Commentary - John 11:28-37

Bird's-eye view

This section of John's gospel brings us into the very heart of human grief, and right alongside it, the heart of the incarnate God. The scene shifts from Martha's robust, though still developing, theological confession to the raw, unvarnished sorrow of her sister, Mary. Here, the abstract doctrines of resurrection and life collide with the brutal reality of a four-day-old corpse. We see the stark difference between two sisters in their grief, but also their shared bedrock of faith: "Lord, if You had been here..." Jesus does not respond to Mary with a theological lecture, as He did with Martha, but rather enters into her sorrow. But His response is far more complex than simple sympathy. He weeps, yes, but He is also filled with a holy rage, a deep and visceral anger directed at the great enemy, death itself. This passage is a profound display of the Chalcedonian reality of Christ; He is fully man, weeping with those He loves, and fully God, preparing to dismantle the very gates of hell. The onlookers, as usual, misinterpret the signs, seeing only human affection or questioning His power, completely missing the cosmic battle that is about to unfold.

The entire event is a carefully orchestrated sign, intended from the beginning for the glory of God. Jesus deliberately delayed His coming so that this moment could happen just as it did. He is not reacting to events; He is controlling them. The tears, the anger, the questions from the crowd, and the sorrow of the sisters are all part of the tapestry He is weaving to display His ultimate authority as the Resurrection and the Life. He is about to show them, and us, that He does not just have power over death from a distance; He has authority over it from the inside, from within the grave itself.

Outline

Context In John

This scene is the emotional and theological pivot point leading to the seventh and greatest of Jesus' signs in John's Gospel: the raising of Lazarus. It follows directly after Jesus' profound declaration to Martha that He is the resurrection and the life (John 11:25-26). Having established the doctrinal foundation, John now moves to the deeply personal and emotional reality of that doctrine. This event is what ultimately catalyzes the plot of the religious leaders to kill Jesus (John 11:53), making it the direct prelude to the passion narrative. The raising of Lazarus is the final straw for the Sanhedrin because it is an undeniable display of Christ's power over man's ultimate enemy, a power that threatens their entire religious and political system. The very public nature of this miracle, witnessed by many Jews from Jerusalem, ensures that the news will spread, forcing their hand. Thus, the very act of giving life to His friend is what signs Jesus' own death warrant.

Key Issues

The Rage of the Creator

It is essential that we understand what is happening in verse 33. The phrase "deeply moved in spirit" is a significant understatement of the Greek. The word is enebrimesato, which conveys a sense of indignation, of snorting with anger like a warhorse. A better, if less dignified, translation would be that Jesus "raged in His spirit." But against whom or what was He raging? It was not at Mary for her tears, or at the Jews for their performative grief. He raged against the monstrous enemy that had caused all this havoc and sorrow. He was standing before the tomb of His friend, and He was looking at the wreckage that sin had introduced into His good creation. Death is an intruder, an aberration, a tyrant. And here was the rightful King, the Author of Life, confronting this enemy on its home turf. His anger was the holy, righteous fury of a Creator seeing His beloved handiwork marred and broken. This was not a passive sorrow; it was an active, holy belligerence. This is a preliminary skirmish before the final battle. In raising Lazarus, He is serving notice on death. At the cross and resurrection, He will defeat it entirely.

Verse by Verse Commentary

28 And when she had said this, she went away and called Mary her sister, saying secretly, “The Teacher is here and is calling for you.”

Having made her great confession, Martha's immediate response is to fetch her sister. This is what true faith does; it doesn't hoard the good news. She calls Mary "secretly," likely to avoid creating a scene with the professional mourners and other guests in the house. This private summons is for Mary alone. Jesus, the Teacher, has a specific word for her, just as He had a specific word for Martha. Notice the title, "The Teacher." This is what they knew Him as, their rabbi, their guide. And He is not just present; He is actively calling for Mary. This is a beautiful picture of the personal nature of Christ's call. He doesn't just issue general invitations to the crowd; He calls his sheep by name.

29 And when she heard it, she got up quickly and was coming to Him.

Mary's reaction is immediate. There is no hesitation. Unlike Martha who seems to have gone out to intercept Jesus on the road, Mary was waiting in the house, surrounded by the formal rituals of grief. But the moment she hears the Teacher is calling, she abandons the ceremony and goes. This is the obedience of faith. When the Master calls, you drop what you are doing, no matter how important it seems, and you go quickly. Her haste reveals her heart's longing for Jesus. She knows that the only true comfort to be found is not in the house with the consolers, but outside the village with the Consolation of Israel Himself.

30 Now Jesus had not yet come into the village, but was still in the place where Martha met Him.

John gives us this geographical detail for a reason. Jesus is orchestrating this whole event. He is waiting outside the village, controlling the time and place of these encounters. He is not being swept along by the tide of grief. He is the rock in the middle of the stream, directing the flow. By staying outside the village, He ensures a separate, personal encounter with each sister before the public confrontation with death at the tomb.

31 Then the Jews, who were with her in the house and consoling her, when they saw that Mary rose up quickly and went out, they followed her, thinking that she was going to the tomb to cry there.

Here we see the crowd dynamic at play. These are the "Jews," likely friends and officials from nearby Jerusalem, who had come to observe the customary seven days of mourning. They are acting as professional consolers. When Mary bolts from the house, they make a natural but wrong assumption. They think she is overcome with a fresh wave of grief and is rushing to the tomb to weep. So they follow her, partly out of a sense of duty, and partly, no doubt, out of curiosity. Their presence is crucial, because Jesus intends for this miracle to have many witnesses. Their misunderstanding serves God's purpose by bringing a crowd to the exact place where He intends to display His glory.

32 Therefore, when Mary came where Jesus was, she saw Him, and fell at His feet, saying to Him, “Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died.”

Mary's greeting is one of reverence and raw grief. She falls at His feet, a posture of worship and supplication. Her words are identical to Martha's, showing that this was the thought that had dominated their conversations for the last four days: "If only..." This is a statement of tremendous faith mixed with profound sorrow and perhaps a touch of confusion. It is faith because she believes completely in Jesus' power to heal. It is sorrow because that power was not, in her view, exercised. She is not questioning His ability, but perhaps His timing or His presence. She weeps these words, where Martha had spoken them. She is not looking for a theological debate; her heart is simply broken, and she is laying the pieces at the feet of the only one who can put them back together.

33 When Jesus therefore saw her crying, and the Jews who came with her also crying, He was deeply moved in spirit and was troubled,

This is the central verse. Jesus sees the reality of the curse. He sees Mary's genuine, heart-wrenching tears. He also sees the weeping of the crowd, which was likely a mixture of true sympathy and customary, professional wailing. And the sight of all this death-saturated sorrow ignites a holy fire in Him. As we noted, "deeply moved" means He raged. He was indignant. And He "was troubled," which means He was agitated, stirred up. This is the Creator confronting the consequences of the Fall head-on. He is angry at the tyranny of death, this last enemy. He is troubled by the brokenness of it all. This is not the serene, detached philosopher of the Greeks. This is the incarnate Son of God, full of passion, whose heart breaks for His people and burns against His enemies.

34 and said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to Him, “Lord, come and see.”

Out of this storm of emotion, Jesus speaks with authority. His question is practical and direct. He is taking charge. "Where have you laid him?" He is marching to the battlefield. The response, "Lord, come and see," is an echo of what Jesus said to His first disciples (John 1:39) and what Philip said to Nathanael (John 1:46). It is an invitation to witness a revelation. They think they are simply showing Him a grave, but they are unwittingly inviting the Resurrection to come and reveal Himself.

35 Jesus wept.

The shortest verse in the Bible, and one of the most profound. After the divine rage, we see the perfect human tears. Why did He weep? He was not weeping because He was helpless or because Lazarus was lost to Him; He knew He was about to raise him. He wept out of pure, unadulterated sympathy. He wept because His friends were hurting. He entered into their sorrow completely. His tears were not for the outcome, but for the process. This is our great high priest, one who is touched with the feeling of our infirmities. He is not ashamed to grieve with us. His rage was against death, the abstract enemy. His tears were for Mary and Martha, the friends He loved.

36 So the Jews were saying, “See how He loved him!”

The crowd sees His tears and draws the most obvious, surface-level conclusion. And they are not wrong; Jesus certainly did love Lazarus. His tears were a genuine expression of that love. But their observation is tragically incomplete. They see the human affection, which is true enough, but they are blind to the divine authority that is the real story here. They mistake the tears of the warrior for the tears of the defeated. They see the love of a friend, but miss the glory of the Son of God.

37 But some of them said, “Could not this man, who opened the eyes of the blind man, have kept this man also from dying?”

And here we have the other side of the crowd's reaction: cynical doubt. This is not an honest question; it is a thinly veiled accusation. They remember His recent, spectacular miracle of giving sight to the man born blind (John 9), and they use it as a weapon against Him. Their logic is this: "If He is so powerful, why didn't He use that power here, for His supposed friend? Either His power has limits, or His love does." This is the same kind of taunt that would be hurled at Him on the cross: "He saved others; He cannot save Himself" (Matt 27:42). They are completely blind to the fact that Jesus is allowing this to happen for a much greater purpose. He is about to show them a glory far greater than preventing a death; He is going to reverse it.

Application

This passage meets us right where we live, in a world saturated with death and grief. First, it gives us permission to grieve. Mary's raw sorrow was not rebuked. Jesus did not tell her to pull herself together and have more faith. He met her in her tears and wept with her. Godly grief is not a failure of faith. It is an honest reaction to the unnatural horror of death. We are not Stoics; we are Christians, and we can mourn, but we do so with hope (1 Thess. 4:13).

Second, we must see Jesus as He is revealed here. He is not a distant, unemotional deity. He is our sympathetic high priest who enters our suffering. But He is also a warrior King who rages against the enemies of sin, death, and the devil. He is not passive in the face of evil and decay; He is actively hostile to it. Our comfort is not that Jesus feels sorry for us, but that He is angry on our behalf and has done something about it. He has conquered death, and because He lives, we shall live also.

Finally, we must beware of the crowd's cynical spirit. It is easy to look at tragedy and suffering in the world, or in our own lives, and ask, "If God is so powerful, why did He let this happen?" This passage teaches us that God's delays are not denials. His purpose is always for His greater glory and for the strengthening of our faith. He allows the situation to get to "four days dead" so that when He acts, no one can deny that it is the hand of God. We must learn to trust His wisdom even when we cannot trace His hand, believing that He is the Resurrection and the Life, even, and especially, when we are standing at the tomb.