St. Paul's On-The-Hill Episcopal Church

The Rev. Stephen C. Holton, Rector

All Saints Sunday; November 1, 2009

John 11:32-44

Wisdom of Solomon 3:1-9

BEING RAISED FROM THE DEAD

WHEN YOU DON'T LOOK YOUR BEST

Jesus bends down outside the tomb. The tomb itself, on the outside, looks nice. It is probably a sunny day. The garden may be shaded. The rocky sides of the hill outside the cave glisten. The rock stands large in front of the hole.

“Lazarus, come out!”

Inside the cave all is dark. The shelf on which the body lies is recessed in the rock. The place stinks from the smell of the body. The body itself lies, swathed in strips of cloth, decaying in the darkness.

“Lazarus, come out!”

Under the influence of the voice of Life coming from outside the cave, the body inside the cave gradually starts to reknit itself. The molecules in the flesh start to bounce around again. The blood starts to flow again. The air starts to rush through the lungs.

“Lazarus, come out!”

The brain in the dead man, the formerly dead man, starts to think again. And its main thought is: “I'm not looking my best.”

I'm not looking my best! And I stink too! I've been dead three days!

“Lazarus, come out!”

I guess I better go out. Strong hands roll away the stone and Lazarus walks, blinking, out into the light, seeing it through the gauze over his eyes. Friendly hands hesitantly come forward to hold him up. “Unbind him, and let him go.” They do, and Lazarus stands, blinking, looking at his Savior.

He's probably a little pale from the experience. But he's there, ready to serve. Are you, ready to serve?

Jesus raises us from the dead. But sometimes, all the time, we don't look our best. Yet we, like Lazarus, are called out of our tombs.

Perhaps we lie there because we were abused or abused ourselves. Perhaps we lie there killed by discrimination, dead from stereotype. Perhaps we were killed by bullying, ground down by disappointment. Perhaps the life went out of us because we never had the job we wanted.

Lazarus, come out. Your Name here, come out.

Perhaps we don't want to come out, because we don't look our best, because we still bear all the scars of abuse or drugs or drink or bullying or lost potential. Perhaps we bear the marks of failure and when we come out of our tombs everyone will get to see that we died, and how. And everyone else who did not lose time to death and failure will be that much farther on the road to success. Perhaps not.

Lazarus come out. Always, Lazarus come out. And we have no resistance to the Voice of Life that keeps drumming in our ears, penetrating our tombs where we lie behind comforting walls that say our hope is lost and we don't need to try any more.

Lazarus come out – the voice comes into homes and lives and churches and communities and countries where people have maybe given up hoping.

But the voice speaks to people when we speak to people, we who have come out of our tombs, rags trailing after us and not looking our best, when we who have come out of our tombs speak to those who still lie there.

Lazarus come out.

We have come out of our tombs, and we do not look our best. We still bear the scars of what was done to us or what we did to ourselves. We still bear the scars of what society did or what people did or what we did.

We may have stunk for a while, but we are here, ready to serve.

We know from personal experience that it doesn't take much to live, to serve – just the Voice of Love and Life, and we can pass it on, for we know it.

We can pass it on to people who lie in their tombs because we know, from personal experience that the voice and words of love penetrate even there; and even if people can't see it at work, molecules start moving, blood starts flowing, air starts rushing, and people start to breathe again.

Lazarus come forth, we say to people with dead dreams and dead hearts and dead hopes. We say it quietly in dark bedrooms where people lie mourning their lost lives. We are not Jesus so they might not rise again but we speak his words and bring his presence so maybe they can love again.

We yell it across soccer fields to kids who have stopped believing in themselves. They may not become stars, but perhaps they remember their humanity and the bright spirit moving within them.

We say it on the phone to people calling us at night, looking for comfort; and we say it talking to a friend on the street who has turned aside for a kind word – and without our knowing it or seeing it, molecules in their broken souls start to move again, blood starts to flow again, air starts to rush again; and they go forth renewed – not looking their best because of life's bruises, but feeling a whole lot better than they did before.

We say these words of Love and life – we hear these words of Love and Life echoing since Jesus' time – in our times of political divisiveness and environmental disaster.

Martin Luther King, Jr, heard the voice of love and life at the kitchen table on the darkest night of the civil rights movement, and a whole new country came forth from the tomb.

The people of South Africa heard the voice when apartheid was supreme. They followed it out the door though not everyone felt ready – and behold what we have today.

People follow the Voice of Life and Love when we worry about climate change, and so the climate is changing in each one of us and so will soon change in the world around us.

It will always be so in war and disaster and economic and political failure. God still comes and God still speaks through tomb walls. Resistance is futile. He'll make us crazy until we follow through and decide to try living again, though we don't look our best.

We may be like Mary or Martha – not dead like Lazarus but in grief that the one we love has died. We cannot raise him but we can go in our grief to Jesus. They say to him: “Lord, if you had been here my brother would not have died.”

They do not seem to think he can raise Lazarus right now, but they're mad at him for not saving him earlier, and they go to him to express that anger, trusting their relationship that they can.

He is moved. He comes. Being Jesus, being loving, he raises Lazarus – perhaps as much for Mary and Martha's sake as for Lazarus.'

At the last minute, Martha protests: “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.” Ever-practical Martha, perhaps she is offering to go clean out the tomb before Jesus proceeds any further.

Jesus speaks anyway.

At the last minute we often lose our faith. They had gone to Jesus and brought him here. Perhaps he can't do anything though. Perhaps the world is too strong, death is too final.

Yet he can. Molecules, blood and air all start to rush again. Political systems heal. Economies change. The environment is reborn.

Never doubt the power of God, is the message here. If you are Lazarus, summoned from the tomb, show up for service. You don't look your best, but you can still work. The world can still change. Lives can be affected.

The dead are at peace – as we learn from the book of Wisdom. We can be too.

God is with us, in this world. He was with all the saints we remember today. Now he, and we, can get to work together, bringing his good news of Life and Love to all who have never heard it, to all who resist it and would rather stay dead. God doesn't give up on anybody.