John 11:28-44
Lauren J. McFeaters
November 1, 2015
All Saints’ Day
In John’s Gospel, Jesus’ ministry begins at a wedding and ends at a funeral. This is the funeral. And it’s Jesus’ last sign. There have been seven signs and miracles. We know them:
- turning the water into wine
- healing the Galilean official’s son
- healing the invalid at Bethzatha
- feeding the 5,000
- walking on water
- healing the blind beggar…
- and now the raising of Lazarus. Lazarus.
But it ends up to be so much more than a sign. It’s really the straw that breaks the camel’s back. The other signs, while threatening to the religious powers of the day, were not like this threat. Raising someone from the dead was the act to end all acts. Flesh and bone completely dead for four days, beyond resuscitation, becomes flesh and bone completely alive. Jesus who could bring Lazarus to life from the dead is a dead man walking.[1]
And Jesus walks right into a perfect storm: his dearest friends in a panic, a gathering of folks disappointed and cantankerous, his own heart breaking, and a small community torn at the seams.
Ted Wardlaw says, you understand Mary’s and Martha’s dismay, don’t you? When it’s your brother gasping for breath on the deathbed — your sister, your husband, your wife, your child, your parent. You’re not looking for some timeless truth about death. You don’t want a text message offering a casserole. You may not be looking for someone who can soothe you or change things or who has something authoritative to say. What you are looking for is someone who, instinctively and with intuition, is willing to drop everything for you, to make the coffee and field the phone calls, and, in a host of other ways, to stand right there beside you and shoulder the pain – to stand and suffer with you.[2]
A week ago I had a chance to be with four of my closest friends in the Allegheny Mountains of Pennsylvania. We were way above State College: off the grid; no cell phones; no Wi-Fi. Just dear friends, all pastors, who love to talk theology, read poetry, listen to music, share ideas, take the longest of walks, and have hours of conversation around the table.
Each of us is of an age that our parents have either died or are quickly aging, and someone brought up an article by Alyce McKenzie, who was sharing about her elderly father-in-law’s experience in a rehab center after surgery. One in our group said she could have written the story herself. Her 89-year-old mother has been living at a rehab center after a bad fall and subsequent hip replacement. My friend’s mom, Harriet, is working with a physical therapist who’s helping her take her first steps again, making it down the hallway, lifting her hand to mouth at meal times. It’s slow work. It’s flesh and bone work. It’s not-going-well work. The physical therapist finally had to say, “Harriet, I cannot make you do this therapy. I want this to go better, but you have to want to get well and it’s your negative attitude that’s standing in your way.”
Harriet was seriously displeased. What did this 25-year-old, completely healthy, strong, vigorous, vital therapist know about an 89-year-old body? What did this 25-year-old therapist know about endless aches and fatigue and discomfort? But in the end, day after day, Harriet knew she needed to get over the anger and get out of the chair and onto her feet, to get out of her cave and into the hall.
As much as we want to participate in our own healing, Jesus offers resurrection. His relationship with Lazarus is not as physical therapist, nor coach and client, counselor and counselee, or doctor and patient. As one preacher puts it: It’s too late for Lazarus to contribute to his recovery by having a positive attitude. The recovery of lost muscle tone or balance or steady steps is not at issue. There is nothing more Lazarus can do for himself. The most important factor in bringing someone back from the dead is the power of God.[3]
And aren’t there really two deaths here? We may not see the tipping point in these few verses but move along in the text and you realize the act of bringing Lazarus to life costs Jesus his own life. From this point on there is no turning back. Religious leaders are breathing down Jesus’ neck. He leaves Lazarus and friends in Bethany and heads to Jerusalem, where he will be executed. Perhaps it should be our turn to weep. The truth is, on some level, we are all Lazarus, dead, lifeless, and stinking. The King James Version says we “stinketh.” And we do. We’re all bound by things in this world that literally suck the life out, rot us, deteriorate us, and we stinketh.
But if there is more than one death, there is also more than one raising. Lazarus comes out of the cave, but so do Martha and Mary. They’re raised out of a raging grief to an astounding life. They’re raised from abject misery to joy.
The story of this raising is more than a miracle; it is the stuff that we are made of.
- Jesus weeps for us, too—weeps that we hurt,
- Weeps that we get so wrapped up in the minutia of life that makes us forget who we are,
- Weeps that we are not who we are called to be,
- Weeps that we waste our precious time,
- Weeps that we ignore the dying faith of others,
- Weeps that we allow our faith to languish, stay dormant, and die.
John Wesley said that it is as much a miracle that Jesus can raise dead faith to life as that Jesus raised Lazarus from the cave, that God raised Jesus from the tomb. When faith is dead and hope is lost, there is only one power, and it’s the presence of God. And it’s ours to claim, to wrestle with, to enjoy, to be baffled by, to count on, to get angry with. It’s the very way we witness the glory of God.[4] And it’s waiting for us here at the table. It’s heard in the choir of saints who have gone before us.
When you are dead and have begun to smell, when you’re entombed by fear and grief, when everything binds you and suffocates you and needs to be stripped off and tossed aside — that’s when the promise of the Lazarus Gospel comes and digs you up and dusts you off and stands you before your Lord.
And do you know why? Because he loves you. He weeps and sobs for you. He is deeply moved by you. He brings life to your death, freedom to your bondage, and a shining light to your every darkness.[5]
Thanks be to God.
[1] Alyce M. McKenzie. “Death Threat: Reflections on John 11.” www.patheos.com, March 30, 2014.
[2] Theodore J. Wardlaw. Sermon: “When Jesus Wept.” Journal for Preachers, Lent 2000, 37.
[3] Alyce M. McKenzie. “Death Threat: Reflections on John 11.” www.patheos.com, March 30, 2014.
[4] Shelli Williams. “All Saints B: A Vision of Home John 11: 32-44.” Oct 25, 2015, journeytopenuel.com.
[5] Rick Morley. “Who Stinketh: John 11:32-44. A Garden Path. www.rickmorley.com/archives/2025.
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