4-27-14: Risk

Risk

 

John 20: 19-31 (NRSV)

When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’ ²⁰After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. ²¹Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.’ ²²When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit. ²³If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.’

Jesus and Thomas

24 But Thomas (who was called the Twin^*), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. ²⁵So the other disciples told him, ‘We have seen the Lord.’ But he said to them, ‘Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.’

26 A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’ ²⁷Then he said to Thomas, ‘Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.’ ²⁸Thomas answered him, ‘My Lord and my God!’ ²⁹Jesus said to him, ‘Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.’

The Purpose of This Book

30 Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. ³¹But these are written so that you may come to believe^* that Jesus is the Messiah,^* the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

 

This is going to be a Sunday where my message to you is going to come in part through music. The Spirit is working through me in that way.

This is also one of my favorite Sundays of the year to preach on, because of this Gospel lesson from John, about our good friend Thomas. A lot of you have heard me say this before, and you’ll surely hear me say it again in the future, but I’m very sympathetic to our friend Thomas, and I’m very defensive of him. Because of his actions in just this one story, he’s been branded with a nickname for all of time. A terrible nickname. So rarely when you hear people refer to Thomas do you ever hear him being called just by his name, Thomas. You never even hear him being referred to by his actual nickname, the one the Bible says everyone called him, “The Twin”, or “Didamus”. No. For all of time he has been “Doubting Thomas”. Let me just say for the record, first of all, that I think it’s really unfair, when we are a people of forgiveness, that we have slapped this nickname on poor Thomas just because of something he said one time.

I’ve also always wondered if every time we call our friend “doubting Thomas”, what we’re really saying is that we’ve failed to understand why the Gospel author, John, penned these words in the first place. As he says himself in his conclusion to this story, “these are written so that you may come to believe^* that Jesus is the Messiah,^* the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.”

We’re hearing this story about Jesus, Thomas, and the other remaining ten disciples not so that we can pass judgment on Thomas or anyone else, but so that we can believe. And really, John is providing us with this and all of his Gospel stories so that he can give us the same thing that Thomas wanted from Jesus: evidence.

Evidence. Proof. If we’re going to call our friend here “doubting Thomas”, then let’s own that there’s a doubting Thomas in each and every one of us, because we all look for evidence, from God especially. It’s just human nature. We’re curious. We’re inquisitive. We’re skeptical. Sometimes, we’re even a little cynical. We just don’t like accepting things on face value. And God doesn’t judge us for that.

Any time you’ve ever said, or even thought, God, just give me a sign, you’ve identified with your inner doubting Thomas. Anytime you’ve ever read our sacred text and wondered some of the things everyone does—could God really create a whole universe in a week? Would two of every animal really fit on one ark? Could a virgin really conceive and give birth? Could a man perform miracles? Can a man come back to life from the grave?—you’ve identified with your inner doubting Thomas.

And most of us would agree, it’s easiest for us to doubt God, to doubt even what we’ve always believed, to start shedding our faith, when we’re going through a hard time. It can be easiest for us to pointedly ask, Is there even a God at all? When we’re suffering. If this has ever happened to you, then you can really identify with your inner doubting Thomas.

Jesus’ disciples had just experienced the most traumatic few days of their lives. Their leader and dear companion, Jesus, the man they gave up everything to follow, was betrayed by another of their closest companions, tried, tortured, publicly humiliated, and executed. They were so traumatized that they wouldn’t even take the chance of leaving their doors unlocked. They just sat, hid, and waited in fear.

You need to know that in order to understand how gritty this story really is. We need to really appreciate just how much the other ten disciples had to overcome to believe Jesus was really standing in their presence—Jesus himself, not a ghost, not an image, not a hallucination, Jesus, in the same wounded flesh that was buried.

Thomas had the same burden of shock, fear, trauma, and sadness to overcome. What’s more is he had to do it on his own, because he wasn’t with the other ten when Jesus first appeared to them. Can you really blame Thomas for doubting what the other disciples told him, for doubting that a dead man came back to life and showed up at their house? That’s absurd. That defies all logic. That’s unexplainable by anything we mere mortals know. They may as well have been telling Thomas that they saw a unicorn trotting down the street.

The thing is, fast forward to today, and this can be exactly what it’s like to tell someone who doesn’t believe in God why you do. Our world is full of doubting Thomases. And for understandable, human reasons. In a world so messed up as ours, a world so full of pain, a world so divided by greed and hate, why should anyone believe in something so fantastically great as God? In a world where we can’t believe a person’s telling the truth about their own name unless they show ID, we’re programmed at the deepest level to say, Show me some proof or I’m showing you the door.

God doesn’t judge us for this. God understands what we’re up against. God knows all about the fallen world we live in. And, if we’re patient enough, God will often give our inner doubting Thomas exactly the kind of proof our hearts desire. I commend our brother Thomas for knowing himself well enough to know what he needed to see, hear, and touch in order to believe. In the words of Jesus himself, Ask, and it will be given to you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you.[i] If you know your own heart well enough, then you, like our brother Thomas, can use that wisdom to connect with the heart of God. You can ask God for what you need, and he will provide it.

God doesn’t judge us for our doubts. But he challenges us when we doubt. Jesus says to Thomas, Blessed are those who have not seen, and yet have come to believe. We all have doubt. It’s downright easy for us to doubt. It’s a human default setting. Why? Because it protects us. When you refuse to reach your verdict until you’ve been provided with sufficient evidence beyond any reasonable doubt, you protect yourself and others. You’re protected from making hasty decisions. You’re protected, at least in theory, from doing something you’ll regret later. You protect yourself from someone trying to deceive you.

That’s totally reasonable. But our God is a God that defies reason. In order to really have a deep, meaningful relationship with our Lord, then we need to get beyond our doubting Thomas, and follow the example of our brother Peter, the moment he decided to get out of the boat and walk on the water to Jesus. We need to sacrifice some of our comforts and safety and take a risk.

Now, as to why I’ve been holding a guitar this whole time—as you know by now, my primary language for talking to God is music. All kinds of music, but especially music that I can play myself. And I’m a big fan of some of our contemporary Christian artists. So, if you listen to that kind of music, like I do, then you may have heard of a group called Hillsong United. And if you’ve heard anything they’ve released in the last year or so, then you’ve heard this incredibly beautiful, provocative, challenging song of theirs called “Oceans”.

“Oceans” draws from the story I just alluded to, the Gospel story of Peter getting out of the boat and walking on the water to Jesus. I gave you the lyrics to this whole song—for the sake of time, I’m not going to play you all of it, but I wanted you to have these incredible words to look at whenever you need them.

This song, “Oceans”, has become my spirit song in the last few months. My song for my walk with God. My song of prayer. And when I want to pray and can’t find the words, I often think of this song. And in particular, I think of this song’s incredibly emotional bridge. In times of joy, when I thank God, in times of uncertainty, when I ask for help, and most of all, when my doubting Thomas is creeping up within me, and I need to remind myself that God calls us to risk our safety and comfort and be courageous, I think of this bridge. And I sing this bridge. And this bridge becomes my challenge, and my prayer. And I sing it as many times as I need to to remember who and whose I am.

When I’m scared about my future. When I get hung up on a problem I know is temporary. When I get daunted by everything on my plate right now and start to wonder if I can really handle it all. When I start to wonder when this loving God of ours will just show me a sign, I remember I already have plenty. I have plenty of evidence to believe that our God is alive and with us all. I have a roof over my head, I have a family to love, I have my daily bread, I have a Gospel to preach, a ministry to practice, and a song to faithfully sing.

Let these words sink in. And you have the lyrics, so don’t be shy about singing along if you feel so moved:

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders
Let me walk upon the waters
Wherever You would call me
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Savior.[ii]

The amazing thing about the risks we take for God is that we don’t need to worry about anything—we don’t need our doubts to protect us, because God always will, no matter what. This is the God who adopted us all as his own beloved children. This is the God who gave up his Son so that we could have life. Whether this is a doubting Thomas day, or a Peter day, or somewhere in between, find comfort in knowing that even if you start to sink in the water, God will always catch you. Or, as Hillsong United puts it, as they finish this song—

I will call upon Your name
Keep my eyes above the waves
My soul will rest in Your embrace
I am Yours and You are mine.

Amen.

---

[i] Matthew 7:7

[ii] “Oceans (where feet may fail)” was written by Joel Houston, Matt Crocker, and Salomon Lighthelm. It was performed by the group Hillsong United. You can hear the whole song here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dy9nwe9_xzw .

4-20-14: Witness

Witness

 

John 20: 1-18 (NRSV)

Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. ²So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, ‘They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.’ ³Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went towards the tomb. ⁴The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. ⁵He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. ⁶Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, ⁷and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. ⁸Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; ⁹for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. ¹⁰Then the disciples returned to their homes.

Jesus Appears to Mary Magdalene

11 But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look^* into the tomb; ¹²and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. ¹³They said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping?’ She said to them, ‘They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.’ ¹⁴When she had said this, she turned round and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. ¹⁵Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping? For whom are you looking?’ Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, ‘Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.’ ¹⁶Jesus said to her, ‘Mary!’ She turned and said to him in Hebrew,^* ‘Rabbouni!’ (which means Teacher). ¹⁷Jesus said to her, ‘Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, “I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.” ’ ¹⁸Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, ‘I have seen the Lord’; and she told them that he had said these things to her.

 

What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you go to heaven?

Have you ever thought about that before? I think about that sometimes. And however you would answer that question kind of depends on what you imagine heaven to look like.

Television, books, movies, and artwork contribute a lot to building a vision of heaven for the thoughtful or curious. So you can imagine, like many others have, that you’ll see a bright light at the end of a tunnel and then be taken up to the pearly gates, where St. Peter will greet you, offer you a halo, a robe, and some wings, and invite you to walk and bounce around on the clouds.

That’s a beautiful image of heaven, and I’d be happy to see that when my time here on earth is up. But my image of heaven is rather different. You might have heard me share this before, so forgive me if you’re hearing this for the second or third time, and if this is too silly for your taste, don’t worry about it—but I’ve always imagined that heaven is kind of like Six Flags. In my imagination of heaven, I’m going to arrive, get my ticket stamped, and then get a cosmically huge park map, and be told to have fun and go do anything I want. So I’ll look at my park map and see Grandma’s rocking chair, and Grandpa’s golf course, and King David’s musical lounge. There will be lunch in the food court with Jesus’ first disciples, a daily Q & A session about all matters of living with St. Paul, a petting zoo on Noah’s Ark, and milk and honey available 24/7 on tap.

I imagine heaven to be a really fun place, and a place where there’s no shortage of things to do for all of eternity. But as much fun as I’d have exploring, the first thing I’m going to want to do in heaven is not going to be to look for something fun to do. Because the most important thing about heaven to me is that when I go to heaven I will be reunited with people I dearly love, and haven’t seen in far too long. So the first thing I’m going to do when I go to heaven is go look for the people I love that have passed before me—people like my grandparents. When I see their faces, I’ll know I’m in heaven.

When you listen to this morning’s Gospel passage, you can only imagine what it would feel like to be Mary Magdalene at the moment that Jesus called her by name, and she recognized her teacher’s voice. You can only imagine, the joy, the wonder, and the incredible feeling of awe that came over her as she called back, “Rabbouni!”

But really, I think, in that moment, Mary Magdalene knew exactly what it feels like to see heaven. She was reunited with the one person she loved more than anyone. She heard the voice of a man she thought was forever gone. She turned around and saw his face, and in that moment, she experienced heaven right here on earth.

On Easter Sunday, we rejoice that we can all feel what Mary Magdalene felt. We all can experience the joy of heaven, even here on earth. We can feel that joy, that wonder, and that awe, and we can feel it every single day.

When Jesus overcame the grave, he overcame death. In the world before Jesus, everyone had to live in fear of death. All people needed to live in the fear that, when this earthly life is over, when your body gives out, that that’s the end of your story. Before Jesus, when you died, that was it for you. You were completely and eternally separated from all of your loved ones, and even from God.

When Mary Magdalene heard the voice of Jesus, she knew that wasn’t true anymore, and it never would be again. Jesus conquered death, and now, she was standing face to face with her Lord, and nothing could separate them.

Mary Magdalene’s joy on Easter morning is our joy every single day. We rest in the palm of God’s hand, and nothing can separate us from him. God tenderly cares for our loved ones the exact same way, and because of that, even if we can’t see the faces of those who have passed before us, we are never separated from them. That is the promise of heaven, and we can rejoice in it every single day, because Jesus died and lived again for us.

But our joy is greater still than that. On Easter morning, we rejoice that God has written the end of each of our stories. God has already written the final page of the book of each of our lives. God has decided our destiny, and it’s an amazing one: God has written for us that we have eternal, inextinguishable life, and that we will spend all of our days loved by him.

Just think about that. That’s how our story will end. That’s our final outcome. How much time do we waste worrying about what’s going to happen in our futures? How much of ourselves do we waste trying to secure a better future for ourselves? How much time do we spend worrying about our problems? Is there any problem greater than death? Is there any outcome more final than death? If Jesus can conquer death, then why do we waste our time worrying about anything else? It’s a lot to take in, but just think about the burden that God has released us from through his Son, Jesus. God has taken care of the ending—no matter what, we will have life, and have it abundantly. And since God’s taken care of the ending, we’re liberated from death, and we’re free. We have an unlimited lease on life, and an endless supply of days, and we can use them however we want to. We’ve been set free to live however we want.

But we have a responsibility that comes with all of that freedom. It’s up to us, and us alone, to use this incredible gift of life wisely. It’s our job to make the very most of the life that Jesus secured for us.

How do we do that? How do we, the followers of God, make the very most of this incredible gift of life?

By following the example of our sister in the faith, Mary Magdalene. By following the example of our brother Peter. By doing as the ten disciples did the day they told Thomas what they had seen. By following the example of our brother Paul, who reached out to men and women all around the ancient near east. By bearing witness.

As the beloved of God, we can bear witness. We can attest to the truth of God’s promises because we have lived them, and seen them with our own eyes. We can bear witness to God’s promise of everlasting life. And, often, if you’re going to be a good citizen, being a witness means being willing to offer up your testimony.

We don’t have to do any of this—we can do whatever we want. God has set us free. But by acting as witnesses to God’s miracle of life, by testifying to the truth of God’s promises for us all, we can affirm our own faith in life, and maybe help someone else find hope and comfort in God.

So, the question then is, what’s your testimony? How would you explain the promises of our loving God to someone who didn’t believe, or who didn’t know, or who didn’t understand? What does everlasting life mean to you? Why do you believe?

And if that question is too much, try this one—what brought you to this church? What continues to bring you here? What have you found here? What has having a relationship with God added to your life?

We have all seen the risen Christ. We have all been Mary Magdalene. We have all seen the image of Christ in one another. We have all seen Jesus because we have all seen the love he taught us. However that has touched your life, bear witness—because you have seen the risen Christ, you have seen heaven.

Amen.

4-13-14: Upside Down

Upside Down

 

Matthew 21: 1-11 (NRSV)

When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’ And he will send them immediately.” This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying,

“Tell the daughter of Zion, Look, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”

The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting,

“Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?” The crowds were saying, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.”

 

For one week, the world was upside down.

The King had been on a great journey, on his way to the capital of his Kingdom, his own homeland. The great city of Jerusalem.

On a Sunday he finally arrived. And after so many months of buildup and great anticipation, it was finally time for the King’s royal procession.

And what would you expect from a King’s royal procession? The finest steed pulling a golden chariot. A noble man sitting proudly in the finest robes, linens, and jewels, while his many servants tend to his every comfort, and the trumpets sounded the fanfare of his arrival.

But that didn’t happen.

This man, who before the week was over, would proclaim, even upon pain of death, that he was the King of the Jews, didn’t act like any king anyone had ever seen before. In fact, it’s as if this man, Jesus of Nazareth, took the whole idea of what it means to be a king, and turned it upside down.

He traded in the fanfare, the pomp and circumstance…for something disturbingly humble. There were no trumpets. There were no jewels, no robes, no finery. He traded the steed for a donkey—and it wasn’t even his donkey, he just borrowed it from some local farmer for the day. He traded the chariot for a simple cloak, just the shirt off someone’s back, as a saddle. He traded in his red carpet entrance for a bunch of rags on the dirt. And servants? He neither had nor wanted any. This man, this man who would be called the King of the Jews, acted like he was entitled to nothing, and accepted nothing but just the charity of friendly, willing people.

And that was just Sunday. Jesus spent a whole week in Jerusalem turning everything anyone thought they knew upside down. And sometimes that meant literally turning things upside down—after his triumphal entry into Jerusalem, he went straight over to the Temple and turned over the money changers’ tables.

And he called the money changers, and the dove vendors—an ordinary, everyday presence in the Temple entrance—robbers. Then he told the chief priests and elders, the most respected men in all of Jerusalem, that prostitutes and tax collectors were going to get into to heaven before they ever would. Then he got really angry, and made this big speech where he denounced the Pharisees and Scribes, and called them hypocrites. Then he started telling everyone about all these bad things that were going to happen—Jerusalem wouldn’t last, the Temple would be destroyed, everyone in the city would be persecuted, and the world was going to end.

What in the world is going on here? Before Jesus was in town for five days, he had turned over everything that it meant to be a Palestinian Jew.

And, of course, we know that Jesus wasn’t done yet. It’s almost easy to understand why Jesus’ disciples became so frightened, and eventually all took off, one by one, during Jesus’ final days of life. We may very well have done the exact same thing if we were them. The twelve disciples observed a traditional Passover meal with Jesus, and, finally, for one moment, it was as if everything was back to normal. But then, right in the middle of the meal, Jesus picked up a loaf of bread and told everyone it was his body. Then he took a cup of wine, and told everyone it was his blood. And if that wasn’t hard enough for his disciples to try to wrap their minds around, he told them,

“I will never again drink of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father’s kingdom.”

What are you talking about, Jesus? He and his disciples drank wine together frequently. But this time was different.

In one week, Jesus turned a royal procession into a daring display of humility. In one week, Jesus declared that the people you look up to might not be all that worthy of respect, and that the people you look down on might have more integrity than anyone. In one week, Jesus warned us that the places and things we find most sacred won’t be here forever—even the earth itself will be gone someday. In one week, Jesus turned an annual tradition into a whole new way to remember him, made normal, common food holy.

And it was Thursday.

By Friday, Jesus turned being a King from something to lord over people to something worth dying for. He turned power into lowliness, and purpose into sacrifice. He turned life into death.

And by Sunday, he turned death into life.

For one week, the world was upside down. All the ordinary rules of life and the universe were suspended, and the only thing that mattered was love.

It was one week. One week in history.

And yet, although this week happened only once, we observe it every year, and we call it Holy Week. And even though Jesus was only in Jerusalem for a week of his life, what he did there has made an impact on us, our lives, and our world for all of time.

Because having Jesus as the center of your life, as the most prized one in your heart, as your Lord and personal Savior, means worshipping a man who turns things upside down.

So think about it: is there something about this life, this world, that you wish you could radically change?

Even if you’re a pretty even keel type of person, if you’ve been living on this earth long enough, I’m sure you can come up with something that you wish was different.

I can come up with a few things, a few things I would change radically if I could. Sean and I had the lovely experience of filing our income taxes this week. And of course, you know I’m being sarcastic when I say “lovely”. Because there’s nothing “lovely” about income taxes. They’re positively awful. As much as I’d love to live in a world where that process could be less tiresome and grueling, what I really wish is that I lived in a world where we were all such responsible stewards of our resources that some would not live in luxury while others live in poverty. I wish I lived in a world where the money Sean and I paid in taxes might make a big difference in ending poverty in our country, because programs that help the less fortunate—social security, disability, welfare, food stamps, Medicaid, and Medicare—could be adequately funded and supported. But only the power and love of Jesus could so radically turn our world upside down that poverty could be a thing of the past.

I have a few friends right now whose lives are being touched by cancer—either their own, or the illness of a loved one of theirs. I wish I could eradicate cancer from the world. But Jesus alone has that radical healing power.

And then I think of my friends and former seminary classmates who are now serving as chaplains at Strong Memorial Hospital, like I did last year. And I think about all the emergencies they get called to respond to, and I think about how many of those emergencies are victims of an act of violence being brought in to the hospital. I wish I lived in a world where that violence didn’t exist, and where we would all live in safety. But only Jesus can create that kind of peace.

I could go on naming things, but my point to you, today, is this—our Lord and Savior is the radical Son of God. This week, more than ever, we rejoice that our Jesus turns the world upside down when he has to, and calls us to do the same. We also rejoice that when we’ve done all that we can to make our world the kind of place we want it to be, and it’s still not enough, that we can turn it over to Jesus, that our faith will see us through, and that our King will triumph over all of it until the end of time.

Amen.

4-6-14: Dry Bones

Dry Bones

 

Ezekiel 37: 1-14 (NRSV)

The hand of the Lord came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. He led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry. He said to me, “Mortal, can these bones live?” I answered, “O Lord God, you know.” Then he said to me, “Prophesy to these bones, and say to them, O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. Thus says the Lord God to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live. I will lay sinews on you, and will cause flesh to come upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and you shall live; and you shall know that I am the Lord.”

So I prophesied as I had been commanded; and as I prophesied, suddenly there was a noise, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone. I looked, and there were sinews on them, and flesh had come upon them, and skin had covered them; but there was no breath in them. Then he said to me, “Prophesy to the breath, prophesy, mortal, and say to the breath: Thus says the Lord God: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.” I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood on their feet, a vast multitude.

Then he said to me, “Mortal, these bones are the whole house of Israel. They say, ‘Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.’ Therefore prophesy, and say to them, Thus says the Lord God: I am going to open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people; and I will bring you back to the land of Israel. And you shall know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people. I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act.” Says the Lord.

John 11: 1-45 (The Message by Eugene Peterson)

A man was sick, Lazarus of Bethany, the town of Mary and her sister Martha. This was the same Mary who massaged the Lord’s feet with aromatic oils and then wiped them with her hair. It was her brother Lazarus who was sick. So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Master, the one you love so very much is sick.”

When Jesus got the message, he said, “This sickness is not fatal. It will become an occasion to show God’s glory by glorifying God’s Son.”

Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, but oddly, when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed on where he was for two more days. After the two days, he said to his disciples, “Let’s go back to Judea.”

They said, “Rabbi, you can’t do that. The Jews are out to kill you, and you’re going back?”

Jesus replied, “Are there not twelve hours of daylight? Anyone who walks in daylight doesn’t stumble because there’s plenty of light from the sun. Walking at night, he might very well stumble because he can’t see where he’s going.”

He said these things, and then announced, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep. I’m going to wake him up.”

The disciples said, “Master, if he’s gone to sleep, he’ll get a good rest and wake up feeling fine.” Jesus was talking about death, while his disciples thought he was talking about taking a nap.

Then Jesus became explicit: “Lazarus died. And I am glad for your sakes that I wasn’t there. You’re about to be given new grounds for believing. Now let’s go to him.”

That’s when Thomas, the one called the Twin, said to his companions, “Come along. We might as well die with him.”

When Jesus finally got there, he found Lazarus already four days dead. Bethany was near Jerusalem, only a couple of miles away, and many of the Jews were visiting Martha and Mary, sympathizing with them over their brother. Martha heard Jesus was coming and went out to meet him. Mary remained in the house.

Martha said, “Master, if you’d been here, my brother wouldn’t have died. Even now, I know that whatever you ask God he will give you.”

Jesus said, “Your brother will be raised up.”

Martha replied, “I know that he will be raised up in the resurrection at the end of time.”

“You don’t have to wait for the End. I am, right now, Resurrection and Life. The one who believes in me, even though he or she dies, will live. And everyone who lives believing in me does not ultimately die at all. Do you believe this?”

“Yes, Master. All along I have believed that you are the Messiah, the Son of God who comes into the world.”

After saying this, she went to her sister Mary and whispered in her ear, “The Teacher is here and is asking for you.”

The moment she heard that, she jumped up and ran out to him. Jesus had not yet entered the town but was still at the place where Martha had met him. When her sympathizing Jewish friends saw Mary run off, they followed her, thinking she was on her way to the tomb to weep there. Mary came to where Jesus was waiting and fell at his feet, saying, “Master, if only you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

When Jesus saw her sobbing and the Jews with her sobbing, a deep anger welled up within him. He said, “Where did you put him?”

“Master, come and see,” they said. Now Jesus wept.

The Jews said, “Look how deeply he loved him.”

Others among them said, “Well, if he loved him so much, why didn’t he do something to keep him from dying? After all, he opened the eyes of a blind man.”

Then Jesus, the anger again welling up within him, arrived at the tomb. It was a simple cave in the hillside with a slab of stone laid against it. Jesus said, “Remove the stone.”

The sister of the dead man, Martha, said, “Master, by this time there’s a stench. He’s been dead four days!”

Jesus looked her in the eye. “Didn’t I tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?”

Then, to the others, “Go ahead, take away the stone.”

They removed the stone. Jesus raised his eyes to heaven and prayed, “Father, I’m grateful that you have listened to me. I know you always do listen, but on account of this crowd standing here I’ve spoken so that they might believe that you sent me.”

Then he shouted, “Lazarus, come out!” And he came out, a cadaver, wrapped from head to toe, and with a kerchief over his face.

Jesus told them, “Unwrap him and let him loose.”

That was a turnaround for many of the Jews who were with Mary. They saw what Jesus did, and believed in him.

 

I told our Tuesday Bible Study group that I really think it might be fun if this morning’s Old Testament lesson, from the prophet Ezekiel—the story about the dry, dead bones coming to life—came up in the lectionary sometime a little closer to Halloween. But the truth is, the closer we get to the season of Easter, the more appropriate it is to hear words like the ones the prophet Ezekiel shares with us, and like the ones we hear in this morning’s Gospel story, from John.

And, really, no matter what time of year it is, there is no bad time for us, the disciples of God, to hear these two stories. In fact, it’s as if every day of our lives we need to hear these two stories just a little bit more.

And that’s because once you get past the vivid, and, admittedly, bizarre images Ezekiel and John share with us this morning, what we hear from them are two stories about hope.

But before we can get to those messages of hope, you need to know a little bit about our story tellers. We, as a congregation, already know a bit about our Evangelist, John—we know why he wrote, and we know what his goal was in telling a story like the one about Mary, Martha, and Lazarus: so that we would know the Good News of Christ. Of course, I can expound on all of that, but I’m feeling like that’s a sermon for another Sunday.

The story teller I’m more curious about today, and was more curious about this week, while I was working on penning this sermon, is this morning’s Old Testament author, Ezekiel.

Why did I find Ezekiel so interesting? For this reason—how often do we see Ezekiel’s writings show up in our revised common lectionary? Even less often than we see the writings of John.

What do we know about Ezekiel? Who was this man? As is true of most of our biblical authors, Ezekiel didn’t leave a name, date, and location on his writings, but, by carefully reading over the text, we’ve figured out a lot about this man.

Ezekiel came from a family of priests. His father, his grandfather, his great-grandfather, as far back as anyone could recall, were all priests. Ezekiel grew up knowing he was going to follow in his forefathers’ footsteps, and embraced that future. He went through all the training a Jewish man of his time would have needed to to become a priest, and became one, and spent a considerable amount of time in his younger adult years serving his home, the Southern Kingdom of Israel, as a priest.

What brought him out of the priesthood, and compelled him to become a prophet, is that he could see the writing on the wall. He began making prophesies to his friends and neighbors only a few years before King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon conquered Jerusalem. After the fall of Jerusalem, Ezekiel was one of many Judahites who was taken away from his homeland and forced to live in exile in Babylon.

Ezekiel simply couldn’t ignore his call to the prophesy any longer, knowing that the future of his people could be in his hands. And it’s clear from the way Ezekiel wrote that, even as a prophet, he still saw himself first as a priest, and even as a pastor, a leader of the flock. He took personal responsibility for steering those who suffered alongside him in the right direction.

Ezekiel didn’t just believe that his neighbors and friends had experienced something truly horrible in watching the brutal devastation of the homeland. He also believed that they were going through this horrible experience of homelessness, loss, and exile at least in part because God was punishing them for their actions. In Ezekiel’s opinion, it was their own bad decisions that landed them in Babylon.

And it wasn’t just Ezekiel that believed that. His own neighbors, the Judahites living in exile with him, believed that they had forever ruined their home, as well as their relationship with God. They lived in utter despair, believing they had lost everything that was ever dear to them, and that their people had no future. They had no hope.

I’ve used the word “compassion” a few times from the pulpit this year, and I’m going to use it again, because our brother Ezekiel perfectly embodies it: he is suffering with his neighbors. Their loss was his loss, and their pain is his pain.

The difference, though, between Ezekiel and his neighbors was that Ezekiel had just enough clarity to still be a leader, even in exile. More importantly, he had just enough faith in God to believe that he and his people may still have a future. He had enough faith to believe, even in the face of death, that there could be a resurrection.

We’re about 2600 years removed from Ezekiel and his neighbors. We practice a different religion, we live in a totally different society, and we have never known utter devastation at the hands of King Nebuchadnezzar—at least not in a literal sense.

Yet, Ezekiel’s words are just as much for us as they were for his own neighbors. It wasn’t just Ezekiel and his people that felt like they were reduced to nothing but a field of dry bones. In our contemporary lives, and especially in our twenty-first-century church, sometimes we can’t help but feel like dry, lifeless bones.

And that’s because it’s rough being a person of faith. It’s a hard life, and it’s one where we see all kinds of loss. Right about now, all of us United Methodist clergy are getting ready for Annual Conference—our yearly, three-day summit where we discuss all the important business of our Church. This year, just like last year, and just like the year before that, our Conferences will vote to close churches. This is a truly solemn moment at Conference, because we all know too well that for each church that we close, there’s someone out there that just lost their Temple—their sacred place. God’s home, in their eyes.

This year, churches that once had a full-time pastor will be reduced to a part-time charge. This year, churches will decide it’s time to shut down their Sunday School programs. This year, churches will struggle just to stay financially viable. And this year, people of faith will look upon what is, and remember the way things once were, and ask themselves, Can these dry bones live? Does our Church have a future, or is worshipping Jesus a thing of the past?

It’s okay to grieve our losses as they happen. Ezekiel didn’t dismiss the pain of his neighbors any more than Jesus dismissed the anguish of Mary and Martha at the tomb of their brother, Lazarus—he wept right alongside them.

And it’s awfully tempting, when we face so much loss here in our churches, to wonder if Jesus is really with us. It’s awfully tempting to challenge Jesus just like Mary and Martha did, and cry out to him, Lord, if only you were here, our churches would not be dying.

But the advantage we have over our sisters in the faith, Mary and Martha, is that we know that Jesus is always here. And, unlike Mary and Martha, we know the Good News. We know that our God is one who opens the sealed tomb and makes the dead live. We know that our God is a God who puts flesh on the dry bones, and makes them breathe again. And we know, no matter how bleak things may seem, no matter how much loss we may see, that we can always have hope. Because we know that wherever there is death, there is always a resurrection awaiting us.

Amen.