Lazarus, revisited [Nathan’s eulogy]

I never intended to post this, but b/c so many people have asked to read it, I will. Following is the eulogy I prepared for my brother’s funeral. The bulk of it came from a post that I wrote back in early December 2008. I miss him so, so much.

In the wee morning hours of May 21, 1998, my phone rang and woke me up. It was the emergency room at Nacogdoches Memorial Hospital, urging me to come right away, because my brother had been involved in a car accident. You see, Nathan had come to visit me and get fitted for his groomsman tuxedo that week, and we were planning to drive back home to Houston together for my wedding that weekend. He had gone out with some friends that evening and fractured his neck in a roll-over accident, where he had been in the backseat. A lot of the events from that night are a blur in my memory, but I do remember saying to the doctor: “When can he leave? I’m getting married on Saturday,” and the doctor shaking his head with a pitiful expression on his face: “Oh, honey – he’s not going to be going anywhere by Saturday.” The morning of my wedding, Nathan was just being released from ICU and had been fitted with a halo contraption while his neck healed.

God spared the life of my brother that night, and He gave him back to me for 10 ½ more years. I’ve had the privilege to watch Nathan grow in maturity and faith and have observed the devotion he has toward his two precious boys and the love he has for his bride-to-be. So many times since that dreadful night, I have thought of the story of Lazarus (from John 11) when he was dying and how Jesus seemed to take his own, sweet time to come to his aid.

Lazarus was already in dire straits when messengers relayed the news to Jesus. I can imagine that while Mary and Martha were waiting anxiously, they hovered over their brother’s bedside, consoling him and whispering repeatedly: “Hang in there; Jesus is on his way.” Perhaps they softly hummed or sang psalms of praise and healing while he lay there, each day slipping away more.

Not only did Jesus wait where he was for two days after receiving the plea to go see his dying friend, we also have to factor in the travel time. By the time he arrived at Mary & Martha’s home, Lazarus had been in the grave several days. His sisters had already seen him take his last breath, prepared his body for burial, dealt with an influx of visitors to their home and were in the throes of mourning when Jesus finally arrived. Until this week, I never fully understood how stressful that had to have been for the sisters.

While Mary, Martha, friends and family lingered over Lazarus’ deathbed, how they must have wondered what was taking Jesus so long! I wonder, too, if Lazarus was cognizant as he died that his friend – the Great Physician – was not going to arrive in time to save him. Granted, Jesus could have healed Lazarus as he had the Centurion’s daughter: simply with a word from afar. Instead, he waited.

I see myself in so many characters of this story. I am Lazarus, rasping through tears to an empty room: “Jesus! I’m dyin’ here! I don’t know how much longer I can hold on. Please come!” I am the sisters, observing a loved one in pain as well as suffering myself, yet knowing that I am powerless to help: “Jesus! I know that you can heal him with merely a word or a touch … what is taking you so long? Please hurry!” I am the mourners, trying to empathize, yet clueless to God’s hand at work around me. I am the disciples, waiting behind with Jesus as he takes his sweet time to travel, thinking to myself but too embarrassed to inquire aloud: “Um, we probably ought to get going … I mean, it takes a few days to get there by foot. I wonder why he’s just sitting there – not doing anything?”

When God doesn’t respond immediately; when he doesn’t intervene in a sweeping, miraculous way – it doesn’t mean that he is ignoring me. If I can realize his hand at work, I will realize that the wait is purposeful. If I muster the courage to keep the faith in the midst of silence, I will realize that God can receive glory through the pain.

He restored my brother back to health once, but this time, He chose to take him home. I know with absolute certainty that we will be reunited in God’s glorious kingdom someday. Until then, I wait … but I wait with hope.

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