Many churches will not have services this week. In the case of churches continuing to hold services, many people will opt not to attend for health concerns. As a way to support the spiritual journey of Christians during this Lenten Season, for the remaining Sundays of Lent, I will post reflections on the gospel readings assigned in the New Common Lectionary for that day.
Today’s sacred story from the Christian tradition found in the Gospel attributed to John causes us to consider life and death. It is the story of the raising of Lazarus from the dead. While I personally don’t interpret the story literally, it plays a critical role in developing an appreciation of John’s understanding of Jesus as the life of the world.
https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=John+11&version=NRSV
The story of Jesus raising his good friend Lazarus from the dead is a Bible story I’ve known since childhood. While it’s not a typical Bible story for children, I began to hear the story regularly in third or fourth grade. You see, I attended a Catholic grade school and sang in the school’s choir. Every time someone died, the children in the school choir sang at the funeral. The gospel reading was always the same: the raising of Lazarus.
Over the years of my childhood, I got to know this story very well. I imagined each of the characters and how they felt; the tone of their voices when they spoke; and I wondered what it would have been like on the day they rolled the stone away and Lazarus was unbound from the burial clothes.
Of all the lines in this story that have caught my attention over the years, the line that comes back to me most often from this story is that of Martha, the practical one. When Jesus directs that the grave be opened, Martha’s reaction is clear: He’s been dead for four days. Surely, there will be a stench.
Remember the story: Jesus speaks to Martha, asking her if she believes. He reminds her that he is the resurrection and the life. After confessing her faith and going to the grave with Jesus, her hesitation overtakes her. She resists the possibility of life because the process of experiencing a new life could literally stink.
As a psychologist, I’ve been on this journey with people many, many times. We often want to experience new life, fuller life, to live into new possibilities. Even when we see new options as very real possibilities for ourselves, we hesitate. We become afraid. Crossing over from here to there may stink. It could be hard. We may have to face things we’d rather keep avoiding.
Truth to tell, it’s not just as a psychologist working with others that I know about how this works. There have been far too many times in my own life when I’ve recognized patterns of thinking and behaving that keep me from living more fully and yet, rather than change, I keep on doing the same old things that simply aren’t good for me. It’s that stench – facing the decaying parts of self – that prevents growth.
Yet, I also know that the best fertilizer for growth stinks. I have lots of childhood memories of fertilizer, just like I have childhood memories of this story. I remember driving with my parents in the spring through the hills of Western PA and asking my father to roll up the car windows because of the smell of cow manure freshly spread on the fields. Later in life, I’d rake leaves and other lawn debris into a pile to create compost which I’d later spread around tomato plants. Yes, it all stunk. But it was out of that very real stink that something amazing grew.
So it is with us: it is the dead and decaying parts of our lives, the rotting resentments, blistering wounds of old hurts, and the festering fears that are the points where we are most likely to be able to experience something new. As our lives have changed because of social distancing during the pandemic, we are likely to come face to face with these old wounds that have not been healed. They may manifest as irritability, anxiety, boredom, listlessness, or sadness. As we encounter them, it may be time to allow these wounds to be healed. The only way that happens is to bring them into the light of day, unbind them, and set them free – just as Lazarus was unbound and set free. Doing that takes faith in the process, a faith that Martha confessed, doubted, and then lived out – a faith in resurrection and life.
It’s much like the Old Testament story of Ezekiel and the valley of the dry bones. Often, our lives can seem like nothing more than a valley of dry bones, worn by routines and exhausted from work. God asks Ezekiel, “Can these bones live?” Ezekiel glibly replies, “Only you know!” God responds by telling the prophet to prophesy, to speak words of life and hope. As Ezekiel speaks words of prophecy, he creates an encounter with life and hope. It is in that encounter with life and hope that the bones begin to rise again.
A difficult realization for us about this story of Lazarus is that while he was raised from death to new life by Jesus, the time apparently came when Lazarus, Martha, and Mary all died. This is the logical part of the story that preachers and commentators usually avoid. But the fact is that there is no evidence that these individuals lived any longer than any of their other contemporaries. So, if he was just going to die again, what was the point of raising Lazarus? Why bring him back only to face death a second time?
In his book Lazarus and His Beloved, Kahlil Gibran explored the experience of Lazarus after he was raised from the dead. Gibran portrayed a Lazarus who no longer fit in this world, who stayed on the fringe of daily life, who longed to return to the experience of the next life. Lazarus was angry that he was brought back to a life that was limited by human experience. Food had no taste for him. Colors seemed drab. Life in this world had no vitality.
Gibran’s reflection on the experience of the resurrected Lazarus is engaging and fascinating. He writes clearly from the perspective of his Lebanese culture having been raised as a Maronite Christian. He also studied Sufism, the mystical tradition of Islam. That led to his belief that we are embodied spirits who experience the fullness of life when losing our mortal shell.
Rooted in my own Christian faith and affirming that the Divine presence is in us and all creation (the Incarnation), I believe that we begin to experience the fullness of life in and through our bodies. To that end, I don’t imagine Lazarus yearning to return to the other side but rather envision him eating, drinking, laughing and enjoying what it is to be alive. I imagine a Lazarus unencumbered by the stresses of life that normally occupy our minds and preventing us from experiencing vibrancy. The new Lazarus has passed beyond fears and anxieties and experiences life as nothing less than a tremendous gift. Yes, Lazarus dies again. But I believe his second passage to the next life was one of ease because he was able to trustingly move to a new dimension of life’s fullness — one that is greater than our imaginations. In this way, the raising of Lazarus is a story about the fullness of life in the here and now, not just in some kind of life after this life.
The story of the raising of Lazarus is an important one for our faith. It challenges our understanding of what it means to be fully alive. It’s a story of bold faith that breaks out of our logic and challenges us to be all that we were created to be. As we continue this Lenten journey, Lazarus is one guide to lead us on the road to life in all its fullness. Amen.
