Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit · Sermon No. 1944
“And some of them said, Couldnot thisMan, which opened the eyes ofthe blind, have caused that even this man should not have died?” John 11:37.
“JESUS WEPT.” It does not mean that He shed a tear or two, but that His tears flowed freely. Such is to be gathered from the original word. He wept copiously and continuously till He became the observed of all observers. He was deeply affected and His tears were the fit expression of His intense emotion. Love made Him weep—nothing else ever compelled Him to tears. I do not find that all the pains He endured, even when scourged or when fastened to the cruel Cross, fetched a single tear from Him—but for love’s sake—“Jesus wept.” At first I feel inclined to say, “Behold, how He wept!” And then I check myself and, borrowing my language from the bystanders, I cry, “Behold, how He loved him!” The Jews recognized, even with their unfriendly eyes, that His tears were drawn from Him by love alone! From this Rock of our salvation no rod but that of love could bring forth floods of tears!
So when we have noticed the tears and the power of love which brought forth the tears, let us observe how, being such as we are, tears are towards us a fit expression of His love. When you look upon your children with love, your eyes flash joy. When they are in health and strength, your love expresses itself fitly in delight in them. But love in Christ towards us most fitly shows itself in tears. When He thinks of what we are and how we have become subject to death—and how sin has brought us under this bondage—since He loves us, He must weep. No, He must die, for even His tears cannot suffice to manifest His love! Jesus must pour out His soul, not only unto tears, but unto death, that all may see how deeply He loves us!
I should like to begin my sermon with that thought deeply fixed upon our spirits, if we are, indeed, the people of God—that Jesus loves us—loves us unto tears! Inasmuch as He loved Lazarus when Lazarus was dead and in the tomb, let us herein behold how He loved us when we were dead in trespasses and sins. See how He loves us though, perhaps, our spirits may be dull and dead—and how He will love us even when we come to die. “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints.” He loves us so that He will love us when we die, even as He loved Lazarus at the grave’s mouth.
Let us turn away from our preface, which we have found in the context, to look at the text itself. While there were some who thought only of the love of Christ when they beheld His tears, there were others standing by more full of reasoning, who argued, “Could not this Man, which opened the eyes of the blind, have caused that even this man should not have died?”
Placing my text in various lights, I see, first, a vain argument. Secondly a vile argument. Thirdly, a fair argument and, fourthly, if read in connection with the verses which succeed it, a full and faithful argument.
I. But, first, I see in the text A VAIN ARGUMENT. It is an argument about what might have been if such-and-such a thing had been. It is a very common thing to hear people thus talk—“If so-and-so, then so and-so.” Such talk is always vain, because it leads to no practical result. What was the use of saying, “If Jesus had been here, then Lazarus would not have died,” when Lazarus was already dead? The thing is done and cannot be undone—what is the use of asking about what once might have been but now cannot be? Yet have I seen strange sorrows wrung out of these suppositions! Perhaps the most bitter griefs that men know come not from facts, but from things which might have been, as they imagine. That is to say, they dig wells of supposition and drink the brackish waters of regret!
The sisters of Lazarus did this. Each said, “Lord, if You had been here, my brother had not died.” In a more unbelieving way the Jews did it and said, “Could not this Man, which opened the eyes of the blind, have caused that even this
man should not have died?” Yes and so you say, “Now, if I had gone to so-and-so, this would not have happened. And then the other might have happened and a third thing probably would have occurred. And then how different it would have been from what it is now!” You blame yourself for steps which were not only innocent, but wise and right—and now that you see the consequences of them, you begin to imagine that they were not innocent, not wise and not right! And you fret to think that you took such steps.
I have known some go a great deal further than vainly accusing themselves—they have even accused God. They say, “Why was moral evil admitted into the world? Why were men and women constituted as they are? Could not God, who is Omnipotent, have so arranged things that there should have been no sin and no sorrow?” What a fine mess we get into when once we begin arguing over those points and conjecturing what might have been under other circumstances! You see, dear Friends, these things will not be and cannot be and, therefore, what is the good of our worrying over what is not and cannot be? I will plow, but if there is no field, excuse me, I shall not plow the sea, or the mist! I will get to work on anything that is practical, but I will not break my heart over fancies!