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“The Raising of Lazarus” – A Study/Sermon
It used to be that, in the southern Presbyterian Church (where I was first ordained) the title of Pastor was officially “Teaching Elder.” And this morning I want to respond to what many of you have been asking for and slip into that role of Teaching Elder once again, where the reading of Scripture and the sermon are interwoven, if you will, into a study sermon. I’m going to ask some of you to read this Scripture in segments and then, likewise, offer the sermon in response to each segment. But, first, I would like for you to take out a pew Bible and open to the New Testament lesson for this morning: John 11.1-45. And invite you to read along quietly while one person reads aloud.
1. John 11.1-4. Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of
How wonderful it is that the Son of Man who, as Luke records, had “nowhere to lay his head,” could at least rest his weary feet, his tired mind, and his often broken heart, in this home in Bethany only two miles from Jerusalem. We all need a home, a place where no one laughs at our dreams, where what we say in confidence is understood, where we are without question accepted and loved. Obviously, Jesus has such a spiritual retreat with these two sisters and their brother Lazarus. At least that’s how I read the statement, “Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus.”
On the other hand, how wonderful for Mary and Martha to know that it sufficed to send word that their brother was ill for Jesus to come. They had learned what many of us have learned when those close to us have died, namely, that you can steel yourself against death and in general against the hardships of life, but that in so doing you wall out the very support you really need. The one thing a tight fist can’t do it accept a helping hand. In their worry and anxiety, Mary and Martha extended an open hand, a supplicating hand; and—as he always does—Jesus took it.
2. John 11.5-10. After having heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two
days longer in the place where he was. Then after this he said to the
disciples, “Let us go to
“Are there not twelve hours in the day?” It’s a question that points to two experiences with which we’re all familiar: the glory of being in time and the tragedy of being too late. There are twelve hours, so what’s the rush? There are only twelve hours, so there’s no time to spare. What tension each day brings between haste and waste as in “Festina lente”—make haste slowly, lightly, gently. And it’s a fact—you can see it when you read the Gospels: Jesus never rushed, but he was always on time. I can only wish I knew that secret.
3. John 11.11-16. After saying this, he told them, “Our friend Lazarus
has fallen asleep, but I am going there to awaken him.” The disciples said to
him, “Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will be all right.” Jesus, however, had
been speaking about his death, but they thought that he was referring merely to
sleep. Then Jesus told them plainly, “Lazarus is dead. For your sake I am glad
I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.” Thomas, who
was called the Twin, said to his fellow disciples, “Let us also go, that we may
die with him.”
Little did John know that, in reporting Thomas’ statement,
he was giving marching orders to all of Christians, past, present, and future:
“Let us also go that we may die with him” The disciples were sure Jesus was
going to get stoned, as he all but was the last time he was there. So, how can one not be drawn to Jesus’—and Thomas’—courage.
No one need be afraid of fear, only afraid that fear will stop him or her from
doing what’s right. Courage means being well aware of the worst that can happen—and
probably will happen. Courage means being scared almost to death,
and then doing the right thing anyhow. There was a man whose hard work,
generosity and friendship to others in his practice, in his community, and in
this church far outstripped his relatively slight physical build. His death
from pancreatic cancer last July was far too soon. But it is his courage in the
face of that which he knew would happen that people—many of you--remember. Bob
Garland’s birthday is today—both in this world and the next.
4.
John 11.17-27. When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in
the tomb four days. Now
Martha goes out to meet Jesus and half-reproaches him--how could she help herself?, saying, “Why didn’t you come sooner?” And yet, with a kind of desperate hope she adds, “I know that whatever you ask from God, God will give you.” When Jesus assures her, “Your brother will rise again,” she agrees, declaring her faith in the orthodox Jewish belief of the time in the final resurrection: “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.” Then Jesus corrects her, with a statement now written inn the soft places of every believing Christian heart: “I am the resurrection and the life; those who believe in me, even though they die, will live; and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” In other words, you don’t have to wait for a promised resurrection in an indefinite future. Eternal life begins not at the end of time, nor even at the cemetery, but right now: eternal life exists on both sides of the grave. Death, to be sure, will come, but not the death that separates us form God. “Even though they die, they will live.” The abyss of love is deeper than the abyss of death. He who overcomes his fear lives as though death were a past and not a future experience. “Do you believe this?” Jesus asks; and Martha, on behalf of all us, answers, “Yes, Lord; I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God.”
5. John 11.28-37. When she had said this, she went back and called her
sister Mary, and told her privately, “The Teacher is here and is calling for
you.” And when she heard it, she got up quickly and went to him. Now Jesus had
not yet come to the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met
him. The Jews who were with her in the house,
consoling her, saw Mary get up quickly and go out. They followed her because
they thought that she was going to the tomb to weep there. When Mary came where
Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, “Lord, if you had
been here, my brother would not have died.” When Jesus saw her weeping, and the
Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and
deeply moved. He said, ‘Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come
and see.” Jesus began to weep. So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” But
some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept
this man from dying?”
Mary and Martha, and all the wailing mourners, and now Jesus weeping, too. For a moment few words, no deeds, only tears. Why does Jesus weep? Is it with frustration at this display of unbelief while in their midst stands one who is the resurrection and the life? I think not. Is it with the same sadness with which Jesus viewed the hungry multitudes, the palsied man, the one born blind? I imagine so. But there is just the possibility that Jesus weeps because he knows from what joys Lazarus will be returning. For here on earth, in life, we see through a glass darkly, but there it is face to face. Here we sit in pews and on chairs, but there on thrones. Here there is crying and pain, but there God will wipe the tears from their eyes.
Why Jesus wept I do not know. What I do know is that, while weeping is not the way of worldly power, which seeks always to maintain control, weeping is the way of God, whose tears are the first to fall at our grief, who in Christ embodies our anguish, and whose “eye is on the sparrow.”
6. John11.38-45. Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb.
It was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. Jesus said, “Take away the
stone.” Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, “Lord, already there
is a stench because he has been dead four days.” Jesus said to her, “Did I not
tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” So they took
away the stone. And Jesus looked upward and said, ‘Father, I thank you for
having heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the
sake of the crowd standing here, so that they maybe believe that you sent me.”
When he had said this, he cried with a loud voice,” Lazarus, come out!” The
dead man came out, his hands and feet bound in a cloth. Jesus said to them,
“Unbind him, and let him go.”
“Father, I thank you for having heard me.” Jesus prayed. Lazarus is raised. “Miracles are just many answered prayers.
Was Lazarus literally raised from the dead? How many times we ask the same question of all Christ’s miracles? And yet the answer keeps eluding us…except that, spiritually speaking, Jesus has raised no end of people from the dead, changed and transformed their lives, physically and spiritually.
“Unbind him, and let him go,” Jesus commands.
Just ask a recovering alcoholic or drug addict at Pivot. I recall at an after-worship coffee one Pivot man saying, “I don’t know about Jesus literally raising Lazarus from the dead; but I do know that, in my life, he has changed drugs into a job and a home.”
.
Last Monday a WPC member emailed me about our worship last Sunday. “What a terrific service @ Grace Baptist!” she wrote. “I was sitting next to this tiny Lady (and in that church they certainly were ladies with a capital L!) and she reached out to hold my hand during one of those coming together times. And I looked at her. She had such a kind face and then I thought, ‘Hey, we’re the same color!’ What I meant was our jackets, but you KNOW that it meant more than that. God was saying, ‘Look!’ I looked at our hands together and it was lovely. Same situation on my left (except she wasn’t wearing the same color). We can’t all match, and it doesn’t matter, anyway.” How “unbinding” of expectations this service must have been for these three women!
One of the adult chaperones returned from the Senior High DC Mission Trip changed. “It was just amazing. Here were these hungry, homeless, and in many cases helpless people…smiling, full of hope and good cheer.” If they can be so joyous in their circumstances, who am I to be in so uninspired about my job!” That man, I guarantee you, has tasted a bit for freedom.
There is one woman who acknowledges quite openly that the people and the work on WPC’s Katrina recovery trips have transformed her life. She’s going down again soon…on her own…to work at a clinic with those who need mental and emotional health care but have no place to find it. On her own, I say, simply because she feels free to do so.
And how often do we hear of people who have returned from
the MATE work camps in rural
We’ve read of a tomb that was a cave. We’ve read of a stone that was rolled away, of grave clothes. A believer’s mind cannot but shift from Lazarus’ death, burial, and resurrection to Jesus’ own death, burial, and resurrection. Surely John must have had this in mind when he wrote the Gospel—for people like us. For this not just the story of Lazarus, it is the story of Jesus. And our story as well; of our sorrows and hopes, of our trials and of the many deaths we know all too well; and of resurrections and the miracles of new life, of the changes and transformations life brings our way. These stories of Lazarus and Jesus are interwoven with ours. They are if you will family stories of a Gospel once lived in Jesus, Mary, Martha, and Lazarus and of a life in Christ God now raises up…in you.
This study sermon is
indebted to William Barclay’s Daily Study Bible, The Gospel of John, Volume 2.