Lent 5A2020
John 11:1-45
Everyone who lives also dies. In these Coronavirus days, we face this reality with more clarity than perhaps we ever have. Of course, we have always known that people die—people all over the world, our friends, our grandparents and parents, perhaps our children, even we ourselves. Everyone who lives also dies. Though we understand death far better than people of any other age, we probably fear it more than people of any other age.
The people of the first century Mediterranean world, the people of the New Testament lived closely with death. For Jesus and the disciples, death did not take place in disinfected hospitals, skilled nursing centers, or peaceful hospice homes. For Mary and Martha and Lazarus and for their friends and neighbors, death was constant companion, a presence lurking as women gave birth to babies, as people navigated both violence and mysterious illness. For Mary and Martha and Lazarus, illness meant not a trip to urgent care or the emergency room but suffering in the home in a world that didn’t yet understand viruses, bacteria, and hand washing. The healing properties of certain plants were harnessed to relieve pain and recover wounds, but only in the 20th and 21st centuries have we discovered life-giving surgery and medication regimes whose benefits outweigh the risks.
Nearly universally, we humans see death as enemy, as a force to beat, as an event to avoid for we are hard-wired by the creator of the universe to seek life and life abundant. So, when someone we love succumbs to death, we feel shocked, betrayed, sad, angry at God. Yes, we often feel angry with God when people we love die because we, like Mary and Martha, believe: If you had been here, God, my brother Lazarus—or my mother or grandfather or friend—would not have died. If you had been here, God, none of this would have happened. Where were you? Where are you?
Maybe we have this question today as we watch and listen to the news. Maybe we wonder if God is present in our world, or maybe we wonder what God is doing.
Jesus receives a message from Mary and Martha: Lord, he whom you love is ill. When Jesus arrives on the scene, Lazarus is already dead, and both Mary and Martha plaintively cry out: Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. Mary and Martha imply that Jesus’ absence denotes a lack of care, a lack of love. Yet when Jesus arrives at the home of Mary and Martha, the gospel of John tells us Jesus weeps. Together with the community who gather to mourn Lazarus’ death, Jesus weeps. And those who see Jesus weep proclaim: See how he loved him!
In the original Greek language of this passage, the gospel writer John chooses a particular word for love for the phrase: See how he loved him! In nearly all, if not every single instance but this one, when the New Testament speaks of love, the word agape is used. Agape is the love that God has for us, a self-giving love, a divine love. In John chapter 11, when those who see Jesus weep speak of Jesus’ love for Lazarus, they use the word philia, not agape but philia. Philia is a brotherly love as in Philadelphia, human affection, deep feeling for another person. Jesus loves Lazarus in particular, loves him as a friend, and thus weeps for him not simply because all loss is sad but because Jesus’ friend dies. Jesus loves Lazarus.
Even though Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead on this particular day, Lazarus will die again as all people die. Could not the one who opened the eyes of the blind man keep this man from dying? We may ask along with those gathered to mourn Lazarus’ death. Could not Jesus grant eternal life so that we could avoid death entirely? Yes! And no. Yes, Jesus grants us eternal life, life with him, life abundant, life that begins now and continues forever. But even we who live eternally with God will die. But God allowing us to die does not mean God does not love us.
I recall the weeks and months of walking alongside Larry as he died. A man of great faith, Larry struggled mightily with health concerns. Going to see him in the hospital and then in a skilled care center, I wondered what I could say that would bring any measure of comfort. One day, while flipping through the Bible, I hit upon these words from the apostle Paul: Whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s. Ah! Larry said. That’s helpful. Phew! I thought. Whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s. We are the Lord’s people, and we are loved by God, as Lazarus was loved by Jesus.
Read in our current milieu, the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead awakens many questions for us. The story risks minimizing our grief; indeed, Mary and Martha don’t find eternal life too compelling when their brother has just died. This story perhaps even leads us to question: If Lazarus was raised, why not my loved one?
I don’t know. We read this familiar story in an unfamiliar period. We will likely live with many more questions in this time than answers. But what I do know is that God loves us, and whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s. Thanks be to God! Amen.