Do You Believe This?

Thoughts on John 11:17–27

Grief has a way of stealing words. If you’ve ever stood at a graveside, yo know the hush. Flowers don’t mask the silence. Death feels final.

That’s where Martha found herself in John 11. Her brother Lazarus had
been dead four days, and when Jesus finally arrived, she said what so
many of us would have said: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would
not have died.”

Honest. Raw. No filters. And Jesus doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t say,
“Martha, watch your tone.” He lets her lament. That’s the first way Jesus
comforts grieving believers: He welcomes honesty. Our prayers can be
messy and still be heard. If anything, God seems to prefer them that way
(note Psalm 13, Psalm 22, Psalm 44, Psalm 74, and Psalm 88).

But Martha doesn’t stop at sorrow. She adds, “But even now I know that
whatever you ask from God, God will give you.” Scholars debate whether
she was hoping for a miracle or simply clinging to faith in the middle of her
confusion. Either way, it shows us something important: faith doesn’t mean
you’ve got everything figured out. Faith means you keep trusting, even
when nothing makes sense.

“Your brother will rise again,” Jesus answers.

“Yes,” Martha replies, “on the last day.” Good doctrine. Correct theology. A
gold star in Bible class. But Jesus pulls the future right into the present: “I
am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he dies,
yet shall he live; and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never
die. Do you believe this?”

This is the heart of the passage. Jesus doesn’t just offer resurrection. He
doesn’t just offer life. He is resurrection. He is life. Everything hinges not
on an event, but on a Person.

Now, let’s pause. We know what is about to happen. We have already
eavesdropped on Jesus’ conversation with His disciples before they
arrived. But Martha knows none of that. Knowing what we know, what
might we expect a more emotion in her response than Martha gives us. But
there are no hallelujahs. Instead, Martha—true to character—answers with
a steady, thoughtful confession: “Yes, Lord; I believe that you are the
Christ, the Son of God, who is coming into the world.”

Not flashy. Not loud. But resolute faith, nonetheless.

That’s worth noticing. Faith, tenacious faith, doesn’t always express itself in
hymns and hand-waving. Sometimes it looks like a tired woman, eyes
swollen from crying, quietly saying, “Yes, Lord, I believe.”

And isn’t that most of us? We don’t always feel triumphant. We often feel
more like Martha—caught between grief and hope, half understanding, but
still holding on.

This passage reminds us of a few vital truths:

• Jesus meets us in our grief. He doesn’t scold sorrow. He joins us in it.
• Jesus redirects our hope. Like Martha, our theology may be correct but distant. He reminds us that eternal life is not just “someday.” It begins now, in Him.
• Jesus calls for personal trust. It’s not enough to admire His teaching. He asks, “Do you believe this?” That’s not a question toanswer on a theology exam but in the depths of our own hearts.
• Jesus secures His promise. He can speak this way because He Himself is about to walk into death and come out the other side. His resurrection is not a metaphor; it is the guarantee that those who trust Him will live.

Most of us treat death like an uninvited dinner guest. It’s going to show up,
but we’d rather not adjust the seating plan until it does. Yet the Bible doesn’t pretend it’s not coming. It names death as the last enemy—and then introduces us to the One who has already beaten it.

And so, we come back to Jesus’ question: “Do you believe this?” That’s not
just Martha’s question. It’s ours. It’s mine. It’s yours.

Jesus is not only the resurrection at the end of time. He is resurrection and
life right now. And that means—even in grief—we have hope.

My prayer, dear reader, is that we will answer with Martha, tired but
resolute, honest but faithful: “Yes, Lord. I believe.”