WHEN GOD CALLS YOU OUT OF WHAT YOU BURIED: A BLOGGER LEGACY ARTICLE ON JOHN 11

 There are moments in Scripture that comfort you, moments that challenge you, and moments that completely reframe the way you understand God’s heart. Gospel of John Chapter 11 is one of those rare, sacred moments where heaven reveals its compassion, strength, timing, and purpose in ways that touch the deepest parts of the human soul.

This chapter is not just about Lazarus rising from the dead. It is about the God who steps into grief, the God who waits on purpose, the God who feels your tears, the God whose timing refuses to bow to pressure, and the God who calls life out of places every human being has labeled “finished.”

John 11 is a chapter for the ones who prayed and nothing happened.
For the ones who waited and everything got worse.
For the ones who believed and still felt pain.
For the ones who trusted and still felt disappointed.
For the ones who loved God and still faced something they couldn’t fix.

John 11 is a chapter for the ones who need resurrection in places they stopped checking for a pulse.

The chapter begins quietly. No crowd. No tension. No miracle. Just a message from two women who know Jesus deeply. Mary and Martha send a simple request: “Lord, the one You love is sick.” They don’t attempt to persuade Him. They don’t appeal to Lazarus’ good deeds. They anchor their request in love, not merit.

This is what real prayer sounds like — not performance, not eloquence, not manipulation, but trust in a relationship that is already built on love.

But then Scripture says something that breaks many hearts when they first read it: “Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. So He stayed where He was two more days.”

Love… so He waited.
Love… so He didn’t rush.
Love… so He did not stop the pain before it came.

Human love hurries.
Divine love is deliberate.

God’s timing doesn’t always align with the urgency we feel. His timing is woven with purpose—purpose we rarely recognize until resurrection arrives.

Jesus tells His disciples, “This sickness will not end in death.” He never says death won’t happen. He simply declares it won’t end there. And if you’re honest, you’ve been in seasons where it felt like death was the ending — death of hopes, death of relationships, death of dreams, death of confidence, death of seasons you cherished.

But God’s endings do not look like human endings. What feels final to you is simply unfinished to Him.

By the time Jesus arrives in Bethany, Lazarus has been dead four days. Four days of loss. Four days of unanswered questions. Four days of “Why didn’t He come?” Four days of watching the road for Jesus and seeing no one.

Martha runs to Him, her emotions raw and unrehearsed. “Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died.” This sentence is one of the most honest in the Bible — the blend of faith and disappointment millions of believers carry in silence.

She believes in His power.
She does not understand His timing.

And Jesus doesn’t shame her for it.
He doesn’t criticize her honesty.
He doesn’t deny her pain.

He meets her where she is.

Then He reveals something bigger than the miracle she hoped for: “I am the resurrection and the life.”

Not “I bring resurrection.”
Not “I can resurrect.”
Not “I will resurrect.”

“I am resurrection.”

This means that resurrection is not an event — it is a Person.
Life is not a concept — it is Christ Himself.

Then He asks her the question that every believer must eventually confront: “Do you believe this?”

Not “Do you understand why I waited?”
Not “Do you like the path I chose?”
Not “Does this make sense to you right now?”

Just — “Do you believe?”

Because belief often survives long before understanding arrives.

Then Mary approaches Jesus. She falls at His feet, weeping, and says the same raw words Martha said: “Lord, if You had been here…” But this time something powerful happens — Jesus is moved in His spirit. Then Scripture says, “Jesus wept.”

This is the God who created the universe.
Weeping.
Crying.
Feeling the weight of human pain.

Jesus does not weep because He is hopeless.
He weeps because you matter.
He weeps because your tears are not small to Him.
He weeps because compassion is part of His nature.

And He weeps even though He knows resurrection is coming minutes later.

That is love.

Jesus then walks to the tomb. A large stone covers the entrance — a symbol of finality. And with the authority that comes from heaven itself, He says, “Take away the stone.”

Martha protests immediately. “Lord, he has been dead four days. The smell will be terrible.” She is not resisting Jesus’ power — she is trying to protect her heart. She is afraid of revisiting pain. She is afraid that hope might hurt more than acceptance.

Have you ever been there?

“Lord, it’s too late.”
“Lord, this season has already decayed.”
“Lord, I don’t want to reopen that wound.”
“Lord, nothing can change now.”

But Jesus responds, gently but firmly: “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?”

They roll the stone away.
Light touches the darkness.
Hope enters the grave.

Then Jesus prays for the crowd’s faith — and with a shout that tears through death itself, He calls:

“Lazarus, come forth!”

And the impossible happens.
Death reverses.
Life returns.
A man wrapped in grave clothes stands and walks.

This is the miracle that silence produced.
The miracle that delay prepared.
The miracle that pain set the stage for.

Lazarus emerges still wrapped — and Jesus says, “Unbind him, and let him go.” Because Jesus doesn’t just resurrect you — He frees you from what held you.

This is the message of John 11 for your own life:

God resurrects what you thought was over.
He revives what you thought would never breathe again.
He calls forth life where you accepted death.

Some things in your life died.
Some things you buried.
Some things you mourned quietly.
Some things you lost hope for.

But God is not done.

He resurrects faith.
He resurrects purpose.
He resurrects peace.
He resurrects joy.
He resurrects strength.
He resurrects possibility.

And when He calls your name, not even death can hold you.

Your Lazarus is not the end.
Your heartbreak is not the last chapter.
Your delay is not denial.

Your God does not write endings —
He writes resurrections.

Watch Douglas Vandergraph’s inspiring faith-based videos on YouTube

Support the ministry by buying Douglas a coffee

Douglas Vandergraph

#faith #GospelofJohn #John11 #ResurrectionPower #BibleStudy #ChristianEncouragement #HopeInChrist #BloggerFaithWriting