Those
tuning into the bishop’s sermon this morning from St. George’s heard a bit of
teaching and instruction on prayer.
During his sermon, the bishop remarked about how traumatic times can dramatically
reshape our prayers. Sometimes, when we
are going about our daily life and work, with no view of our mortality or even
need of God’s provision, our prayers may lack the certainty or urgency of
faith, may lack the focus we find ourselves possessed of in this time, and may
seem now to our own ears somewhat shallow.
As the bishop made his remarks on our prayers, he was not being
critical; he was simply recounting the conversations and experiences he has had
with himself and others over the years.
Those of you listening to the bishop or reading this may be nodding
internally in agreement. Others,
especially, I think, those gifted with the charism of praying for others, may
find themselves in a bit of disagreement with that understanding about
prayer. That’s actually great! God wants us always leaning on Him, always
coming to Him, always seeking Him and His guidance.
Like last
week, our assigned readings point to both the power of God to do anything in
and among us and His will so do what is good for us. Ezekiel is famously encouraged to preach to a
valley filled with dry bones. For most
of us, such an act would be foolish.
What good would preaching to dry bones do? Who would hear? God, of course, famously enfleshes the bones
and causes them to live yet again, reminding us that His Word never goes out
without His purpose or purposes being fulfilled.
The letter
to the Romans is a challenging selection.
It is challenging not so much in what it teaches, but rather how we
misunderstand it or how it gets misused.
The passage has often been cited by God’s people as proof of how much
God dislikes matter, and flesh especially.
We are, of course, students of the entire Bible and understand that God
created everything and called it good.
It was our distrust, our sin, that marred what we call matter, and
separated us from the Spirit or breath of God.
The author, naturally, is reminding the hearers and readers that we need
to seek God rather than the material things we tend to worship.
Those of us
who have lived through this pandemic understand the difference far better today
than we might have a month ago. Think of
the empty shelves. If I just have my
barn filled up with food, I need not worry.
Think of the businesses that immediately laid off their employees to
make sure there would be a business on the other side of this plague. I am not my brother’s or sister’s keeper. I cannot lose my business; everything,
every part of who I am is tied up in it.
And even consider those who have recklessly, and hatingly, put others at
risk by going about their lives unconcerned that they might be carriers and
exposing others. I don’t care if I
get it. It won’t kill me. Who cares about others? We eat, drink, and are marry, for tomorrow we
may die. I am, of course, using
extreme versions of interior dialogues, but these are extreme times and need more
focus.
Our Gospel
lesson, likewise, is probably read with a different perspective than the last
time most of us heard it. It is a famous
passage and marks the sixth wondrous sign in John’s Gospel of Jesus’
authority. Your Bible probably calls it
something along the lines of “the raising of Lazarus from the dead.” Lazarus, we know, is the brother of Mary and
Martha. The three have been disciples of
Jesus for some time. Jesus’ obvious
affection for them makes His delay to go to them seem all the more
curious. His delay allows Lazarus to
die, but even the sisters tell Jesus they know that had He been there, their
brother would still be alive.
John, of
course, lets us know that Jesus has a purpose or purposes in the delay. Jesus tells the disciples that Lazarus’
illness does not lead to death but to God’s glory. After two days, He tells them it is time to
go to the siblings now. The disciples
and apostles are obviously worried.
Those in authority, and those who did the will of those in authority in
Judea, were trying to kill Him. If He
returns, He might be injured or killed!
Jesus
explains that He goes for Lazarus and their and our own sake. Though they miss Jesus’ meaning initially, He
tells them that Lazarus has died and that He must waken Lazarus. Enigmatically to some, Jesus remarks that He
is glad for their sakes that He was not there for Lazarus death, so that they
may believe. The apostles and disciples
continue to argue for a bit, until Thomas, who gets the appellation of
“Doubting” rather than “Courageous,” encourages them all to go with Jesus, that
they may die with Him.
Jesus arrives,
we are told, four days after Lazarus’ death.
The four is significant to 1st Century hearers because there
was a belief among some Jews and among the Zoroastrians that the soul of the
dead hovered over the body for three days.
Now, even that tenuous cord has been cut! He is not, to use the words of Max the
Miracle Worker, “mostly dead.” Lazarus
is all dead.
Jesus arrives
and Martha goes out to meet Him apart from the crowd of mourners. Much has been written trying to tie this
passage back to the story of Mary and Martha in the prior chapter. I do not know that such ties are
helpful. Both women are mourning the loss
of their brother, and both women believe that had Jesus been around when
Lazarus fell ill, Lazarus would still be alive.
Martha greets Him before He enters the village and makes the simple
statement that had Jesus been there, she knows Lazarus would not have
died. There is no recrimination, as some
like to argue, though there is regret that Jesus was not around. John records it simply as a statement that
she believes the Lord does whatever Jesus asks.
Jesus tells
Martha that her brother will rise again.
Missing His meaning, she knows that he will be raised with all of God’s
people on the Last Day. Jesus tells her
that He is Resurrection and He is Life, that all that believe in Him, even
though they die, will still live. It
was, no doubt, a hard teaching for Martha to hear. Her brother had believed in Jesus, and he had
died. The “new normal” for her and her
sister is only four days old. The
mourners have invaded their home to console them. And the Master is talking about Resurrection
and Life? It would likely seem a bitter
pill to swallow at that time. But to
Jesus’ question of whether she believes, Martha says she does. She may not understand what is about to
happen, but she believes Jesus is God’s Anointed and, more importantly, that He
will will do whatever her Master asks.
No doubt Luke intended us to hear echoes of Peter’s confession in her
own!
Martha goes
back to the house and tells her sister that the Master is here and wishes to
speak with her. Mary goes back outside
the village to where Jesus met Martha on the road. Like her sister, she believes that had Jesus
been present when Lazarus fell ill, Lazarus would have been healed by God at
Jesus’ request. We learn also that the
mourners think Mary is grief-stricken enough to go back to her brother’s
tomb. The see and hear her talking to
the Master and are moved to tears.
Much, of
course, is made of professional mourners in the ANE. There were people who mourned for money, who
were hired out to set the atmosphere at the death of loved ones. Such does not seem to be the case with this
group, however. At Mary’s faith in Jesus
and her tears, the mourners also begin crying.
The sadness is confirmed in its genuineness by our Lord’s own spirit
being moved and troubled.
The word
that translators render as “deeply moved” and “troubled” and “caused to mourn”
is embrimaomai. If you have
attended a fair number of funerals at Advent, you have likely heard me speak of
this word. The word finds its way into
three of the Gospels. It is passive
voice, to be sure, indicating that Jesus’ spirit is being acted upon by
something else. But is not a word of
sadness. In antiquity, it referred to
something that caused a horse to snort.
Think of a horse getting ready to charge into battle, or a stallion
angered that someone would dare ride him.
Idiomatically, it was applied to humans to describe rage, extreme anger,
or fury. Think of those times when you
have been so angry that you were moved to tears, and you get an idea of how
Jesus is described here. The death of
Lazarus causes him rage! I’ll get back
to this rage of our Lord in a moment.
Jesus asks
where Lazarus’ tomb is. The mourners and
Mary show Him. In that most famous of
short Bible verses that kids love to memorize in VBS or Sunday School, Jesus
weeps. As He stands there weeping, again
our Lord is moved to snorting in rage like a warhorse or stallion. He tells the crowd to roll the stone
away. They refuse. Lazarus is truly dead. Martha even tells Jesus that Lazarus’ body
will not stink from decomposition. Jesus
reminds Martha of His question and her answer, Do you believe?
The stone
is rolled away. Jesus prays aloud. He knows, of course, that the Father always
hears Him, but He tells the crowd that He is saying this all aloud for their
sake, that they may know the Father has sent Him.
Jesus calls
in a loud voice for Lazarus to come out.
And even the dead must obey His command!
The dead man comes out, wrapped in linen strips with the cloth around
his face. Jesus instructs them to remove
the burial materials and let him go.
Is there a
more timely story for us to consider during this plague? I expect that many of us are reading it far
differently than we have in many years.
Those who served in one of our wars and lost comrades in battle likely
always read this as God would have us read it, but what about those of us for
whom death is something in the distance, far off? How has our perspective and urgency changed
as a result of our new normal? Are we
fearful we might catch the plague and die?
Are we fearful that loved ones may catch the plague and die? Have we lost our identity because our work
has dried up? Are we too worried that
our barns, which we have all torn down and rebuilt time and time again, are not
big enough to allow our bodies and souls to relax in this time of social
distancing? Are we worried, because of
social distancing, that no one cares?
Are we afraid we are alone?
I wrote a
moment ago that I would get back to the snort.
Why, do you think, do the Gospel writers record that Jesus snorts in
rage or fury? What drives Him to such
strong, powerful emotion? In our story
today, does it seem to be the sisters, Martha and Mary? The mourners?
The Sanhedrin, who, although we do not read that part of the story
today, decide it is better for one man to die that for the nation to
suffer? The taunters, who wonder aloud
that Jesus has done incredible signs but was not around for this man for whom
He cared deeply? At every sign, people
have believed Jesus, reacted indifferently, asked for more, or openly
fought. What makes Jesus snort in rage
at this time? What is different?
Death.
Jesus, of
course, was present at creation. He
knows that death was not part of God’s plan in the Garden. We were not supposed to experience separation
from Him nor experience death. Had Jesus
prayed those words allowed in the Garden before the distrustful fruit tasting,
Adam and Eve would have heard the intimate communication between the Father and
the Son. Now, because of our sin, we are
no longer attuned to our Lord’s voice nor to His purposes. What’s worse, because of that distrust we now
experience something that was not good when the Lord created all that is, seen
and unseen. Of all that God created and
intended and desired for us, death was the complete opposite, an anathema to
“In the beginning,” if you will.
Time and
time and time again He called us back to Him.
How did most of our spiritual ancestors respond? Eventually, He came down from heaven. He lived as we could not, trusting and
obedient, showing us the heart and mind of God.
How did we thank Him for this work among us? We put Him to death on a Cross! But even that did not surprise Him or His
Father in heaven. The conspiracy of the
Sanhedrin was expected. But what they
intended for evil, He used for His own redemptive purpose. He paid the price for all our sins. He took the death, the eternal separation
from God, into Himself that we need not experience it ourselves. He who knew no sin became sin. Now, when the Father gazes upon us who
believe in Jesus, He sees His Son in us and us in His Son.
Like any
loving Father or Mother, He does not want us to suffer. Oh, He can use our suffering redemptively, to
be sure, but God’s not sitting up there saying “I think Johnny needs a plague,
to get his attention,” “I think Susie needs cancer so she will listen to Me,”
or “I think the world needs a plague so it can re-evaluate its priorities and
return to Me.” Those all may be
redemptive outcomes of bad situations, but those are not the situations forced
upon us by a god who metes good and evil like Zeus or one of the other ANE gods
or goddesses. No! He wants only good things for us! He only wants what is best for us! He is THE loving Father. Apart from Him, none of us would even know
what a loving father is. And the thing
that no loving father would ever want, naturally, is the death of a loved son
or daughter!
It is no
wonder, then, that He snorts in rage at death.
This was not part of creation. This
was not His intent. This was not
good. We were favored in His
creation. But, like any willful
children, we persisted in our own wants, our own desires, our own blindness,
our own sin. Those sins, both
individually and corporately, had a horrible effect on the world, natural
disasters and death, chief among them.
We may be able to predict natural disasters in some cases, but we cannot
stop them. At best we survive tornadoes
and hurricanes and earthquakes, but we cannot even slow their advance or dent
their magnitudes.
It is often
in those natural disasters that we feel our true human impotence. It is only is those experiences of raw power
or insurmountable odds that we begin to understand our mortality, that we can
do nothing to save ourselves. We can be
the smartest, fairest, and all the other “est” personalities, but that ends
with our death. We can be the most
powerful, the strongest, the richest, the whetever, but it ends with our death. And, what can we do about death?
Lent, of
course, is a season in which you and I are called by the Church into a season
of introspection. We are called to
consider our sins, our rejections of our Lord’s instruction, and realize our
impotence. In many ways, as social media
has noted, the plague has made this Lent the lentiest ever lented. Humanity around the world is terrified by a
virus that it cannot see. It is
inconsequential in size, like many of our sins; but left untreated, its
complications lead to death. And just as
we see in this story, we see in the world around us all the swirl of emotions
that arise from the realization of impotence, the grief of loss, the desire to
live, and the fear of isolation.
While each
of those emotion expressed in this story by the characters are appropriate,
they are not my primary focus. No,
Martha and Mary should mourn the loss of their beloved brother. The mourners who join them should also be
likewise saddened by his death. Fears,
anxieties, disbelief, and even rejection are all in play in this pericope. And Jesus does not condemn those. Not once does He say “I intended for Lazarus
to die,” “If you are a good disciple, you won’t mourn at death,” or “if you are
a good disciple, you will have no anxieties.”
None of that nonsense that we hear in bad pulpits is in play.
What
matters to Jesus is whether we believe.
Do we believe He is Resurrection and Life? Do we believe He has the power to call
Lazarus or us from the grave? Is He Who
He says He is, the Anointed, the God Incarnate Man Divine, the Christ? Do we?
Because, brothers and sisters, there is no more important question put
to humanity and no more important answer given by us. It is a simple “yes” or “no” question, but
its affect on us is profound. “No”
leaves us left to face our fears, our impotence, and our inability to truly
repair any damage we have done or caused, alone. “No” says we choose separation from God over
intimacy.
Ah, but a
“yes,” a “yes” is that invitation to intimacy.
A “yes” acknowledges that He is Who He says He is, that He has the power
the saints before us claim to redeem all things, and, most importantly, a “yes”
means we are invited into a relationship that is pointed to true intimacy with
the One Who made us, shaped us, breathed life into us! A “yes” means we find Someone who knows our
hearts, our hurts, our fears, our lashing out’s, and even our unbelief, and
still He loves us. A “yes” means we can
face life’s challenges and death’s shadowy valleys, confident that He will
never abandon us!
The
application in the time of plague is rather obvious. Most of us are living deeply in that tension
between the already and the not yet. We
are obeying the civil authorities, and in the process loving our neighbors as
ourselves, even as we remind ourselves that this is not our home. Our home, eternal in the heavens, is with
Him, who despite knowing our weaknesses and infirmities more completely than
anyone else ever, still loved you and loved me enough to die for you and for
me. Those of us who are at less risk of
severe reaction to the plague are helping others by picking up groceries and
medicines, by checking in on our brothers and sisters who are alone to remind
them they are not alone, and even by checking in on those of us confined with
big families are not killing each other!
Some of us are using this new down time to learn more about God, to
commit to deeper, prayerful intimacy, and even meditating on His Word and
promises. Some of us are called to the
frontlines of this war against an unseen enemy as healers, taking on a risk
that most of us, thankfully are not.
Some of us have been called to the ancillary battles against hunger,
against isolation, against hopelessness.
Our Lord asks us to engage in those battles trusting, believing that He
is Resurrection and He is Life, that nothing, no power in heaven or on earth
can separate us from Him and His love once we’ve chosen Him, not even
death! Better still, He who knows
everything about us knows everything about us.
When we hear the whisper of the Enemy and wonder if anyone cares, we
know our Lord cares. When we feel fear,
we know our Lord is there to console us.
And when we feel weak and insufficient to the cause, we know that He is
there, empowering us through His Spirit, to accomplish those things He has
given us to do. When we become so
focused on the here and now, He is there to remind us of His perspective, that
of eternity, and of His redemptive power, which knows no limits.
I began
this note with a reminder that it is the sixth sign and wonder recounted by
John that attests to authority and power of Christ Jesus. John famously ends his account with a
reminder that our Lord did these things and taught these things and that they
are true. He reminds us all who come
after, though, that Jesus did many other things, so many that, if they were all
written down, the world could not contain all those books. Today, and every day, our Lord asks us
whether we believe, whether we trust Him, and then gives us work to do. The results of our labors, the results of our
sweat, our tears, our straining effort, become a part of that testimony that
world cannot contain. We may not see the
results, we may not even value the labor He has assigned us. Heck, we may not even live to see its
significance. Thankfully and mercifully,
He values that work, even as He values each one of us. Thankfully and mercifully, all He asks is
that we believe; and He will take care of everything else, and especially us. But others see and hear. Our loved ones, our neighbors, even the
strangers we meet see and listen to us.
Pray that they find in each of us the faith of a disciple, that they
might be encouraged to seek Him who seeks to save all, not just in a time and
place of plague, but in all times and in all places.
In Christ’s Peace,
Brian†
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