I write about Stuff

“If we allow him to go on like this, soon everyone will believe in him. Then the Roman army will come and destroy both our Temple and our nation.” —John 11:48 (NLT)

John 11 — When Hard Hearts Fear the Light More Than Darkness

When Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, many who witnessed it responded exactly as you’d expect: with awe, belief, and a sense that they were standing on holy ground. How could they not? They had seen grief turn to joy, despair turn to hope, and death itself bow before the voice of Jesus.

But astonishingly, not everyone responded with faith. Some who stood at the very edge of the miracle—who saw the tears of Mary and Martha, who watched Jesus Himself weep, who witnessed a dead man walk out of his tomb—ran straight to the religious authorities in Jerusalem to report Him.

It’s almost unthinkable. They saw compassion. They saw courage. They saw divine power. And their instinct was to weaponise it.

What exactly did they hope to accuse Him of? Mishandling a corpse? Disturbing the peace? Performing a miracle without a licence? Their reaction reveals something deeper: a heart so resistant to Jesus that even resurrection power couldn’t soften it.

The news of Lazarus’ resurrection sent shockwaves through the religious establishment. Jesus’ enemies no longer bothered denying His miracles. They couldn’t. The evidence was too overwhelming. Instead, they focused on the threat He posed to their influence.

The religious leaders had built a comfortable system—power, prestige, wealth, and authority centred around the temple. Their identity, security, and status were tied to it. And Jesus, with His growing popularity and undeniable power, threatened to unravel everything.

Their fear wasn’t theological. It was political. It was personal. It was about control.

“If everyone believes in Him,” they reasoned, “Rome will see us as a threat. They’ll destroy our temple. They’ll dismantle our nation.” In other words: We’ll lose everything we’ve built.

Caiaphas, the high priest, voiced the conclusion they were all circling around: “It’s better for one man to die than for the whole nation to be destroyed.” He meant it as a cold political calculation. But without realising it, he spoke the deepest truth of the gospel. One man would die—for the nation, yes, but also for the world. Not to preserve their power, but to save humanity.

And this is where the story touches our own lives.

We all know people who respond to God’s work the way those spies did. They’ve seen changed lives. They’ve witnessed answered prayers. They’ve brushed up against grace. And yet they resist. They harden. They double down on disbelief. Sometimes they even oppose the faith with surprising intensity.

But Jesus never asked us to argue people into belief. That’s not our burden. That’s the Spirit’s work.

Our calling is simpler—and far more beautiful:

• Stay humble.
• Serve with a gentle heart.
• Pray faithfully.
• Speak naturally about our faith, without pressure or performance.
• Be ready to answer questions with grace.
• Show compassion even when it’s not returned.
• Model the love of Christ in every interaction.

Because sometimes the most powerful witness isn’t a debate won—it’s a life lived in quiet, steady faithfulness.