The Gate is Open

 

John 10:1-10

Easter 4 / Year A

The passage we just heard from John’s gospel is one section of a much larger story arc.  John frequently casts these arcs in a set pattern.  They begin with Jesus performing a ‘sign’, a healing or a miracle.  Then follows a dialogue about what happened.  It concludes with a discourse or teaching by Jesus.  The story arc which includes today’s reading begins in chapter 9 and runs through the end of chapter 10.  We read about the sign of the arc on the Fourth Sunday in Lent when Jesus heals a person blind from birth.  Remember all the back and forth between the man and the leaders of the synagogue?  That was all part of the dialogue.  Portions of chapter 10 are assigned to be read on this Sunday – known as Good Shepherd Sunday – in each of the three years of the Lectionary cycle. 

In today’s reading Jesus says to his followers and to the man born blind, “I am the gate for the sheep.”  In his day a sheepfold was an enclosure made by a wall of stones with a gate.  It was a place of safe rest through the night hours.  Multiple flocks bedded down in the fold and the various shepherds took turns guarding the gate through the night hours.  In the morning each shepherd called out to his sheep and, recognizing his voice, those of his flock followed him to pasture lands.

Now, it is fairly common to think of Jesus as being the Good Shepherd.  In fact, in the verses which follow today’s reading this is how he describes himself.  If you grew up going to Sunday School you probably saw multiple images of Jesus caring for sheep similar to our own Good Shepherd Window.  No doubt some kindly volunteer teacher had you glue together cotton balls on a sheet of construction paper which eventually became your rendition of Jesus and his flock.  My guess is you did not spend a lot of time talking about Jesus as being a gate.  In fact, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you have never pondered this image before.

Perhaps one reason the metaphor of the gate is so seldom used is we are embarrassed by its exclusionary imagery.  Many of us shy away from proclaiming there is only one true way to pursue the religious dimension of life and we Christians are the only ones who have access to it. 

In its original context the image is much more generous than it has become.  Remember how the man born blind eventually is thrown out of his hometown synagogue – effectively excommunicated.  The doors to the synagogue are closed to him because he refuses to renounce Jesus as the source of his healing.  When Jesus tells him “I am the gate” he is saying to the man he is not expelled from God’s presence or from God’s people.  While the religious leaders of the day (whom Jesus describes as being “thieves and bandits”) close the door in the man’s face, Jesus opens the gate to his new community of love and acceptance. 

St. Paul’s is blessed to have a magnificent facility and beautiful grounds.  Although the green space and walls look like they have been here forever, the original property was not much wider than the sanctuary and ran all the way back to Clay Street.  There were several houses on various plots of land on what is now our parish grounds.  Acquiring them, tearing them down, and eventually erecting the walls in stages is a process which unfolded over 75 years or so. 

There are three iron gates leading onto our property and, wonderfully, they are left open.  The gates invite people to come in and enjoy the most abundant greenspace on downtown Main Street.  The gates are symbols of welcoming and suggest when you pass through them you are leaving behind one domain and entering into another.  The ways and worries of the world are on one side of the gate and a witness to God’s love is on the other. 

Our witness can be seen in the beauty of our grounds and the glory of our stained glass windows.  It is made real in our prayers, through our music, and most especially when we celebrate of the Eucharist.  And our witness to God’s love in manifested in our personal joy, through our faith, and by how we care about and for one another.  And when we pass back through the gate to reenter the world it suggests we should carry something of what we experience here with us as we go forward.

Let me say one final thing about Jesus’ words, “My sheep know my voice and follow me” because it ties in well with the image of Jesus as the gate.  Some Christian traditions today see themselves as ‘gatekeepers’, determining who God loves and who God hates.  And these folks have managed to get enough officials elected in their communities and states to bring their perspective into the mainstream of public debate and law making. 

Our Presiding Bishop Michael Curry is famous for saying (as he did at our revival last weekend), “The bible tells us God is love, so if it isn’t about love it isn’t about God.”  If a voice is telling you not to love, but to hate, it is not the voice of Jesus.  Now, neither Bishop Curry nor Jesus is saying we should embrace all manner of self-destructive behavior or actions which harm others.  They are reminding us the gate to the church is open to everyone who desires to be a part of it by living into the beliefs, commitments, and promises of our Baptismal Covenant.  No exceptions.  Jesus is the gate and it is open to everyone who seeks to be a part of the community Bishop Curry calls “the Jesus Movement.”

 

We Had Hoped

 

Luke 24:13-35

Easter 3 / Year A

Two of Jesus’s followers decide to leave Jerusalem on the day it is discerned Jesus’ body is no longer in the tomb where it had been interred.  One is identified as Cleopas, a disciple who appears nowhere else in the gospels.  Some traditions hold he is the brother of Joseph the carpenter.  It is possible the other disciple is Mary, who is identified in John’s gospel as the wife of Clopas (a slightly different spelling, but within the realm of possibility).  There are a lot of women named Mary mentioned in and around the events the Resurrection and there are a lot of “other” – unnamed – women in the text as well.  So, if the second disciple on the way to Emmaus is Mary the wife of Clopas, it is possible she had gone to the tomb at the break of dawn with the other women and found it empty.  This, of course is conjecture.

Now, if you find that interesting, you love this pure speculation.  James Tabor, who teaches religious studies at U.N.C.–Charlotte, picks up on the tradition Cleopas is Joseph’s brother.  Most scholars assume Joseph dies sometime before Jesus launches his public ministry because he never appears in any of the gospels after Jesus is a boy.  Tabor takes this possibility and combines it with the Jewish custom of having a bother of the deceased marry the widow, and posits Mary, the wife of Clopas, is also Mary, the mother of Jesus.  (I’ll never get you attention back as you ponder that one!)

So, back to the morning of the Resurrection.  Luke tells us Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James (by the way, Jesus had a brother named James), and the other the women go to the tomb and find it empty.  An angel appears to them and tells them Jesus is risen.  They go and report this to the men.  Simon Peter rushes to the tomb, looks around, but doesn’t find anything.  Though not reported, it is possible Cleopas joins him in this inspection.  After all of this Cleopas and his companion (most likely his wife, possibly Jesus’ mother) make the decision to leave town.  Hopeful people don’t leave town.

Along the way they are talking about all that has happened.  The Greek word for talking infers they are “examining the evidence”.  They are trying to make sense of all that has happened when they are joined on the way by a stranger.  It is Jesus, but they do not recognize him.  He asks what they are talking about and they go through the details with him. 

At one point Cleopas admits “we had hoped Jesus was going to be the one who would redeem Israel.”  The verb here – had hoped – is in the present imperfect tense.  It means something had happened repeatedly in the past but is no longer happening in the present.

Think about all the different ways we might use the verb hope in the present imperfect:

·    We had hoped this job opportunity might really turn into something.

·    We had hoped the entire family could be together last Christmas.

·    We had hoped to be retired by now.

·    We had hoped there would be no more senseless mass shootings.

·    We had hoped he could stay off drugs after the last rehab stint.

·    We had hoped this doctor’s special treatment would put the cancer in remission.

Each of these statements indicates something of a flicker of light in the darkness has been extinguished and now it is just dark.  If you have ever experienced something like this then you know exactly how Cleopas and Mary feel in this reading.  The sun has set on their hopes and there is, for them, no possibility of a future dawn.  All they can do now is walk to Emmaus and try to make sense of it all.

Alexander Pope once said, “Blessed is the person who has no expectations because he will never be disappointed.”  I guess the most jaded among us can live this way, but most of us possess within our soul an enduring sense of hope.  We know things will not always work out exactly the way we would like, but we most often sense they work out for the best.  But there are crushing moments which try and test us to the core; the “we had hoped” moments when our dreams come crashing down and can no longer carry us forward.

From the beginning of this story, Luke gives us some inside information Cleopas and Mary do not have.  He tells us the stranger is Jesus and throughout we expect a big reveal is coming.  Many great artists have painted the moment when the two disciples first realize Jesus is with them.  Diego Velazques’ painting of a kitchen maid is notable.  It depicts a woman tending to pots and jars and in of its own rights is a masterpiece.  Only after restoration was it discovered in the left-hand corner of the painting three people are sitting at table.  The maid catches a glimpse of the scene in the reflection of a kettle and discerns before two of the guests the third person is the Risen Lord.  This discovery of this detail changed the entire meaning of the work and put into context the reaction on the maid’s startled face.

It is terribly significant Luke tells us this recognition comes through a Eucharistic moment.  Only then are they fully able to reflect back on the bible study Jesus led them through as they were walking.  I don’t believe it restores their hope to what it was before.  I think it transforms their hope in light of a new reality: Jesus is risen and he is with us to the end.

Paulo Coelho writes about this transformation in his book By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept:

“Joy is sometimes a blessing, but it is often a conquest.  Our magic moments help us to change and sends us off in search of our dreams.  Yes, we are going to suffer, we will have difficult times, and we will experience many disappointments — but all of this is transitory it leaves no permanent mark.  And one day we will look back with pride and faith at the journey we have taken.”

There is something about the experiences of loss and resurrection which transforms us from “we had hoped” to “we now believe.”  We gain insight and wisdom and translate it into a sense of peace and joy.  And it is all made possible as we experience Jesus’ victory every time we break bread.

The Climax of John's Gospel

 

John 20:19-31

Easter 2 /Year A

Literary scholars tell us we just heard the climactic moment of John’s gospel.  Everything written before it aims toward this dramatic conclusion.  But before I tell you what it is, let me say a little bit more about the book itself.  Written around 100 AD, it tells the story of events which happened seven decades earlier.  John is one of the few eyewitnesses still alive.  The vast majority of people in his day who call themselves Christians never met Jesus.  In fact, most were not even born yet.  They have come believe without ever seeing.

Now, it can be a little confusing when we speak of “a” gospel and “the” Gospel.  The Greek word for gospel literally means “proclamation” or “good news.”  So, when we talk about The Gospel we are referring to the Good News of God in Christ.  When we talk about a gospel we are referring to one of four written works which tell the story of Jesus – Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.

As a literary genre these gospel books are unlike anything we typically encounter today.  A biographer today would be at pains to maintain historical accuracy and a faithful retelling of the story of a person’s life.  Gospel writers (especially John) are not as concerned with accuracy as with meaning.  One scholar notes this genre of writing is not “pure” history, but neither is it myth, fairy tale, or legend.  These books are biographical narratives which proclaim the Good News of Jesus Christ.  And each of the four has a distinctive way of telling the story, each has a specific audience for which it is written, and, thus, each has particular purpose.

Consider what John says about his gospel in the last two sentences we heard in today’s reading:

Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book.  But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

First, he tells us he did not set out to write about every significant thing Jesus ever did.  He picks and chooses the stories he tells in order to communicate specific truths about Jesus.  For example, the feeding for the masses indicates Jesus is the Bread of Life, giving sight to a blind man demonstrates Jesus is the Light of the World, and raising Lazarus from the dead communicates Jesus is the resurrection and the life. 

It is also helpful to make a distinction between what we call the words of Jesus and the voice of Jesus.  The words of Jesus are the things he actually said and taught; things like the Lord’s Prayer and the Golden Rule.  The voice of Jesus are things consistent with his words, but not something he actually said.  Think about Jesus’ prayer in the garden before he is arrested.  John’s recording of this is quite complicated and detailed and yet the narrative makes clear no one is with Jesus as he prays.  Does this mean John lying or making up things?  No.  Think about how a person or church might say today, “I (or we) hear Jesus calling us to do…”  Did the actual person 2,000 years ago speak this to us?  No.  But is it the voice of Jesus; how we interpret his words in our present context and discern an authoritative pronouncement?  Yes.  And John, having firsthand knowledge of Jesus’ life and words, is in a position to have Jesus speak and teach in moments when they could not possibly be his actual words.

The second thing John tells us about his work is the purpose for it.  He does not intend to put together a precise chronology of what Jesus did.  In fact, he cares very little about timelines because he is more concerned about meaning.  So he plugs events into his narrative as he sees fit in order to support his objective, which he says is a hope the reader will come to have new life through believing Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God.  John shapes historical information for the proclamation of the kingdom in order to instill and strengthen faith in his readers.

Clement of Alexandria, who died in 215 AD, taught John’s gospel was the last to be written.  He held John perceived the first three gospels had already made plan the external facts of Jesus’s life, so he, being urged by his students and inspired by the Holy Spirit, set out to write a “spiritual gospel.”  As one scholar today puts it, John “intentionally bends the conventions of ancient historiography and biography in order to convey the deeper truth of the gospel story.”

So, all of this is to say, the climax of John’s gospel is far more than a historic event.  It is pregnant with meaning and sets the entire gospel in context.  And what is this moment?  It is when Thomas, who openly doubts the disciples when they tell him the crucified Jesus has appeared to them, meets the Risen Christ and says, “My Lord and my God.”  John wants everyone of his readers to experience this same conversion and creedal faith.

And, as we noted earlier, almost all of John’s readers never have the advantage Thomas has.  None ever see the Risen Lord with his or her own eyes.  None are ever able to inspect his wounds.  So what Jesus says to Thomas John intends for his readers to hear as Jesus saying it to them as well: “Have you believed because you have seen?  Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

I don’t know if John ever expected people to be reading his gospel 2,000 after he wrote.  But I suspect he knew it would endure past his days on earth and prayed for those who did read to come to the moment where Thomas finds himself today… having some kind of moment, some sort of encounter, some mystical experience when they – when we – when you and when I – are moved to profess “My Lord and my God.”

Grace in the Wilderness

 

Matthew 28:1-10

Easter Sunday / Year A

The prophet Jeremiah looked on as the Babylonian army sacked the holy city of Jerusalem, burned the Temple to the ground, and led of the majority of its citizens into exile.  It is one of the darkest moments in the entire Old Testament.  But he survived and lived to see the dawning of a new day.  The Lord gave Jeremiah this word to share with all the families of Israel:

The people who survived the sword

found grace in the wilderness.

“Grace in the wilderness” – what a beautiful phrase and image.  It proclaims God’s aid and succor can reach us wherever we are and no matter what condition we are in. 

I don’t consider Windsor Castle Park in Smithfield to be the wilderness, but I encountered an example of grace and resurrection there while on a hike a few weeks ago.  Walking through a heavily wooded section I was struck by the signs of death all around me in the form of trees that, for one reason or another, had fallen.  And those trees, depending on how long they have been down, are in various stages of decomposition; a process which feeds and nourishes every living thing around them. 

Well, I passed by one fallen tree just off the path between markers 5 and 6.  Something surprising was happening.  Apparently enough of the tree’s root structure remained in tack after the fall that the truck was able to put forth new shoots.  In fact, more than a dozen new limbs climbed skyward in search of sunlight; some more than twenty feet tall.  The tree literally is experiencing a resurrection – new life after dying.

What I saw in the tree I see in the lives of so many people I know in life and ministry.  One of the things I love about being a priest is people want to tell me about some of the most profound moments in their life.  I encounter people who, whether they know it or not, are experiencing their own personal passion story. 

Some folks are at a Palm Sunday moment in life – everything is going fine, they have great energy and tremendous excitement.  Some are at Maundy Thursday – having a sense everything is about to fall apart.   Some are at Good Friday – dying a death of a thousand cuts and soon everything about life as you have known it is coming to an end.  Some people who reach out to me find they are in a Holy Saturday moment – lifeless, no way to go back and no sense of anything good to come.  These stories are especially difficult to hear because it is cruel to say, “Oh, you’ll get over it” or even worse, something like “Snap out of it.” 

And then there are folks who are at the point of resurrection – grace has found them in the wilderness and they are once again ready to move forward.  For most, this is not a one time, dramatic event like an earthquake that rolls away the stone.  It is more like the Easter season – something unfolding over time.  The scars of what you experienced are still evident, but seem to have a lessening influence on your life as new shoots spring from you and push toward the light. 

Some folks are at or past the Day of Pentecost – they have endured the worst life has been able to do to them (or perhaps they did to themselves), found grace in the wilderness, and now are living into a new purpose and mission in life. 

I have learned from listening to all these stories how our lives only begin to make sense as we understand Jesus’ life.  What he experienced, we experience.  And when we can locate our story within his story we can live by faith, believing just as God brought Jesus back from the depths, so too God will do for us and for all those we love and care about.  As we see our life in Christ’s we can glean wisdom and direction from how he lived, appropriating it as best we can into how we live day by day.

On this day we celebrate Christ’s resurrection.  Because he lives, we live.  Death no longer gets the last word because there is grace in the wilderness.

 

 

 

The Solemn Resolve of Good Friday

 

Good Friday

Ernest Gordon, a U.S. chaplain during World War II, tells the story about an event that transpired while he was incarcerated in a Japanese Prisoner of War Camp.  The P.O.W.'s were pressed into work constructing a railroad and at the end of each day all the tools were meticulously counted.  One particular day, the Japanese guard declared a shovel was missing.  The commander of the detail insisted one of the P.O.W.s had stolen it, presumably to sell it to one of the local villagers who were constantly passing through the work site.  He insisted the person responsible identify himself by stepping forward.  When no solder moved, the commander became livid and again demanded to know who had stolen the shovel.  Finally he shouted in an uncontrollable rage all would die unless the thief came forward.  He then raised his rifle to take aim and there was no doubt he meant what he said.

Just before the commander was about to pull the trigger on his weapon, a Scottish soldier stepped forward, stood at attention, and said, “I did it.”  Immediately the commander unleashed all of his fury on the man, bringing his rifle butt crashing down upon the prisoner’s head.  He kicked him repeatedly and beat him with his fists.  The soldier sank to the ground and did not move.  Everyone knew he was dead but the guard continued to beat his lifeless body until personal exhaustion forced him to stop.

The other men in the work detail grimly lifted their comrade’s body and carried it back to camp.  There, the chaplain conducted a simple, but dignified burial service.  Later, the tools were counted again at the guard house and it was discovered no shovel was missing after all.

The Scottish soldier who did not deserve to die himself still willingly took upon himself the pain of a horrible death so that his brethren might be saved.  Gordon saw in the death of the soldier illumination into the death of our Lord, who also took upon himself the painful punishment for sins which he did not commit so that others might live.

We give thanks this day that our Lord and friend was willing to pay the penalty for offenses we committed.  There can be no question his death on the Cross so many years ago atones for our sins.  Surely this day leads us to a kind of introspection to examine and ponder the huge debt he paid on our behalf.  The events we heard detailed just moments ago in the readings from scripture can lead us no other direction.

The liturgy of the Good Friday service also calls us to ponder an equally important aspect of this day.  In a few moments we will read the Solemn Collects, some of the most powerful biddings and prayers our church has to offer.

Pay attention to the Solemn Collects.  They are not a confession.  They are not a hymn of praise.  They are prayers for the holy Catholic Church, for all nations and peoples of the world, for all who suffer in body or mind, and for all who have not received the Gospel of Christ.  In short, our work of prayer through these solemn collects continues the work of Christ in this world; a work cut short by his death on the Cross.

The liturgy leads us not to lament our sins, but to renew our commitment to Christ’s mission of compassion.  As the collects come to a close, I will make this bidding,

“Let us commit ourselves to our God and pray for the grace of a holy life, that with all who have departed this world and died in the peace of Christ, and those whose faith is known to God alone, we may be accounted worthy to enter into the fullness of the joy of our Lord, and receive the crown of life in the day of resurrection.”

When Chaplain Gordon tells the story of the Scottish soldier, he says, yes, of course the P.O.W.s were angered by the injustice of his death.  But more than this, they were determined and inspired to struggle and fight for their survival and eventual freedom.  They realized the terrible price one man paid for their lives and committed themselves anew to making sure it was not given in vain.  In the end, his death became their resolve. 

It is not enough this day to look at the Cross and feel personal remorse.  Our Church does not even offer this as a spiritual direction by providing a confession in today's liturgy.  Rather we are told our resolve must be strengthened by the events we remember today.  We are to rededicate ourselves to the mission and work of Jesus Christ.

 

A Lack of Violence

 

The Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday

Matthew 26:14 - 27:66

When Matthew tells the story of Jesus’s Passion he includes a vast array of minor characters: Peter, Judas, the High Priest, Pilate, his wife, Barabbas, Simon of Cyrene, the two thieves, and others.  There are a lot of side stories woven into the fabric of the main narrative. 

One thing noticeably absent in Matthew’s telling of this grisly event is any description of its violence.  The most graphic language is used to describe what happens to the High Priest’s slave – his ear is cut off.  When Matthew writes about Jesus, he is economical in what he says about the physical punishment Jesus endured:

They struck him; and some slapped him

So he released Barabbas for them; and after flogging Jesus, he handed him over.

After twisting some thorns into a crown, they put it on his head.

They took the reed and struck him.

And when they had crucified him, they divided his clothes among themselves.

That is it.  There is no other comment or description about suffering.  And notice the second and last are cast in the past tense: “after flogging”, “when they had crucified.”  The focus of the other three is on humiliation more than physical wounding.  This is not Mel Gibson’s 2004 film The Passion of Christ, which was widely criticized for being excessively graphic to the point of being unwatchable for some.

 

We might want to ask why.  Why does Matthew not dwell on the gruesome details of what Jesus endured?

When I attended various youth group functions as a teenager I recall hearing any number of speakers talk in vivid detail about what Jesus underwent.  What it was like to be whipped.  What it was like to be nailed to a cross.  What it was like to be crucified.  The message was clear… use the gore to grab your audience’s attention and then tell us Jesus suffered greatly for your sins so you need to repent and give your life to him.  And it worked… for some.

So why does Matthew not take this approach?  To answer this question we need to remember Matthew is writing his Gospel to a Jewish audience.  He knows they know what happens at a crucifixion.  The Romans did it all the time and they made it a very public spectacle.  Its violent nature was used as a means of intimidation.  If you step out of line this is what will happen to you.  Mothers, if you don’t raise your sons to be compliant then you will have a front row seat at Golgotha.  Matthew refuses to be co-opted by the powers that be and to be a patsy in their campaign of terrorization.

Instead, he invites us to focus on the bit players; to see how some tried and failed, to see how others were not able to meet the moment, to see how some actively worked to bring down Jesus, to see how some walked with him and waited at his side throughout, and to see ourselves in all of them.  And Matthew invites us to look at Jesus throughout the Passion and to consider how he stands tall and stays true though it all; even to the point of sharing his final meal with the person who will betray him.  Matthew invites us to focus on the Savior, not on the suffering. 

It is a message we in 21^st Century America need to hear.  Kseniya Dmitrieva, a psychology student at the University of Rhode Island, contends today’s mass media presents violence crime in a way which blurs the line between news and entertainment.  News sources have the power to determine what stays “hot” and what will be overlooked altogether.  Serial killings, while horrific, account for less than 1% of all crime, and yet, based upon how they are covered, it appears they are much more rampant.  Dmitrieva calls this “the Frequency Paradox”, which he defines as “the irrational idea that random violent crimes are far more prevalent and commonplace than they actually are, due to the frequency and the dramatized way in which mass media outlets present them to the viewers.” 

Based on media programing, it appears our appetite for violence and crime is insatiable.  Just look at how many shows and movies focus on true crime and real life murder mysteries.  So one moment we are caught in a vortex of grief centered around the latest mass killing and the next we are mindlessly consuming an hour-long show about a person accused of murdering a spouse.

Perhaps we can glean some wisdom from today’s Passion reading and realize there is something fundamentally unhealthy about our obsession with violence.  Yes, it is real.  Yes, it happens.  And when it hits close to home it matters a great deal.  In the fifteen years I have served as your rector only one person in the parish has been the victim of a violent crime, so thankfully it is rare.  There is a great deal to be learned from focusing of Jesus; on who he was and how he lived and how he is present in our lives today.  There is a great deal to be gained by paying attention to those around us; considering the challenges they present and the blessings they impart.

Sibling Loss

 

John 11:1-45

Lent 5 / Year A

Some of us present this morning experience today’s Gospel reading from a unique perspective.  To lose a sibling fosters a distinctive kind of grief.  Only our brothers and sisters know the way back to where we began life’s journey.  Because siblings are united by a common bond forged in childhood, we live with the expectation we’ll somehow always be together. Losing a sibling, then, destroys this illusion of permanence in a way more profound than most other deaths.

Generally speaking, our society does not recognize the death of a sibling as being a major loss.  If you tell someone your sister died, soon the conversation will get around to did she have a husband and or children and how are your parents holding up (as if their loss is somehow more significant than yours).  The subtle message behind this is your grief is somehow unwarranted and, as such, people will expect you ‘to get over it’ much quicker than is possible.

Mary and Martha experience a double shock.  First, their brother Lazarus takes ill; gravely ill.  We can only imagine their frantic state as they tend to him.  In their desperation they send for Jesus.  He loves Lazarus and surely will rush to his aid.  But then comes the second shock… Lazarus dies. 

At this point the sisters unquestionably experience many of the same feelings any of us would have at such a loss: confusion, disorientation, deep weeping and sorrow, the feeling of time standing still, a sense of not knowing what to do, feeling shaky, faint, or sick to your stomach, and being overwhelmed by a sense of despair.  All are manifestations of shock; the initial reaction in the grief process.

Anger is another common response to the death of a loved one.  It may be focused on the disease or accident responsible for the death, the doctors or healthcare system that did not effect a cure, and other people (such as friends, coworkers, neighbors, and even family members) who failed to respond as we would have liked.  Anger can be directed at yourself (through feelings of guilt or regret) or even at the person you lost (especially if he did not tend to own health or in some other way contributed to his death).

Mary and Martha seem to aim their anger at Jesus.  When each says, “If only you had been here my brother would not have died,” it is not quite clear if these are statements of faith or angry accusations.  Chances are the narrative’s ambiguity means there is a hint of both in their statements.  That Jesus receives what each sister says, and that he himself goes to the grave and weeps, validates and legitimizes everything we feel and experience in our own grieving process.  Because Jesus mourned, we know our mourning is a part of our humanity, not a sign of weakness or a lack of faith.

Somewhere down the road those who grieve find a way to accept and to embrace their loss.  T.J. Wray, in her very helpful book Surviving the Death of a Sibling, writes about when such a moment came to her:

One evening after dinner, my husband and his siblings gather around the piano to sing in much the same way they did as children...  I know from experience the singing may go on for hours.  I sit [with others] in an adjacent room…  and I’m struck by the near perfect blending of sibling voices, harmonizing in that special way only siblings can.  A stab of sorrow reminds me that I’ll never sing with my brother again.  The tears threaten then, so I leave the room and step outside in the warm summer night.

Standing alone on the porch in the darkness, I look up as wispy clouds part, showing off a nearly full moon.  The sky, framed by treetops and studded with blinking stars, seems vast and infinite, yet only a preamble to the universe that stretches further beyond my reckoning.  All at once, I know with great certainty that my brother is now a part of that universe, but at the same time, still very much a part of me.  A quiet peace fills the empty places within my soul, as I finally believe what I have taught my students for so many years: that love survives even through the pain of death.  I lean against the railing, close my eyes, and whisper softly, “I miss you,” and my words are carried off into the night.

After that night, I knew that I could still have a relationship with my brother, despite the fact that he was no longer physically a part of this world.  More important, I learned I did not have to let go of him to heal.  In fact, the opposite was true: I needed to learn how to embrace both my loss and my brother in a new way.

Jesus grieves deeply at the death of his friend and in calling him to back to life, Mary, Martha, and others are assured and convinced of the reality of the resurrection to eternal life; a reality over which Jesus reigns.  And, at some point (perhaps a matter of days or maybe a few years down the road), Mary and Martha have to say goodbye to their brother a second time.  Surely they believe they will see him again in the next life, but this doesn’t mean they don’t miss him.  Surely they know he is with Jesus, but this does not mean they are not sad.

Some of you lost a sibling years ago while for others it has been just a matter of weeks or months.  Like any deep loss, your loss has changed you forever.  Some in your position report feelings of isolation because everyone else assumes you are the person you have always been, but you know you are not.  Some sense how others want you to get over it, but you realize it is not something you get over, only get used to.  I hope this sermon will make all of us more aware of the complexity of this kind of loss.  For each of you who have lost a sibling I pray God will use this day to touch you in a profound way.