Gloria Dei Lutheran Church

John 11: 1-45

You haven’t lived till you’ve taken a group of confirmation kids on a field trip… to a funeral home. I spent a decade in youth ministry in my twenties and into my thirties. At one church, the pastor arranged a trip for the confirmation students to visit a local funeral home to talk about grief. Up until that point in my life, I had never thought of grief beyond the obvious big losses, like a grandparent dying. Or a pet, which is often one of the first big ones in our lives. But a funeral home field trip led to talking about all the smaller losses that we experience throughout life. Tiny deaths. Like the first real crush you have on someone that nearly always ends in grief and loss. When my kids were very small and we said goodbye to the pacifiers, I witnessed those small humans experience what can only be described as mourning.

 

Loss is a big part of the human experience, pretty much from beginning to end.  

A number of years ago, I learned about ambiguous loss from researcher and author, Pauline Boss. Ambiguous loss is when a loved one goes missing, physically. Like a fishing captain lost at sea. Or it could be a loved one going missing in other ways. A family member who is lost in alcohol or regularly stoned. Or is lost to a screen in their hand. They are there, but not there. It’s also when illness arrives: dementia or debilitating mental illness.

These sorts of losses are not tidy or clear. They offer no closure. The years of Covid were filled with this sort of ambiguity, with no finish line. But in reality, with most losses, closure is a myth. There is no “getting past it” or “getting over it.” We know this even though we wish it weren’t true. Who among us can say that after losing a loved one we have reached closure? We finished grieving. Most of us learn to live with the losses. What a bugger to realize that as we age, we accumulate more. It’s one of the gifts of longevity. 

 

How very Lenten of me to be talking about grief and loss just out of the gates this morning.

But church, how can I not, when we are offered a Gospel that is 45 verses long (but who’s counting) and 43 of those verses are about the experience of grief and loss and dying and death. 

 

Mary, Martha and Lazarus are siblings. They are also friends of Jesus. They share meals together when he’s in town, likely put him up on their couch when he needs a place to stay. They are tight. They loved one another. 

 

But Lazarus gets sick and then it takes a turn, the one we all fear. When it was clear that Lazarus was not going to get better, Mary and Martha remembered that they knew a guy who could help. So they send word to Jesus because healing is definitely in his wheelhouse. But for the love of all that is good and holy, Jesus dilly dallies on the way there and Lazarus dies. 

 

By the time Jesus gets to town, Lazarus’s community of family and friends had shown up and began to mourn, the funeral service was planned. At this point, Lazarus is not just a tiny bit dead. He’s four days dead in the tomb. By day four, death has an odor. In the King James version, Mary states the facts as she says, “Lord, he stinketh.” 

Lazarus has been through the dying process. The local chaplain had been sent around to do the important spiritual work we often do near death and dying. The key phrases were shared: I’m sorry, please forgive me, thank you, I love you. And then Lazarus gave himself over to trust that God will continue to surround him with love after death. Lazarus died.

 

Mary and Martha are people of faith. They have a working theology, a way of thinking about God, that helps them make sense of their lives. Both Mary and Martha show us the complexity of being human and experiencing more than one thing at a time. Martha witnesses to her faith with a clear,

“Yes, Lord, I believe AND this hurts. 

Yes, Lord, I believe and I am grieving. 

Yes, Lord I believe and my whole world has ended. 

Yes, Lord, I believe and I hate this moment. 

Yes, Lord, I believe and I wish things were different. 

Mary says yes Lord I believe and she kneels at the feet of Jesus and weeps publicly for her brother. 

 

Both/and. I trust you God AND I am in pain. 

 

This isn’t just a story about three siblings. It’s a testament to the power of friendship as we witness Jesus mourn his friend. Jesus is just moments away from resurrecting Lazarus but he still feels the full impact of loss and Jesus weeps. Ugly cries. 

 

I have compassion for those who have a hard time with Lazarus not staying dead. Can you imagine how infuriating it would be for Jesus to come and mess with everything, rewriting things, turning the world on its head, including the rules of death? If you like things as they are or if you are not interested in change then this is a lot of take in. 

 

Our story today says that Lazarus comes out, bound in his burial clothes. Lazarus walks out of that tomb bound. Jesus says, “Unbind him and let him go.” Now, could Jesus have unbound him during the raising? Of course. If you have the power to raise the dead then some grave clothes are light work. But it seems like Jesus wants us to be involved, to get our hands and hearts involved in resurrection. God invites us to get up close with life, nose to nose with it. 

Did you notice what actually raises him? It’s the voice of Jesus. It’s Jesus calling, “Lazarus, come out.” But then he hears the voice of Jesus calling to him. Like sheep who know the sound of the shepherd, Lazarus goes. Because the voice of the shepherd brings not only resurrection but new life.

 

And it’s the same voice that called to Lazarus that calls to us today. The voice that says, “I know you believe and I know you hurt, now come out. 

 

I know you believe and I know you are grieving, now come out. 

I know you believe and I know you hate this moment, now come out.

I know you believe and I know you wish things were different, now come out.

I know you believe and I know you wash feet, now come out.

New life is here. 

Come out!

 

 

The epilogue for the story of Lazarus is this: In the days and weeks and years to come, Lazarus survives the initial plot that was launched to kill him to recline with Jesus and share many more meals. He is known everywhere he goes as the guy who once was 4 days dead. He walks into the coffee shop and everyone goes silent as they watch him place his order and settle into a table. Like every human who has come up close to death, Lazarus understands the preciseness of life. He doesn’t smell. I know you were worried about that. No one ever said, “He stinketh” about him again because anytime Jesus breathes new life it’s pine forest fresh. It’s cool summer rain on a hot sidewalk. It’s grandma’s kitchen when she’s baking bread. How can new life not smell like bread? Amen.