APRIL 11, 2020

Death Be Not Proud

By David Yim, Youth Director

Passage John 11:1-44



The Death of Death


In the story of Lazarus, Jesus weeps at the notice of Lazarus’ death. It is a moment that entails that Jesus is God, but also very human. He is able to empathize with us and is able to have compassion on us. But today I want to focus on another point this passage brings to us in light of Easter. Right before Mary tells Jesus and that her brother would not have died if he had been there, Jesus tells Martha that he is the resurrection and the life. So why would Jesus weep if he knew that Lazarus would be resurrected when he sees the distress of Martha, Mary and the others in the room after such a bold and triumphant statement about resurrection? In verse 33, Jesus is deeply “moved in His spirit” and “greatly troubled” because He is devastated by the consequences of sin and death. He is troubled because he knows that life was not meant to be this way. Death and suffering were never supposed to be a part of God’s good creation. As believers, we understand that death is not just a part of life that we are to accept but it is of great evil and is the ultimate price of our sin. When Christ weeps, it is not only of sadness but it is also out of devastation and frustration. Christ is angry at sin and death. He fights on our behalf as our King and our defender against the ultimate force of evil; death itself. He fights so that you and I can experience the resurrection and the way life and humanity was meant to be lived. He fights against all the injustices and evil of this world so that once again we can return to the Garden. As we celebrate Easter this year, let us be reminded that our world will be healed and that we have victory today over sin and evil through the blood of Jesus Christ.


Amen.



Death Be Not Proud by John Donne

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.