If we can trust Google Search, Benjamin Franklin gets credit for the
familiar saying, “In this world, nothing is certain except death and
taxes.” There’s no arguing the point, but for all their certainty, we
avoid dealing with death and taxes as much as we can. April 15 gets in
the way, of course, and when it comes to death, many people don’t even
like to use the word, preferring euphemisms like “passed” and “passed
away.” But no matter how much we may avoid the word, we can’t escape the
reality, can we? Nor will we!
As a priest, I
deal a lot with death and, to be honest, I can get overwhelmed by it.
I’m not talking about the thought of my own death. I think I’ve come to
a place of peace there - most of the time! No, I’m overwhelmed not so
much by that as by how often I have to deal with death and by the awful
toll it takes - on the person dying and on family and loved ones. It’s a
daunting and difficult thing to accompany the dying, and to walk with
people in grief at the loss of a loved one. I find myself wishing I had
a magic wand to wave and take it all away but, of course, there is no
magic wand, and there really aren’t any words, either. Sometimes all I
can do is to be silently and lovingly and prayerfully present, and leave
the rest to God.
In today’s story
of the death and raising of Lazarus, we get a window onto what Jesus did
in the face of death. But before I get into that, let me remind you that
we are in John’s gospel and, as with all the great stories in John’s
gospel, there is more than one layer of meaning. That was true of the
story of the woman at the well two weeks ago, and of the story of the
man born blind last week, and it’s true of this story. This is a story
not only about Lazarus’ untimely death and Jesus raising him from the
dead, it’s also a story about Jesus’ desire to bring people to faith.
This is clear from the rather surprising little detail in the story
where, after hearing that Lazarus was ill, Jesus waited for two whole
days before going to him. The reason for this becomes clear from the
words that Jesus prayed before he called Lazarus forth from the tomb.
“Father, I thank you for having heard me. I know that you always hear
me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd that they may believe
that you sent me.” So, this is not only a story of Jesus miraculously
bringing his friend back from the dead, John also presents it as a sign,
a sign that manifests the glory of God, a sign that has the power to
bring people to faith. In him. (People like our Elect preparing for
Baptism; people like ourselves!)
Now, back to
the window we get onto what Jesus did in the face of death. It’s best
seen in the different ways Jesus dealt with Martha and Mary, the sisters
of Lazarus. You may have noticed that both of them, when they met Jesus,
said the same thing to him: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother
would never have died.” But with Martha, Jesus seems almost removed,
content to stay at the level of faith, telling her, “Your brother will
rise again,” and “I am the resurrection and the life.” But when Mary,
the more outwardly emotional of the two, falls at Jesus’ feet weeping,
we are told that he was “troubled in spirit, moved by the deepest
emotions.” And not only that, when he asked where the tomb was, we are
told – in what must be the shortest verse in all the gospels – that
“Jesus wept.” There is a lot packed into those two words, and you can
see what I mean about getting a window onto Jesus. It’s easy to picture
the scene, isn’t it? Jesus is very human there, touchingly so. He is
clearly one of us. Vulnerable. At the mercy of very deep emotions.
My friends, the
Jesus we meet here is one I can easily relate to and I trust you can,
too. I often think of that scene when I’m dealing with a dying
parishioner or with the family of someone who has died, or with someone
in my own family, for that matter. As with Jesus, tears do come – to my
eyes often enough. Other times they overflow in my heart.
There is
one other little window onto Jesus in the story. It’s in the words Jesus
speaks after he calls Lazarus forth from the tomb. “Untie him,” he says,
“and let him go free.” It’s one thing for Jesus to want his friend to
live; it’s another for him to want him to be free, free from the things
that get in the way of living life to the full, things that lessen a
person’s lease on life: crippling things like sin, fear, doubt, worry,
anxiety.
My friends, I
believe that Jesus speaks those same words to us: “Untie him, untie her.
Let him go free. Let her go free.” (He speaks those words in a special
way to our Elect who will soon be baptized.) He wants us (and he wants
them) to be ‘untied,’ unbound, free - free to walk in the light of day,
the light of faith, the light of life. There are so many things that can
get in the way of this. Jesus wants us to be free of every one of them.
My friends, this freedom we will fully possess only when we come to
terms with death – it’s finality, yes, but also its finitude. For even
though death is inevitable and inescapable, it does not get the last
word. Life does. It always does. That is our firm belief. It is the very
foundation of our faith. We are Easter people, and we will be
re-discovering that and celebrating that in the coming days. And it is
what we celebrate now, and every time we gather together to break the
Bread of the Eucharist, the Bread of Life. We who eat this Bread will
live forever!
Father Michael G. Ryan
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