Rev. Debra McKnight
Sermon 3.29.20
I
begin with a confession. This is a text I typically avoid. It shows up
every three years in the Lectionary (the shared cycle of readings often
used in Mainline Churches) and I either didn’t have to preach or picked
something else. Jesus confronts death, it is visceral, it smells and it
is strange. Jesus annoys me in this text, waiting two days to show up
when Martha asked him for help - and that kind of attitude just doesn’t
fly with the values Sandy and Jim McKnight instilled in my soul. Jesus
is human in this text in the most difficult ways, and divine in ways
that are particularly challenging for our modern sensibilities around
miracle healings and bodily resurrections. I don’t like it and it just
doesn’t fit with what some folks would call my “low Christology,” which
is to say that I lean a little more into Jesus’ humanity and am a little
less interested in his Magical-ly, miracle-ly activities. His
humanity is powerful, and when humanity is most loving and most “for
others” it is divine. And we are called to try to follow that way…even
if the path is challenging.
My
Christology, thanks to Rev. Susan Davies, has its own metaphor. It’s
less brick and more doily (you know the thing your Grandma might have
had around the house?). It’s woven, it’s carefully crafted, it’s
structured and patterned and strong - but it has open space, you can see
the light through it, and it has a little give when you need it. Given
that theological framework, it would be really easy for me to invite you
into this text only as metaphor. The Gospel of John is a mystical work;
it is filled with metaphor and rich with nuance. So we can look to this
text and think about what it means when Jesus says, “Lazarus, come
out.” We can and should imagine ourselves in the story, that’s why it’s
there and we can explore what binds us and what binds our neighbors,
just as Lazarus was bound. And we can imagine our work in unbinding -
pulling the wrapping of death from our neighbors in love. We can and
should do all of this, but we should probably keep in mind that this is
why they kill Jesus; and I just don’t think metaphors alone get you
executed.
In
the Gospel of John, this moment is why they kill Jesus. It is not
because of a disruptive moment at the Temple in preparation of the
Passover like the other Gospels, it is this moment. Jesus
raises Lazarus and people believe; people see something and they
experience something. It is so powerful that they run to tell the
authorities, who debate the next steps. Ultimately the leaders will
decide, “It is better for one man to die” than the whole community face
complete destruction by Rome. I imagine if we lived with the daily
brutality of the Roman Empire, we probably wouldn’t disagree. This
moment and these words, “Lazarus, come out” are the hinge of the whole
Gospel; this narrative is at the very center. It is the clarity of what
word made flesh can mean. Jesus’ ministry is filled with powerful
metaphors and parables, teachings and stories - but it is always felt,
lived and practiced. It applies to life. In Luke, he proclaimed he came
to bring recovery of sight and release of the captives and the year of
our Lord’s favor. This is what he does here. Jesus fed people and
touched folks that no one was supposed to touch; his work is tangible
and every day. We modern folks look at the miracles of the ancient world
and often assume it can’t be true like we are somehow smarter and they
don’t really understand science. But something is happening; temples
have similar healing miracles and we shouldn’t assume that ancient
people are dumb, like they can’t tell the difference between sickness
and health, or between life and death. I think it helps us to imagine
Jesus and his contemporaries have a different technology and we maybe
don’t have to understand the method as much as why it matters. The piece
of the story that we need to pick up on is that Jesus brought healing
to everyone, not just the folks who had the money or connections in the
Temples. This miracle or sign is particularly heavy, even in the ancient
world - that’s why it’s such a big deal. Healings and signs like this
are ways people pointed to a leader and said, “That guy is important.”
Folks around Jesus didn’t look at this sign and ask for the logistics,
they looked at it with a heart for the question of So What.
So
what does it offer us? The Gospel of John is offering us something
tangible, word made flesh, and we are meant to learn to be a part of it,
to offer it ourselves. The disciples, notorious for not getting it and
needing Jesus to teach the lesson again have some pretty good points at
the beginning of the chapter. They remind Jesus that returning to
Bethany is risky; last time he was nearly stoned…and this isn’t Denver
or the 1960’s. This part of the story closes with Thomas, before he
misses one meeting and asks one question only to be branded ‘Doubting
Thomas’ for 2000+ years. Thomas says, “Let us go that we may die with
him.” Jesus has explained the significance he anticipates in this moment
with Lazarus and reading Thomas’ comment I wonder if he is grasping the
possibility of resurrection with Lazarus or if he is honing in on how
dangerous it is to follow Jesus. I leave both to your pondering. By the
end of the gospel of John, Jesus will name the disciples as friends, no
longer the language of master and disciple, teacher and student, but
friend. Word made flesh is intimate and relationship based.
We
see the power of relationships further in Bethany. If there was ever a
place where Jesus felt at home, where he relaxed a little, shared the
heavy burden and laughed with friends, it is in Bethany. It is near
Jerusalem and likely that Mary, Martha and Lazarus are his hosts and hub
for ministry. They are probably the people that “get” him and something
akin to the family we often make out of friends. When Martha greets
Jesus she greets him with the urgency of where have you been -
not out of doubt but out of confidence in his gifts, knowing he could
have saved her brother. Jesus responds with one of his significant I am
statements, “I am the resurrection and I am life.” Martha hears this in
the theology she already knows, a resurrection at the culmination of all
things when we will be reconnected with her brother and that’s not what
Jesus means when he says, “I am the resurrection and I am life.”
Perhaps it’s one of those moments when we assume things about what we
hear or perhaps she is in grief and listening is hard or perhaps this
was just a part of what Jesus is seeking to teach.
Mary
will greet Jesus in her grief and Jesus finds his own; he becomes
“greatly disturbed.” It could also mean angry, and this translation
troubles me, because who is he angry with? Was he angry with his friends
and their belief that if he had been there it would have saved their
brother? Was he angry with himself? The community gathered? Maybe he is
just feeling the fullness of the moment, the weight of his own grief and
loss and the tension of life and death? He asks Martha to have the
stone rolled away and she reminds him that Lazarus has been dead for
four days. Really dead. After three days in his culture, there was an
assumption the soul has left the body. Martha names the reality, it will
stink. Jesus prays aloud thanking God for hearing him and just like the
Divine speaks life into creation at the first creation story, Jesus
says, “Lazarus come out.” And he does. Resurrection isn’t a distant
future, it is now. It is visible and we participate in it.
One
of my clergy colleagues, Rev. Adam Barlow-Thompson, gave a great sermon
on this passage in January and invited us to imagine exactly how this
happens, because Lazarus has to do the first part by himself and he is
wrapped head to toe in cloth. Does he do the worm to get out, flinging
his body toward the opening in the tomb? Does he pogo stick out? Does he
roll? The mystery is there for us to uncover. But the community does
the second part: Jesus sends the church to be the church and says unbind
him. The community shows up to remove what bound him in the tomb,
unraveling the limitations on his movement and his being. It is messy
work and it probably doesn’t smell great, but it is the work Jesus asks
of them and us.
We
are in a time and place where the tensions of life and death are before
us like never before. Every day numbers of those tested, those infected
and those who have died are flashed before us. The tension of death and
in the face of this virus, death alone gives us pause, grief, and
stress. We grieve all manner of changes and losses, we anticipate deeper
grief still and we wish everything was different…or at least I do. But
there are resurrection glimpses. We see videos of folks cheering for
medical staff at their shift changes as though they are playing in
Memorial Stadium. We read stories of China sending equipment to Italy
with Italian Poetry by Seneca speaking to how we are all connected
printed on the side of the crate. We see doctors and nurses flying into
critical need like the cavalry joining the battle. We see teachers
sending love to students they can’t see and working to bridge the
technology gaps in thousands of ways. We see kids sending love notes to
grandparents through chalk or letter and new babies bringing tears of
joy to family on the other side of the window. We see CEO’s donating
their annual salary for the frontline workers. We read the stories of
big names with deep pockets making huge gifts and everyday folks giving
even more so that the folks on the front lines have what they need.
Doctors and engineers are MacGyver-ing ventilation machines
because we are creative and we are resilient and we are determined to
give life. People are staying home and staying connected, spring is
emerging and new life, the force of creativity that swept across the
waters springs forth from us even now. Can’t you see it? Can’t you feel
it? It is tangible. Word made flesh, in all of our gifts and despite our
differences we are wonderfully and beautifully made, all of us from
every corner of the globe. Resurrection is here and now, we must open
our eyes and listen for God’s nudge to participate.
We
are called to the work faith, living as Jesus lived, even when the
story is messy and no-one is perfect and sometimes it stinks. But we are
called anyway. We are called to bring healing to people, to unbind all
the wrappings of death in our community and to live a resurrection
faith. How will we emerge from this moment in history? That is the work
at hand. How will we care for one another in our grief and in our
heartbreaking loss? How will we structure for the future, to lessen the
gaps between those who have and those who have not? Will we balance
disparity in wages, will we make internet a utility, and will we invest
in universal healthcare in the sure and certain confidence that everyone
is sacred? Will we plan for healing and prepare differently, learning
through this moment and living into life and life abundant?
May we have the courage.
Amen
Where do I struggle with this text?
What does it ask of me?
What passions and gifts to I have that can help unbind those bound in the world around us?
