matters of death and life
Jesus and Lazarus need a dirt nap
In November 1995, I suffered a seizure which led to my diagnosis of brain cancer. I had surgery and radiation treatments and was preparing for chemotherapy.
Three months later, in February ’96, Banu and I and a friend of ours were in our apartment. It was getting a bit late at night. At some point, our friend had a worried look on her face. The next thing I knew, EMT personnel were there, asking me if I knew where I was. It turned out I had had another seizure. So back to the hospital.
Like the first time, they gave me some tests, including an MRI scan. The next day, my doctor came into the room, smiling from ear to ear. He was positively beaming. He had good news on what caused my seizure. They were concerned about regrowth of a tumor, but that’s not what it was.
There’s a scene in the movie Kindergarten Cop which seems oddly appropriate. Arnold Schwarzenegger plays a cop who goes undercover as (guess what?) a kindergarten teacher. He’s tracking a little boy’s criminal and scary father who’s on the run.
On his first day, the kids are being, well, little kids. It’s a tough assignment. Arnold complains, “I have a headache.” A little boy responds, “It might be a tumor.” Arnold snaps back, “It’s not a tumor.” So there’s my doctor (minus my terrible Austrian accent)!
He was happy because I didn’t have a tumor; it was a staph infection. He was smiling. This apparently was good news. I actually was awaiting a “good news” verdict. My brain was thinking, since it was just an infection, they could give me some medicine, and I’d be home the next day. Well, not so fast. The doctor said they could operate in the morning. It seems a staph infection can be pretty serious!
My heart sank. It wasn’t the second surgery that bothered me so much; it was the realization this hospital stay would be a lot longer than I had anticipated. I suddenly felt like a prisoner. After the doctor left, I told Banu I was glad it wasn’t a tumor, but it still didn’t feel like good news.
We could take my little tale and end it with the smiling doctor and the happy news. End of story. Let’s celebrate! Unfortunately, that was not the end of the story. Perhaps I was just being a big baby, but I didn’t have a festive feeling.
Now, regarding another story, we’re told to beware “a christianish way of knowing Jesus.” That’s how Methodist pastor Robb McCoy characterizes “focusing on the happy ending without also seeing the dangerous ramifications of what Jesus accomplished.”
He’s talking about the lectionary reading in John 11, which runs from verse 1 to verse 45. FYI: the Revised Common Lectionary is a schedule of readings on a three-year cycle. Almost by necessity, many parts of the Bible are not included.
We hear about Lazarus falling ill. We hear about Jesus’ risky plan to go back to Judea, where he’s a wanted man. (Do they still have pictures of those on the run hanging in the post office?) We hear about his showing up, knowing that his dear friend has died. We hear about Lazarus’ sisters, Martha and Mary, venting their anguish at Jesus. We hear about Jesus himself weeping. And then we hear him shout, “Lazarus, come out!” (v. 43).
Now, cue the heart-rending, achingly beautiful music as the miracle of miracles occurs. Lazarus walks from the tomb, risen from the dead.
So, there’s the end of the story. That’s where the lectionary reading ends. Get ready for a homecoming party like never before seen in history. You know, some people are welcomed after traveling from the other side of the world. How about a welcome after traveling from the other side?
Halloween was just a few days ago, and I once devised a riddle just for the occasion. Here we go: why did the ghost of the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side.
Well, if you read the entire chapter, you can tell that’s not the end of the story. The lectionary ends at verse 45. However, verse 46 says, “But some of them went to the Pharisees and told them what Jesus had done.”
Rev. McCoy comments, “It doesn’t just cut off the story before it gets interesting, it cuts off the story before the most important part is revealed… [T]he story of Lazarus is not so much about the power of Jesus. The story of Lazarus is about how people react to this miracle.”
Seeing someone that you knew for a fact had been four days’ dead just walk out of the tomb — what do you do with that? It is a matter of death leading to life. So for the folks on the scene, being witnesses to that elicits a major awakening of faith.
So how about that party? We’re going to have a toast to Lazarus and, of course, to Jesus! Everyone’s coming. “But some of them…” Hold on, it doesn’t look like everybody’s in a mood for merry making.
Seeing the love Jesus has for Lazarus, and seeing the loving power he exhibits on his behalf, many of the onlookers come to believe in Jesus. They come to believe that he is the Messiah, even if it defies their expectations of what the Messiah should be. But not all of them believe.
The opposite of love is fear. Fear is what drives them to the Pharisees. Maybe they fear what Jesus has done and who he is. Maybe they think he’s a deceiver. Maybe they want to stay on the good side of the Pharisees. In any event, this is a key turning point in the ministry of Jesus.
How do the Pharisees respond to the news of Jesus’ miracle? They and the chief priests call a meeting of the council, the Sanhedrin. They acknowledge, “This man is performing many signs” (v. 47). However, “If we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and the Romans will come and destroy both our holy place and our nation” (v. 48).
They are well aware that Jesus is using the power of life against the power of death. Still, just like the people who brought word of him to them, they also are acting from a place of fear.
Therefore, the choice is made. Jesus must die. Caiaphas, the high priest, chides them. He warns them against any possible indecision. “You know nothing at all!” he gripes. “You do not understand that it is better for you to have one man die for the people than to have the whole nation destroyed” (vv. 49–50).
Caiaphas is speaking at the practical, political level. Why not sacrifice one person if it keeps the Romans from lowering the boom? Unknown to him, God has other ideas in mind. St. John says by virtue of his position as high priest, Caiaphas is giving voice to divine will. Of course, he does this unwittingly. Yes, Jesus will die for the nation, and the people of God everywhere will find, in that death, unity.
Caiaphas and his friends are sure of something. Jesus is dangerous. Even Lazarus is dangerous. In chapter 12, he also is targeted for termination. He earns a spot on the hit list. He is living, breathing evidence of what Jesus has done. Because of him, even more people are turning to Jesus. This fellow who walked out of the tomb needs to go right back. He needs to take a dirt nap!
After the Lazarus event, nothing can be the same.
It does seem like death can silence life. Don’t we see that everywhere? That’s what the enemies of Jesus are counting on. And they get their wish. The life of Jesus is snuffed out. He’s as dead as dead can be. It’s his turn to take a dirt nap. But somebody wakes him up!
Our friend Rev. McCoy issues a warning. Just as the chief priests were wrong to think that death could imprison Jesus, we are wrong — we are being christianish — “if we think that the power of Jesus is something that shouldn’t be feared.” It’s a mistake if we too easily dismiss it.
Jesus cries, “Lazarus, come out.” McCoy continues, “Church, Come out! Come out of your comfort zone. Come out of your fortress. Come out of your sin. Come out of your slumber and go and make disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world.”
We recently celebrated All Saints’ Sunday (since All Saints’ Day was not on Sunday this year!). On that note, I have a list of names. The apostle Paul, Joan of Arc, Harriet Tubman, Desmond Tutu, and Jim Moore (my father). What do they all have in common? They are part of that great cloud of witnesses with which we are surrounded. They are the ones in the faith who have gone before. They are cheering us on.
Precisely because they surround us, we are encouraged — we are called — to “lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and [to] run with perseverance the race that is set before us” (He 12:1). They long for us to finish that race, that race of faith which is our life.
I believe we all could add folks near and dear to that cloud of witnesses, such as “a,” “b,” and “c.” I believe we all could add folks not so near and dear, such as “x,” “y,” and “z.”
They are an assurance that “the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them and be their God; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away” (Rv 21:3–4).
This is a matter of death and life.
Please recall, in the New Testament, the saints are not simply the dearly departed. Rather, they are living, breathing, and moving around. They are being transformed by God.
In that transformation, there is no room for fault-finding and certainly no fault-finding with a vengeance. Having said that, are saints perfect? Absolutely not. In fact, saints and sinners inhabit the same bodies. Something else about saints: they are known and unknown. Those unknown ones (at least to us) might be some random person walking down the road… an unfamiliar one scouring the shelves in search of sardines… a nameless villager in Ethiopia concerned about the teaching of a child.
Saints live lives of repentance, which means “to turn around.” Saints encourage others to live lives of repentance. Those others are you and me, including those who have done ghastly things. That includes those who have done things not quite so ghastly, like unfairly snubbing someone. That repentance and transformation is nothing less than saintly.
So saints, emerge from your slumber and death. Allow the Spirit of life to guide you from what was thought the end of the story. A greater celebration awaits. That is the promise of our Lord Jesus Christ, who once was dead and lives now forevermore.
