One-on-One: Martha (And Lazarus…and Kinda Mary)

Sermon preached Sunday, March 26, 2023, the Fifth Sunday in Lent, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfied, VA.

Here we are, at Week 5 of Lent. Each week, we’ve taken a closer look at these one-on-ones with Jesus. We spent 40 days in the wilderness with Jesus as he was tempted by the devil. We met with Jesus and Nicodemus in the middle of the night. We encountered the woman at the well who became an evangelist. We witnessed Jesus mixing spit and mud to give sight to the man born blind. Each story told us something about God, something about ourselves, and something about the ministry God has called us into.

Truth be told, there are actually two one-on-ones here, one with Martha as Jesus arrives in town and then the brief one with Lazarus when Jesus calls him out of the tomb. I mean, really, there are almost three—though I’m not focusing today on the quick exchange between Jesus and Mary.

At this point in Lent, the season seems to drag, at least for me. I start to feel down. I get stressed. It doesn’t much matter what else is going on in the world around me; it’s a strange phenomenon—and I’m not the only one whose noticed. I know many people who experience the same thing. It’s become a trend among church leader friends of mine to end complaints or worries by saying, “But it’s Lent, so who knows how I really feel.”

So, maybe you’re feeling this way today. Maybe you’re tired. Maybe you’re grieving something. Maybe you’re trying to figure out what to do next. …Maybe you’re feeling a bit like Martha.

Martha has seen their brother, Lazarus, get sick. She watched him deteriorate, caring for him. If she and Mary are unmarried (and we have no reason to assume they aren’t), losing their brother would not only mean losing someone they loved, but losing the one person in the world who could care for them. Without husbands, parents, or brothers, or even grown children, they would be moved to the margins of society.

When they realized Lazarus was dying they sent word to Jesus, hoping beyond hope that Jesus would arrive and heal their brother before he died. Jesus did arrive, of course, but not in time. By the time he got into town, Lazarus had been in the tomb four days. Imagine what it must have been like for these two sisters. They had been hopeful, but now they are grieving. They are probably feeling a whole host of emotions: anger, frustration, sadness, exhaustion, fear of what comes next.

Martha unleashes these emotions on Jesus. She seems pleased to see him, but disappointed in his timing: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Jesus doesn’t brush aside her feelings; he mourns with her, and with Mary. When he calls Lazarus out of the tomb, he anticipates the crowd’s reactions. He anticipates that the people will still be wrestling with their emotions and feelings and won’t necessarily know the best way to move forward. He helps them out and gives them direction: “Unbind him and let him go.”

There are lots of great moments in this chapter, but this is always my favorite: “Unbind him and let him go.” The reading stops after the next verse, but that leaves a lot of important stuff out—it leaves out the reactions of people when they heard what had happened. If we read just a bit further, this is what the Gospel of John tells us:

“⁴⁵Many of the Jews therefore, who had come with Mary and had seen what Jesus did, believed in him. ⁴⁶But some of them went to the Pharisees and told them what he had done. ⁴⁷So the chief priests and the Pharisees called a meeting of the council, and said, “What are we to do? This man is performing many signs. ⁴⁸If we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and the Romans will come and destroy both our holy place and our nation.” ^…53So from that day on they planned to put him to death.” (John 11:45-53)

In the Gospel of John, it is this sign by Jesus, it is the raising of Lazarus, it is this couple-verse one-on-one that directly precipitates the plotting of his death. Why did they react this way? It might simply be because Jesus was gaining a reputation, but it might also be because of those last words. Perhaps it was the unbinding of Lazarus that would draw the most attention.

Lazarus was bound in his burial clothes. He was wrapped in cloth, surrounded by all the things that marked death. When he is unbound, he is able to rejoin the community. If he was resurrected, but not unbound, he would still be “othered”—he would still be kept on the outside. Unbinding means that his family and neighbors help him moved on from the things that marked him as dead and assist him in embracing new life.

It’s not just Lazarus. It’s not just the dead who are bound, it’s the living, all around us. They are struggling to come back to life; waiting for someone to help them do it. There are people bound by economic struggles, by the unfair expectations of others, by grief, by mental illness, by the social -isms that effect so many of us: sexism, racism, ableism. We are bound. Our fellow siblings in Christ are bound. I truly think that everyone, everywhere, is bound by something, at one time or another.

Jesus call us to unbind them, to unbind each other, to unbind ourselves. This might mean comforting one another and speaking words of hope when all feels lost. It might mean reminding each other that we are whole, beautiful, and loved creations of God, even when we fail to meet the demands set by others. It might mean helping people seek out appropriate medical and mental health when stigma or fear makes it seem impossible. It might mean speaking up for all whose voices are marginalized to make every space one where all are welcome.

…and, as was the case with Lazarus, it might mean some complications in the community. When we start pursuing this path, when we truly work on unbinding ourselves and each other, we’re bound to rub some people the wrong way. Some people might feel threatened, feel like their own power or privilege is slipping away, just because the full humanity of others is being recognized.

But we can’t cower in fear. We can’t put our own safety first, like the Pharisees did. Jesus calls us to action. “Unbind him and let him go!” Jesus does the hard part. God is the one who brings us back to life, who calls out to us in our death and resurrects us. But as Christians we are called to be more than spectators. We are called to walk with and accompany our fellow human siblings and we do that by unbinding.

It is the unbinding that moves us forward.

We are a community. We care for one another. When someone, like Lazarus, is coming out of their tomb, God makes it so that we are there to help them take the next steps.

Amen.

Unbinding

Sermon preached Sunday, November 7, 2021, All Saints Sunday, at Grace Lutheran Church in Westminster, MD. 

All Saints is one of my favorite festivals of the church year. It is a day when we speak the realities of death and the promise of the resurrection. It is a day when we might feel most strongly the connection with the whole communion of saints that stretches back throughout human history.

It is a day that is both personal and universal, as we speak the names of our beloved friends, mentors, parents, children, siblings in the same breath as we remember every person who has ever died in the faith.

As our second All Saints in this COVIDtide, we come to this festival tired. There has been so much to grieve.

I wonder if maybe we’re not all feeling a bit like Mary and Martha today. It’s been a long season, approaching two years, of ups and downs, hopes and disappointments.

Mary and Martha saw their brother, Lazarus, get sick. It doesn’t say how long he was ill, but that almost doesn’t matter. They watched him deteriorate, caring for him. Hoping he would get better, seeing positive signs one moment, only to face grim reality the next. If they are unmarried (and we have no reason to assume they aren’t), losing their brother would not only mean losing someone they loved, but losing the one person in the world who could care for them. Without husbands, parents, or brothers, they would be moved to the margins of society, left to subsist of the charity of others.

When they realized Lazarus was dying they sent word to Jesus, hoping beyond hope that Jesus would arrive and heal their brother before he died. Jesus did arrive, of course, but not in time. By the time he got into town, Lazarus had been in the tomb four days. Imagine what it must have been like for these two sisters. They had been hopeful, but now they are grieving. They are probably feeling a whole host of emotions: anger, frustration, sadness, exhaustion, fear of what comes next.

They unleash these emotions on Jesus. They are pleased to see him, but disappointed in his timing: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” It’s important to note: Jesus doesn’t brush aside their feelings; he mourns with them. When he calls Lazarus out of the tomb, he anticipates the crowd’s reactions. He anticipates that the people will still be wrestling with their emotions and feelings and won’t necessarily know the best way to move forward. He helps them out and gives them direction: “Unbind him and let him go.”

There are lots of great moments in this chapter, but this is my favorite: “Unbind him and let him go.”

The reading stops after the next verse, but that leaves a lot of important stuff out—it leaves out the reactions of people when they heard what had happened. If we read just a bit further, this is what the Gospel of John tells us:

“⁴⁵Many of the Jews therefore, who had come with Mary and had seen what Jesus did, believed in him. ⁴⁶But some of them went to the Pharisees and told them what he had done. ⁴⁷So the chief priests and the Pharisees called a meeting of the council, and said, “What are we to do? This man is performing many signs. ⁴⁸If we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and the Romans will come and destroy both our holy place and our nation.” ^…53So from that day on they planned to put him to death.” (John 11:45-53)

In the Gospel of John, it is this sign by Jesus, it is the raising of Lazarus that directly precipitates the plotting of his death. Why did they react this way? It might simply be because Jesus was gaining a reputation, but it might also be because of those last words. Perhaps it was the unbinding of Lazarus that would draw the most attention.

Lazarus was bound in his burial clothes. He was wrapped in cloth, surrounded by all the things that marked death. When he is unbound, he is able to rejoin the community. If he was resurrected, but not unbound, he would still be “othered”—he would still be kept on the outside. Unbinding means that his family and neighbors help him moved on from the things that marked him as dead and assist him in embracing new life.

It’s not just Lazarus. It’s not just the dead who are bound, it’s the living, all around us. They are struggling to come back to life; waiting for someone to help them do it. There are people bound by economic struggles, by the unfair expectations of others, by grief, by mental illness, by the social -isms that effect so many of us: sexism, racisms, ableism. We are bound. Our fellow siblings in Christ are bound. I truly think that everyone, everywhere, is bound by something, at one time or another.

Jesus call us to unbind them, to unbind each other, to unbind ourselves. This might mean comforting one another and speaking words of hope when all feels lost. It might mean reminding each other that we are whole, beautiful, and loved creations of God, even when we fail to meet the demands set by others. It might mean helping people seek out appropriate medical and mental health when stigma or fear makes it seem impossible. It might mean speaking up for all whose voices are marginalized to make every space one where all are welcome.

…and, as was the case with Lazarus, it might mean some complications in the community. When we start pursuing this path, when we truly work on unbinding ourselves and each other, we’re bound to rub some people the wrong way.

But we can’t cower in fear. We can’t put our own safety first, like the Pharisees did. Jesus calls us to action. “Unbind him and let him go!”

Jesus does the hard part. God is the one who brings us back to life, who calls out to us in our death and resurrects us. But as Christians we are called to be more than spectators. We are called to walk with and accompany our fellow human siblings and we do that by unbinding.

It is the unbinding that moves us forward.

Collectively, as a Church—not just this congregation, but throughout every corner of Christianity, I wonder if we are not still carrying around the body February 2020, unable to admit that what was is gone. Unwilling to put the past in the tomb, admit it’s dead, and let God get to the work of resurrection.

We know that on the back-end of this pandemic, we can’t go back to what was before. If we are honest with ourselves, we know that chapter is closed. It is laying in the tomb.

But God is bringing about new life. It’s already happening in fits and spurts if we’re looking out for it. The new life is there—if we’re willing to unbind it.

Unbind it from the extra baggage and expectations that no longer fit.

Unbind it from “the way we’ve always done it.”

Unbind it from our own doubt about stepping out in faith.

In baptism, we die and rise to new life. It’s harder to see sometimes when we just sprinkle water on a person’s head, but when baptism is whole immersion, it is much more clear. A person is lowered into the water—they meet death there. If they didn’t come out, they would die, they would drown. Coming out of the water is a rush of new life; fresh, incredible oxygen fills their lungs and they are able to breathe. We die with Christ, we die in Christ…and then are raised with Christ to new life.

This is God’s action in baptism, but it is the unbinding that gives us our opportunity to enter into the action. We are a community. We care for one another. When someone, like Lazarus, is coming out of their tomb, we are there to help them take the next steps. Even this work we are only able to do because of what God has done for us, first.

God is inviting us into this holy work, to unbind the Church and to unbind each other.

This is what the communion of saints does for each other.

Amen.

One-on-One: The Raising of Lazarus

Sermon preached Sunday, March 29, 2020, the Fifth Sunday in Lent, streamed live from my home in Gettysburg, PA due to Covid-19.

It’s time to talk about our last one-on-one with Jesus. None of us had any idea that we would find ourselves in the middle of a global pandemic when I planned out this sermon series, but the Spirit, as always, found a way. Even in the stories of the woman at the well and the man born blind, God has had something to say to us to calm our anxieties and fears. …and today isn’t any different. In the story of Lazarus, we hear a word of hope, comfort, and resilience.

 

Truth be told, there are actually two one-on-ones here, one with Martha as Jesus arrives in town and then the brief one with Lazarus when Jesus calls him out of the tomb. In my original plans, I was going to focus on Lazarus, on the way Jesus orders, “Unbind him, and let him go.” I think it’s important to explore all the ways we are bound up in things, all the ways we are bound up in sin and how God frees us.

 

But today, I think maybe we’re all feeling a little more like Martha: grieving, confused, hurt. Why did her brother get sick and die? Why didn’t Jesus show up soon? Why didn’t Jesus prevent this from happening?

 

These are the kinds of questions we ask in crisis: where is God? Why doesn’t God act? Why do people we know and love get sick and die? The desire to answer these questions is intense and palpable…but these aren’t questions we are able to answer. Some people try. Some attempt to say that God doesn’t act because you haven’t prayed hard enough or been faithful enough. Some attempt to say that people get sick and die because something they did in their life led to it. Some attempt to say that God is actually absent, that God has abandoned us because of our sins and mistakes.

 

Let me put it plainly: those people are wrong.

 

Our beautiful world, created in perfection, has been corrupted, like everything else, by sin. And as a result, we experience disease and death. But God is never absent. God never abandons us. As we hear reports of COVID-19 patients who are unable to have any family or friends at their sides, we can be assured that God has never left them.

 

As hard as it may be to believe, God is still present and God is still working. Earlier in the week, I asked members of St. John’s on Facebook to share with me the places they’ve seen God. A compilation of the pictures will be posted soon and the pictures will get included in the May Newsletter, but it was a great exercise in trying to find the beauty and hope in a bleak and scary time. A lot of posts, including mine, had to do with nature, but there were also comments about people and pets and even a nice cup of tea!

 

God is in every healthcare professional who is making due with limited supplies and unbelievable exhaustion and stress. God is in the people whose job it is to clean and sanitize every inch and every piece of linen in our hospitals. God is in the grocery store workers who must continue to expose themselves so that we can trample over them in our attempt to get the last carton of eggs. God is in so many places and so many people who are doing their best and attempting to serve their neighbor.

 

So, if you haven’t share with me yet, where do you see God? If you’re on Facebook, post a picture. If you’re not, email me or send a card to church. Let’s help each other catch glimpses of God in the midst of what feels like a world falling apart. God will hold us together.

Amen.

[Insert Your Name Here], Come Out!

Sermon preached Sunday, November 4, 2018, All Saints Sunday, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA. Audio can be found here.

Imagine the scene, if you will.

Jesus has just come into town, four days late. At least that what Mary and Martha, the sisters of Lazarus believe. Jesus is four days past due. “Jesus,” they say to him, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died!”

These two women have had four days to mourn. They’ve had four days to try to begin the process of reorienting their life without Lazarus. Four days of grief. Four days of that hollow, empty feeling you have when someone you love is no longer there.

And then Jesus arrives. Martha hears he’s come to town and goes out to meet him. She’s not angry with him for not getting there sooner. She isn’t berating his tardiness. She simply states the fact, “If you had been here, my brother would not have died, but even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.”

Mary has a similar reaction when she finally sees Jesus. She goes to find him and when she does, she kneels before him and also says, “Lord, if you had been here my brother would not have died.”

Because at this point, it is obvious to everyone in the village, including Mary and Martha, that four days is simply too long for there to be any hope of Lazarus coming back. In the ancient world when it was hard to tell sometimes if someone truly was dead-dead…everyone could agree that four days was indeed dead.

But still, Jesus goes to the tomb and commands that the stone of the cave-tomb be moved. Martha can’t believe this. She is  incredulous and protests Jesus’ actions. Doesn’t Jesus smell what everyone else can smell? Doesn’t Jesus realize that Lazarus’s body has already started to decay? They could smell it from outside the tomb! He’s been dead for four days.

And that’s just outside of the tomb! What was it like inside the tomb? Dark, surely. It was a cave, after all. There was the smell, the stench of a dead body laid to rest. It was likely quiet, too. The stone that covered the entrance likely blocked a lot of sound from the other side and, it being a tomb, there wasn’t a whole lot happening inside. Dark, full of stink, silent.

Then the stone is moved. Light begins to stream in bit by bit. And the voice of Jesus cries, “Lazarus, come out!”

…and he does! Lazarus comes out. In the darkness, in the isolation, in the decaying stench of death, the voice of Jesus reaches Lazarus and Lazarus comes out.

Four days dead. Lying in a tomb. Alone. In the dark. Life over.

And then the voice of Jesus calls Lazarus forth from the tomb—calls life forth out of death.

The trick, though is that there was death first. Lazarus was dead. Jesus didn’t prevent the death from happening. Lazarus did die. But God is able to bring life out of it.

There’s death everywhere. That’s the main reason we celebrate All Saints Sunday. We recognize, acknowledge and name the reality of death in our world, particularly the literal, physical death of our friends, family, and loved ones.

But there’s also another kind of death. The death that makes us feel as though we are in a tomb of our own. Alone, in the dark, heavy with the smell of failure or despair.

We’ve been Lazarus. You may be feeling like Lazarus today, this morning. I don’t know what your death might be. I don’t know what your tomb might look like.

Maybe death came in the form of a lost job or opportunity. Things were looking good, looking up, everything was pointing to the stars aligning and circumstances coming together and then—nothing. A pink slip. A rejection letter. A thanks-but-no-thanks from the school or organization or office you envisioned yourself at. The imagined future has died.

Or death could be a broken relationship. A friendship, a marriage, a connection that felt real and deep but for whatever reason fell apart. Hurtful words and that deep sense of loss dig the tomb we find ourselves in. It feels like nothing will be the same ever again and it’s almost impossible to imagine moving forward.

Perhaps the death we talk about the least among other people is a death of faith, or perhaps it’s better to say that our relationship with God feels dead. Sometimes that connection to God feels so strong and so powerful that it erases all doubts and concerns.

But other times… Other times it seems as if there’s nothing on the other side of our prayers, as if there’s no one who actually cares about us, or loves us…as if we’re just going through the motions, but feeling empty.

And, just maybe, it is simply the death of someone you cared about deeply and now your grief ebbs and flows in such a way that you’re not sure if you’ll ever feel quite “normal” again, whatever that means. Our mourning becomes a kind of death in and of itself—keeping us from the life we led before.

I don’t know what your death looks like, but it really doesn’t matter. In all cases, these deaths are around us and in us. They suck energy. They leave us drained, with little desire to do anything about them. They put us in a tomb, bound in cloth, lifeless. We sit in a dark, dank cave unable to do anything else. And we cry out to God, “If only you had been here, we would not have died!”

Then Jesus comes. Jesus has been there all along. Not preventing the death—death is a part of the greater cycle of creation. Instead, Jesus is prepared with the gift of new and abundant life.

Jesus doesn’t wait for us to gather our own strength. Jesus doesn’t wait for us to “buck-up” or “get over it” or even to “just have faith.” None of these admonitions or pieces of advice are helpful in the face of death. They are platitudes, at best. But Jesus doesn’t say these things.

No, instead Jesus comes to the tomb, stands at the entrance of the cave and calls us out. In the silence, darkness and isolation, we hear a voice:

“Lazarus, come out!”

Jesus calls to each of us:

“Karen, come out!”

“Larry, come out!”

“[Insert your name here], come out!”

The voice draws us out, into the light, into the fresh air, and into the community. It’s not through our own power or sheer force of will that we are brought back to life, but through Jesus coming to us.

And it the same way that our deaths take different forms and shapes, the voice of Jesus can reach us in a lot of ways.

Maybe the voice of Jesus comes through words of comfort and commiseration from a friend. Or through forgiveness proclaimed through our baptism. Or through the words “given for you” as you receive communion.

But somehow, someway, that wonderful, beautiful voice of Jesus reaches into the tomb to bring us back to life.

New life that looks like finding joy in the things you once loved; reconciling broken relationships and finding the strength to build new ones; sensing renewal and looking forward to all of the ups and downs life has to offer. Opportunities open up and fresh paths lay out before us, ready to be walked down with our village alongside us. New life, spring forth out of the darkness. We think of the ones we’ve loved and lost and our heart begins to feel the joy of memory,  even if tinged in grief.

It may not happen instantaneously and sometimes the voice might be a little subtle. It might be hard to hear.

But it’s there. God is there. God isn’t afraid to roll away the stone and smell the stench of our death. God doesn’t care if our village has given up on us after four days in the tomb. The God who loves us, who wept for Lazarus, weeps for us. The God who loves us doesn’t let death have the last word in our relationship. God has the last word at the door of death.

God says, “Child of mine, come out and live.”

Amen.