Unbinding Resurrection: John 11:32-44 - All Saints Sunday

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

San Vitale Basilica by Holly Hayes on Flickr.  CC BY-NC 2.0

It was exactly 12 noon last Saturday when I learned of the massacre at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Squirrel Hill that left eleven worshippers dead.

I was sitting in the sanctuary of Chestnut Ridge Church of God in Hubbard, Ohio, making the final preparations for Ashley Dunmire’s wedding which was to begin at 1:30.  After talking with the bride and groom and their families, we agreed that I would make an announcement five minutes before the start of the ceremony, and offer a moment of silence and prayers. 

October 27, 2018 will be another date that shall live in infamy.  But as far as mass shootings go—it isn’t the first; it isn’t the worst; and it won’t be the last.  This is reality.  We’re stuck in a world which, by all outward appearances, is going to hell. 

How else are you supposed to feel amid this civil war of partisan ideals?  How else are you supposed to feel as poverty and drugs infest our community?  Costs are going up, wages are going down, and good jobs are going away.  Neighbors don’t speak to neighbors.  People aren’t coming to church anymore.  Patience, peace, and charity are getting harder to find.  It’s nearly impossible to face the future with hope.

We find this same dread and despair in the air in today’s Gospel.  Lazarus is dead.  His sisters Mary and Martha are angry that Jesus had not been there sooner to keep Lazarus from dying.  Those looking on are disgusted by Jesus failure or inability to keep the man from dying. 

When they arrive at the tomb, the stone is set in place.  The stench is overpowering.  The only sound amid the silence is that of bitter weeping.  Even Jesus begins to weep.

Death is loss.  Loss is death. 

it’s not wrong to be frustrated, angry, bitter, or afraid when death strikes.  But death feeds on these emotions.  The reality of loss, or even the fear of it, can manifest itself in all kinds of dreadful and destructive ways.  If left unchecked, you can become a partner to and participant in death. 

This is what happened with the shooter.  Here was a man whose fear and hysteria were fed by conspiracy theories and talking heads promulgated by an irresponsible media.  Violence is, of course, the most extreme way that death acts itself out against the living.  But it is not the only way. 

When you see politicians and factions battling it out, calling each other names, blaming them for society’s ills—that’s fear.  Death does its work by dividing us and keeping us in a constant state of suspicion of the other.  It’s all about seeing another’s well-being as a threat.  You find your only way to prevent loss is to render powerless or eliminate altogether—those whom you blame for perpetuating it.

And yet death doesn’t just turn neighbor against neighbor.  It can make you into your own worst enemy.  You become depressed and cynical.  You push away anything or anyone that God provides.  If you refuse to take responsibility for yourself, and blame all your problems on someone else, what hope do you have?  If you believe that everyone’s against you, or you insist on tackling problems your own way, who can help you?  If you believe that death controls your future, how can you go on living? 

Make no mistake, the death of Lazarus was one of Jesus’ most painful life experiences, aside from his own crucifixion.  Jesus and the people among him were forced to confront the stench and darkness of death.  You can’t minimize death; deny it; or pretend that it isn’t real.  Death brought Jesus to tears.  But Jesus was not about to let death have the last word. Right then and there, Jesus prevails upon the tragedy.  Death won’t be so final after all.  But he doesn’t do it all himself. 

“Roll the stone away,” Jesus said.  “Unbind him, and let him go.”  But don’t think for a second that this process was quick, painless, and easy… 

Think about it: it would’ve required numerous strong persons and beasts of burden to roll that stone away.  It would’ve been a frightful and frantic task to dis-emblalm him.  It took a wounded, angry, and divided community working together to release Lazarus from death.  Just the same, no one person can enter new life totally on their own.

Suspicion and hate; envy and rage are heavy stones to roll away.  Fear, unforgiveness, and hopelessness bind you in death.  You are powerless to fight back death on your own.  You need the help of all of God’s people to unbind you from all that holds you captive to darkness and death. 

At the same time, you must bury the illusion that you and your tribe are righteous, while all those people are not.  You must call off your dogs; bury the hatched; and love the fact that you will never look into the eyes of anyone whom God doesn’t love (including the shooter).  And that’s not to say that you must hug and kiss your enemies, or be their friend—but you must pray for them and seek their welfare. 

Death is what binds us in division.  The lie it tells is that you and the other cannot flourish side-by-side. But what if we as a society used the energy we now spend attacking each other to come to a better understanding of each other?  What if we listened to people’s stories; learned of their sufferings; and took the time to appreciate the tremendous burdens they’re forced to bear?  Would you not come to a fuller knowledge of God’s love for you as you love someone else so graciously?

Hope comes in the form of a stranger’s arms open in love and compassion.  Healing comes in when forgiveness is given and received.  Jesus journeys into all of our places of loss and tragedy, no matter how horrific, to conquer death with life.  A saint is someone who once was dead and yet is made alive in Christ.  That’s God’s will for everyone.  If God is for you, no one—not even death itself—can ever be against you.  The power is yours to live life and create it.