Our Story - Sermon for March 29, 2020

John 11:1-45 – The Death of Lazarus

            Our story is one of ongoing resurrection. Not just this story, the biblical telling of the raising of Lazarus, but our story.

We are reminded every day that the grave is real, it is oh so real, but at the same time, God shines light into all the dark places we inhabit and declares that death will have no power over us. With confidence we can declare, using the words of Job, “I know my redeemer lives.” And in Jesus, we see that life bearing fruit in our lives and leading us to ongoing resurrection.

 Yes, the grave is real, but we know that our redeemer lives! And because of Jesus, and because he lives, death will never have the last word in any of our stories. Because of Jesus, we are wrapped in resurrection reality.

            The story of the raising of Lazarus brings this message home to us in a new way at a crucial time in our lives. Today we worship, not gathered in person sharing the same space, breathing the same air, hand to hand and shoulder to shoulder as we prefer to do and need to do, because death is real. And the threat of coronavirus is real.

Instead, churches around the world are closed today, and people like us are worshiping virtually, worshiping at home, worshiping in private.

            Today we are faced with a crisis like none we’ve ever faced before, and like none that we ever wish to face again.

Around the world and in our own community there is fear and anxiety. With many people “sheltering in place” and many others putting their own lives at risk caring for those who are ill, our lives have been turned upside down. Some of us have been laid off from work; others have had to close businesses; some have lost jobs; children are home from school and educational institutions, business corporations, stores, restaurants and of course, even churches, have had to figure out new ways of doing what they can, and determining what work goes undone. Even parks and playgrounds have gone silent.

            Our senior citizens are doing their best to stay sheltered and many of them wonder how safe they really are from this coronavirus. Those living in retirement centers, Assisted Living or nursing homes are separated from their families or any other visitors. In most places, even pastors are not allowed to visit their members, visit the sick, or in many cases, even accompany the dying.  The headline, “Die From Coronavirus, You Die Alone” breaks our hearts and instills deep fear within us.

            Many around the world mourn their dead in isolation, without the ritual we expect and need at the time of loss. Without the warm embrace and shared tears of our friends and neighbors, we are left to bury our dead without the mutual comfort of community surrounding us and holding us up. My own aunt passed away a couple of weeks ago and my sister and I could not participate in her funeral due to the restrictions in place. It brought home to me just how necessary are such gatherings, and how much this virus is changing our most important life passages, from birth to death, from graduations to weddings.

            In times like these so many people rise to the occasion. We’ve seen many examples of people responding with grace and generosity. Last week a skeleton crew from our church served about 80 dinners in a drive-thru take-out assembly line community meal and we were not alone as feeding programs creatively and safely served the hungry poor. Meals on Wheels and food banks have made adjustments and found ways to serve people in need. School districts around the country are providing food for their at-risk children and families. Teachers are forming caravans to drive thru neighborhoods bringing a little cheer through loving waves at the children from their now empty classrooms, whom they love and miss. Individuals are volunteering to make grocery store and pharmacy runs for seniors who are sheltering in place.

            At the same time, we’ve seen the senseless hoarding of supplies creating shortages and denying those same supplies to those who truly need them. We’ve seen the birth of new predatory scams and the blatant disregard of safety measures and resistance to safety precautions spreading the virus and risking our vulnerable neighbors and ourselves.

            Indeed, the grave is real, yet still, I know that my redeemer lives!

            Indeed, our story is one of ongoing resurrection.

            Mary and Martha each greet the Lord with the words – the accusation – we can even imagine these words coming in angry, staccato bursts as he approaches them, after delaying his arrival until well after their brother, Lazarus has died. “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died!” There is heartbreak in those words, and Jesus feels it.

            Despite her grief, Martha goes on, “But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.” Did Martha have in her mind the possibility that her brother could be raised from the dead? It would seem not, for when Jesus responds, “your brother will rise again,” Martha, in her Jewishness, refers to the expected resurrection of the dead on the last day.

But Jesus has something else in mind, and as he reassures her that he is the resurrection and the life, he asks her for her faith in this, and she illustrates her complete trust in him, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.”

After Mary delivers those same words in truth and agony, and after Jesus witnesses the grieving of the community, and as he contemplated the place where Lazarus was laid – in the tomb, Jesus wept. There is something comforting about knowing that Jesus, too, wept at loss, and grief, fear, and sorrow. This Jesus is so human – so relatable. This Jesus feels and bears our pain and sorrow in love.

Jesus’ tears legitimize our own. Lament is a powerful human experience and it connects us with God. Rather than being a sign of faith that is too weak, our lament expresses our deepest need, and our helplessness over loss and death of all kinds. The work of grief is natural, and it is necessary – even Jesus, in his humanity experienced it. Shedding his own tears, Jesus takes our grief and anger, frustration and longing onto himself. By so doing, he blesses it.

At the same time, Jesus gives us hope, in fact is our hope. And to illustrate the hope that he bestows on us all, Jesus does the impossible. He raises Lazarus from the dead.

Unlike other instances of Jesus raising the dead, Lazarus is well and truly dead. There can be no question for a man who died, whose body has been ritually cleaned and prepared for burial, and then had spent four days in the sealed up tomb, that he is really dead – that already, the stench of dead clings to him.

Yet with the power of his command and in great love and mercy, Jesus commands him to sit up and step from the tomb, and the miracle happens. Lazarus, still bound with the strips of cloth that wrap the dead still binding him, steps from the darkness of the tomb to the bright light of resurrection.

Raising Lazarus doesn’t change the past, doesn’t deny that death comes to all of us, but it creates a new future. While it doesn’t erase the pain of grief and the loss, it changes the finality with which we once viewed it and the power we once gave it. As death once came for Lazarus, it will come again. But because of the life to which Jesus restored Lazarus for all our sakes, we can truly say, “I know the grave is real, but death will give way to life – because Jesus makes it so.”

Through the cross and his own resurrection, Jesus assures us of life now. We can live in hope and assurance of God’s love because we know that our redeemer lives

Our story is one of ongoing resurrection. Each day we are faced with death. The reality of death from old age or disease. The death of dreams when things beyond our control close doors in our lives, steal away our security for the future, change our plans and cancel our rights of passage. Yet we know that none of these losses are ultimate. None will have the last word. Because Jesus lives, and because his Spirit works in and around and among us, we will see new opportunities and we receive the assurance that God is with us still and will see us through this crisis and all the sorrow, worry and fear it brings.

Jesus restores life. That’s what he does. Faith in him allows Martha to trust that whatever the future holds, there would be resurrection. Little could she know exactly what that looks like.

Regardless of what losses you suffer now, what worries you have for the future, what struggle you are experiencing, the truth is that God’s love and mercy are steadfast and true. They never end. With Martha, we can declare our faith in this truth.

When we walk through the darkest valley, we fear no evil, for God is with us. His light shines on us. The cross casts it’s shadow over us, but it is the resurrection that beckons to us, because, while the grave is real, it has no power to hold us. It will not overcome us. It is not forever.

Resurrection is our story, it is our song, it is our everlasting hope, because we know that our redeemer lives – and in him we live – today, tomorrow, and forever.

Amen.

           

Bridging the Chasm to Seasons of Hope

          One week ago yesterday I was at a retreat. We began our morning with the usual self-introductions; so, we shared our names, where we were from, and all that, and then we were asked to share what our favorite time of year might be. Perhaps it was because we were all aware that the day on which this retreat fell was the last full day of summer, that most of the participants claimed autumn as their favorite season. Interestingly, almost no one claimed summer, and winter –well, you can imagine there were no takers for winter being their favorite season. I fell in with the majority, because fall really is my favorite season, followed closely by spring. I think it’s partially because I see the cycle of life so clearly represented within the cycle of the seasons, and fall and spring point to the hope of things to come.

          This week we certainly felt the beginnings of fall, didn’t we? With nights in the 40s and warm, sunny days, it was easy to believe that autumn had arrived. I have to confess that days like this make scenes from Thomas Kincaid paintings circle ‘round in my head – he so often painted the brilliant colors of fall into his “Paintings of Light,” and last week, I could just feel and smell them coming. I guess you could say that I embrace the fall with a kind of whimsical fondness.

Yet while some may be relieved that the hot days of summer are past, and now embrace the more moderate fall, many face these days not with fanciful thoughts like mine, but rather with dread, knowing that winter is not far behind, with its attendant hardships. While I look with anticipation for the return of color to the trees, note the return of pumpkin scented and flavored – everything in the stores, and witness the evidence of plentiful fall harvests at the farm stands around the area, there are many who search their lean cupboards and see the portent of a long season of hunger and cold ahead.

Even as I breathed in the heartwarming scent of wood-smoke from fireplaces in homes all around my neighborhood on the coolest of evenings last week, there were many layering on as many layers of garments as they could to warm themselves and their children, or searching for sheltered areas outside to make their beds, dread settling deep in their bellies at thoughts of coming months of uncertainty, cold and hunger.

In the midst of these reflections, come this morning’s assigned lectionary texts with a collusion of themes and issues – issues that illustrate the futility of relying on wealth, the reality that there will be an ultimate judgment for all of us, as well as a reminder, that gathering up wealth for ourselves while despising the poor and the outcast and ignoring their plight is a trap that leads to death.

Following Paul’s exhortation to set our hopes on God, who “richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment,” and “to do good, to be rich in good works, generous, and ready to share….so that [we] may take hold of life that really is life,” we read Luke’s gospel that once again begins, “There was a rich man….” If it seems like we’ve heard that introduction more than once in the past couple of months, it’s because we have, as it seems to be a favorite topic of Luke’s.

While Luke’s gospel clearly illustrates God’s preference for the poor and the outcast time and again, it can make us highly uncomfortable to read these words. Especially when they describe this grand reversal that is in store when God’s ultimate judgment comes. Nowhere does Luke speak to this reality more clearly than in this parable which Jesus addresses to the Pharisees, whom Luke describes as “lovers of money”. These are the same guys who just sneered at and mocked Jesus for his warnings about attachment to wealth in his words following the parable of the dishonest manager.

Interestingly, the word “Pharisee” is descriptive; it means “to turn up the nose against.” And in Luke’s gospel, the Pharisees routinely do just that, don’t they? They turn up their noses against those most in need – the poor, the outcast, and the one who has gone astray. Their habits regarding wealth and hospitality run in direct opposition to the desires God has for how we treat one another, and those who are most in need of care and love, a desire in fact addressed repeatedly by Moses and the prophets. And therein lies the crux of the problem.

Lazarus and the Rich Man

The fact that this man (who is himself nameless) knows the name of Lazarus, means that he can’t claim ignorance – he knew the man’s name. He knew he was there, lying by the gate – actually, thrown by the gate. He made a conscious decision not to help him. His disregard of Lazarus’ poor estate was intentional. He turned up his nose against him – he treated him with the same kind of haughtiness and disregard, even hatred  that “the rich” in Luke’s gospel often display toward the disadvantaged – the kind of treatment that denies the very humanity of another person. Even the dogs, who ate scraps that fell from the table of this man were better treated and better off than Lazarus. But death comes to us all, and it comes equally to Lazarus and the rich man.

It is then, in death, that we see the great reversal that is the hallmark of the Kingdom of God. While Lazarus ends up sharing eternity with Abraham, where he receives comfort and relief and good things, the rich man ends up in Hades, where he is in torment, yet remains in denial of the full extent of his fall – he wants Abraham to send Lazarus to attend to him, to warn his brothers. He wants to be served in death as he was in life, by one he still deems subservient to him.

Paul writes, “For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil,….” While both the Old Testament and the New teach us that the greatest commandment is to love God, and to love our neighbor, the love of money can distract us from both and replace them in our hearts. The concern here is our relationship to wealth and the chasm that it forms between the rich and the poor as it leads us to believe that money equals worth.

I think that as we each consider this text, we need to ask ourselves where we might see parallels to our own lives? Who do we ignore? Who do we turn our noses up against? I wonder if we are truly honest with ourselves, where do we find the chasm created in our lives? What is our relationship to our wealth, and where do we use it to ease the burden of one who might see the change of seasons as less a part of the cycle of life, and more as a threat to life?

In a reflection on this passage, Mary Simonson Clark wrote,

“The 2012 income gap between the richest 1 percent and the rest of U.S. society reached the widest point since 1928 (Associated Press, 09/11/13). What was the economic gap between the parable's rich man and Lazarus? Was it as wide as today's gap?

Whenever economic gaps occur, they spawn physical gaps, including the rich man's gate, discriminatory neighborhood redlining and low-income housing in undesirable sites. As income and location increasingly separate us, we ignore, misunderstand and distrust each other. Our fear of the "other" intensifies; the chasm between us widens and becomes fixed. We do not share comfort of community. Instead, we experience agony of isolation from each other and God. We put ourselves in a "place of torment."

We can bridge chasms we built.” she continues. “We can choose to become aware of people on the other side. We can share our stories with each other. What an awesome God's family reunion!”[1]

As Simonson points out, the love of money and our attachment to it fixes a chasm between our dependence on God, our relationships with other people, and truly living the life that God desires for all God’s children. It is into this agony of isolation that we create for ourselves that Jesus speaks most clearly and most pointedly. While the words and images he uses may shock and confound us, they are meant to awaken us from the complacency of our contentment with the status quo. Because the truth of the matter is that there is much that is at stake here, and Jesus leads the way for us to follow, to bridge the chasm between us. Jesus becomes the way, for those who love him and patterns our lives after him.

I know that it’s not fun to come to church and hear the pastor talk about money. And yet Jesus talked about it all the time because the truth of the matter is that our relationship with money is fraught with danger. And yet, with the appropriate use, sharing and distribution of it, money can do a world of good. It can clothe the naked, feed the hungry, give warmth and shelter, and create bonds of love and care, sharing God’s love and God’s mercy with another. In using our wealth to do all these things, we are also giving witness to and honoring the humanity of another child of God.

Living, dying and rising again, Jesus himself crossed the chasm between heaven and hell. And Jesus invites us to share the same grace and mercy that we ourselves receive with others in our midst. As we gather together, God’s Spirit is among us empowering us, calling to us and encouraging us on in helping to bridge the chasms that still exist between neighborhoods, races, genders, and most especially, between classes.

As the seasons change, as winter draws near, may we be ever more attentive and responsive to the Spirit’s call to breach earthly chasms as we ever give thanks that Christ has crossed the chasm from death into life, for us all. Amen.

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[1] From “God Pause” daily online devotional by Luther Seminary, www.luthersem.edu/godpause