Resurrection and Life [Lent 5A]
The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson
John 11:1-45
Resurrection and Life
“I am Resurrection and I am Life,”
says the Lord. But this is not
that. This is not resurrection; this is
resuscitation. And there is a big
difference. This, the raising of
Lazarus, is a sign of what is to come; it is not what is to come. It is like the difference between seeing a “Falling
Rocks” sign and being crushed by falling rocks.
There is a big difference, a big difference between the sign and the
event, between the resurrection and this Lazarus story.
As one might expect of a story in
which a four-day old corpse is brought back to life, this is a messy
story. This Gospel story is a story of
life and death. It is a story of trust
and grief. It is full of complex human
emotion. It is full of ups and
downs. It's just messy. And it's amazing. And it is raw. And it is touching. It feels very much like real life. And yet, it is very far removed from we might
call “normal” life experience.
The build-up to the raising of
Lazarus in the gospel narrative is quite long.
And it begins with a pause – a confusing pause. Jesus, the one who has healed many perfect
strangers throughout the Gospel, decides not to heal his friend – a friend he
loves, as the Gospel writer reminds us many times. He lets him die. And even so, as Jesus approaches his friends'
tomb, he weeps – a deep, visceral, very human reaction. And yet, he weeps even though from the
beginning of the story, Jesus knows he will bring Lazarus back from the
dead. The Word became flesh and experienced
the same volatile human emotions we all experience.
This story is an emotional
story. It is that emotion, that
desperate grief and pain, seen most profoundly in Martha and Mary, that I
think, feels most immediate in this text.
I think many of us have these vivid moments of desperate grief and pain
in our own stories. I can remember as a
child weeping in my closet when my Grand-daddy died. Or praying for Jesus to raise up my Grandpa
like he had Lazarus. The moments feel at
once a lifetime ago and yet are never far away.
The grief and pain that Lazarus'
sisters experience and express feels much realer to me than Jesus' opening
theological speech or his conversation with the disciples or even the raising
of Lazarus. They are hurting. Their brother died. And it doesn't seem fair. And so, each in their own way, at their own
time, they blame Jesus: “If you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
But they were wrong. He would have died – if not then,
eventually. Because everybody dies. The whens and whys are shrouded in mystery,
but death itself is inevitable. No one
gets around it. And some folks, like
Lazarus, do it more than once.
And because death is unavoidable,
sadly, so is grief and pain. It is a
built-in part of the human experience.
There is no way around it. Like
death, sadness is also inevitable – especially if we open our hearts enough to
love someone. Martha and Mary were sad
because they loved their brother and he died.
And Martha grieves even though she
knows Jesus. Martha was sad even though
she could recite to Jesus her resurrection theology. She confronts Jesus even though she loves
him. Martha questions him even though
she trusts in him. He's her Messiah, her
Lord, and still she cries. Because she
is human; and it is okay to grieve. Even
Jesus wept. Grief does not indicate a
lack of trust in God; it just means we miss someone we love.
This is a very human story. It is a story about life and death. And while as a human race, we have
collectively quite a bit of experience with both life and death, we are no
closer to figuring them out. And so,
like Martha, we have only the struggle.
And, I suppose, on our good days
we, like Martha, bring that struggle to Jesus.
And Jesus hangs in there with us – in our pain and grief and anger. Jesus doesn't walk away when Martha confronts
him – he could have, he could have just walked away – but instead, he stays
with her; he weeps with her. Because
that is what love does – it sticks with us through the pain.
We don't get to avoid pain in this
life. But Jesus is with us in our
pain. He weeps when we weep.
But in this story, Jesus does more
than just weep. He resuscitates
Lazarus. Martha and Mary's grief is
replaced with shock as quickly as their brother emerges from his grave. And this is where this story becomes the
sign. Jesus is much more than just an
empathetic friend. He is the
Resurrection and he is the Life.
But this is not that. This only hints at the power of God. This is resuscitation and resuscitations
eventually end again in death. But
resurrection is new and unending life.
And while this story is pretty good, resurrection is so much
better. Death is inevitable but through
Jesus so is Life. And as this story
assures us, Life is stronger than death.
But in the face of death, trust is
hard. Will we trust the one who says, “I
am Life,” with our life? Will we trust
the one who says, “I am Resurrection,” with our death? And as if that was not difficult enough – to
entrust our life and death to someone we cannot see – Jesus asks us to trust
also to him the ones we love most dearly – to trust Jesus with our family and
friends and children, to trust that he will see them through life and death.
Centuries ago, there lived a
well-known Desert Father named Antony.
“Abba Antony once prayed, 'Lord, why are some poor and others rich? Why do the wicked prosper and the righteous
suffer? Why do some die young while others live to become quite old?' An inner
voice answered, 'Antony, mind your own business. These things are God's business and none of
yours.'”[1]
And what a relief that is. The one who weeps with us, loves us, hangs in
there with us through our times of pain and anger, has made life and death his
business. And so we can entrust it all to
Jesus. “I am Resurrection and I am Life,”
says the Lord. And that is it.
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