Read John 11:1-44
In two weeks’ time, my late father would have celebrated his
100th birthday. The youngest of six, he was born while his eldest brother was
away fighting in WW1. Although he died when
I was in my twenties, I think of him often.
When I was a child I used to think that he and I were completely
different. Of course, our life experiences were radically different. Yet I see
aspects of my father now in my reactions and my character and I also have the
surprise of catching glimpses of him in my son, the grandson whom he never met,
who has inherited his build, his character and his humour. I miss him.
“In the midst of life, we are in death” says Thomas
Cranmer who took that ancient saying and included it in the burial service in
the Book of Common Prayer. When comforting a friend who had lost her husband, the
late Queen Mother was asked if grieving got any better with the passage of
time. She replied "It doesn't get any better but you get better at
it." That is my experience. Perhaps
it is the experience of some of you, for almost all of us have had to cope with
loss and grief. For some people, as we will remember in a few days’ time at
Remembrance Sunday, grief can carry on for a long time.
What helps does our faith offer us as we confront the reality
of death in life? The Old Testament supplies
us many examples of how God’s people in ancient times coped with grief, loss
and death. The psalms provide us with many laments, including those echoed by
Jesus Himself: “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” Well, this event from the life of Jesus is
about death and grief in the midst of life; and the place of faith and hope in such
times.
Lazarus, Martha and Mary lived close to Jerusalem. They were
followers and close friends of Jesus. When Jesus came to Jerusalem he stayed
with them. Apart from that we know little about them: they seem to have
been independent, without parents in the picture; they must have been
financially comfortable, since they had a house large enough to cater for a
fairly big group of people.
In this story, while Jesus was absent Lazarus became gravely
ill. Then he got worse, and the two women sent for Jesus. Come and cure our
brother, they begged. Jesus received the message but he put off coming for two
days. Why? Jesus clearly loved this man as a friend. Their home was just 2
miles from Jerusalem. Yet Jesus stays on in the city when an hour’s slow walk
could have brought His miraculous healing. The disciples – bless them! – are
typically slow to grasp the seriousness of Lazarus’ condition.
In the meantime, Lazarus dies of his illness. For all the
miracles worked by Jesus, people still died in Judea in the years of His
ministry. People still suffered disabilities; there was still poverty and
injustice and the land remained under enemy occupation. The presence of the Son
of God does not remove us from the ills of the human condition. For that reason
I cannot sing the line from that worship song that says: “And in His presence
our problems disappear.” It is high-sounding
nonsense, which disrespects the pain of grieving people.
When Jesus eventually arrived, Martha rushed out to meet him.
She reproached him bitterly - if you'd only come sooner, he wouldn't have died,
she said. She berates her friend for delaying and we cannot miss her tone of
disappointment.
As a pastor, I have comforted grieving people. At such times,
the questions all seem to begin with
- ‘Why?’
- Why me?
- Why did this happen?
- Why do such bad things happen, even to good people?
- Why did God allow that to happen?
We are at our most
human when we ask why. ‘Why’ looks for meaning at times when there seems to be
little meaning. Yet, after a while, if the grieving process works as it should,
we find that little by little the ‘why’ questions are replaced by ‘How?’ How should I now live as a follower of
Christ, in spite of all that has happened?
Sadly, some people stay trapped in ‘why?’
Having touched on the disciples, Martha and Mary, now we look
at Jesus, who is weeping. Why? (There’s that word again). Why is Jesus weeping?
Some commentators suggest that surely, as the Son of God, He
knew that for Lazarus things would turn out right in the end – so why weep? Yet
this man, Jesus, was fully human. He did not know all things.
Others suggest that it only began to dawn on Jesus at that
point – when confronted with the death of his friend – about the awful process
of death and dying that awaited Him.
Don’t forget that John’s gospel is the gospel of significance – of
meaning. Every act and story in this gospel is drenched in meaning. Yet I
reject this idea also.
Jesus wept because He loved His friend, who is now dead.
Jesus wept because of His own grief and because his friends,
Martha and Mary, were now experiencing the desperate loss and pain that comes when
death robs us of those we love.
Jesus wept because grief is the price that we pay for having
loved.
And what of poor Lazarus?
Let’s take a moment to place ourselves in his position. What might he
have thought, as he became ill, then worsened?
His friend the healer is just an hour’s slow walk away, so why hasn’t he
come? His family have sent word, but no
one arrives. Then the loss of hope as, for him, time runs out.
Then – what?
Nothingness? Or a glimpse of paradise?! Until, days after he died, the shock of
resurrection and a Voice recalling him to earthly life. He is restored to
family and friends and becomes the first to taste that even death cannot
separate us from the love of God found in Christ.
Yet, for Lazarus, this was not the ultimate
resurrection. Lazarus died again. How
long did he have? We are not told. I think his restored life might have been
quite problematic. Supernatural seekers would have shown an unhealthy interest
in him. Some would have thought him part of a conspiracy to deceive. He would
have been a political and religious embarrassment. And how do you relate to
your friend who has so publicly transformed your existence?
At the heart of this passage is this. “Jesus says to Martha: “I am the
resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even
though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never
die. Do you believe this?” “Yes, Lord,” she replied, “I believe that you are the
Messiah, the Son of God, who is to come into the world.”
The words that Jesus proclaims to Martha invite us not to be
glib or to wear a shallow smile in the face of grief and pain. Maybe like me, in
times of loss you have suffered from the bright cheerfulness of Christians who
would do better to stand weeping, like our Master, rather than offering trite
words pretending to be faith.
Jesus doesn’t offer us an easy way out. Like Lazarus, one day we will all face death
first-hand. Jesus does not tell us that we can avoid death or grief. But he
offers us the solid hope that lies on the far side of that most human experience.
And the One who stands and weeps at the grave of His friend is the One who
stands beside us as we face all that life can throw at us. He came into the
world, born as one of us, entering our condition – our frailty, our
hopelessness and the apparent finality of the death that awaits us. He goes on
standing beside us, sharing our tears and offering us hope.
What form might this hope take? Sometimes we experience the presence of
Christ in the touch of a hand or a hug or a meal cooked or someone looking at
our treasured photographs with us, because grief has knocked us down. Christ can
use the community of faith to show his care.
And when we meet together on a Sunday or in our home groups,
with Christ at the centre of His disciples, do we make allowance for grief and
loss in our worship? For lament? We sometimes fall into the trap of thinking
that we must leave our feelings and the reality of life at the church door when
we come to worship. Or that we must be unremittingly cheerful. What unbiblical
nonsense! The psalmists knew, better than us, that worship is bringing the whole
of life before God.
Today is All Souls Day. Along with yesterday's All Saints Day, this is a
feast that we Baptists have disregarded – perhaps with some suspicion. Yet I
feel they are useful points in our church calendar to remember, to reflect and
in quiet gratitude to give thanks for the lives now past that have touched ours
and for our continuing lives. To hand
over, once again, those we have loved and who have died into God’s tender care.
We do so knowing that there is no safer place than in the hands of the God who
imagined them and called them into existence; the always-with-us God, who
stands and shares our tears. He declares that he is the resurrection and the
life and demonstrates that in the gift of new life to Lazarus. As his people,
let us share life together with its joys and its sorrows, bringing them both in
our worship of God. Let that worship include thanksgiving and lament as we
gather round the God of tears and solid hope, to whom we now pray:
Everlasting
God, our maker and redeemer, give us, together with all those we remember with love and
gratitude, the joy of Jesus' glorious
resurrection, so that, in the last day when you gather up all things in Christ,
we may enjoy with them your presence for ever. Through Jesus Christ your
Son. Amen
