What is the Meaning of This? Preached on April 2nd, 2017 At Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: John 11:1-45 One morning, a few days after my husband’s father died, our daughter Chloe, who was about four at the time, snuggled in bed with me. She had experienced quite a few deaths in her short life: both of our cats, her Grandma, my husband’s mom, less than two years before, and now her “grand-dad”. We had recently visited the Egyptian mummy exhibit at the Boston Museum of Science. “I don’t like people dying,” Chloe said, “I think we should do like the Egyptians, and wrap them up in bandages and pretend that they are still alive.” It was cute, but Chloe was expressing something many of us feel, when someone dies. We just don’t want to accept it. We’d rather pretend they are still alive, than be truthful about the fact that they are gone. Because we simply can’t make any sense of the loss. We cannot grasp it’s meaning. We began the season of Lent, a few weeks ago, by having ashes imposed on our foreheads as we were reminded that we are dust, and to dust we shall return. We are mortal. This is the harsh reality: that we all must die. Now we are almost at the end of Lent with Palm Sunday coming next week, and Good Friday and Easter soon after. Today we are confronted with a story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. It doesn’t make sense. Weren’t we supposed to accept death as a natural and normal part of life? Why, does the gospel want to turn that truth upside down all of a sudden? But let’s turn to the story and see what it has to say for us today. Jesus receives news from his dear friends, Mary and Martha, that their brother is dying. But in spite of his healing powers, he does not rush over to their place. Instead he waits for two days. Finally he decides to make the trip, saying to the disciples “let’s go to Judea again.” This is not an exciting prospect for them. The Judean religious authorities have already tried to stone Jesus, because of his provocative claims. If they return to the territory, won’t they provoke the authorities even more? When the group gets close Bethany, two short miles from Jerusalem, they can hear the weeping and lamenting of mourners. The realization that they are too late hits them like a blow to the chest. Lazarus is already dead. Martha rushes to greet them. And she has strong words for Jesus: “if you had been here my brother would not have died.” Jesus’ reassurances about Lazarus rising again don’t comfort her. She trusts in the resurrection of the dead. Just as many of us believe our loved ones are in heaven today. But does that ease the grief that we feel? Of course not. Jesus takes this opportunity to make his seventh and ultimate proclamation about who he is: “I am the resurrection and the life … those who believe in me, even though they die, will live.” In spite of herself, Martha proclaims her belief and faith in Jesus. But, now Jesus calls for Mary to come out and meet him too. And it is Mary’s reaction that undoes him. This is Jesus at his most human. Mary accuses him, like Martha, saying again that if he had been there sooner her brother would not have died. This time Jesus is deeply moved by Mary’s grief, and he begins to weep too. Have you noticed that, when there is a loss, you will hold it together for some people, and then someone or something will just undo you and you will break down? This happens to Jesus too. We hear that Jesus was “greatly disturbed” as he came to the tomb. In today’s language we might say “he was a mess.” And so, go ahead, give yourself permission, next time you are grieving, to be a mess. Jesus did it too. In the story, this is the end of Jesus reacting in a normal human way. We have seen his love for Lazarus and the sisters. We have seen his grief. Now it is time to see the sign that John is giving to us in the gospel Jesus moves into command mode. “Take away the stone,” he insists to the mourners. They object saying that the body will already be decomposed. “Lazarus, come out!” He commands in a loud voice, to which Lazarus, trembling and disturbed, as if from a dream, fumbles his way out of the tomb. His face and body are wrapped in grave cloths. The people have to unwrap him. The story does not end so well for Lazarus. He will have to face death again. He does not live forever. And because of the publicity around his “resurrection” he becomes a target of the anger of the religious authorities. Perhaps he would have preferred to remain in the peace “on the other side.” I can’t talk about the certainty of death and the assurance of resurrection, without thinking about my first year as a student pastor. A few years back, I was going to serve as an intern in a UCC church. But, right before I came on board the pastor of the church, who had once been so full of life and spirit, was cut down by cancer. Not only was she beloved of the congregation, she was beloved of the small youth group. Rev. Jean’s absence from the church was most keenly felt by this group. There was no settled pastor for me to report to, but the interim pastor invited me to go ahead with the internship anyway. My responsibilities would include pastoral leadership for the youth group, previously led by Rev. Jean. And so I began. The group was despondent. Their beloved pastor was gone: the one they trusted to teach them, laugh with them, and guide them through the minefield of their teenage years. They felt betrayed by God and by those who had taught them their childhood faith. Some of them had simply left. A decimated little group remained, disappointed in this new “student pastor.” Their attitude bounced between normal teen silliness and despondency. They communicated their worries over Rev. Jean, and other events in their lives, via prayer requests written on little slips of paper. They couldn’t bring themselves to talk out loud about it with me. Each week I tried to find activities that appealed to them. Did they like to sing? No! Did they like arts or crafts? Well, sort of. One week, a more forward girl said she’d like the group to do something for Rev. Jean. The congregation had organized a sign up list for providing dinners or Jean and her family. How about cooking a meal during youth group? Yes! Rev. Jean had vanished from church life when she announced her diagnosis the previous Easter Sunday. She was now going through tests and treatments and resting at home. The congregation was asked not to visit, in order to give her the time and space she needed with her family. One church member delivered the meal that were cooked, running interference. But by Thanksgiving time I figured she might be ready for a visit from the youth group, and so I reached out. Yes, she would love for them to visit. We made plans to cook dinner and bring it over to Jean’s house at the time of a regular youth group meeting. When we walked into the house, the youth buzzed through to the kitchen with the food. I stopped to talk with Jean who was sitting in the living room in her recliner chair. She told me she planned to allow the kids to ask her any questions they wanted. “I’m going to talk to them about dying,” she said. Once everyone was fed, the youth gathered around Jean’s chair, like the disciples at Jesus’ feet. I sat behind, watching and listening.Their questions were a little shy at first. “How are you feeling?” “Do you miss the church?” After a while she named the elephant in the room, “No one has said it, but expect you want to ask if I am going to die.” A few kids nodded yes. “Well, I am going to die,” she said, “But I don’t know when. Maybe in days, maybe in months, I hope not for years.” You could feel the kids’ relief. It was out there. The conversation opened up in an amazing way. What a gift to these students! This is how to talk about dying, how to confront the things we fear the most. To be real and talk about them. Now, here at Wollaston Congregational Church, our dear Sandy died this past week. Many of us were shocked. Her illness came suddenly and progressed rapidly. Sandy had been a member of this church for the past 50 years. I imagine that she always sat in that pew on my right, your left, about half way back. I imagine she always had those twinkling eyes, and delightful smile. It will take quite a while for us to get used to her not being there. But, if you’ve been around church for a while, or you’ve experienced loss in your life before, you’ll know there is no use in pretending. We’ll have a funeral service. We’ll sing the songs. We will proclaim that Jesus is the resurrection and the life. But we won’t be able to pretend we won’t miss Sandy. We’ll do better to weep and be a mess. We’ll remember that Jesus raised Lazarus, not because he was pretending. He raised Lazarus as a sign, a pre-emptive hint. Because Easter is still two weeks away and we need to hear the message of life and resurrection right now. Death will not overcome us. And we will know it on Easter morning. Amen
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