From Grief to Resurrection: John 11:32-44 - All Saints Day

Autumn Bench by Steve Dean.  Creative commons image on flickr

³² 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.” ³³ When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. ³⁴ He said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” ³⁵ Jesus began to weep. ³⁶ So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” ³⁷ But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”
  ³⁸ Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. ³⁹ 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.” ⁴⁰ Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” ⁴¹ So they took away the stone. And Jesus looked upward and said, “Father, I thank you for having heard me. ⁴² I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.” ⁴³ When he had said this, he cried with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” ⁴⁴ The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.” (NRSV)

My grandmother lives in a house that was built by my great grandfather in 1950.  As a child, I would visit him—and his home was always filled with the combined aroma of coffee and the cigarettes he smoked.

He died twenty-nine years ago—but every now and then, when I visit my grandmother, that familiar aroma will appear for a fraction of an instant—bringing with it a treasure’s trove of memories…

That’s the power of our senses. 

But sometimes, our senses will connect us to more troubling realities …

Today’s Gospel paints a powerful sensory picture of the horrors of death.  There’s Mary’s bitter cries of lament, that if Jesus had come sooner, her brother would not have died.  Jesus himself literally trembles with grief, unable to hold back his weeping for his friends and all the mourners looking on.  There’s the murmuring of the crowds as some doubt and others defend Jesus. 

When they reach the tomb, they’re met with the cold lifelessness of the stone, and the ghastly stench of death.

Most of us have lived what these persons experienced.  Any time when we think of death, we think of at least one person we’ve loved and lost.  There’s the event of death—which may have come in the form of a prolonged illness, a sudden medical emergency, or a tragic accident.  But there’s also the reality of death—which we see in that empty space at our dining table or church pew, or hear in the bitter silence of solitude.  Our hearts and minds ache as we ask what we could’ve done to prevent that death; as we harbor resentment towards persons who could’ve done something but didn’t; as we question why God permitted it to happen… 

You see, death impacts the living every bit as much as the dead.  Our lives are built on the foundation of relationships—and when one of those relationships ends, for any reason, life isn’t the same.  The brokenness that follows in the aftermath is what we call grief.  Grieving is the difficult and lengthy process of becoming whole again, even though life will never be the same again.  Only trouble is, our society has forgotten how to grieve.

Employers rarely grant any kind of bereavement leave that extends past a day or two.  Funerals are occurring less and less often; in part because they’re very expensive; but sometimes because people don’t want them.

Anymore, our culture makes it seem as if it’s wrong to grieve; that grief is for the weak.  We say “God helps those who help themselves,” as if to imply that you should take personal responsibility to get over it; get back to work and get back to life as if nothing happened. 

We get so wrapped up in our own lives that we don’t really care for the grieving.  We may attend a funeral visitation or send a casserole or a sympathy card, which are helpful.  But nothing can replace what Jesus ultimately gives to Lazarus’ grieving family—which, ironically, isn’t resuscitating their dead brother.  Jesus walks with them into the heart of their grief.

That is what we must do when it comes to grief.  We mustn’t deny it or minimize it.  When loss of any kind happens, it impacts all aspects of our being—because you’re not made of stone.  You must face the reality of grief head-on.  And you have to be realistic—because you can never replace the people you’ve lost.  You can’t raise the dead.  The grief will always be there—but it is possible to face it, carry it, and live an abundance of life in spite of it.

Jesus goes into the grief with us.  He knows the pain of losing a loved one—and he knows the pain of losing his own life.  The cross assures us of this.  By faith, we cling to the promise that death will not have the last word.

Yet even though Christ goes with you, you can’t go through grief totally on your own.  How can you know the love of Jesus if there’s no one loving you?  One of our basic responsibilities to each other as a child of God is to bear one another’s burdens.  When it comes to grief, we do this by giving the gift of presence.  This is hard, because we think that to help someone, you have to fix them, which you can do by saying all the right words and doing all the right things.  Truth is, the best thing you can do for someone is just to be there, and perhaps not say a word.  It’s especially helpful to throw away all our culture’s clichés and one liners, like “God needed another angel,” or “she’s in a better place.”  Don’t say “I’ll be there.”  Just be there!

We are, after all, a communion of saints.  We gather to pray, worship, and serve with complete confidence that we do so with Jesus and all who’ve gone before us.  But we gather for the sake of each other as well.  We will all find ourselves in the Valley of the Shadow of Death.  But when we go together, we go with confidence that Jesus goes there, too—and that Jesus can create new life in the most desperate times and places.  In the Valley, Jesus will shine the light of resurrection—for even as grief is great, in Christ it’s only temporary.