I have a confession to make: when I'm driving, chances are pretty good that I'm assuming whatever reason has prompted me to get into the car is more important than anything that might be motivating your excursion.

Which is a long way of saying that, at least when I'm behind the wheel, I usually operate under the assumption that whatever I'm doing is of greater significance than what you're doing.

I'm not proud of it, okay? And I'm trying to get better at it. But you know what I'm talking about, right?

You're out running important errands, or maybe you've got an appointment crosstown, or maybe your boss has told you your days of coming in five minutes late are over, and you get behind someone driving like they're searching for a yard sale. And immediately, you know the thing you're trying to get to is more important than whatever in the world they think they're doing.

Part of our impatience, I think, stems from the belief that the world would be in much better shape if we were running things. We've been around the block. We know things. If somebody would just ask, we could tell them.

But, and this may come as a shock, I don't have people lining up to ask my opinion on how the world ought to operate. I know. I have a hard time believing it myself.

The bigger problem, though, is that Jesus is even less interested in my opinion of how the world ought to be run than y'all are.

Take our text for today. The timeline seems pretty straightforward to me. Jesus finds out one of his best friends is sick. The implication is obvious: Jesus, we're sending you word that Lazarus is ill because surely you're going to want to drop everything and come.

What does Jesus do?

He says, "Aw, he's not that sick. He'll be fine. There's a crochet class I've had my eye on. They're making potholders. It's a two-day course. I'll head over afterward."

That is not, I should note, a direct quotation from the Greek.

But it is strange, isn't it? Strange enough to give us heartburn. Makes you want to take Jesus by the shoulders and say, "Maybe this isn't the moment for whatever lesson plan you're putting together. I mean, these are people you love. This is when you're supposed to go. This is when you show up."

Because that's what love does, right?

Love hurries. Love rushes toward the bedside. Love doesn't linger when somebody's in trouble.

But John says, "Though Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, after having heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was."

What is that all about? That’s one of those verses I'd just as soon not have in the Bible.

I'd prefer, "Because Jesus loved them, he ran the whole way there." A Jesus who shares my sense of urgency. That’s not too much to ask, right? I need a Jesus who understands that if people are hurting, it's time to get moving.

But that's not the story John tells, is it? And maybe that's because one of the hardest truths of faith is that God almost never seems to share our sense of urgency.

Which is hard for people like us, especially if we've spent a good portion of our lives trying to improve God's timing.

We've all prayed prayers with suggested deadlines. "Lord, this would be a really good week to intervene."