Resurrection as Defiance

 

John 11:1-45

Lent 5 / Year A

I doubt we at St. Paul’s could have hand-picked a more appropriate reading from John’s Gospel than we just heard as we prepare to honor and celebrate the life and witness of Bill Peachy and as we offer our care and consolation to Dixie and her family.  While the customs and burial preparations of Jesus’ day differ somewhat from ours, as we reflect on this story we recognize what share in common:

·    The immense grief at the loss of a loved one.

·   The necessity of some kind of faith to keep us buoyant on the sea of despair that is death.

·    The community’s role of supporting those who are hurting the most.

The community.  We see ourselves in those who surround Martha and Mary.  We understand the initial confusion when the disciples first learn of Lazarus’ illness, from the “Oh no, what horrible news” to the desire to do something helpful to the humbling realization there is nothing we can do to change the outcome.  And we identify with their willingness to be with the sisters as they weep and mourn.  In these folks we see the time-honored truth our love is best expressed in our willingness to be steadfast companions.  We see in them how God’s power works through us not because we can make all the hurt go away, but as we remain close even as we feel inadequate to make a difference. 

As your pastor, I know firsthand how the power of the clergy collar is not manifested through fancy words I say when a person is dying, but in its unfailing ability to demonstrate God is present, God cares, God knows how you feel, God is holding you tight, and yes, someday, somehow, God will wipe away every tear from every eye and make all things whole again.

If you were to look at today’s reading as being an act in a play, notice how Lazarus, the person around whom the entire scene is centered, has no actual speaking lines.  In fact, he only appears at the end as the curtain closes and even then, he is shrouded in burial linens.  As a story element, this shifts our attention from him (the person whose experience is the cause of the story) to the people around him who are affected by what happens to him. 

Enter the two supporting actresses, first Martha, then Mary.  We already know them from the time Jesus visited their home with his disciples.  Mary reclined at his Jesus’ feet, taking in all the master had to say.  Martha toiled in the kitchen, working feverously to provide hospitality for their unanticipated guests.  Now, in this setting, their roles are reversed.  Martha is pondering deeper questions while Mary is swept up in the moment at hand.  They greet Jesus separately by saying to him the same thing: “If you would have been here, my brother would not have died.” 

Martha adds to this a statement of faith: “But even now I know God will give you whatever you ask.”  Then, responding to Jesus, she says, “I know my brother will rise on the last day.”  It is then Jesus proclaims, “I am the resurrection and the life.”  Something about this particular loss, and what Jesus says to her, reshapes Martha’s faith and thinking in a profound way.

Has this ever happened to you?  I think about how my own pastoral theology was formed by reading Rabbi Herald Kushner’s book Why Bad Things Happen to Good People on a plane flight from Richmond to Iowa as I returned to the church I served there to bury an eight-year-old girl whose sudden and tragic death rocked everyone who knew her, including me.  That horrible moment forced me to grapple with questions I had never considered with any real depth, but could no longer avoid if I wanted to be able to offer anything of value (or at least do no harm) in a time of such inexpressible need.  That flight, reading that book, being with a family that lost the light of their lives, changed my life. 

Jesus asks Martha a question, “Do you believe?” and when she responds “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God,” it is evident the loss of her brother has become an ‘aha’ moment in her life.  Through this horrible event, her heart and mind conceive, perhaps for the first time, a truth deeper than the darkness of death.

Unlike her sister, when Mary says to Jesus, “If you had been here my brother would not have died,” she offers no confession of faith; not even “I know he will rise again” or “I know he is in a better place” or “I know we will meet again someday.”  All she adds to her comment is weeping; utter, panged grief.  Whereas Martha’s faith moves Jesus to add to her faith, Mary’s distress touches his heart.  Twice we are told he is “greatly disturbed.”  Her deep, unconsolable sadness moves Jesus to recognize his own sense of loss and he too weeps.   

The prayer book, writing about the theology of the Burial Office, notes why this is significant:

The liturgy for the dead is an Easter liturgy.  It finds all of its meaning in the resurrection.  Because Jesus was raised from the dead, we, too, will be.  The liturgy, therefore, is characterized by joy… This joy, however, does not make human grief unchristian…  Jesus himself wept at the grave of his friend.  So while we rejoice our loved one has entered into the nearer presence of our Lord, we sorrow in sympathy with those who mourn. ^{P. 507}

I am especially moved by funerals during the season of Lent when, among other things, the faithful refrain from saying the celebratory “A” word.  But come Saturday I will declare with boldness “Even at the grave we make our song Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.”  In the face of all that death is, this proclamation always feels to me like an act of defiance: “Death, you do not have the final word.”  And it feels like an act of rebellion: “Death, we refuse to live under your power.”  As I say these words, I always look up to our triptych and find comfort and strength and inspiration in its depiction our resurrected Savior surrounded by adoring angels.  It is Easter morning.  Death is banished.  Our Lord reigns.  This is our reality.  It is what we profess.  It is what we invite others embrace with us.

This week, as we celebrate Bill’s life, I invite you to bring your faith, your sorrow, your comforting presence, and your defiant allegiance to the One who proclaims, “I am the Resurrection and the Life.”