April 6, 2014
John 11:1-45
Not to be
morbid, but I’ve been thinking a lot lately about death. Part of it is that it
is Lent, and I’ve been preparing for Holy Week – so it’s an occupational hazard
that I think about death pretty thoroughly every spring. Then, I recently read
a book about someone’s near-death experience, in which she talks about how sad
she was to return to earth after having been briefly in the presence of Jesus.
Then we were in this musical called, “Death Takes a Holiday,” which, even
though it is a comedy, got me thinking about different perspectives on death –
how we view it, how we deal with it, what it means, etc. Then this week I went
to a continuing education event led by a pastor and a funeral director called,
“The Good Funeral,” in which we discussed different elements of funerals in a
culture that has really changed the way it deals with death over the past 100
years or so.
And then, of
course, there are our texts for today, in particular the raising of Lazarus.
Perhaps it was all the other thinking I have been doing about death that made
me read this story about Lazarus with very different eyes this time around.
It’s a very famous story, of course, one I’m sure you all have heard before. So
before I comment further, let me just ask you: who thinks this is a joyful
story? Who thinks it is troubling? Who thinks it is something else? How would
you categorize it?
I always
thought it was a joyful story – who wouldn’t want their loved one brought back
from the dead? Sure there is sadness at first, but it definitely has a happy
ending, I thought. But this time around, I wasn’t so sure. I wondered how Lazarus felt about being brought back
from his peaceful rest, especially since he has already begun to decay, knowing
that he is going to have to go through death again. I wondered how Mary and Martha felt, having already
begun to grieve and come to terms with the loss of their brother, and now he is
back – so they, too, will have to go through all of the grieving process again.
And I wondered how Jesus felt,
knowing that it would be this act which would finally lead to his arrest and
his own painful and humiliating death. This time around, I noticed a lot more
negative emotions than good ones, and I was left thinking, did we really have
to go here? Weren’t there other ways that the Son of God could be glorified?
The story of the healing of the blind man that we heard last week was such a
nicer way to show God’s glory!
But I suppose
that’s the thing about God defeating death and about new life. It sounds so
good, at first and in theory, but really, it can be uncomfortable, and at
worst, quite terrifying. As good as it sounds, it may very well be something we
try to resist, even without knowing it. And I’m not talking anymore so much
about physical death, but about the various sorts of deaths we experience on a
more daily basis, the metaphorical tombs in which we find ourselves buried:
addiction, hopelessness, guilt, depression, loss, pain… All such difficult
things, but getting out of those things can be even more difficult than just
resolving to stay there. It may not be a good friend, but it is at least a familiar
one.
Michael and I have been watching
Downton Abbey – we finally gave in, and we’re just starting season 4 – and one
of our favorite characters just died. (I will be vague, in case there is anyone
out there who hasn’t seen it yet but plans to!) The grieving spouse of this
person has been wandering around the house like a ghost for six months, wearing
black and refusing to engage once again with life. Finally Carson, the old
butler and dear friend of the person grieving, speaks up, saying, “You are
letting yourself be defeated by this.” And we do sometimes let death defeat us,
don’t we? Whatever it is that keeps us in the tomb has power over us, such that
it can defeat us. And so even when God comes to set us free from our pains and
our tombs, our response is often that of Martha: “Don’t open the tomb, Lord. He’s
been dead a long time. It’s really gonna stink in there!”
Thankfully,
God dismisses our objections, and calls out anyway: “Lazarus! Come out!” And
like Lazarus, we may come out, alive once again… but also like Lazarus, still
bound by strips of cloth. We may be alive, but are we free?
You may have
noticed that the confession we have been using throughout Lent is the one from
the LBW, the old Lutheran Book of Worship: “We are in bondage to sin and cannot
free ourselves.” When the new hymnal came out in 2006, the words of the
confession were changed to, “We are captive to sin and cannot free ourselves.”
That’s good too, but I prefer the older version, and here’s why. In Greek, the
words for bound and unbind are the same words that are
used to describe the power of God – and the power of the clergy – to “bind” and
to “loose.” That is what we call the “power of the keys” – that is, the power
to forgive and to declare forgiveness to you for all your sins. When we confess
that we are in bondage to sin, then when
the pastor declares forgiveness on Christ’s behalf, we are essentially being unbound. It is as if Christ says to us,
“Unbind them!”
In other words, in the story of the
raising of Lazarus, we see a link between two central promises of God: life and forgiveness. The more brokenness I see in the world, the more
convinced I become of how much healing could come from forgiveness: forgiveness
for people who have hurt us in the past and caused us to put up walls of
protection that keep anyone else from really knowing us; forgiveness for those
by whom we have felt neglected, or who were too overbearing, or who were too
critical and not enough loving; forgiveness, perhaps most of all, for
ourselves, for falling short of who we think we ought to be, who others think
we ought to be, who God thinks we ought to be. When Jesus commands those
gathered around to “unbind him,” and they respond, Lazarus becomes a man who is
not only alive, but also a man who is free – free from death’s defeat, and from
the fear and hopelessness of the tomb.
What binds you, people of God? From
what do you need to be unbound? From what do those around you need to be
unbound? What keeps you from dwelling fully in the land of the living, the land
of the forgiven and free?
Whatever it is, brothers and sisters
in Christ, hear this: Christ calls you out of the tomb. He knows what it is
like in there, he has wept the tears you weep, he has felt the desolation you
feel, and he is calling you to come out. And, he bids you be unbound from all that
would keep you from life.
Let us pray… Lord God, we sometimes find ourselves trapped in a dark tomb, bound by
our concerns and our pains and our illnesses. Help us to hear your call to us
to come out, and help us to allow ourselves to be unbound and freed to live
fully. As we enter next week into the time when we remember your own suffering
and death, may we be grateful that you proved once and for all that death need
not have any power over us. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy
Spirit. Amen.
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