Lent V

March 9, 2008
The Rev. David R. Hackett

Every Wednesday afternoon here at St. John’s we have our staff meeting. We begin with a Bible study focusing on the scripture for the coming Sunday. This past Wednesday our Parish Administrator, Brenda Dearien, told us of her little four-year-old niece who was told it was time to go to bed. The child resisted saying she was afraid to go into her bedroom alone. Her parents tried to reassure her that there was nothing in her room that would harm her, but still the little girl was afraid. Finally her mother told her to go on into her bedroom, that she’d be fine, she wouldn’t be alone, “because God would be in the room with her.” To which the child replied, “But I need someone with skin.”

The four-year-old spoke true. We all need “someone with skin.” God knows that. That’s the reason for the incarnation: God in the flesh, “someone with skin.” Our lessons today point to that truth.

In the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead we are told that when Jesus got to his friend’s tomb, “Jesus began to weep.” That’s the New Revised Standard Version of one of the most familiar verses in the Bible. The reason that it is so familiar is because in the King James’ Version, which those of us of a certain age grew up with, the verse was “Jesus wept.” It was one of the most familiar verses in the Bible because it was the shortest. So, when in Sunday school class we were asked to quote something from the Bible, this was it! We had no idea it was a profound theological statement. We just thought it was sort of funny and smart to quote, “Jesus wept.” None of us had ever heard of the Docetic heresy, the teaching that Jesus was not human; that he was a kind of divine ghost who looked like us but wasn’t. That heresy said we didn’t need someone with skin. When we flippantly said, “Jesus wept”, we were, without knowing it, saying that Jesus was human. He was someone who grew tired, who got thirsty, who grieved like us when his friend died. And who would hurt and suffer more than most humans ever have when he was nailed to the cross.

Weeping. Crying. A troubled and grieving Jesus cries. But, didn’t he already know what he was going to do? Didn’t he already know that he was about to raise his friend from the dead? That’s what John says in his Gospel. But still Jesus cried. I certainly don’t know what went on inside of Jesus at that time, but the scripture is clear: he wept. And then Jesus the Christ, the Power and the Wisdom of God, gives the final sign of his Messiahship. It is the last of the signs in the book of signs in John’s Gospel. “Lazarus, come out!” And the dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him and let him go.” And the power of God is seen.

Have you ever wondered what happened to Lazrus after this? Eugene O’Neill did. His play, Lazarus Laughed, is his answer. What Lazarus does mostly, throughout the play is laugh, a deep, profoundly joyful laugh. Apparently meant to express that his time “on the other side” was not fearful and morbid, but joyous and peaceful. But the laughter was not well received, especially by those with political and religious power. They had no control over him; nothing with which to threaten him. Having lost his life once, and having been restored to new life by Jesus, Lazarus has nothing left to lose. And as such, he represents a unique power. Death has no dominion over him. The wonderful Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas, captured something of it,

“And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.”

Thus, Lazarus laughed, for death shall have no dominion.

Weeping and laughing at death. Is that not our lot as Christians? We live between the weeping and the laughing. Remember though, only the one who has been raised from the dead can truly laugh at death.

Jesus wept because he loved. He raised Lazarus because he loved. He faced the agony of the cross and his own death because he loved. And the life to which he invites us, that of which he would have you and me be a part, is a life of that kind of self-giving love.

In a sense we are all Lazarus. We’ve all experienced death: the death of caring, of loving; the death of hopelessness, of despair; the death of not being wanted or valued. We have all found ourselves entombed. And it is dark and cold and lifeless. But, we’ve also known what it is to be given new life. New life given by a caring friend, a supporting parent, someone who truly loves you. We’ve experienced new hope and the promise of new life.

The good news is that we do not have to wait to be buried to experience resurrection. No matter what happens to us in this world, no matter what tragedies we encounter, the God “with skin”, to God who weeps, brings life out of death.

We can even dare laugh at death itself. That is why our tears are mixed with our alleluias. This Lent, and all of our lives, we weep and we laugh at death because we have a hope and a promise. And, like Lazarus, we too are called to “come forth” from our tombs and walk in the light. Amen.