30 Mar For Lazarus and James, where was Jesus?
If you’ve ever suffered the loss of a loved one or been near to death yourself, you were able to relate to today’s gospel narrative. You may have been like Lazarus, so ill and near to death, you lost track of what was happening, so withdrawn into what was going on in your body, you were no longer able to communicate with the people you love. Or perhaps you were like Martha and Mary. You were a family member wrapped up in your desperate fear of loss, a person who could only watch as events progressed and a loved one grew weaker.
Or perhaps you feel like Jesus, a really close friend. You are aware of a family’s suffering, one you know well. But, at this moment in time, you are unable to prevent their suffering. You see, the Bible is not just a story about who God is, but who we are. We are persons connected through relationships, tied to hopes and dreams of spending quality time together, tied to hopes of reuniting after spending time apart.
That’s why reading about COVID-19 patients dying alone is especially painful. That’s why seeing the faces of grieving family members or photos of orphaned children creates hurt in us and radiates beyond the hearts of those directly affected.
The New York Times recently published an article with photos from a century of epidemics. Most of the images showed rows of beds or crowds of people. One image of one child especially struck and haunted me.
Two men in rescue gear carried the outstretched body of an eight year old boy. He’s obviously alive, eyes wide open. Within him is some awareness that he’s suddenly been suspended several feet above ground. Grasped by his left upper arm, right ankle and under one side of his neck, he does not dangle like a hunting trophy or appear limp like a victim near death.
But, he’s ill enough not to squirm or resist the efforts of rescue workers who transport him without cradling him. They carry him like patio furniture. His bones act like long wooden rods inserted through canvas slings. His khaki pants extend to their full length where one would lounge outstretched legs and feet. The backrest was upholstered in sweater material with black and orange horizontal stripes.
The rescuers are covered head to toe in protection. The only visible part of their skin is what surrounds their eyes, seen behind clear goggles. The young boy’s face and head are bare like his feet. His shirt rides halfway up his torso, exposing a flat stomach. Within the small circle of his navel, lay a perfectly symmetrical outie belly button.
For hours outside an Ebola treatment center, this little boy with a name waited. Like Lazarus, Mary, Martha, and the psalmist, this little boy named James cried out of the depths of his spirit for the Lord to hear his voice. His soul waited like theirs. More than those who kept watch for the morning, they all waited, for the Lord was their hope.
The message family members sent is, “Lord, he whom you love is ill.” The rescue workers, like Jesus, assessed the patient’s condition. “This illness does not yet appear like death, not yet, anyway. He can wait.” Eight year old James, later died. So, did Lazarus. Rescue workers had hoped that James’ death could be postponed. Jesus knew Lazarus’ death was temporary.
Jesus said that the man born blind and Lazarus’ illness was for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it. The question we must ask is, “How is God glorified regardless of how things turn out? Regardless if that someone we love lives or dies? First, let’s look at what God being glorified suggests.
It does not suggest God will receive some sort of due praise. I am disappointed by otherwise decent Christian literature that routinely suggests our faith demands a decision to praise God regardless of circumstance or emotional state. It doesn’t. As Christians, we sometimes feel disloyal to God if we don’t offer praise at all times. This way of thinking is exactly what leads well intentioned Christians to offer inappropriate words of comfort during times of loss. Our visitation team is reading a book called, “Don’t Sing Songs to a Heavy Heart,” precisely because our tendency is to try and put a positive spin on things in order to glorify God. That’s not due praise.
When asked how I feel by a fellow Christian after going through a hard time, I’ve caught myself silently rehearsing what I’d really like to say. Then, I figure God must have given me grace when I hear myself not complain. Instead, I hear myself describing how faithful God’s been. Families who’ve gone through hell and back often do the same thing saying, “One thing I know. God has been faithful.” People struck with chronic disease and tragedy somehow manage to proclaim, “God continues to love me, even when I rebel.” I don’t doubt their praise is genuine. I just want to make it clear that God doesn’t need people to be his public relations team and positively spin his reputation.
What people genuinely experience will do an adequate job of glorifying God. Being real explains who God really is. Being glorified means that God will be revealed, that God will self-disclose through times of trial. God’s self-disclosure is a process where God reveals things that we cannot perceive outright.
If I tell you I’m a middle aged white woman while you see me on screen, that’s not self-disclosure. You can see it for yourself. What Jesus does when he restores sight and life to a body are not displays of power. They are markers of who he is. One willing to risk his life, in fact, give his life so people can see and live beyond any type of darkness and death. Jesus came to earth to restore and give resurrection life.
When he delayed his arrival to the scene, it wasn’t to prove a theological point. God doesn’t manipulate human circumstances to enhance his theological teaching moments. Four days did happen to be the prescribed period of time to officially declare a person dead according to Jewish law. In some respects, bringing Lazarus back after four days did make a believable case for full resurrection of the body. Like the first magician to pull a live rabbit out of a hat, Jesus amazed his audience by in effect producing a live chick from a rotten egg. His magnificent feat pointed out multiple things: that his power could be exercised beyond the grave, that life was possible beyond verifiable death, and that Jesus responds compassionately to every source of suffering and grief for families.
Before that, the dialogue between Martha and Jesus proves that an afterlife is not offered by God as a kind of consolation prize when a loved one dies. Christian hope in the resurrection and knowing Jesus as your Savior are great to recall, but they are not the only sources of comfort. To speak of such things is necessary, but Jesus (and you) know that sometimes words spoken for the inherent value they supposedly hold are in and of themselves, insufficient. They won’t satisfy.
Jesus doesn’t use words to stop Martha from saying what she felt. Jesus said, “You do know that you can hope in me, and look forward to eternal life, right?” But, he didn’t leave Martha hanging there, and doesn’t leave you hanging there either.
Jesus makes the choice to show up in person where threats abound. Going to Bethany brought him within two miles of where folks were trying to kill him. After being raised from the dead, Lazarus himself was put on their hit list. His disciples, like concerned relatives, wanted to forbid Jesus to go there. “We won’t let you expose yourself to possible harm,” they said. Thomas offered to “go with”, but that wouldn’t have helped either of them. Jesus knew that his enemy, like the coronavirus, was not dissuaded by greater numbers, but encouraged.
While on earth, Jesus was not present for Lazarus’ death. As fully God and fully human, he is present at every death of those he loves. And, that means everyone. No one dies alone. Not Lazarus, not eight year old James, not other victims of germs, or poverty or crime who causes folks to live their final moments in isolation. No one dies alone.
God is glorified when ordinary people come to console a family experiencing loss. God is in the pressure applied to a wound, the gauze and tubing, even the embalming fluid. God is revealed within a caring community, where people can witness something of God’s self-disclosure, where they realize what they couldn’t perceive normally or on their own.
We unite when we love or suffer, two main points of access. The two ways in which Jesus expresses God’s solidarity with human beings and creation.
I hope you were able to find yourself among the characters in today’s gospel narrative. Through Jesus, Martha gave you permission to freely speak what’s on your mind and to petition God directly. We discovered that it’s okay to want to suppose how things might have turned out differently had things been under our control, had God done exactly as we preferred.
Martha’s statements were like ours, a mix of fear and faith. There is nothing wrong with professing fear and faith in the same breath. We have been encouraged to ask boldly, knowing we too, may be forced to submit to a reality we didn’t ask for, an end of the story that can go either way, like Lazarus or James. As Jesus revealed himself to the Samaritan woman and the formerly blind man, he now draws not only Martha’s eyes and attention, but ours to gaze upon him directly.
Bow your heads and hear these words as if from Christ:
“Be confident in who I am. I know it’s hard not to focus on how you wish I’d use my power to end suffering. Know that I do reach into all circumstances and beyond the grave. For now, be brave. Act courageously because I am with you. My Spirit lives in you, wherever you are, however you suffer. Know me as I know you, as one whom I love. I dearly love the person you fear being separated from, or wish was still with you. Seek safe interaction and support from others. Comfort them with your presence, for where you are, so am I. In my Holy name, I pray.” Amen.