March 22, 2020
The 5th and final Sunday in Lent
The Third Sunday in the American Season of Coronavirus
Ezekiel 37:1-14
Ezekiel 37:1-14
John 11:1-57
"Jesus began to weep...unbind him."
The
scriptures this week are rather “on-the-nose,” with the Prophet Ezekiel’s
message being one of hope and restoration to Israelites in exile in Babylon;
their community is cut off from their place of worship, they have been taken
captive against their will, their people scattered and
afraid, coming to terms with how their lives are irrevocably
changed. The people are reminded that even
dead, utterly dry bones can be made to live—not by muscles and sinew and skin
being added, but by the very breath of God. God’s Spirit is what
brings life, and it is what God promises, even and especially to a people in
peril.
But then we
have the much longer and much more complex story from John 11, when Lazarus has
fallen ill and Jesus waits elsewhere until he is dead, and the plaintive
mourning of his sisters who hold in their hearts the painful tension of belief
in Jesus and their cry, “Lord, if you had been here, our brother would not have
died.”
It’s a difficult
story. It raises almost as many questions as it answers. It’s
important to know that this is the sign in the Gospel of John that causes the
Jewish religious leaders to plot for Jesus’ death; whereas the other gospels
name Jesus’ act of cleansing the temple of the moneychangers as the issue that
incites the anger of the religious leaders, the gospel of John is much more
explicit to say that the real issue was the raising of
Lazarus. Verse 47 makes the concern of the Pharisees plain, “What
are we to do? This man is performing many signs. If we
let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and the Romans will come
and destroy both our holy place and our nation.”
But this
complex, long story was written with a particular frame of reference in
mind—the author and the reader are expected to know the end of
this story—that Jesus was killed, was resurrected, the church began to spread
and finally the Romans did come to destroy the temple in 70 A.D. The
fears of the Pharisees are justified.
I would argue
that this story is all about who has the power over life and death.
The act of raising
Lazarus shows Jesus as so much more than a healer, but one who has the power of
the Creator God, to re-create life where there is only death and chaos. But the
act opens up many avenues for deeply troubling questions—why did Jesus
wait to come if he could have healed Laz before hand? Both sisters
voice this question, as does the crowd, who wonder aloud in verse 37,
“Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind have kept this man from
dying?” And many who read these verses will be reminded of their own
mourning over the death of a loved one, and the wondering, “where was
God? Where was my miracle?”
Sometimes
grief gives way to anger. Often, actually. Anger is a
stage of grief, but it doesn’t come neatly in order. Anger can surge
boldly or simmer quietly under the surface for years. Anger can fuel
doubt and rash actions, but anger can also propel fierce prayers and deeply
faithful and trusting acts of hope and defiance in the face of despair.
Often I’ll hear
people, amid their own grief, try to tell others, “You can’t be angry at God,
this was God’s will.” I would argue faithfully that you can be angry
with God, be frustrated, sad, confused and
still desire to trust God and to hope for a different
outcome. Anger can be hard and destructive if you
let it, but it can also be faithful.
When I was much
younger, in my salad-days of questioning the reality of God and the gospel
story, I struggled mightily with the idea of a God who would cause suffering,
of “sinners” but also of children and the ill and the old, especially confused
that God would cause the suffering of God’s own Son. At the time it
seemed cruel, even arrogant. Frankly, it made me angry, indignant at
the thought of innocents suffering needlessly under the thumb of a fickle God
demanding praise and worship and offering surprisingly few miracles to whisk it
all away. This anger pushed me into conversations—arguments,
really—drove me to study (in order to refute and dismiss, I admit); anger
pushed me to examine my discomfort with Christ’s work and anger made me sassy
and verbose.
And then I
encountered the idea that Jesus might have been troubled by all of that too,
that Jesus struggled with his work and his role. I found that idea
first in Jesus’ prayer in the garden of Gethsemane, “Let this cup pass from me,
but not my will be done, but yours.” And I see it again here in the story of
Lazarus, and how Jesus is “greatly disturbed” and weeps.
Jesus is greatly
disturbed twice in the space of five verses (v33 and v38), and it turns out
there is more going on in the Greek word for “greatly disturbed” than
compassion and sorrow. The word is tarassÅ and
is also translated “greatly troubled” and “greatly distressed,” but it also
comes with connotations of fear, dread and anger; but who is Jesus fearful of
or angry at? It does not appear that he is fearful
or angry at his disciples or Mary and Martha; there are no words of
chastisement or rebuke. It is unclear if he is upset with their
level of faith either, and I think translations have been correct in
understanding that Jesus’ distress is directly related to the
grief he is witnessing...the sorrow that he is a part of...the suffering that
he can directly address...and dread of the suffering that he will soon
experience.
And so “Jesus
wept.” It’s the shortest and most profound verse in scripture.
Strictly speaking, it’s better translated, “Jesus began to weep,” which only
intensifies the emotional response of Jesus to the whole situation, and the
action that began; scripture doesn’t say when Jesus dried his eyes and wiped
his tears away. It only states—rather clearly—when he began to
weep. If ever I struggled to understand a God who could permit
suffering, I am much more moved by a God who weeps. And a God who
suffers alongside God’s people.
I am led to wonder
if Jesus is distressed and greatly troubled not only by the power of death to
cause such suffering among those he loves, but also the power death will soon
have over himself. If yet another reason Jesus weeps is for all the
struggle that is yet to come, weeps for the inevitability of death, and weeps
for his own suffering that will occur as a direct result of his act to raise
Lazarus from the dead. Because Jesus will die, and
suffer painfully first.
This is where today’s story gets a
little “on the nose.”
None of the
characters besides Jesus expected healing and resurrection for
Lazarus. Mary and Martha’s grief was encapsulated in the finality of
his death, and in the disappointment that the healer did not come in time. But
then Jesus came and did the impossible—he did the one thing that could topple
nations, suddenly depriving Rome and authorities of the final power to undo
life—he undid death. The religious leaders would understand this
power as one that would invite the strong arm of Rome to fall upon them, would
understand that this life-giving hope would destroy business as usual and their
grasp on power specifically.
The people were
shocked at the raising of Lazarus because it was so unexpected—but we certainly
hope for it now, and the difficulty we are experiencing is the long distance
between our suffering now and future when it will be undone.
Because right now, death is
inevitable for us all.
That’s the
unspoken truth of pandemic and plague, the reminder that lurks on “normal” days
that we cannot possibly ignore now—that we will still experience suffering,
pain and death even though Christ has defeated the final power of
death. Someday, sooner or later, we will die. Funerals remind us of
this, serious illness reminds us of this, and right now everything reminds
us of this: from “social distancing” to getting our groceries
and washing our hands. Part of our grief is that we
can’t even avoid the idea.
But here is the good news: Death is not the final word
anymore.
Death isn’t the final word ever
again.
Instead, we can
trust that the Spirit of God who created the world is also the power to
re-create the world as often as needed; to breathe life into dead bones, to
restore communities after exile and separation, to take the stink of 4 days
dead, the dry and brittle valley shadowed by death and fill them all with
God’s Spirit and with Life.
The only thing that gives life is
God, and God will give it.
And
as for the fear of suffering and death, take to heart the words of Jesus about
Lazarus, “Unbind him, and let him go.”
Let
go of your fear. Let go of your worry. Be
unbound. Breathe, and live. Amen.
