone. The Jews comforted Mary, pointing to community. God, the God of all comfort (2 Corinthians 1:3-4), uses trials so we comfort others. That's why our small groups ministry is vital—connect, share, encourage. Try it; it transformed my sister-in-law after loss.

Standing at Lazarus' tomb, tears flowing, doubts lingering—etch this: God enters our pain, weeps over it, transforms it. Challenge yourself: Surrender doubt, choose trust. As one quote says, "Worrying does not move the hand of God, but faith does." You'll see His compassionate heart. What step will you take today?