Yes, Lord. I believe. Lent 5A

April 2, 2017

The first time I recall thinking about death, about real death, about my death, I was in high school. There was a Chicago news anchor, Fahey Flynn who’d been a news anchor for 30 years – my entire life. When I was in high school, he died. I remember going to bed that night thinking about Fahey Flynn, and wondering what had happened to him. I knew he was dead, but what happened to him? To his soul? To his spirit?  Was he just gone?  

I don’t regularly think about death. We started Lent on Ash Wednesday, with the words, “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.”, as ashes are imposed on our foreheads in the sign of the cross. While I am intrigued by the liturgy, somehow I don’t think about death. I escape that. I don’t think about mortality in general, or my mortality in particular. About being dead and buried. But if there was any chance that I’d get through Lent without spending some time thinking about death, this morning’s readings ended that. Today we get a series of readings that help assure we see the death part of the miracle we profess weekly, of Jesus’ death, resurrection and ascension.

Today also serves as a preview of Holy Week and Easter, with a series of dramatic and memorable readings. In the Old Testament, we hear about the dry bones coming alive. This is one of the more vivid readings with details that almost place you there. You can hear the rattling of the dry, dead bones, as they are re-formed into the “vast multitude”. In the Gospel reading from John, we hear of Jesus’ friend Lazarus who has died. He’s dead in the tomb. After some interactions with his sisters, Jesus  brings Lazarus back to life.

We hear about these readings as a primer for the whirlwind walk of life, death, and resurrection we’ll start next Sunday as Holy Week begins. With its numerous services, emotions, actions, dramatic readings and late nights, Holy Week can become a blur. Today, we get a preview without quite as much going on. If we pay attention and think about today’s lessons, we can start our Holy Week journey much better equipped.

We hear that Jesus has been told that his dear friend, the friend whom he loved, Lazarus, has taken ill. He cryptically announces that the illness doesn’t lead to death, but rather it is for God’s glory. So, taking his time Jesus heads towards Judea to the home of Lazarus, and his sisters Martha and Mary. He continues that Lazarus hasn’t died, he has simply fallen asleep. He will be all right, Jesus assures. The disciples are confused at his choice of words along with his seemingly illogical choice to return to Judea. They remind him that Judea is a dangerous place for Jesus, that the Jewish leaders were most recently trying to stone him. If, as Jesus says, Lazarus is just sleeping, he’ll be fine. Don’t go there. But Jesus clarifies. Yes, Lazarus is dead.

Upon arriving, Mary and Martha run out to meet him, and blame him, stating that if he had only come quicker, their brother wouldn’t have died. This time, Jesus says that Lazarus will rise again. Believing in resurrection life, they agree that yes, he will rise on the last day. But Jesus dispels the notion of a resurrection be reserved for the last day. Jesus explains that he, Jesus is the resurrection life. “Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live.”  I can only imagine the perplexed look on the faces of the disciples, and of Mary and Martha. Jesus asks if Martha believes him.

Echoing the words of the formerly blind man in last week’s lesson, Martha asserts simply, and profoundly, “Yes Lord. I believe”. This sounds like such an easy response. But is it?  Martha has seen no proof yet. And yet, by his word alone, she believes him. No bartering, or requests for signs, or demonstrable proof. Her response is powerful. Definitive. And frequently, out of reach for me. I hope to someday have the faith to simply and profoundly respond when tested, “Yes Lord, I believe.” 

Of course, Jesus does raise Lazarus, and Lazarus comes out of the tomb still bound in his burial cloth. But not until after he’d died. Dead and buried. We see some of Jesus’ humanity in this story, because after seeing the sadness of the sisters and their friends, Jesus cries. Even Jesus, who knows how this story was going to come out, cried. Death and the grief it causes those left on this earth is sad.

So why did Jesus need to go through this?  Why didn’t he, as Mary and Martha suggest, come earlier so Lazarus didn’t have to die?  Was it simply for the “wow” factor?  Unlikely, as Jesus wasn’t much into showmanship – ever 

Rather, Jesus’ delay in attending to his friends illustrated the glory of the son of God. Ok, but what does that mean?  What this display shows me is that with God, there are no limits. – no outer reaches beyond which God’s glory cannot reach. Not sin. And from today, not death.

In our world view and in our understanding, death feels like a pretty bright line. You’re alive and here. Or you’re dead and not. But not in God’s kingdom. And not with the grace and love Jesus shows. Death is not the end. In God’s kingdom, death is not a dividing line. As a matter of fact, it’s a pretty arbitrary line in the sand. In the lesson, Jesus interchanges the words death and sleeping, awake and alive. Of course death matters. And of course it’s sad. Jesus himself cried at Lazarus’ death. But in the Kingdom of God, death is not the end. God’s love and grace reach all. Death does not have the last word. We see that with Lazarus, and we see that in Jesus’ resurrection.

Do not misunderstand. I’m not suggesting that death is good, or easy, or painless. We all know differently. But it is not the end. God’s power transcends death. And here’s some really good news. I’m not just talking about the end of our mortal life, when our hearts stop beating and as we say on Ash Wednesday, “to dust we shall return.”  Being dead and buried certainly applies to the end of our mortal life, when our hearts stop beating. But it means so much more too.

The first reading today is that dramatic reading of the dry bones. God breathes life into the vast array of dry, dead bones. God raises the bones to new life. This sounds simply like another resurrection dead-and-now-not-dead story. But I think it’s much more.

A quick survey of how we use the words bury and dead give us insight into all of the ways to drop into this story. We can be buried in work. Buried in debt. We can bury our feelings. We can be deadened to pain, to suffering. A fire or a relationship can be dead.

So what if the dead and buried that’s described today in Ezekiel or John goes beyond the grave?  Imagine for a minute that it’s referring to our true selves. Who God designed us to be. How many of us have ever felt like our true genuine self has been buried by debt, by doubt and fear? I can get myself worked into a real snit, resulting in a me I don’t recognize. The real me is buried in worry. When who we are supposed to be gets buried by our actions or thoughts, God raises that to new life. God can raise me up to who I am supposed to be. God can resurrect our lives and souls, by breathing life into us.

And what if the dead and buried that’s described today is talking about our hearts, our relationships, our fire?  What if our love of others has grown cold? What if we’ve grown disinterested in their pain and suffering?  What if we’re apathetic to the needs of others?  With a simple word or breath, God can enliven our hearts which have grown cold and dead.

All of this talk about dead and buried is certainly addressing the end of our mortal life. And it’s also about our selves, our souls, our bodies. God can resurrect it all and bring us to new life.

One last note about this resurrection and redemption work of God. In the Ezekiel story, it is God who breathes life into the dry bones. But it is God working through Ezekiel. “Ezekiel, say to these dry bones…”   To me, that changes a lot in these lessons. God uses Ezekiel to resurrect the dead dry bones. What if we are Ezekiel?  What if we are the ones that God is working through to breathe life into the lives and hearts of others around us?  

Have you ever felt you were called to help, to love, to give?  It’s not unreasonable to assume that God is working through you, as God works through Ezekiel. Maybe  you didn’t hear “Mortal, prophesy to these bones”. Maybe you didn’t hear anything at all. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t God calling you.

As we finish our Lenten Journey and head into Holy Week, think about death. About being buried. About new life. About resurrection. And if you doubt whether God’s power can do these things in your life, think of Martha. Aim for Martha’s profound and simple response:  “Yes, Lord. I believe.”

Amen

Transfiguration - February 26, 2017

Last Epiphany 2017 - February 26, 2017

Feast of the Transfiguration

Today is the last day of the season of Epiphany.  It seems so long ago that we celebrated the coming of the wise men, and Jesus’ baptism. Actually, we celebrated Jesus baptism in a nearly empty church on a very very snowy and icy day in early January.  So here we sit, nearly 50 days later, still celebrating Epiphany, or Epiphanies. Because it was so long ago, here’s a brief reminder of what and why we celebrate Epiphany for so very long. 

Epiphany is this time after the nativity, where the wise people who put together the church calendar pack in a lot of readings designed to reveal something to us about Jesus.  Every year the readings change, repeating every three years, and this year, we spent much of Epiphany focusing on what the Gospel of Matthew reveals to us about Jesus. We started Epiphany hearing about Jesus’ baptism, where God descends of Jesus like a dove, and says this is my son, my beloved.  Through this lesson, we learn who Jesus is by his family relations, by who is Father is, and the claim God makes about Jesus.   

Then we spend much Epiphany reading through the Sermon on the Mount, kicking it off with the Beatitudes.  Blessed are the poor, the peacemakers, the hungry, the persecuted.  With this, we begin to see what Jesus, God’s son, values. We learn who Jesus is based on what he values.

Those values were as startling and counter-cultural back in his time as they are today. People have always wanted power and prestige and wealth. Jesus was telling the people that no, that’s not what makes you blessed. He goes further to clarify that this isn’t against the law of the time, but rather an extension of or clarification of the law. He needed to say this, because he was a good Jew talking to good Jews. He wasn’t trying to dismantle those teachings, but rather clarify.  For example, don’t just promise to abstain from murder; most of us can do that. No, abstain from the hate in your heart that leads to murder.  We learn who Jesus is based on how he understands the laws and expectations of the time.

We heard that not only are we to love our neighbors, we are to pray for those who persecute you.  Turn the other cheek. Give them your coat. For God, he continued, causes the sun to rise on the righteous and unrighteous.  This is really tough stuff. Now Jesus is taking on not only the culture, its norms, literalism, but also the dark parts of my heart. Where I want to hold a grudge. Where I feel I’m allowed to hold a grudge. Righteous indignation.  I don’t know about you, but I’ve seen plenty of that behavior in the past three months. We learn who Jesus is based on his stark calling-out of our deepest, darkest tightly-held convictions of superiority and righteousness.

Digressing a little bit, I want to share what happened and what was said at a memorial service I attended a few weeks ago. The memorial was for Carrie Miller, a well known member of the Eugene community, although I suspect few here knew here. Raised in Oklahoma, she had a difficult childhood and a dysfunctional family.  She was in the Navy reserves, and moved to Eugene 20 years ago. She was an advocate for people less fortunate, cooking meals for the homeless.  She served as a mother-figure to many of the younger homeless people on the streets. She was 58 when she died, and she died alone outside, on the steps of the local drug and alcohol treatment center on January 10. Carrie was a chronic alcoholic, and had been homeless for the 20 years she lived in Eugene. 

At her memorial, one of the local pastors Dan Bryant, shared that in our community, we see people with big hearts, helping people, serving food, providing shelter. The problem, he continued, is that we also attach a sense of justified worthiness. We help children in need because they deserve it. They’re innocent. On the other hand, the same good-hearted helpers don’t help people on the streets because we’ve decided they aren’t worthy. We decide because of some action, illness, behavior or appearance we are justified in not being compassionate. Not helping.

Worthiness, however, is not ours to determine.  It’s God’s, and God’s alone.   Whether it’s judging the homeless on the street, or those who voted differently than you did in the last election, I’ll finish this digression with a quote from Samuel Johnson.  “God does not propose to judge a man until his life is over. Why should you and I?”

So through Epiphany, we’ve learned about Jesus through his familial relations, his values, has understanding of the law, and his conviction of our deep-seated self-righteousness and judgement of others.

During this season Epiphany we’ve also seen how others respond to him and how they understand Jesus. The Pharisees and Seduces wanted proof. I’ve been there.  I want some demonstrable proof, some indication that my faith and belief isn’t wasted on fantasy. We’ve seen the disciples hem and haw, not knowing how to respond when Jesus asked, “Who do people say I am,”.  Um, some say Elijah.  Um.  I’ve been there too.  Unsure and unable to respond intelligibly.  We’ve seen Peter respond clearly and definitively respond that Jesus was the Messiah, only to deny knowing him and deserting him as he was dying.  I’ve done that too. Responded blindly, emphatically, and then been unable to hold on to that when the going got tough.  Through the responses Jesus gets from others, we see reflected how we respond.

So today, we conclude Epiphany with the transfiguration, where Jesus is illumined before Peter, James and John.  

What does this Transfiguration tell us about Jesus, and what does the response of others tell us about ourselves?  Jesus takes a small group up a mountain and is lit up. Again, a voice says, “this is my Son, my beloved, listen to him”, similar to the account of Jesus’ baptism that started our Epiphany. So again we are reminded of Jesus’ divinity.

This is an example of “theophany”, or an experience of God with the senses we have – sight and sound.  If any of you have ever had an experience that you can’t explain, that seemed like God, it might have been.  I have had one and only one such experience.  After coming home and telling my husband, he said that if he didn’t know me, he’d think I was crazy.  My priest at the time explained that it was an experience between God and me, invisible and unknowable to anyone else. I had two choices in response.  I could put it on the shelf as a really neat woo-woo experience.  Or, I could try to figure out why then, why there, why that.  What was God trying to tell me at that moment.  Eventually, my searching led me to pursue being an ordained deacon.  If you ever have a theophany, you aren’t crazy, despite what your husband might say, and please don’t lock it away as a neat experience. But I digress. 

After the disciples’ experience this, they fall to their knees in fear.  To this, Jesus responds with the most common words of Jesus, “do not be afraid”.  Matthew also tells us that Jesus touches them.  What an intimate, compassionate response, from Jesus – fully divine and fully human. Jesus tells them to not be afraid, and then physically consoles them with touch. 

When they experience this illumined Jesus in the presence of Elijah and Moses, the disciples respond a pretty mundane and almost absurd response.  It is good you are here. We will build three houses.  I’m pretty sure that if two long-dead people appeared to me, along with someone lit up like the sun, they probably don’t really need dwellings. And yet what was happening was so far out of the realm of anything they’d experienced, they tried to make sense of it with what they knew, human dwellings. 

This is a familiar trait – trying to make sense of the unimaginable.  About 10 years ago, I was awoken from a sound sleep to crackling sound outside.  I pulled back the curtains, and the yard was blazing bright with fire.  I thought what any reasonable person would think, having been awoken.  Clearly, a meteor had fallen in to my back yard.  Amazing, huh?  But when I got outside, it wasn’t a meteor after all. It was my chicken coop which was totally engulfed in flames.  The disciples see the prophets, and Jesus illumined, and respond with what they know… Um, we’ll build you three houses.  But perhaps, silence would have been a better response, because in the face of the incomprehensible, our little brains try to fit things in to our experiences. 

So what do we learn from this last of the Epiphany readings?  From his illumination and from the voice from the clouds, we see Jesus’ divinity – how much Jesus was not the same as you and me.  From his words and actions, we see his humanity – how much Jesus was just like you and me.  And from the reaction of the disciples, we see how hard it is to encounter Jesus and God without reducing the encounter to something we can understand or explain away.  To try to build a dwelling when our response should be so much more.

As we head in to Lent, I think this Transfiguration story can help us.  Lent is a time when we are to think about who Jesus is and what he means to us. From Epiphany, we get a picture of who Scripture says Jesus is, who is family is, what he values, how he understands the law.  Think on that as we enter the dry period of Lent.  As Jesus asked, “Who do you say I am?”

Throughout Epiphany, we’ve learned about Jesus’ humanity, his love and response to the disciples. Through Lent, think about what it means that God came to Earth, fully human.  Fully able to understand our ups and downs, because Jesus experienced the best and worst humanity has to offer. 

And finally, we learned through Epiphany of our reaction to God incarnate through the reaction of people in Scripture to Jesus.  Through our simple lives and experiences, we could make the error of trying to seek proof, get legalistic, be overly simplistic, or fearful to God’s presence in our lives.  As the collect succinctly states, “Grant to us that we, beholding by faith the light of his countenance, may be strengthened to bear our cross, and be changed into his likeness from glory to glory.”  By faith.  Strengthened by the light.  To bear our cross.  Changed into his likeness.  Armed with this, we head into Lent. 

Amen.