Faith, Doubt, and a Loaf of Bread: A Sermon for the Third Sunday of Easter

The people have just witnessed the passion and crucifixion of Jesus. Now what? Some hang about waiting to see what comes next, because they have heard the stories that Jesus was to be the saviour of the people. They weren’t expecting him to die without accomplishing that feat.

The majority of the people who had been present that fateful morning were not from Jerusalem and are now making their way home.

That’s what these two people in Luke’s account are doing; they are headed home to a village called Emmaus, and they are talking about everything that had happened.

While they were walking, a man suddenly appeared and asked what they were talking about. The men couldn’t believe that there was anyone around that wasn’t aware of everything that had happened in the last few days.

When you read this passage, it easy to say “how did these two not know that it was Jesus who was walking with them?”

But Luke doesn’t say they didn’t recognize him. He says “their eyes were kept from recognizing him”. It’s not like they wouldn’t remember what Jesus looked like. They had just watched him die on a cross only 3 days prior!

“Their eyes were kept from recognizing him” – Jesus has veiled his identity from the two in front of him. He appears to them but he doesn’t allow them to recognize that it is really him.

            It’s as if Jesus wants to hear what they have to say about him and about what happened.

            Cleopas, the only of the two to be named, told the story of the last three days, but in doing, reduces Jesus from the Messiah to a prophet – “The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people.”

            Cleopas has lost his faith, his hope. To Cleopas, Jesus was to have been to saviour and redeemer of Israel but three days after his death, nothing has changed in the world.

            So he decided to leave Jerusalem and go home, believing the Jesus had only been a prophet, not the promised Messiah.

            Surprisingly, this is even after he admitted the fact that he knew about the empty tomb, that he had heard the story from the women who had visited Jesus’ tomb and found it empty.

            Until this point, Jesus had been listening patiently, knowing better than anyone what had happened at cavalry, but once Cleopas admitted the fact that he still didn’t believe that Jesus was alive even after receiving the report of the empty tomb and the message from the angels, Jesus rebuked the men.

            He rebuked them for their lack of faith, for not believing the prophets who had come before Jesus. These men would have known the scriptures. They would have heard the stories of Moses and Isaiah and all the prophets who foretold of a Messiah who would have to “suffer before entering into his glory.”

            And yet, even after hearing stories of Jesus’ life and ministry, after witnessing his death, and after receiving the message from the tomb, Cleopas has chosen to not believe the prophets from whom he would have grown up learning.

            He is lacking faith.

            Jesus called them foolish men and could have stormed off in disgust. But he doesn’t.

            He meets them where they are, in their pain and their doubt, in their brokenness and their lack of faith. And then evangelizes to them through the scriptures as they walked the road to Emmaus.

            When Jesus finally reveals himself to Cleopas and his companion, it is through his words at the table that were identical to the words used at the last supper in the upper room. Jesus reveals himself and then disappears, leaving the two to realize the burning fire of faith renewed in their hearts.

            Once that faith was restored, their eyes were opened once again.

            The fulfillment of the prophets did not end with the resurrection of Jesus. It is happening every day as our faith burns within us.

            As he did with Cleopas and his companion, Jesus walks with us through our pain and sadness, doubts and fear, and even, or especially, our loss of faith.

            It’s easy to lose our faith and to be blind to what’s before us, especially in times of fear and sadness we experienced throughout the pandemic, mass shootings, poverty, war…

            Jesus walks with us down our own road to Emmaus and it is our faith in Jesus that will open our eyes to the beauty and glory of his resurrection.

            It’s okay to doubt. Doubt is not the opposite of faith, in fact it is a requirement of faith. Honestly, in light of all the death and trauma and disappointment and tragedy that colors every human life, it’s not really surprising that we would have at least some difficulty believing the promise that God not only raised one person, Jesus, from the dead, but also promises new life and second chances and forgiveness and grace to all.

            And if there is one moment where we can cast aside our doubt, even for a little while, and renew our faith in Jesus, it is during the Eucharist. The breaking of the bread is a mysterious gift for us – the gift of the Risen One’s presence – the sharing in the divine life and love of God, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Jesus had been made known to Cleopas and friend in the breaking of bread. This is where they saw the risen Jesus, and this is where he will come to us, too. It is at the table where our faith will be strengthened, and we will be equipped for ministry through the sharing of a meal.

Remember those words that I sometimes say before we share in communion?

This is the table of Christ. It is made ready for those who love him, and for those who want to love him more. Come, whether you have much faith or little, have tried to follow, or are afraid that you have failed. Come. Because it is Christ's will that those who want to meet him, might meet him here.

            Come to Christ’s table. Come as you are. Come hungry, come helpless, come hopeful. Come with your doubt. Come with your faith. Come with your questions.

Come! Rejoice! And see the risen Christ!

Amen.

A Review of the Book "Reading the Bible Again for the First Time" by Marcus J Borg

Title: Reading the Bible Again for the First Time

Author: Marcus J Borg

Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Year: 2002

302 pages

Even if you have read the bible repeatedly over the years, whether in full or in bits and pieces, we will never have all the information in order to understand the words completely. Which means that we are relying on many people's expertise - theologians, biblical scholars, literary experts, etc. Each perspective will be just that little bit different based on where that person's education, background, and biases stems from.

There is especially a lot of debate about whether or not the bible is the literal word of God or the inspired word of God. While the debate will probably never end, it is my opinion that the best way to build your depth of understanding of the bible is to take in many perspectives.

Marcus Borg has written many books about reading the bible from new angles, concentrating on blending tradition and reality. This book follows along that same path with a tagline that caught my attention right away - "taking the bible seriously but not literally."

As the book progresses, Borg goes through each of the parts of the bible, from the Creation stories to Revelation, discussing parts that could possibly have been historical events and pointing out the stories that are more likely to be leaning towards the metaphorical. Borg provides readers with some new ideas on how to interpret the stories found within the pages the Bible.

His writing is easy to read so that you don't have to have a Master of Divinity in order to follow along. This book is meant for those who want to delve deeper into their bible, looking for a contemporary way of being a believer while maintain the "richness of the bible."

It was quite an enjoyable read and I highly recommend it for anyone looking to do some biblical exploration.

Peace Be With You: A Sermon for the Second Sunday of Easter

The passing of the peace is an often-misunderstood element of the service. Just before prayers are about to be made for Eucharist, when the once-for-all sacrifice of Christ is remembered and its benefits received, everything grinds to a halt. We stand up and start shaking hands. People hug. They get out of their pews and cut across the room to greet one another, forming a scrum in the middle of the sanctuary. It’s absolute chaos. Or at least it was, before the pandemic. But I’ll come back to that in a bit.

 

In Matthew chapter 11, Jesus warned us: “whenever you stand praying, forgive, if you have anything against anyone, so that your Father also who is in heaven may forgive you your trespasses”. Since the liturgy always attempts to express what we believe, we must take a moment to acknowledge that reconciliation with God and reconciliation with people go hand in hand. We cannot claim to have one without the other. We cannot rightly receive God’s forgiveness if we are not reconciled to our siblings in Christ. Passing the Peace is our enactment of the reconciling love and forgiveness of God through Christ. We are literally touching one another, holding and shaking hands, in humility and in forgiveness, and in repentance. God’s peace is being shared freely among his people.

 

Sharing God’s peace is not simply offering a friendly hello to those sitting around you. It’s not a time for catching up on news with your neighbor or for reminding someone about an upcoming meeting. And goodness, sharing God’s peace does not require each worshiper to offer a sign of God’s peace to every other worshiper present.

 

Passing the peace is a tradition rooted in Scripture that embodies our identity as peacemakers and trains our hearts, hands, and tongues in the ways of peace. “Peace be with you” is a greeting Jesus himself used with his disciples. Of all the ways Jesus could have greeted the apostles on Easter Sunday, he chose four simple words: “Peace be with you.” Yet for all its informality, this greeting captures the heart of the Easter message.

 

The apostles were not in the most peaceful state when Easter Sunday dawned. Not only had they seen Jesus’ arrest and crucifixion, but they also experienced their own weakness and lack of faith. Rather than hold on to his promise that he would rise again, they gave in to fear and doubt. Scattering at Jesus’ arrest, they hung back during his trial and crucifixion. Then they went into hiding, worried that the authorities would come after them. By all accounts, they had failed Jesus.

 

Then, suddenly, Jesus appears and says simply, “Peace be with you”, likely recalling the words of comfort that he had spoken at the last supper, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you.” Jesus’ “peace be with you” may be another way of saying what the angel had said to Mary at the tomb, “do not be afraid.” When Jesus appeared, he didn’t bring up the painful, embarrassing events of the past few days. He didn’t even mention them! Instead, he just wished them peace. Jesus does not want a relationship marked by vengeance, retribution, or anger. All he wants is for his disciples, for us, to be at peace with him. When Jesus speaks of peace, He speaks of eternal salvation, of God’s love, and assurance.

 

But there’s more! When we hear the words “Peace be with you”, it also refers to peace with ourselves and peace with each other. We are so much more than the sum of our mistakes and failings. We are more than the sum of our successes and breakthroughs. We are beloved of God, chosen and destined for heaven. Jesus isn’t interested in reviewing all of our past sins. He isn’t interested in questioning all of our current motivations. All he wants to do is point us to the love that we already have for him, and we’ll find our way to peace in our hearts. And the more peaceful we are, the easier it will be to follow Jesus and fulfill his calling for us.

 

And this gift of peace is meant to spill over onto others. Loving each other and forgiving each other is perhaps the most challenging aspect of our life as Christians. We know how difficult it is to love without conditions and stipulations. We know how difficult it is to forgive someone who has hurt us. Our natural response is to lash out in anger, sink into guilt, or shrink back in resentment.

 

The ritual of sharing the peace calls us to go deeper than simple handshakes with everyone in the room. As stated in The Sunday Assembly:

“The exchange of peace is a ministry, an announcement of grace we make to each other, a summary of the gift given to us in the liturgy of the Word. This ministry we do to each other is far greater than a sociable handshake or a ritual of friendship or a moment of informality. Because of the presence of Jesus Christ, we give to each other what we are saying: Christ’s own peace. Then, having been gathered by the Spirit around the Risen One present in the word, we turn to celebrate his meal.”

 

Sharing the peace is meant to be a point of transition between the sharing of the Word and the sharing of the Meal. As we are called to prepare for the meal, we are to reconcile with one another, to pray for those we have hurt and for those who have hurt us, to confess our sins, and to receive God’s forgiveness. This is not human peace alone, but the peace which is possible only through Christ. Then, after the exchange of peace, we receive the gift of Christ’s peace in our sharing Holy Communion with clean hands and a ready heart.

 

While we may have lost our understanding of it, this deeply scriptural and spiritual ritual was truly missed throughout the pandemic. As pastors, we still said the words, “the Peace of Christ be with you always.” But there were no responses back, aside from a small few who may have unmuted their microphones. There were no handshakes or hugs. No chaotic preparation for the meal.

 

Even now, we call it a “distanced sign of peace” and you can feel the awkwardness as people look around, yelling “peace”, and giving the universal sign of peace. While it is unlikely we will ever go back to the chaos it once was, perhaps the significance of sharing the peace can be brought back our minds and our hearts. This ancient ritual of peace-offering needs to be a reminder of our deepest human connections, and our need for each other, our interconnectedness. Sharing the peace needs to be a reminder that we do not walk through life alone. This brief moment in time needs to be about opening yourself up to others and to God.

 

So, what if could find a way to share the peace visibly as well as audibly? In a way that we can share it with those who are online as well as in-person? In a way that has more spiritual meaning behind it that simply flashing the peace sign to each other?

 

I started searching online what others have been doing throughout the pandemic and I found a beautiful gesture on pluralguild.com that was created by a dancer Jessica Young. You simply turn to the person next to you, put both hands together on your heart than extend your open hands to them. And while you do this, you look them in the eye. Eye contact matters. You may want to say words like “Peace be with you” as you do it. Or you may just want to do it silently. As the person echoes that gesture back to you, you then bring your hands back to your heart again and sightly bow your head, essentially receiving the gift with gratitude.

 

This gesture says so much to me about what I believe is the intention behind passing the peace. By placing my hands on my heart, and then removing them, I am exposing my vulnerable heart to you. I am saying, “By the grace of God, I am not going to hold myself back from you in fear.” When I extend my open hands to you, I am saying, “Not only am I not trying to hide and defend myself, I only have peace to give.” And the eye contact means it’s personal, it’s not flippant, it’s significant, this matters to me, it’s a kind of promise.

 

The next time we share the peace with each other, really think about what Jesus might have meant when he said “peace be with you” to his disciples, and what you mean when you say it to the person in front of you. Jesus was sent not to condemn us for our past but to give us eternal salvation. Jesus says “peace be with you” to his disciples so that they knew all he wanted was for them to have peace with him, and with God, and to have God’s eternal assurance. Let this gift of the peace of Christ reign also in your hearts.

“Peace be with you.”

Resources:
The Sunday Assembly

Feasting on the Word

Word Among Us

pluralguild.com

Do Not Be Afraid: A Sermon for Resurrection Sunday

In the morning after the Sabbath, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary (likely not Jesus’ mother), went to the tomb. In other gospels, there is talk about the women bringing burial spices to prepare the body. But I think Matthew knows better here. He knows that Jesus’ body had already been anointed, meaning he didn’t need further anointing for his burial. So in Matthew’s gospel, it simply says that the women were going to see the tomb. To me, it’s like any other time someone would go visit the grave of someone they love who had died.

 

But I digress. The women, the two Mary’s, went to see the tomb. When they got to the tomb there was a great earthquake, and an angel came and rolled back the stone that covered the entrance to the tomb.

 

The guards were afraid, and it seems that the women were too because the first thing that the angel said was, “do not be afraid.” The angel then told them that Jesus was not there, but rather that he was alive. The women are told to go and tell all that they have learned. As they go on their way, they encountered Jesus and he also says to them, “do not be afraid.”

 

“Do not be afraid.” Easy for Jesus to say! Can you imagine what these women were going through?! They came to the tomb because they loved Jesus, and they came filled with grief and sadness, filled with a sense of loss both for their friend that was gone and also for all that he represented to them. Despair would have been something else that they were feeling. If you have ever grieved the loss of someone you loved, then you know that grief, sadness, and despair would have been the least that these women were feeling.

 

And now to learn that Jesus is not in the tomb?! So now they feel fear! Fear for what has happened to his body. Fear of the strange being that is there in front of them. Fear to really believe, to let hope back into their hearts, that maybe Jesus really was alive.

 

So often, throughout the bible, we come across these words of assurance, “Do not be afraid.” Typically, these words are said by an angel, sort of like their calling card. It is how you know you are being visited by an angel.

 

Luke’s account of Jesus’ birth and Matthew’s account of Jesus’ resurrection contain these words of reassurance which seem to wrap the entire gospel narrative in those words, “Do not be afraid.” These are among the first words uttered by Gabriel to Mary when he tells her she will bear a son named Jesus. Then, an angel uses these same words to reassure Mary Magdalene and the other Mary when they find the tomb of Jesus empty and the earth shaking.

 

Fear is a powerful emotion and can affect people in different ways. For some, fear is empowering because it gives the person the adrenaline they need to move forward, to try something new, to go on an adventure, etc.

 

For others, fear can be paralyzing, debilitating, and can make you run away. Ever hear of fight, flight, or freeze? The fight response is your body's way of facing any perceived threat aggressively. Flight means your body urges you to run from danger. Freeze is your body's inability to move or act against a threat. A new one I learned is fawn, which is your body's stress response to try to please someone to avoid conflict.

 

For me, fear plays terrible tricks on my mind. It locks me into place, makes me freeze up, and often takes away opportunities. If I am full of fear, I am more likely to run away than to go and tell.

 

As a child, when you are gripped with fear, there is often someone who can help – parent, grandparent, sibling – someone to say the words, “do not be afraid.” And as a child, it is easy to believe those words of reassurance, to take great comfort from them.

 

Fear is bigger for adults, more complex, and those words of reassurance are harder to come by. As adults, we live with enormous responsibilities and complex realities. If we hear the words, “do not be afraid,” we are often suspicious of the sincerity behind those words. Think about a time someone told you, “Do not be afraid. There is nothing to worry about.” When someone says to us, “do not be afraid,” the words often feel like empty platitudes. Something like, “there, there.”

 

And yet, here are these angels, to Mary at the beginning of Jesus’ story and to Mary Magdalene at the tomb, coming to say just that – “do not be afraid.” These are not words of assurance that nothing will go wrong but, rather, assurance that whatever may happen to us, God has the power to strengthen us and uphold us; that no matter our fears, God will never leave us to face them alone; that nothing is stronger than God’s love and God will always get the last word.

 

The angel tells the people, “Do not be afraid.” This command concerning fear is on-going. We should never be afraid anymore! Jesus has won! Do not allow fear to keep you from sharing what you have seen here. Do not let fear keep you from hoping, and what it means that the tomb is empty, and what you know now to be true, even if you are having hard time understanding it.

 

The women are invited by the angel to come and see that Jesus is not here in the tomb, and then they are told go and tell. Because “come and see” must always be followed by “go and tell.” It's a part of the good news! We are to go and tell the ways that God has shocked us into bewilderment, caused us to hope in our hearts that there can be new life. We are called to tell where we see God's love and grace at play in our world and how God's peace has attended us in times of sadness and grief.

 

The Gospel that began with a man afraid to marry his disgraced betrothed and a fearful king who tries to kill potential rivals ends with overwhelming joy. Jesus’ command to the women becomes a command to all of us: Stop being afraid! God has defeated death. Rejoice, and share the good news!

Resources:

"The Women's Bible Commentary" edited by Carol Newsom and Sharon Ringe

"Feasting on the Word" edited by David Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor

Pulpit Fiction

Ministry Matters

God Save Us!: A Sermon for Palm Sunday

Photo by Pastor Nate Elarton on subsplash.com

Typically on Palm Sunday, I have preached on the absurdity of the people waving their palms and cheering as Jesus entered into Jerusalem and then, a mere five days later, calling for his crucifixion and death. It is easy to get excited and angry about how people flowed quickly from praising their Messiah to demanding Pontius Pilot hang him up next to the other criminals.

The actions of the crowd still irk me, but today I thought I would reflect on something else – the word “Hosanna”. I want to talk about this word today because during my research, I came across a common thread regarding the word “Hosanna” that I had never thought about before.

 

When you hear the word “hosanna”, where does your mind go? How does it make you feel?

 

I always heard “hosanna” as a cry of celebration. As in, “Hurray! Jesus is here!” The crowd is celebrating the arrival of a celebrity.

 

But, it seems, that might not be the case.

 

Scholars' best guess is that "Hosanna" is a contraction of two Hebrew terms: yaw-shah, meaning “to save” or “deliver”, and naw, meaning “to beseech” or “pray”. In Greek, it translates to soson dei, meaning “save us”. In casual conversation, you could think of it like “God help us”.

 

Now go back and picture Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. At face value it would seem that the Jerusalem fan parade is glorifying God’s name, but they are not really. They are crying out for help, to be saved.

 

The people cheered. They tossed branches from the nearby trees to the ground, and they called out, "Hosanna."  They looked upon this prophet - rumored to be the Messiah - and they cried out to him, "Save us."

 

“God, help us!”

 

These are the cries the crowd makes as Jesus triumphantly enters Jerusalem.

 

Isn’t that the most basic of all our prayers? “God, help us! God, save us!”

 

Over the last decade or two, Palm Sunday worship seems to be pushed aside. Not that we don’t bring palms to church each year, wave them during the procession, and have them blessed so that they can be made into crosses, and subsequently into ashes the following year, but often today’s scripture lessons would lean more towards the Passion than the palms.

 

It is thought that as fewer people attended daily Holy Week services, especially Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, it became important to ensure that congregations, at the very least, heard the story of Jesus’ journey to his death on the cross before hearing of his resurrection on Easter Sunday.

 

Therefore, Palm and Passion stories got merged into a single liturgical Sunday.

 

I understand that reasoning completely. If we move directly from a Palm Sunday procession to an Easter parade, we will have missed the story and experience of the passion.

 

As insufferable and horrific that the events at the end of Holy Week are, we need to slow ourselves down and let the story play out throughout the week. We shouldn’t rush through the Passion just to get to the celebration.

 

We need to experience each as it happened, not try to squish it all into a single Sunday morning.

 

And so our journey starts today with that primal prayer – God save us.

 

The crowd was asking to be saved from the Romans. They wanted deliverance from an occupying army. They wanted to be saved by the Messiah that they had been promised.

 

Now, we’re not under the thumb of a Roman army, but I’m sure I can’t be the only one whose prayer includes some form of “God save us, God save me?”

 

It is a complicated thing to ask, "What does God save us from?"

 

When we wave our palms and boldly cry out, "Hosanna," do we dare imagine what we really want God to save us from?

 

Anger, depression, death?

 

The endless stream of violence?

 

Loneliness?

 

Fear?

 

When we cry out “Hosanna”, we are appealing to God from the most vulnerable places inside of us. We are asking God to make us whole again.

 

Ah! And now we come back to the crowd who changed their mind by the end of the week.

 

The people wanted salvation, which they defined as "freedom from the Romans."

 

"Save us," they cried, but then Jesus did not set about saving them in a manner that they could recognize.  He did not take up a sword and send the Romans fleeing.

 

Instead, he went and had supper with his friends; he went and prayed in a garden.

 

It only took a few days for the crowds to switch from crying "Hosanna" to the shouts of "Crucify him" as they lost their patience waiting for what they expected to happen upon the arrival of the Messiah.

 

We, the reader, are dismayed at this, but would we have acted any differently? If the change we so desperately desired was not happening in the way we expected, would we not get angry?

 

God answers our cries of "Hosanna" in ways so utterly unexpected.

 

God comes. God incarnates. God marches on to death in order to bring us salvation.

 

Is there any better way to commence Holy Week than with "Hosannas" on our lips?

 

Is there any more faithful way to embark on this sacred journey than to ask God, out of the deep, honest places inside of us, to "Save us... please, save us"?

 

As we head into the dark days of Holy Week, anticipating the gruesome events of Good Friday, let us not hide from those horrific events.

 

Cry out “Hosanna” today and then experience deeply God saving us through Jesus through each day and each event of this journey.

 

Hosanna. Soson dei. God help us.

Beyond Resurrection: A Sermon for the Fifth Sunday in Lent

Well folks. We are coming to the end of our Lenten journey, and our discussions on what it means to belong – to each other, to the church, and to God. These long readings from John’s Gospel during Lent have a depth and a power to them that can, if we take them into our hearts, reach the very core of our lives.

 

Last week we went through the valley of the shadow of death and today we hear about death and new life, about the end of some things, and, perhaps, the beginning of others. Death is always a topic close to home, one that seems to get closer every year. On the eve of Palm Sunday and Holy Week, it’s particularly immediate.

 

So, it makes good sense to hear Ezekiel preach to the valley of dry bones, and to listen to Jesus command, “Lazarus, come out”, and to wonder what all that means and whether it matters.

 

Jesus receives news from Mary and Martha that their brother Lazarus is ill. John tells us that Jesus was across the Jordan in Perea where John had been baptizing. Bethany, where Mary and Martha lived, was approximately 20 miles away. When Jesus receives the news he says, "This illness does not lead to death; rather it is for God's glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it". Since John knows that Lazarus did die, how is it that he reports Jesus as saying that this illness does not lead to death?

 

Then Jesus waits two days longer before making the trip to Bethany. In the difficult circumstances of life what is one to think when God does not act as quickly as we would want him to?

 

Commentators have given various explanations as to why Jesus delayed his trip to Bethany. Some have suggested that Jesus does not order his life by human demands but by divine directive.

 

Another suggestion as to why Jesus delayed his trip to Bethany is that he wanted to wait until Lazarus had been dead at least four days before arriving in Bethany. According to Jewish tradition, the soul lingered around the corpse of a dead person for three days before its final departure. Note Martha's comment to Jesus about the four days since Lazarus had died. According to this explanation, Jesus waited two more days so that there would be no question at all about the reality of Lazarus' death and thus his resurrection would have a much greater impact on people and bring greater glory to God than the healing of an illness.

 

Since the glory of God is what matters for Jesus, he waits for an opportune time to manifest God's glory in a most clear and powerful manner and thus bring to completion the work he was to do on earth. It should be noted that this final and greatest miracle, unlike the previous ones, is performed not on behalf of people who are strangers and at best have inadequate faith, but in a circle of people who are dear and beloved friends and disciples. Jesus lets Lazarus die, this one whom he loved so dearly, and allows his sisters to go through unspeakable sorrow even though his love for them was tender and profound.

 

Jesus weeps for the death of his friend Lazarus because he knows what death can do, he knows that death disrupts and interrupts belonging. Jesus knows that death is full of grief, life-shattering, gut-tearing, amputating grief that hurts so terribly, Jesus weeps because of his own impending death, and that he can’t stop death or take it away.

 

The tears of Jesus sanctify every tear, and his deeply troubled spirit makes holy our own grief, pain, and fear in the face of death. There is nothing in this world stronger or more final than death, and there is nothing in this world that can rebuild what death tears down.

 

But we know we are promised something “beyond resurrection”. As resurrection people, we have hope, we have faith, that death is not the end. And that the belonging we are promised is life eternal – knowing Jesus here and now, after death, and after resurrection. As resurrection people, we belong to a community that believes in eternal life, in resurrection, in life after death. We find hope in the resurrection, aware that things will die but knowing that something new will be born from that death.

 

This is where John’s final, and probably most important, “I AM” statements comes into play. Jesus says, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live.”

 

Some translations omit “and the life,” with the assumption that this phrase is a redundancy on the part of Jesus. Our first impressions may be the same. We tend to focus on the resurrection as a distant promise, our guarantee of salvation, our eternal life with God and Jesus in heaven. But what might it mean that Jesus is the resurrection and the life? That we are raised to life, not as a future existence in salvation, but to life right now, right here, with Jesus?

 

The real point of Lazarus’ story is not that he came back. Before too long, Lazarus died again, and Jesus wasn’t there, and Lazarus stayed very dead. So that’s not much of a point. The real point is that Jesus is Lord of the living and the dead. The real point is that the voice of Jesus carries – it carries even through the walls of the grave, and his word is the clearest word, and the strongest word, and the last word. That’s the good news that we Christians see that the world does not see.

 

There is a quote outside of Lazarus’ tomb that reads:

“The glory of God shall be seen in those who put their faith in Jesus in times of greatest distress and hopelessness. They are certain that he is greater than any distress, even greater than death itself.”

 

For Lazarus, the Gospel does not describe his future with Jesus, but his present. The raising of Lazarus gives him new life with Jesus. This new life is leaning on the breast of Jesus, reclining at the table with him, sharing food and fellowship. New life in Jesus is this intimacy, this closeness, this dwelling, lying on the chest of Jesus. It is here and now, because for the Gospel of John, it is not just the death of Jesus but the life of Jesus that brings about salvation. For the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, through which “we have all received grace upon grace”.

 

This is the ultimate definition of belonging – that we are never separated from God, even through death. Jesus knows he goes back to God after death. That’s his sense of belonging. And now that belonging is also for us.

 

Belonging sounds like our name being called. When Mary hears her name in the garden, she remembers belonging. By saying “rabouni”, she remembers belonging as a disciple. When Jesus called to Lazarus, he brought Lazarus from death. Lazarus heard the voice of Jesus and answered the call. The voice of God reassures us and calls us from the past into the present. The voice of God keeps our faith alive.

 

There will be a time when Jesus calls our names and will bring us out of death into everlasting life. Being in relationship with Jesus, belonging to Jesus, means facing death and grief with him and learning that still, in spite of the death and the dryness and the finality of the door at the entrance to the tomb of our hopes, Jesus can still be said to be life.

 

As we approach Holy Week, we hear Jesus’ voice calling out to us over all the others, calling into our tombs, calling us into discipleship. Jesus is preparing a place of belonging for us, a place of eternal life today, tomorrow, and forever, a place of belonging that means never being separated from God, even after death, so that we can face death with a new confidence, knowing that we are forever in God's hands.

 

Amen.

Resources:

"Belonging: A Preaching Workshop for Lent" hosted by Karoline Lewis

episcopalchurch.org

workingpreacher.org