November 5, 2000

Pastor David G. Mullen

John 11:32-44

Though rarely in the gospels is there any hint of Jesus’ personal feelings, in describing the grief-stricken scene at Mary and Martha’s, John repeats twice how emotional Jesus was, using one of the strongest possible Greek words to convey the Lord’s feelings. The Contemporary English Version translates the word simply but well: Jesus was terribly upset.

Why was he terribly upset? Well, as the author of book of Hebrews tells us Jesus was like us in every way, except for sin. The agony of human sorrow surely affected him as it profoundly affects each of us when we are confronted with the death of loved one or friend. Jesus was no cold, remote God, but a fully involved and evolved human being, capable of deep emotion.

So, Jesus was terribly upset. But there was more going on than Jesus "just being human", so to speak, in the presence of fellow mourners. Allow me to get at this by sharing a painful personal story. On New Year’s Eve 1990 my brother, an alcoholic struggling with recovery, told his wife he was going to an AA meeting. Instead, he took a detour to a liquor store, and bought a bottle. The next evening, the first day of 1991 the phone rang at our Eureka home. On the other end was the voice of my sister-in-law informing me that my brother Gil was dead. His body had been found earlier that day in a creek at the bottom of a ravine up in El Dorado Hills. According to the Coroner’s Report, the probable immediate cause of death was exposure. But that was followed by a notation that at the time of autopsy his blood-alcohol content was .44%, four to five times the legal limit. After expressing my sorrow and condolences to his wife, I hung up the phone and then lost it. Unable to help myself I stomped around the living room shouting, cursing, and sobbing all at the same time. I was terribly upset.

But why? Not simply because my brother had died, but because his death was something that didn’t have to be. I was terribly upset, verging on rage, because my brother’s attitude of hopelessness seemed to me completely unnecessary. He had been so close to a new life, and so much help was available through AA, church, his wife, his family, his friends. Don’t get wrong. I’m not blaming him for what happened. No, what I was terribly upset over was that Gil had been so trapped by the disease that had him in its grip that he must have lost all hope. It broke my heart to even think about that.

And then in a moment of something like a revelation, I saw that we are all to a greater or lessor extent caught in a culture of death. For though many give lip service to God, the prevailing culture deludes us into believing that happiness will ultimately to be found in not in the joy of heaven, but only here and now, via consumerism, more and more money, power, and with power, the coercive use of violence to get one’s way, seen most clearly in our national obsession with the death penalty. Cynicism, unbelief , and despair have become the grave clothes of modern existence. Yet it doesn’t have to be that way! That was what terribly upset me.

It doesn’t have to be that way! All this came back to me as I struggled with this story of the raising of Lazarus. I realized, and other commentators confirmed this for me, that Jesus was terribly upset not just with typical human grief, but even more because of profound frustration over the faithlessness of God’s people. He was terribly upset, because even after all his teaching, healing, and miracle-working, the people still didn’t get it. In their minds, they had concluded that death won and would always win. In spite of all their religion, they were zombies wrapped up in a cult of death. So in a foreshadowing of his own death and resurrection, before he was really ready to, Jesus had to show them who was in charge. The shocking story goes on: Then he told the people to roll the stone away. But Martha said "LORD, you know that Lazarus has been dead four days, and there will be a bad smell." (You see, at that moment she didn’t believe in the power of God, only in death), Jesus replied, "Didn't I tell you that if you had faith, you would see the glory of God?" And then he offered a word of thanks to his heavenly Father and a spoke simple command, Lazarus, come out! And Lazarus did! What a moment of drama.

What we need to see is that the issue is larger than a miracle, and larger than dying. Even Lazarus had to die again, after all! No, the issue is not the dying. The issue, to say it again, is what we believe about dying, death, and God. Does death rule? That’s how it seems in much of the world. Or does God rule?

In the early summer of 1999 arsonists with twisted minds torched three local synagogues. In response, the Sacramento community expressed spontaneous faith in the God of life. How? By an incredible gathering at the Community Theater. The theater was filled to overflowing with more 4,500 people. Before the gathering began, on the stage, hidden behind the curtains clergy from all over the Sacramento area gathered, dressed in their typical clothes and robes. I was among them. Sitting in our rows of chairs backstage we heard the gathering of the crowd, but didn’t know how many were there. At the moment when the first prayer was about to be spoken, the curtain opened and an audible gasp arose from the crowd, shocked to see something like 200 clergy of all kinds of different denominations and religions sitting together on stage. That moment of the opening of the curtains was almost like Christ commanding of Lazarus’ kin believing in nothing but death, Untie him and let him go! As a community we were in that moment of clarity regarding our common humanity under God, liberated from the cult of death. The grave clothes of despair fell away, and for the rest of the night both crowd and clergy kept jumping up to applaud every speaker. We were on God’s side. In culture of death, we were there to affirm life!

How is such faith in Life given, received, and nourished, not just on a single dramatic occasion, but consistently? It happens for us at worship. Our presence here today is our response to the Lord of Life. Every song, every Scripture, every prayer, every sermon, every invitation to communion is another life-giving invitation, Lazarus, come out! As we hear and believe, we come crawling out of the tombs of despair, shedding the burial clothes of unbelief, receiving in the resurrected Christ the Life which will ultimately overcome death, and the good which will triumph over evil. As we hear and believe, we become a cult of life in a culture of death.

And the cult of life is the eternal, death-defying "communion of saints". Here, in the liturgical celebration, the curtains on the stage of this troubled existence are pulled back so that what we see just beyond us makes us gasp! The ranks of white-robed saints and martyrs, praying for us, weeping with joy over us, standing and cheering us on: Never give up! Persevere in the faith! Trust in our Lord Jesus! Brothers and sisters, it’s not death, but God, who rules!

Lazarus, come out! Amen