A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger Gaines-Cirelli.
Scripture: Ezekiel 37:1-14; John 11:1-45
Today’s Gospel is about a funeral, something we all know something about. A beloved brother and friend has died and the family and community has gathered for the rituals of grief…in the midst of the casseroles and crying and storytelling and remembering, there hangs the question that so often lurks at funerals—where was God? Where was God when my loved one suffered with tubes coming out of her nose, when my beloved fought for breath, when the light of my life was wracked with pain, when this beautiful person was so devastated by her mental illness that she chose to exit this world rather than suffer any more, when the clot broke and moved into his brain, when my husband’s heart, so full of love, attacked and took him from me in an instant? If God had been here, this wouldn’t have happened. Both Martha and Mary give voice to this deeply human response to death: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Those gathered in grief also mutter under their breaths, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” Alongside these words, so often left unspoken except in the deep recesses of the human heart, there are also words of hope and faith. At funerals we hear these words that speak of God’s light and love, of God’s presence, of hope in the life to come. And in our story today we hear these words, too: “I know that Lazarus will rise again…” says Martha. But Mary, unlike Martha, can’t muster any words of faith or hope. She just cries.
In the midst of grief, the mixture of rage, confusion, hope, emptiness, gratitude, regret, fear, faith, loneliness, and so much more leaves us exhausted and numb as we try to adjust to a universe that has been radically altered by our loss. A beautiful prayer in the funeral liturgy of our church speaks of our shrinking before the mystery of death. And a mystery it is. Suffering and death are THE human mystery, the place before which all our best efforts and all our striving reach their ultimate limit. How can we not shrink before such a mystery?
At the beginning of our story today, we learn that Jesus knew that his friend Lazarus was gravely ill but purposely stayed where he was for two more days—so that by the time he arrived in Bethany Lazarus had been dead four days. This detail becomes more interesting when we understand that tradition of the time taught that the soul lingered near the body for three days, after which there was no hope of life returning. Jesus waited to arrive until the fourth day, until things were truly hopeless, when the full impact of God’s power might be displayed. And while we may find this frustrating, even cruel, perhaps if we hold this detail in the context of the whole story we will be able to find some comfort. First of all, the disciples remind us that Jesus’ return to Bethany puts his own life (and theirs as Thomas so tersely declares in verse 16) in danger. And yet, with courage and purpose, Jesus comes into the place of death, the situation that, according to this Gospel, will bring about his own death (see Jn. 11:45 ff.). But he doesn’t seem worried or fearful at all in this story. Rather, upon seeing the deep grief of his beloved friend Mary and of those who mourned with her, Jesus does not focus on his own vulnerability or death, but rather reveals one of the most important things we will ever know about the heart of God. Jesus wept; his own heart broke for the suffering of those around him. As Jesus cries, we learn that the God whom Jesus came to reveal is not far removed from our pain and our grief. Our God shares our pain, weeps with us and is deeply grieved by anything and everything that threatens human wholeness and flourishing.
But the point of Jesus’ coming into this situation isn’t only to reveal the compassion of God for our human grief and suffering—though that is certainly a word we need to hear. If that were the only message from Jesus, it would mean that God ostensibly could remain far off, sad for us, but incapable of doing anything to affect human life. Jesus’ purpose was to reveal even more than the great compassion of God—he came to reveal the glory of God, the power of God’s love to call forth life that is full and free even in the midst of death.
Jesus comes into a place of death, a hopeless moment, the point of despair and deep grief and he speaks words of life, words of faith in the power of his Father’s love, words of freedom from the things that keep human life bound by death. Jesus’ ultimate purpose here is to offer a great gift to all those who were grieving (who ARE grieving)—the gift not only of a loved one restored for a time, but more importantly, the gift of freedom from the fear of death for ALL time, the gift of knowing that God’s power is stronger than death, that God’s love is fiercer than the grave.
Right now, in our church family, there are people who are grieving. There are people who are facing the end of their earthly life, there are people who are waiting and watching and walking together with their loved ones as they travel down the final stretch of their journey. We may want Jesus to show up and call it off, clean it up, make these situations different. But we know well enough this doesn’t always happen. We also know that sooner or later we will all face death—the death of those closest to us and our own death. The gift of Jesus for us all is the promise that we need not fear death. If we believe in the God revealed to us through Jesus, we truly have nothing to fear. For while we may not know WHAT is beyond the grave, we do know WHO is beyond the grave. The Gospel today teaches us that even though Jesus wasn’t there when and how others wanted, even though Lazarus died, God was there and ready to bring about a miracle of life restored. God was there. God is here. God is near. God’s love is the very source of life and the very power of new life, resurrected life, restored life. In this world and in the world beyond this one.
Regardless of whether you are able to buy the idea that a human body was brought back to life after four days, perhaps you will agree that all our lives are a mixture of life and death, of slavery and freedom, of faith and despair. The word spoken by Christ is to come out of the darkness and into God’s marvelous light, to be unbound, freed from the things that keep us from being fully alive. The miracle is that this does happen in ways large and small over and over again. Through the power of God’s love, people have the courage to face a new future, to cherish the past without being tethered to it. Through the grace of God, we can keep on going in the face of challenges and sorrow, trusting that a new day of life and joy awaits us. This freedom and new life can emerge as we journey through grief. It can happen as we come to terms with the reality of our own mortality. It can happen because of God’s love shown to us fully in Jesus Christ. And the freedom that comes from trusting God’s love more than we distrust anything else in all creation, makes us live and love in new and powerful ways—regardless of our prognosis. Life lived in this freedom is a good life, a full life, a life with impact and meaning. Such a good life makes for a good death. Because a life lived, really lived, fully, compassionately, honestly, lovingly, is a life that can entrust even the regrets and the faults and the questions to the mercy and steadfast love of almighty God.
Once upon a time, I encountered Christ in the midst of grief…and her name was Shirley. Shirley was diagnosed with stomach cancer in July and by late September, after suffering terribly through chemotherapy treatments that didn’t touch the cancer, made the decision to let go. Shirley was a woman who enjoyed life, laughed often, loved well. She faced her illness and impending death with honesty, courage, and humor. She was pretty amazing. The last time I got to spend time with her when she was still lucid, I brought Holy Communion. We made a little make-shift altar by her bed, she sat on the side of the bed, her feet swinging alongside, and we prayed. After she received the elements, she sat, eyes closed, quiet, peaceful… I asked her what she was feeling and she said, simply, “I feel…blessed.”
That is a life that is free. That is a life that is fully alive. That is a life of trust and faith. That is a life that has changed mine…forever.
