The raising of Lazarus gives us the perfect window to see beyond the present crisis, to see how God’s grace and freedom persists.
freedom persists beyond the crisis
Lent 5A | John 11:1-45
Can I just say, this is a crazy gospel to read during a pandemic?
“This illness does not lead to death; rather it is for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” Yikes! I don’t want to go anywhere near that!
But…what do I always say? If it hurts to read, we must address it.
So before we go anywhere, we should make it clear. God doesn’t use disease to punish or reward. Nor should we put God to the test. That’s been a big theme throughout Lent. And again last week, when we talked about the Man who was blind from birth.
Nor should we look at our present pandemic as somehow glorifying God. Or intended by God to be a grotesque sign of a reality we must twist to make look good.
We shall not gather a thousand people or even ten people in one place—only to find that such gatherings become epicenters of outbreak. These foolish decisions have been the source of outbreaks throughout the world since January.
Instead, we should see our own crisis with a very specific illness through the generous lens of those faithful people in this story. People who were watching their beloved brother and friend die in their midst.
That alone is instructive. Their experience is the most powerful truth of this story. And it is their assumptions about God that lead to their own misery.
So we must look, not through a rigidly literal lens, or one that projects a cruel purpose onto God. But perhaps through the instructive lens of revealing God’s presence in the midst of suffering.
A story about life, death, and compassion.
Now, this story is a bit crazy.
Two sisters, Mary and Martha, try to enlist Jesus to save their brother, Lazarus, who is dying. When Jesus gets there, it’s too late. But, through a miracle, Lazarus is brought back to life.
There are some interesting wrinkles to the story. And the most obvious one is how Mary and Martha deal with Jesus. They come to him, not as strangers seeking help, but as friends who know what he is capable of. Friends who feel a deep heartache by Jesus’s delay. That he doesn’t race to them. Like he didn’t get on a plane and fly to them that second.
Of course, the timetable doesn’t justify that response. He only waited two days, but by the time he got there, Lazarus had been buried for four. Their response isn’t reasonable: it’s grief speaking. You should’ve been here! we can hear them saying. But who among us hasn’t wanted the irrational for its own sake?
They wanted Jesus to race to Lazarus, even though he actually couldn’t save him because he couldn’t get there in time. They wanted him to try because they wanted him to prove his love. Much like the test of Jesus in the wilderness: make God prove God’s love for Jesus. We want to see it. Prove your love!
And Jesus is just not doing what they want him to.
At the Tomb
When they finally take Jesus to the tomb, there’s a crowd. People want to see this with their own eyes. Some of whom have seen miracles before. They ask
“Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”
The point now, is not about seeing the righteous power of Jesus healing people—it’s anger that he seems to be choosing. Snide remarks about what Jesus should be doing (if he really loved Lazarus).
Of course, the clue is in that same story they just referenced. The one about the blind man. We read that one last week.
A man, who was blind from birth, meets Jesus and Jesus gives him sight. But if you remember, it isn’t about the miracle as much as it was fighting the urge to assume things about Jesus and about God.
It was about the way the disciples assumed the man was a sinner and assumed God punished him. It was about the pharisees bullying people because they assumed God wouldn’t give sight to a sinner on the Sabbath. And the man’s parents were too afraid to do anything about it, assuming they’d be punished.
The only one seeking the truth was the one speaking the truth throughout. The man. Who kept saying that Jesus put mud on his face, he washed it off, and then he could see.
God is being revealed in miracles, not our contrivances and assumptions.
This story is all about assumptions, too!
And we will, no doubt, fall victim to them.
When Jesus raises Lazarus, what does he do? He calls for Lazarus to come out.
Does he run over and give him a big hug? Saying Welcome back! Does he put his arm around him and guide him back to the community? The thing any of us would do? The thing we expect our leader to do? That thing we assume shows other people “just how much we love them”?
No. He tells the people to “Unbind him, and let him go.”
The man is restrained by the cloth of the dead. You free him.
The miracle isn’t the point of the story.
Jesus is showing us how God is being revealed to us. And the whole thing is participatory. We are the ones who unbind Lazarus and then let him go.
And as much as I didn’t want to talk about an “illness does not lead to death” but instead reveals God’s glory, this invitation speaks volumes.
“Unbind him, and let him go.”
We are scrambling to protect our neighbors, our institutions, our way of life. We fear the dying and those whose deaths could be prevented. The structural chaos and financial collapse. We are afraid of the dying and maybe we’re praying to God to spare us or stop this. And if God doesn’t, what are we going to do? Well…
“Lord, if you had been here…”
We could safely assume that God just isn’t going to prove love. That we’re stuck, trapped in disease and famine—with no toilet paper to be found.
Or we can listen to Jesus.
Listen. God is reducing our fears from final to temporary. Those things we fear will destroy us may not defeat us.
But we also don’t need to get stuck on the method. For it is not our bodies or our institutions that Jesus is in the business of saving. It isn’t about timing and expectations. We cannot assume we are doing the will of God by ignoring a pandemic or by proving our love. Nor can we assume that God will end our pain or remove our adversity, for that is not God’s sole purpose.
Who or what is your Lazarus? Is it the 8:00 or 10:00 service? Your coffee hour with Square Donuts? Is your ability to leave home your Lazarus? What burden do you most want God to fix?
And when we fix our minds upon that burden and demand that God bring it all back the way it was—health, movement, joy, that sense of true personal freedom [make us young again!]—we assume that’s all God is. A healer. On demand. Otherwise God’s a snake. How foolish!
Listen.
“Unbind him, and let him go.”
Our God is a god of resurrection. A God of new life. Let. It. Go. Whatever it is, set it free.
We are in the midst of great suffering and pain—a global pandemic the likes of which our people have never seen. And yet, beauty remains. Joy remains. Gratitude and Compassion remain.
We are striving to be with each other. And we may be desperate for something normal, but we don’t have to seek it—it’s there already. All around us.
We remind each other that we aren’t stuck at home we get to be safe at home. Some of us with family and some with the comfort of familiarity.
Our friends at Westminster Village—with all your neighbors and staff looking out for you! You know freedom! Unbind each other. This moment is not all there is!
Our friends who live by yourselves! You are never truly alone! We are with you. You can’t even imagine how many of us pray for you all the time.
Friends all over the country! We see you where you are! This place, this time may be fleeting, but love is eternal. Hope and new life are eternal. Christ’s Way of Love is eternal. We are in the same spiritual room, even as we are separated by many miles.
In the end…
The point of this story isn’t simply to get Lazarus resurrected. It’s that Christ’s love transcends one moment. And it transcends Christ. Because Jesus gave the people the power to free each other.
Part of the miracle is that the people free Lazarus.
Free each other of fear. Stay home. Wash your hands. Save your neighbors’ lives by not going out.
Free us also of the fear for our institutions, our way of life, our culture, our churches, our common practices. God will breathe new life into the world. The Word will return in a new life.
Be in this moment. This Lentiest of Lents. In this season of trial. This time in the wilderness. Be here and listen. Reflect and discern. Dream. Imagine. Create! There will be a resurrection here. A new creation. The same and yet utterly new.
For nothing true, nothing of God, nothing that is eternal and reflecting God’s glory ever goes away. Not for long. Just a few days.
And then…
New.