March 12, 2006

A Savior With Puffy Eyelids

Ezekiel 37:1-14
John 11:1-44

Today's sermon as you can see from the bulletin is another repeat; actually I have preached it more than once here at Pilgrim Church, and each time people have asked me to preach it again sometime. This is the last time. I hope you will feel it did bear repeating. In 1632, the great artist, Rembrandt, did two etchings on the same subject, the raising of Lazarus. The first depicts Jesus as a spectacular wonder-worker, like a magician, his right hand on his hip, his left hand extended up into the air with the fingers open. We can almost hear him shouting, "Abracadabra!" At his feet is Lazarus, groggily awakening, as though from a hangover. The stunned spectators, one with his arms thrown open in utter shock, are in the background. This rather melodramatic picture could well have been entitled, "How Jesus Wowed Them in Bethany."

But the second etching, ten years later, treats the subject in a radically different way. This time Jesus faces us, his hands closer to his body and raised very gently, no higher than mid-chest. He doesn't loom over the spectators, but stands among them. And they look on as people who are almost participating, indeed, sharing in the miracle. And, oh, the face of Jesus! If we look closely we notice that his eyelids are puffy. "Jesus began to weep," says the Gospel of John, and this time, the artist depicts a weeping Savior, someone who experiences our pain. (i)

Rembrandt's second picture portrays a very human Jesus, someone who had deep, significant relationships - he loved Martha and Mary and Lazarus. And he was willing to demonstrate that love by going back to the small town of Bethany, not far from Jerusalem, a very risky thing to do, since he knew the authorities were out to get him. Jesus was a person who reacted to loss as we react, when we let ourselves be fully human. He showed deep emotions; he actually wept real tears. Perhaps Christ's humanity can free us to accept our own humanity. "Because Christ was tempted, we can acknowledge that we too are tempted. Because Christ was betrayed and deserted, we can trust that God understands our loneliness when our friends let us down. Because Christ suffered, we know God feels with us when we are hurt. ... We are glad, not only for how God became human in Christ, but also how God makes us human through Christ." (ii)

The story of the raising of Lazarus is a hauntingly beautiful story, but the gospel account forces a couple of interesting questions. The first question that just begs to be answered is why did Jesus wait two whole days after he'd heard that Lazarus' was ill before he started off for Bethany? It seems like a rather callous, unfeeling, uncaring thing for Jesus to do. Did he wait so that there would be no doubt that Lazarus was really dead? Perhaps. First century religious Jews believed that the soul of the dead hovered around the body for up to three days, but after that time, when the body began to decompose, they believed any chance for resuscitation had passed. (iii) In the tomb for four days, Lazarus was really dead. Did Jesus wait so that the miracle, when it occurred, would be even more spectacular? Perhaps. Most of the other death-to-life miracles in the Gospels have possible plausible explanations. Like, the person didn't really die - he was just in a coma. But four days in a tomb? Lazarus was really dead. Perhaps Jesus waited as long as he did, so the disciples and others would more readily believe that God's power was indeed even stronger than death.

There might be yet another reason why Jesus didn't rush off to Bethany. Throughout his Gospel, John portrays Jesus as always taking action entirely on his own initiative, not on the persuasion of anyone else. And he did things in his own time frame. So often we would like Jesus to do things our way, to respond as we want, when we want, on our time schedule. (iv) The story forcefully reminds us that the Lord is not our errand boy, ready to respond instantly to our every beck and call. The Lord is on our side, but our souls must be still and wait patiently, leaving it to God's own wisdom to decide what precisely God will do about our need - and when God will respond. (v)

Another question has to do with Jesus' emotional state at the tomb. How do you suppose he felt as he came face to face with one of the biggest tests of his ministry? Probably a mixture of emotions. Certainly personal grief and sadness - he loved his dear friend Lazarus. Perhaps sadness also for those left behind, especially Martha and Mary. But there was also another emotion present. Jesus was "greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved." Some commentators have suggested that Jesus felt anger or indignation at the power death holds over humanity. Death does not speak the last word, but it does speak a harsh word. But perhaps it was a deeper anguish for humanity that our Lord was feeling. This emotion seized Jesus at the depths of his soul, and an involuntary groan was wrung from his heart. (vi) He was filled with grief - for the suffering, loneliness, and death of Lazarus, but also perhaps for the many diverse pains and burdens that afflict all of God's children. Jesus began to weep, and through those tears we discover a God who cares for us, a God who is with us - in joy and in sadness, in life and in death.

We must move on now, out of first century Palestine, and return to the here and now. As we reflect upon this powerful story, you might want to close your eyes for a moment and imagine that you yourself are in the story. Imagine yourself, if you can, as Lazarus. Imagine being in that dark cave. What does it look like? What does it smell like? What does it feel like? Lazarus was in the tomb, in the cave, for four days. Martha tried to prevent the stone from being rolled from its entrance - she was embarrassed that there would be a smell. What is your four-day stench? or perhaps it's a four-year or a forty-year odor. What is rotting in your life? and in mine? in the roles we play? in our relationships? in the things we do when we think no one is looking? Who would be embarrassed should our stink get out? Who is weeping for you? for us? And what is the stone, that external barrier, that keeps you and me in our caves like a prisoner, as one dead to the fullness of life? (vii) What is that stone for you? for us?

One of the many lessons we can learn from this story is that beginnings often come out of endings, and that life springs forth from death, just like Ezekiel's dry bones in the desert. As in the creation story when God's breath brought every living thing into being, so God restores God's people, raising them to new life and re-creating them anew. Through the power of God in Jesus Christ, miraculous transformations can occur - cowards can become heroes, doubters ... persons of certainty, selfish egomaniacs ... faithful servants, hopelessly corrupt sinners ... saintly disciples. If a dead man can come out of his grave - alive - then maybe there's hope for all of us. My friends, there's more than hope here; there's good news here, wonderful, glorious, good news! Jesus called, "Lazarus, come out!" And the dead man, now alive again, came out.

The Lord is calling us in our caves, in our tombs, in our stench. Christ is calling out our names in the midst of our dying. "Lazarus, Scott, Beverly, Cathy, David, Ken - come out! Come out of your cave, come out of your darkness ... now! You don't have to clean yourself up - just come out!" But you and I say, "Oh, no, I can't come out of my cave. I'm not strong enough to push away the stone that's blocking my way." Or we say, "I'm afraid. What will people think when they see my bandages, my grave cloths, my sins."

Now, our Lord does not shout loudly. Now his words are soft and gentle, more befitting a Savior with puffy eyelids. Our Lord quietly says to you and to me: "My beloved child, let me help you. Through your friends, your family, your church family here, let me help you. Let us roll away the stone. Let us help unbind you." What this means to us is, we don't have to do it all ourselves. Helping one another, with God's grace, is what our faith, is what our church family is all about.

We are invited - each one of us - to a "coming-out-just-as-you-are" party, a debut, a new beginning. We can choose to stay in our dark, tomb-like caves, or we can choose to leave them - with God's help. "Lazarus, come out!" May these words evoke within each one of us a deep yearning that will prompt us to do something positive in our lives, that will open us to allow God to liberate us, to free us from the bondage of the past, from the bondage of sin and death. Jesus calls every person from death to life. May we hear that call and answer boldly, "O Lamb of God, I come, I come!" Amen.

The Pilgrim Church of Duxbury
Rev. Kenneth C. Landall

i Thomas H. Troeger, "Creating Fresh Images for Preaching," p. 60.
ii Ibid.
iii Theresa M. Roos, "The Incorruptible Power of Life," The Ministers Annual Manual 2000-2001, 11/1/00.
iv William Barclay, Daily Study Bible, John, Volume 2, pp. 82-83.
v John Bailley, in Frederick Coutts' "Living in the Word," p. 291.
vi Barclay, op. cit., p. 97.
vii Robert Raines, sermon preached at Kirkwood, 6/82.