Transcript
From John’s gospel: “When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled.” In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
What is your greatest fear? Chapman University does a survey each year, asking Americans to rank their fears. Some of last year’s fears are clearly rooted in current events—corrupt government officials, economic collapse, cyber-terrorism. But the second- and fifth-ranked fears are timeless—“someone I love getting seriously ill” and “someone I love dying.”
Today’s passage shows us three different reactions to a loved one’s death. Lazarus, one of Jesus’ dear friends, has died. Jesus, for reasons that aren’t entirely clear, waits for two days after he hears the news to visit Lazarus’ family. Martha and Mary have very different reactions when they see Jesus. Jesus himself has a visceral reaction when he sees Lazarus’ tomb. The stone is rolled away, Jesus calls Lazarus to come out, and Lazarus is raised back to life. But that’s only half the story.
There’s a reason the lectionary gives us this gospel the week before Palm Sunday.
The raising of Lazarus sets Jesus on a journey that can only lead to the Cross. There, he will do battle with humanity’s greatest enemy: Death itself.
This text opens with Martha coming out swinging. She runs out to meet Jesus before he even gets to the door, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died!” Martha is angry, and understandably so—Jesus is late. Lazarus was buried four days ago. Earlier in the chapter, we find out that Jesus waited two days after he heard of Lazarus’ sickness. And I’ll admit, this is the part of the text that I struggle with the most. Why did Jesus wait? Honestly, I haven’t found a satisfactory answer. Some scholars point to a common cultural belief that the soul hovered over the body for three days after death. Maybe Jesus waited four days to fully demonstrate his power and bring glory to God. Maybe? Or maybe the lack of a concrete scriptural answer highlights Martha’s implicit faith: “But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.”
I deeply admire Martha’s faith in the midst of grief. She is sad, she is angry, but still she comes to Jesus. Her statement reveals the depth of her faith. I love how she’s almost goading Jesus, “I know you can do anything. I’ve seen you raise people from the dead. Well, what are you gonna do now?”
In contrast, Mary is completely undone in Jesus’ presence. Weeping, she throws herself at Jesus’ feet. Mary repeats the same line as her sister, but this one is laden with sorrow and anguish: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died!”
I don’t know about you, I’m just not used to Mary’s honest, raw outpouring of grief. The funerals I went to growing up, people might quietly cry as Amazing Grace plays at the end. That’s not the type of weeping that Mary does at Jesus’ feet. These were no quiet tears during Amazing Grace. This was wailing at the top of your lungs, so that the entire community joined with you. In her moment of deep sorrow and grief, Jesus does not push Mary away or chastise her for being too emotional.
Instead, he responds with empathy. “When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled.” He could have explained it all away: “Don’t worry, stop crying, I’m going to raise your brother in like ten minutes, it’s gonna be okay!!” But Jesus doesn’t. Instead, he moved inward towards her grief.
In Mary’s pain, Jesus saw her. When Mary threw herself at his feet, Jesus knelt down. And when Mary wept, Jesus wept. You have a Saviour who is acquainted with your grief, the Son of Suffering who will not turn away from you. Ever.
Listen to the spirit…
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You might still be sitting there thinking, “Sure, but why is *Jesus* crying? Surely he knows that Lazarus is gonna be alive in five minutes?” To answer that, I want to briefly zoom in on one word. Did you catch the phrase used to describe Jesus in that moment with Mary? It said that he was deeply moved. The original meaning of that Greek word was a horse’s snort as it was about to go to war or start a race. Applied to humans, it means an outburst of anger or indignation. What is Jesus angry at? He’s not angry at Mary or Martha. I think he’s angry at death itself. He’s seeing death’s ravaging effects in real time, and he’s realizing humanity’s futility against Death’s power. Jesus is so deeply moved by this righteous anger, that he is ready to go to war against Death. And so he does. He doesn’t shy away from Mary’s grief. He doesn’t shy away from Martha’s questions. Jesus doesn’t shut his eyes to humanity’s suffering. Instead, he is deeply moved, first to understanding and compassion, and then to justice motivated by righteous indignation.
Jesus finally comes to Lazarus’ tomb. The text says he is deeply moved again. Jesus is now face-to-face with his own grief and pain. His friend, whom he loves, is dead. And Jesus is faced with a choice. We know from the previous chapter of John that some people want to stone Jesus. If Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead, he’s basically signing his own death sentence. But remember, Jesus is ready to go to war against death. And so he has someone roll back the stone. He cries out, “Lazarus, come out!” And Lazarus walks out of the tomb. “Unbind him and let him go!”
It is this moment, where Jesus came face-to-face with Death, and where he saw a glimpse of the Resurrection, that propelled him from Palm Sunday, to the Last Supper, through the Garden of Gethsemane to the cross. He died as payment for sin, yes, but Jesus died to defeat the power of death and the grave. Christ rose again in victory that all might be raised like Lazarus.
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I could end the sermon right there. But I won’t because the story of Resurrection and restoration isn’t complete. This world is complicated and messy. Death is still present. What are we supposed to do when resurrection seems so far away?
This passage doesn’t give us an answer. And I don’t have a clear-cut, easy answer either. But I can give you some truth, and I can tell you a story. Here’s the truth: Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again. We live right in between Christ risen and Christ coming again. The victory of Christ’s resurrection is certain—we can put our hope in that—but it has not fully come to pass. I think that’s why Jesus tells Martha “I am the resurrection and the life.” You can’t have one without the other. The resurrection is the anchor of our hope, but Christ’s constant presence within our life is what sustains us in the waiting.
I’ll end by telling you part of my story. I am adopted. When I was born, my birthmom was 16. Her name is Jen. When my parents first went over to Jen’s house, she told them, “God has called you to be the parents of this child.” As a kid, Jen was an active part of my life. I saw her at Christmas and Easter. She came to my piano recitals and baseball games.
That all changed when I was 13. We slowly realized that Jen struggled with substance abuse. She’d been a functional addict for a few years, but her addiction caught up to her. One day, she just didn’t come home.
I didn’t see Jen for almost five years. Out of the blue, in my senior year, she called my dad on a freezing December night. We met Jen at the hospital. So much had changed. Even her voice was different. I couldn’t stop looking at her eyes. They carried the weight of the hurt and pain that she’d experienced and seen.
I wish this story had a fairy tale ending. It doesn’t. Jen’s stable. She’s no longer living on the street. There’s a chance she’s still using. Jen’s made some hard choices. But she also made some courageous ones. Jen chose to have a teenage pregnancy, almost thirty years ago. She chose to let someone else raise her kid, and she still wanted to have a relationship with me. In a few short months, she’ll be a grandmother. And I can’t wait for her to hold my son in her arms.
Still, I long for a complete resurrection and restoration in Jen’s life. And yet I know it may never come. Trust me, I have prayed and prayed and prayed. I hope against hope that Jen will be restored to full health and set free. And I trust that one day, that resurrection will come.
But until then, how do we stay on that tightrope of hope when we’re consumed with grief?
What do we do when we’re waiting for resurrection, and Jesus is four days late? This is where today’s Psalm comes in. I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits, and in his word I put my hope. I wait for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning.
I wait with the faith of Martha, in the midst of my anger and questions. I wait in my grief, knowing that like Mary, I have a Savior who weeps with me. And I wait, knowing that my Savior has won the victory over death, and will not stop until that victory is complete. Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again. Amen.
