John tells us that Jesus had a friend named
Lazarus. It’s only in this Gospel, only in this chapter that we meet Lazarus. Oh, there are other stories about Mary and
Martha, his sisters. We’ve met them before—as followers of our Lord, and as personifications
of two different styles of Christian servanthood. And there’s Luke’s parable of
Lazarus and the rich man. But the real
human being: Lazarus of Bethany, we haven’t met.
John tells
us that Jesus loved Lazarus. Apparently, rather than following Jesus around the
countryside, Lazarus and his sisters remained in their home in the village of
Bethany. There they provided a refuge for Jesus—a place to drop in when he was
in the neighborhood, a place of retreat--what we would call today a support
system
There must
have been a lot of love and laughter in that humble cottage. It must have been
a place where Jesus could come, and brush the dust of travel off, and put his
feet up. It must have been a place where Jesus could for a time relax, just be
a man and a friend, and perhaps temporarily at least, lay down the burden of being the Messiah.
Here, Jesus
could just be himself. Lazarus and his sisters were people Jesus could share a joke with, have a meal with,
laugh with, trusted freinds to whom he could unburden himself. We all need someone like that in our lives.
We all need a safe place where we can simply and honestly just be ourselves in
our lives. I’d like to believe that Lazarus and Mary and Martha’s house must
have been that place for Jesus. And I hope each of you has such a place.
So when
word came to Jesus of Lazarus’s illness, it touched him deeply. But John tells us that
Jesus did not immediately rush to his friend to heal him.
For anyone
of us to put off visiting a dear friend on his or her deathbed would be
foolhardy. But for Jesus, it became a
unique and wonderful way to glorify God. In order to have purposely waited like that, Jesus
must have known with a certainty that you and I cannot even imagine that the
Divine Power within in him could and would awaken Lazarus.
In any
case, when Jesus finally arrived in Bethany, he found the sisters so
grief-stricken that they didn’t know what they were saying. With one breath,
they reproved him for not having come in time to save their brother’s life. And
with the next breath they proclaimed their faith in Jesus’ ability to still
save Lazarus.
Then, for the first and only time
in the Gospels, our Lord broke down himself. “Jesus wept. It’s the shortest verse in the Bible. Jesus wept for his friend, and for himself.
He wept for the sisters, and for the world. He wept for Lazarus, and for all
who stand beside an open grave, their souls filled with grief.
Grief is important for us in this
unfair, broken creation. It gives closure to sundered relationships. It helps
us accept reality. It sweetens our memories. Its’ tears cleanse our spirits and
allow healing to begin.
For, just
as he loved Lazarus, Jesus loves each of us.
As Messiah, and Son of God, Jesus knew with utter certainty that he had
the power within him to save Lazarus. But as a man—as Jesus Bar-Joseph, Jesus
grieved for his dead friend.
Lazarus,
whose very name literally means “helpless”, lay there in his tomb, completely
bound in his shroud, bandages wrapped around his arms and legs, his eyes
covered with stones, his mouth stuffed with cotton, a cloth surrounding his
head. Lazarus lay lifeless in that cave,
a stone sealing him in with the stink of his own decay.
Lazarus, the friend of Jesus—was loved by Jesus. Just as we today, are loved by Jesus. When Jesus finally arrived at that hole in
the ground, and found that friend he loved so much, he was also finding us.
After all, isn’t humanity pretty
much in the same boat with Lazarus?
Aren’t we all just a heartbeat away from lying in our own graves, helpless,
frustrated, bound, smelly, blind, deaf, decaying, full of maggots, and dead?
Aren’t all, aren’t each of us continually either in the process of growing, or
dying?
So “Jesus wept.” Perhaps Jesus wept for the endless futility of
war upon war—wars that would all too often waged in his name. Jesus wept and
perhaps lying in the future he saw Auschwitz and Dachau and Dresden and
Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Jesus wept, and as he wept, perhaps he saw the before
him the countless stream of mothers and fathers weeping for their babies, dead
of starvation, or violence, or neglect.
Jesus wept
for Lazarus and for Mary and Martha, and for the welfare mothers in Waukegan Chicago
Jesus wept for all those confined
to cold institutions. Jesus wept for all the children growing up in shelters or
on the streets. Jesus wept for the imprisoned and the enslaved, for the “undocumented”
and the mentally Ill and mentally challenged, for the sick and infirm. Jesus
wept for all the victims of AIDS and Cancer and other killing, crippling
diseases, for the addicted and abused and lonely and lost.
Jesus wept for you, and Jesus
wept for me. Jesus wept for a universe that as Paul says “groans like a woman in labor”, a broken and incomplete creation
that for all of us must sometimes seem to echo with emptiness as we call out to
God and appear to get no answer.
Then he arose. He wiped away his
tears and walked to the edge of the tomb.
“Roll
that stone away”
he commanded. But Martha protested,
pointing out that Lazarus had been decaying in that cave for four days. The
stench would be unbearable. “Lord, he stinketh” is the way she puts it in the
King James Version
But Jesus commanded again. “Roll the stone away.” So they did. They probably shook their heads and held their
breath and grabbed their noses with their fingers. They believed in Jesus, but after all, four
days!
Then Jesus commanded. “Lazarus, come forth.” And he did. But there was no stink. Just
a dead man, who got up from his grave and walked out. Lazarus was no longer bound, no longer
sightless or deaf, no longer at a loss or helpless. No worms, no maggots, no stench,
no longer dead—but resurrected—not only spiritually, but physically. Not in heaven—not on the last day—but on that day, in that
place on this earth, at that very moment—Lazarus was alive.
And Jesus
wants to do for us, for all of humankind, the very same thing. Life—new life can be ours—in body as well as
in spirit—beginning now—beginning here—beginning even at this very moment. Jesus invites us to step out of the tomb of
our everyday existence, to break the cords of fear and sin that bind our arms
and legs, to take the stones of apathy and indifference from our eyes and spit
out the cotton of prejudice and hate from our mouths. Jesus invites us to heed his command, and
like Lazarus to come forth, and turn and give ourselves to Him, live
with Him, and in Him and follow.
We can do
it, you know. The seeds of new life—of everyday sainthood lie within each of
us. That’s what we were made for, after all. Genesis tells us we were made in
God’s image. That’s our nature, and
that’s our call to His service. To live
our lives in harmony with our Maker’s will—to become disciples—to carry on His
ministry—to grow into saints—to become resurrection people—to become beloved
friends of Jesus.
In the resurrection of Lazarus is
the promise of new and abundant life for all humanity—now and in the life to
come. It’s a promise offered to all of us—to you and to me. In the resurrection
of Lazarus is the promise of our resurrection.
.Few on this planet become high
church saints in the sense of someone who has achieved extraordinary spiritual
perfection, or a particularly high state of holiness than is apparent to other
believers. But we all have it within us to become everyday saints in the
New Testament sense—faithful believers gathered together in prayer and praise
and service—going on toward perfection together in this life, and joyfully into
whatever is yet to come.
If Jesus had only resurrected
himself, we would still have cause to wonder at the sheer miracle of it and
proclaim Him as Son of God. But Jesus
resurrected Lazarus first—even before his own Passion and
Resurrection. In that act, Jesus proved
his love for us—and gave us cause to worship Him as our Savior and Redeemer. In
that act, Jesus showed his ultimate power over sin and death. In that act,
Jesus offered to anyone who believes the precious gift of life—abundant life—new
life--sainthood—life now as well as in whatever reality lies beyond this plane
of existence we cling so desperately to. And that gift is at the very heart of
his Gospel.
”I am the Resurrection and the Life.”
The offer is there for each of us for us to reach out and
take. And all that Jesus asks of us is our hearts—our selves—our total
commitment—all that we have and are.
“Follow me”, as He told the fishermen by
the Lakeshore. As Peter and Andrew and James and John, as Mary and Martha and
Lazarus came to know and love Jesus in their friendship with Him, so we too can come to know and love Him as
well--in honest and open sharing, in growing with those who love and support
us, in the joy of our most intimate relationships.
As Lazarus encountered Him at the very edge of the grave, so
too can we encounter our Savior in our lives—at our most profound moments of
grief, in the realization of our fondest hopes, in our deepest inner searching
and seeking.
Any time, any day, in our homes, in the workplace, in the classroom, the office our Redeemer’s touch can move and change us. But this time, this day, this morning in particular—you and I are invited to encounter Jesus here—in the Bread and the Cup..
Any time, any day, in our homes, in the workplace, in the classroom, the office our Redeemer’s touch can move and change us. But this time, this day, this morning in particular—you and I are invited to encounter Jesus here—in the Bread and the Cup..
Here at his Table, He offers himself openly to us. Here our
sainthood is nurtured and empowered. Here, we are fed. Here, He offers us the
strength to go on in our times of trial. Here, He offers grace sufficient for
all our needs. Here, He offers us His abiding presence among us. Here, our discipleship begins. Here, Our
Lord’s promise of Abundant and Eternal life begins.
Here at the Table. Here in prayer. Here in communion with
Him and united with one another and with all His people around the globe and
down through the ages. Here—this is where you and I encounter Him and His
redeeming love right now—as His saints have encountered Him for the past two
thousand years. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment