"Lord, Come and See"

St. Paul’s Church in Bergen, Jersey City NJ

April 6, 2014

Year A: The Fifth Sunday in Lent

Ezekiel 37:1-14

Psalm 130

Romans 8:6-11

John 11:1-45

“Lord, Come and See”

            Last Sunday we heard the story of one of Jesus’ greatest miracles – one of his greatest signs, to use the language of the Gospel of John: Jesus gives sight to the man born blind.

            And now today we heard the story of what is arguably Jesus’ greatest sign: the raising of Lazarus from the dead. It is a powerful and rich and amazing story of Jesus giving new life to his friend Lazarus.

            And, the way John tells the story, it’s this unprecedented and awesome act that finally convinces the authorities that this Jesus of Nazareth is simply too dangerous to let live for much longer.

            After Jesus raises Lazarus, the “powerful” people begin to plot against the One who is powerful enough to raise the dead.

            This story is about Jesus, so it’s no surprise that we don’t know much about Lazarus.

            We know his name; we know the names of his two sisters; we know he’s from the village of Bethany, which was just east of Jerusalem; we know he’s ill.

            And we know that Jesus loves him.

            Although we don’t know much about Lazarus, the first part of this story is in many ways a common, very human story – an all too familiar story to those of us who have faced the death of someone we love very much.

            We all know what usually happens when someone we love is very sick and near death.

            Family and friends gather around, in a kind of deathwatch. If the person is conscious, we may try to express our deepest feelings – to say things we might not have ever been able to say before.

            We might ask for forgiveness – or give forgiveness.

            Those of us gathered around try to keep up each other’s spirits, maybe by telling stories of happier days. If we’re strong enough for it, we might even begin making funeral plans. What funeral home will we use? Is there a cemetery plot? Did the dying person have any special requests?

            And we also send word out to family and friends who may live at a distance. Today that’s as easy as picking up a cell phone and punching some buttons. But, in the First Century, getting the word out required sending a messenger.

            So, Mary and Martha send a message to their friend Jesus, “Lord, he whom you love is ill.”

            It’s at this point that things get unusual.

            We would expect Jesus to drop everything and run to be with Lazarus and his sisters. Instead, he delays two days.

            Jesus waits because Jesus understands that, just like the man’s blindness that we heard about last week, Lazarus’ death will be an opportunity for God’s glory to be revealed.

            By the time Jesus and the disciples – including a surprisingly bold Thomas – arrive in Bethany, we’re told that Lazarus has been in the tomb four days.

            Lazarus is not just dead. He’s very dead.

            Throughout this story we hear more examples of the miscommunication between Jesus and others – talking past each other on different levels.

            Jesus tells the disciples, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I am going there to awaken him.”

            The disciples think there’s nothing to worry about. What’s the big deal if Lazarus is just asleep?

            Later, Jesus says to Martha, “Your brother will rise again.”

            Martha, naturally enough, thought that Jesus was talking about the last day, rather than something that was about to happen in just a few minutes, right here and now.

            In the Gospel of John, Jesus is almost always presented as supremely in control – more divine than human, really.  But, today we get a rare glimpse of Jesus the human being, Jesus our brother.

            Remember two weeks ago in the story of the Samaritan woman at the well? We’re told Jesus stops at the well because he’s tired.

            And now today, we catch sight of Jesus overcome with emotion.

            I bet we can all relate to that. I know I can. Have you ever gone into a wake or a funeral pretty well calm and composed and then when you’re surrounded by brokenhearted, weeping people you find yourself beginning to crack and tears well in your eyes?

            Jesus asks where they have buried Lazarus. The crowd replies, “Lord, come and see.”

            And then right there in Bethany, surrounded by grieving Martha and Mary and a distraught crowd, Jesus weeps.            

            Then immediately, Jesus performs his most amazing sign.

            “Lazarus, come out!”

            “Unbind him, and let him go.”

            This is a powerful and rich and amazing story of Jesus giving new life to his friend Lazarus.

            And, the way John tells the story, it’s this unprecedented act that finally convinces the authorities that Jesus of Nazareth is simply too dangerous to let live for much longer.

            After Jesus raises Lazarus, the “powerful” people begin to plot against the One who is powerful enough to raise the dead.

            And, up to a point, the raising of Lazarus foreshadows the empty tomb on Easter Day. But Jesus won’t simply be resuscitated like Lazarus, he’ll be transformed – still himself but radically changed.

            But, I’ve been wondering, does the Lazarus story have anything to say to us today, right here and now?

            And, as I’ve reflected on that I’ve focused on the moment just before Jesus weeps.

            When Jesus asks where they’ve buried Lazarus, the crowd says, “Lord, come and see.”

            It’s an unusual moment because usually it’s Jesus who says, “Come and see.” It’s usually Jesus inviting people – inviting us – to an abundant new life.

            Come and see.

            But, this time it’s the people inviting Jesus to come and see.

            And, what are they inviting Jesus to come and see?

            In today’s Old Testament lesson, the Prophet Ezekiel has a vision. God brings him to a valley of old, dry bones.

            God tells Ezekiel that these bones represent the people of Israel during their time of exile: hopeless and dead.           

            And that’s what the people at Bethany invite Jesus to come and see:

            Hopelessness. Loss. Death. Decay.

            And Jesus weeps. And Jesus gives new life.

            Especially during Lent, you and I have the opportunity to invite Jesus to come and see.

            “Lord, come and see.”

            Maybe when we pray, or when we walk the Stations of the Cross, or when we make our confession, we can say to Jesus, “Lord, come and see.”

            Lord, come and see our hopelessness.

            Come and see the bills we don’t know how we’ll pay, come and see the empty shelves in our kitchen cabinets and refrigerators, come and see all the people begging up and down Bergen Avenue, come and see the beautiful world that we’ve polluted and ruined.

            Lord, come and see how we’ve messed up.

            Come and see how we’ve hurt the people we care about the most – how we’ve hurt even ourselves. Come and see our upside-down priorities, our selfishness and our lack of care for the poorest and the weakest.

            Lord, come and see what’s dead in our lives – come and see the dreams that have faded, the losses that we still mourn, the faded friendships and broken families that hurt our hearts.

            Lord, come and see. Come and see it all.

            And when we invite Jesus to come and see – to come and see what is already known and seen – I have no doubt that Jesus still weeps.

            And I have no doubt that Jesus still does what he always does – turns death into new life.

            If we invite Jesus to come and see, Jesus does for us just what he did for Lazarus.

            Jesus calls us out of our graves.

            Jesus unbinds us.

            And Jesus gives us new life.

            Amen.