We tenderly wrapped the shards of our broken dreams and nestled them deep in the boxes. It wasn’t supposed to end this way; the injustice winning the final blow. So fair warning, this story doesn’t tie up with a pretty bow. Because sometimes broken dreams are just that, broken. Sometimes they don’t resurrect.
It’s all too easy to ensconce stories in language that have us painting wispy happiness over profound loss. For example, in the wake of the death of our dream, a friend told me, “Well, because God is taking this away from you, he must have something better.”
Yet “better” is never the promise, nor the aspiration. Not yet. Not on this side of the veil.
This reminds me of a Bible lesson I was recently supposed to teach my preschool class about Lazarus. The curriculum directed me to say to the children, “Lazarus got sicker and sicker. Mary and Martha had hoped Jesus would come in time. But he didn’t…and Lazarus died. So tell me kids, did you ever have a hope or dream die, or something you hoped or prayed about that didn’t happen?”
After listening to their broken dreams, the curriculum wanted me to ask them to draw a simple picture to represent their broken hopes and dreams. Then, crumpling up these pieces of paper, they were to throw them in a white tablecloth, wrap them up, and place them in a “tomb.”
But not to worry, after a short Bible reading, the curriculum directed us to pull out those sad remembrances, and joyfully resurrect them from their tombs.
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Now I’m going to sound like a party-pooper, but I do not think the goal of this story is to teach us that all our sad stories will resurrect before our eyes. So I emphasized something quite different from the Lazarus story.
It’s that short little Bible verse you memorized as a child: Jesus wept.
As His tears fell, I suppose Jesus felt the weight of all earthly loss, not only Mary and Martha’s. Jesus could have said, “Ladies, stop it. Just wait!” After all, Jesus knew He was going to raise Lazarus in just a word. Yet still, Jesus wept.
And in knowing Jesus’ tears, we are also given space to weep.
Then one day eventually, perhaps not so soon, but eventually, a bud will form on the edges of winter. It’s God’s greatest miracle, this work of redemption from what is broken. Because God’s pursuit of His glory in and through us is always reason for ridiculous hope. The future may not be better, but it will still be ripe with His glorious purposes.
Therefore, we can rest in the hand that fashions the mystery of untidy bows.
And that is the point of the Lazarus story. Not that all our dreams will come true, nor that broken dreams will be resurrected, but rather that trust in Jesus means that earthly brokenness, to include death, never supersedes the resurrection life we have in Him. Because life, once resurrected by faith in Jesus, allows us to carry all of our broken dreams to the God who wept, and pray, Father, show us your glory.
Warmly,
Heather
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