Don't tell me they doubted it. They knew it was
real. That's why they reported him, because it
was about to cost them everything. You're standing
just outside of Bethany. The stone is still rolled
back, the linen still on the ground, and Lazarus
is breathing like a man who shouldn't be. The
crowd hasn't left yet, but it's changing. The
silence that held everyone has started to crack.
And what you're about to see isn't just a miracle.
It's what people do with one. Now, slide your
chair in close. The plates have been cleared.
The coffee is still hot. The room's settling
into that familiar hush where we all know something
worth hearing is about to be said. So go ahead,
lean back, loosen your shoulders. We're not rushing
into this. We're just turning our chairs towards
the word and letting it find us where we are
tonight. And I'll see you on the other side.
I am going to start, but before I do, it's been
a couple of weeks. I was starting to worry whether
maybe we've lost Wayne to the Presbyterians or
something. But he's back and here we go. We have
a thumbs up. Hey, all right. Thanks for everybody
filling in for Wayne while he was away from us.
So, if you were with us on Sunday morning, then
we began walking with Jesus towards Jerusalem
for that final Passover celebration. And if you
were with us, you remember we were walking and
there was no Jesus. Then we get to Bethany and
there's a dead Lazarus. Then we find Jesus, and
now there is an alive Lazarus. And to be quite
honest, I mean, Easter only comes one time a
year, right? And Lazarus is the kind of sermon
that really deserves more than just one Sunday.
So we are still there. We are still in Bethany.
The tomb is still open. You can see it from here.
The stone has been shoved sideways, the dark
mouth of the cave, the pile of linen on the ground
that nobody's picked up yet because nobody wants
to touch what's been wrapped around a dead man
just 20 minutes ago. And the air has this mixed
smell of burial spices and wet stone. But then
there's also something underneath that. There's
something warm and animal. It's the smell of
a body that was shut in the dark for four days
and is now standing in the sun blinking while
his sister holds his arm like she's afraid. If
she lets go, he might fall back down. Lazarus
is alive. That much you know. You watched it
happen. You're still watching it happen. He's
right there, 30 feet away from you. And the people
closest to him keep reaching out to touch his
shoulder, his hands, his face. The way you touch
something when you're not quite sure that it's
real. And you were on the road to Jerusalem.
You were passing through. But your feet stopped.
in that moment and they haven't started walking
again. The dust is settling on the path behind
you. The pilgrim traffic is flowing towards Jerusalem
like water flows around a stone. But you're not
leaving. Not yet. Because something else is happening.
Something quieter than the miracle. And you can
feel it before you name it. The crowd It's shifting.
Not moving. Shifting. The way the temperature
in a room changes when two people realize they
don't agree on the same things. No one has a
raised voice. No one is left. The unified silence
that has held everyone together for those first
few stunned moments. That silence is breaking,
and you need to stay long enough to see what
it breaks into. And there's a moment you almost
miss it when everyone was on the same page. It
lasted maybe 10 seconds, maybe less. The stone
was rolled away, the voice still echoed against
the rock face, and the man... was standing in
the entrance of his own grave with linen hanging
off him like shed skin. Every single person in
that cemetery, mourners, neighbors, strangers,
skeptics, sisters, disciples, the curious, the
dutiful, the ones who had to come because that's
what you do, you show up when someone dies. Every
one of them had the exact same expression. Mouths
open, hands still, eyes locked on the one thing
that should not be happening and is happening
anyway. And in that moment, there's no theology,
no politics, no affiliations, no denominations,
just the raw, unprocessed fact of a dead man
now breathing. Martha's hand went over her mouth.
Mary was on the ground. Someone behind you whispered
something in a language you didn't catch. A child
pulled at his mother's sleeve, and for that sliver
of time, you were all just people standing in
front of something too big to make sense of.
Then someone blinked. Someone swallowed. Someone
took a step, not towards Lazarus. but away, just
shifting weight. And the moment that it cracked,
the way ice cracks on a pond, one line, finger
thin, almost invisible. But everything on either
side is already drifting apart. So friends, tune
your ears to the reading of Holy Scripture tonight.
Our section comes to us from the Gospel account
according to the Apostle John, beginning in the
11th chapter of his account and verse 45. Therefore
many of the Jews who came to Mary and had seen
the things which Jesus did believed in him. But
some of them went to the Pharisees and told them
the things that Jesus had done. Chief priests,
therefore, and the Pharisees gathered a council
and said, What are we doing? For this man does
signs. If we leave him alone, everyone will believe
in him, and the Romans will come and take away
both our place and our nation. But a certain
one of them, Caiaphas, being high priest that
year, said to them, You know nothing at all.
Nor do you consider that it is expedient for
us that one man should die for the people and
that the whole nation should not perish. Now,
he didn't say this about himself, but being high
priest that year, he prophesied that Jesus would
die for the nation and not for the nation only.
that he might also gather together into one the
children of God who were scattered around. So
from that day forward, they began to take counsel.
They might begin to put him to death. Jesus,
therefore, walked no more openly among the Jews,
but departed from there into the country near
the wilderness to a city called Ephraim. He stayed
there with his disciples. Now the Passover of
the Jews was at hand. Many went up from the country
to Jerusalem before the Passover to purify themselves.
Then they sought for Jesus and spoke with one
another as they stood in the temple. What do
you think? That he isn't coming to the feast
at all? Now the chief priests and the Pharisees
had commanded that if anyone knew where he was,
he should report it. that they might seize him.
Thus ends the reading of the Word of the Seeming
Prince. Same mirror, same afternoon, same town
of Bethany, same dust in the air, two different
walks home. And I want to start tonight with
a question most of us skip past because I think
the story just moves fast. Who are these people?
John says, many of the Jews who came to Mary.
That's specific language. These aren't disciples.
They aren't Galileans who've been following Jesus
around the countryside. These are Jews from Jerusalem.
John tells you back in verse 19 that they had
come to console Martha and Mary about their brother.
That's a social obligation. In first century
Judea, when someone dies, you show up. You sit,
you mourn, you bring food. You don't have to
believe anything about the dead man's religion
or what kind of rabbi he was. to be in that house.
You just had to know the family. So the crowd
at Bethany that day is not an assembled congregation.
It's a neighborhood. It's a mix of genuine foreigners,
social obligation visitors, family friends, people
who knew the sisters from the synagogue or the
marketplace. Some of them, may have been sympathetic
to Jesus. Some of them almost certainly were
not. But they were all there, and they all saw
the exact same thing. A man who had been sealed
in a rock tomb for four days walked out when
Jesus called his name. And John splits them right
down the middle. Verse 45, many believed. Verse
46, but some of them went to the Pharisees and
told them the things Jesus had done. Now, here's
what I want, here's what I need you to hear.
Because this is where most readings get the passage
wrong. We assume that the ones who went to the
Pharisees went because they didn't believe in
what had happened. We read them as skeptics,
doubters, people who for whatever reason couldn't
accept the evidence. But that's not how John
reads. Let me read verse 46 again. They went
to the Pharisees and told them the things Jesus
had done. That's not a denial. That is a report.
That's not saying we don't think it was real.
They're saying you need to know what just happened.
They believed it happened. They saw the same
thing everyone else saw. And their response was
not to worship. It was a briefing to the authorities.
So the question isn't, why didn't they believe?
The question, friends, is what kind of belief
sends you to the authorities instead of your
knees? And this is where it gets uncomfortable.
Because we want the line between faith and unfaithfulness
to be clean. We want to say the believers saw
clearly and the reporters were blind. That's
not how John tells it. He tells it as the same
evidence, the same afternoon, the same miracle,
and it produced two completely different responses.
And neither group was confused about what they
had just saw. Which means the dividing line isn't,
did you see it? The dividing line becomes, What
will it cost you if it's true? Think about who
those people in that crowd were. Jerusalem, Jewish
people, connected to the temple system. Many
of them are part of families whose livelihood,
social standing, religious identity depend on
the existing power structure. The priesthood,
the Sanhedrin, the arrangement with Rome that
keeps the temple running and the nation intact.
For those people, a miracle worker from the Galilee
who can call dead people out of the grave isn't
good news. It's a crisis. Because here's what
resurrection does when it leaves Jesus' hands.
Up to this point, the authorities could manage
him. He heals, healers come and go. He teaches
with authority, so did the baptizer, and the
wilderness took care of him. He feeds crowds,
crowds disperse. But this is different. This
isn't a healing you can question or a teaching
you can debate. A man their neighbors buried
four days ago is walking around in Bethany, and
Jesus didn't do it quietly. in some Galilean
backwater back in the hills. He did it a mile
and a half from Jerusalem in front of a crowd,
many of whom live in that city. Many witnesses
are going back to the city to go home tonight.
Witnesses who will be a part of the temple system
tomorrow. Many of the witnesses who know other
important, powerful people. Resurrection. When
Jesus does it to somebody else, it's no longer
containable. And that's what that high priest,
Caiaphas, that's what he understands. Look at
what he says. It is expedient. It's a good thing.
It is expedient for us that one man should die
for the people and the whole nation should not
perish. That's not theology. That is cost -benefit
analysis. That is a man standing in the highest
office religiously in the nation looking at the
most powerful sign God has performed in a generation
and is doing the math. And his math isn't wrong
politically because if Jesus keeps doing this,
Rome will notice. And when they notice, Rome
will respond. When they respond to the temple
arrangement, the careful, fragile deal that lets
the Jewish nation survive under occupation will
collapse in on itself. Caius is protecting the
institution. He's not crazy. He's efficient.
But efficiency is a terrible lens for looking
for God. And let me tell you what John's really
doing here, because he's doing something extraordinary,
and I think he knows it. In verse 51, he stops
the narrative cold and says, now he didn't say
this of himself. But being high priest that year,
he prophesied that Jesus would die for the nation.
John is telling you that Caiaphas, the man who
just ordered his execution, accidentally preached
the gospel. He said the truest thing in the story
that has been said so far, and he said it for
all of the wrong reasons. One man dying for the
people. That is the plan. It's just not Caiaphas'
plan. It's God's. And the high priest, the one
man in Israel whose job it is to stand between
God and the people, becomes the very instrument
of the very sacrifice he has yet to understand.
He thinks he's protecting the nation from a dangerous
rabbi. He's actually setting the stage for the
salvation of the whole world. That's John showing
us exactly what happens when the machinery of
power encounters the power of God. When that
happens, it never stops God. It gets used by
God. Sometimes it doesn't even know it's being
used. But I need you to see something else tonight.
Because this is where Lazarus changes everything
for the season we've been walking through. Before
Bethany, you could argue resurrection was theoretical.
Martha believed in it, talked about it on Sunday.
She said, at the last day. And when she's talking
about resurrection, she's using good theology,
safe timeline. Resurrection filed away at the
end of history where it doesn't have to rearrange
your Tuesday. The Pharisees believed in resurrection
as doctrine. The Sadducees didn't, but that's
a whole other fight. What Lazarus does is he
drags, Jesus drags resurrection out of our theological
filing cabinet and stands it right in the middle
of that dusty road. And it's no longer a proposition
that we can just mentally or intellectually hold.
It's a man you can touch who smells like a tomb
and who's eating dinner at his sister's table
in chapter 12. And all of this matters for where
we're actually headed. Because when Jesus himself
comes out of a tomb on Easter morning, And if
that's the only resurrection in the story, you
could call it a one -time event. A divine exception.
God doing something for his son that doesn't
necessarily extend to anyone else. But Lazarus
is already out. Lazarus has already happened.
Which means resurrection is not just something.
Jesus does for himself something he does for
others. It's transferable. It means resurrection
moves outward. And that's what makes it uncontrollable.
That's why John chapter 12 and 10 says the chief
priest made plans to kill Lazarus too. Not because
Lazarus had done anything wrong. Because Lazarus
alive? was proof walking around in the daylight.
And you can't cross -examine a man whose own
death is a matter of public record. The evidence
isn't the problem. The evidence of being alive
is the problem. So here's where I want us to
land tonight, because we're building towards
something, and I want you to carry this into
the next week. Two groups of people leave Bethany
that afternoon. Believers and reporters, both
of them saw the same thing. Both of them walking
back to Jerusalem, and in a few days, both of
them are going to be on the road when Jesus borrows
donkey and rides down the Mount of Olives. And
the believers will be waving palm branches. Some
of those reporters, or people they reported to,
They'll be in the crowd too, watching. Luke tells
you the Pharisees are right there in that parade,
close enough to tell Jesus, to tell his disciples
to calm down. John tells you the Pharisees are
watching, and they are saying to each other,
we're getting nowhere. The whole world has now
gone after us. And on Friday morning, early,
Before those Galilean pilgrims even know what's
happening, there's a crowd at Pilate's courtyard
screaming for Barabbas. And now you know where
that crowd came from. Not the palm branches.
Not from the pilgrims who walked with Jesus from
Galilee. From the system that decided back in
Bethany that the evidence was the problem. And
the solution was this cross. We need to sit with
that just for a second. Because this isn't just
a first century story. Some of you have lived
a version of that story. You have been loved
on a Sunday and condemned on a Friday. And then
you have spent years trying to figure out how
the same people could do both to you. You've
carried that weight. Weight of believing. That
the voices that praised you and the voices that
buried you belong to the same mouths. That weight
teaches you something brutal. That love is actually
temporary. That praise is just a setup. That
the people who sing your name will eventually
scream for someone else. But what if they weren't
the same people? What if the ones who loved you
on Sunday didn't stop loving you on Friday? What
if they just weren't in the room when the deal
was made? What if the voices that tore you down
were never the voices that actually built you
up? You just couldn't tell the difference because
it all happened within the span of one week in
the same city. And the pain made it feel like
one story instead of two. who waved palm branches,
did not scream for Barabbas. The ones who loved
him on Sunday did not stop loving him on Friday.
They were camped outside the walls. They didn't
even know what was going on until the cross was
already up. And that matters. Not just for understanding,
I mean really understanding the passion, but
for understanding of your own. Now, next Sunday
is Palm Sunday. I'm going to show you who's on
the road and why. Every layer of that crowd,
where they came from and for what they thought
they were waving at. And then on Good Friday,
we're going to walk into that courtyard and see
who's actually standing there. But tonight, tonight,
I needed you to see where it started. Not on
the road to Jerusalem, here in Bethany. at the
mouth of a tomb should have stayed shut, and
resurrection got loose, and the people who couldn't
afford for it to be true spent the rest of that
week trying to put it back into the ground. So
may the God who calls the dead by name call you
out of whatever tomb you've been sealed, shut
in, and accepted as final. And when you come
stumbling out of the light, may you be surrounded
by people who unbind you, not people who turn
you in. Amen? Amen. You know, maybe what you
need to hear right now, tonight, is that what
you saw was real. even if not everyone around
you knew what to do with it. But the moment wasn't
false just because the room fractured afterwards.
Same dust, same afternoon, same miracle, two
different walks home. And maybe that's where
you've been living, trying to make sense of why
something holy in your life doesn't hold everything
together. But listen, truth doesn't stop being
true just because it costs somebody something.
And grace, grace doesn't lose its power just
because somebody tried to manage it. So don't
let the ones who filed a report talk you out
of what you have witnessed. Stay with what you
saw. Stay with the one who called it forth. And
if something landed tonight, if you heard something
you hadn't heard before, maybe heard it in a
way that finally settled into your bones, go
ahead and throw your like in the offering plate
like we do down at the church. Just let us know
you're here and that the message mattered. And
if you'd like to keep walking with us down the
road towards Jerusalem all the way to Sunday
morning, make sure you tithe your subscribe so
you'll know when we're gathered again. And until
then, friend, be blessed.