We decided at the
roundtable that the season of Lent this year should be called the season of
Long John. We have been stricken with a
series of exceptionally long passages from John’s gospel. I have always considered John’s Jesus to be
especially long-winded, and now I see that is a quality he shares with John
himself.
The long John story this
week is on the raising of Lazarus, or better, the long lead-up to the raising
of Lazarus. It begins with Jesus’
apparent decision to let Lazarus die before he does anything. “This illness isn’t fatal,” he says. Only it is.
And Jesus knew that.
Two days later he tells his
disciples that they will go to Bethany after all, adding, “Lazarus has died.” What’s more, he tells them, he’s glad. This seems inappropriate.
One member of the roundtable
shared a story about a beloved friend who refused to allow her loved ones to
hold a funeral for her. She had left
firm instructions with her family about this.
Friends didn’t know until after she died, and this news made them feel
their grief compounded.
“If I get my way, I’ll just
go off to a secret place by myself and die alone. No one will have to do anything,” another
said. Why, we asked, would you want that? “So as not to cause trouble for anyone.” I don’t know if she was serious or not. But I do know that the “trouble” we go to is
all for ourselves. The funeral is for
the living, not the dead.
Mary and Martha are joined
by their community in their grieving.
Mary’s friends never leave her side, following her wherever she
goes. I can imagine them joining their
cries to hers in a ritual lament. Both
Mary and Martha go out to meet Jesus on the road and tell him, “Lord, if you
had been here, my brother wouldn’t have died.”
Is this an accusation? A
statement of faith? Or just a fact? The
theological discussion that follows would suggest faith, but that doesn’t rule
out resentment, does it?
Finally, he gets around to
the act of raising Lazarus from his tomb, something about which, it turns out,
Martha has reservations. Nevertheless,
Lazarus is summoned from the grave, unbound from his burial clothes, and set
free. Later, Jesus returns to the home
of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus to dine with them, like a doctor following up with
his patient. I am troubled by the notion
of Lazarus resurrected, partly because I wonder how it felt to be pulled out of
rest. But also because he will die
again. Possible soon, as the Pharisees
plan to put Lazarus to death.
Again. Apparently, to get rid of the
evidence.
As Christians, we have complicated
feelings about life and death. We are
taught not to fear death because Jesus Christ has the victory over death. But we don’t embrace death, because we
believe Jesus lived so we may have abundant life. And judging from the wonderful works he did
on earth, I don’t believe he was talking only about the after-life.
Death is a mystery, and
life is also. At birth, we cry tears of
joy; at death, tears of sorrow. Yet joy
and sorrow are but two sides of the same coin.
When Lazarus was raised from his grave, Mary and Martha’s tears were a
mixture of both. In joy and in sorrow,
in life and in death, we hold one another up, leaning on love where understanding
ends.
