Mass readings for the 5th Sunday of Lent:
Ezekiel 37.12-14 Psalm 130.1-8 Romans 8.8-11 John 11.3-7,17, 20-27, 33b-45
There is something troubling in the story of the raising of Lazarus. Jesus lets his friend die. We might say he does this in full knowledge that he will bring Lazarus back to life, that this is to fulfil his mission, to make this great sign that will point people both to the truth of who he is, but also, as with all the signs, also point them toward what will be fulfilled in Christ: healing, transformation, spiritual nourishment, and, of course, resurrection. So, a harsh necessity, I guess.
Yet one must be concerned to ask, where did Lazarus go? Well, obviously nowhere in the sense that he’s in a tomb, but we all know what I am referring to, the spiritual essence of the man, the immortal soul. In that reality, where did he go? And in contemplating that, as much as we believe it was necessary, we know it really grieved Jesus who wept at the tomb. In what spiritual state is he, that Jesus is so distressed? And so, why did he let that happen?
We might have thought that someone would have asked Lazarus about all this afterwards; what it was like to be dead, asked him, where did you go? We have nothing. Perhaps there was nothing to say, because, in a sense, that is what happened: nothing.
It is implied that Lazarus did not go to hell, for that entails judgment; and the text tells us that Lazarus was a good man and a friend of our Lord. But he didn’t go to heaven either, or why would Jesus be upset? Why would our Lord then bring him back from paradise? That’s where he wants us to eventually go. Well, he didn’t go to heaven. Jesus brought Lazarus back from Sheol, the place of the dead – a spiritual holding place, we might say, but that would be an uncomfortable situation to be apart from God, apart from life. It’s the worst of waiting rooms we’ve ever been in, awaiting the doctor’s examination, anxious about the state of ourselves.
I rather think that a great many people live that reality now: they’re in the waiting room. And like so many waiting rooms, but in our case, there are distractions: not just old magazines, but a screen showing television shows, an activity centre for children, art on the walls to study, windows to look out of as we wait. People have their phones, with their apps to occupy them.
Now, being in that place, a place really not of life but of suspension, anxiety, a place of waiting for the doctor to tell us what’s wrong, that’s where a lot of people are, yet wouldn’t recognize that is where they are spiritually speaking. They are keeping busy with work, family, but also all those distractions we’ve made for ourselves in entertainment, tourism, “experiences” we can pay to have. And not that those things are wrong, or evil, or bad in themselves, but they happen for so many people within a void of meaning. I was listening to a webcast from a travel influencer talking about how you should travel when you’re younger so as to maximize the “memory dividend” rather than making those bucket list trips late in life. Go to Rome when you’re forty, and you have decades of remembering, sharing the stories, regaling others with tales of you adventure in the Eternal City. Do the trip at 80, and well, that return on the investment is not as great. But I couldn’t help but ask if that is why one travels, one goes to places like Rome – for the sake of stories to tell others, to remember oneself, all of it to be eventually and forever forgotten?
Of course, if you go as pilgrim, as a person of faith, that’s not the calculation at all. But how many go to the Vatican on pilgrimage, and how many are just on a tour?
Returning to our metaphorical waiting room, we don’t stay there forever, we’re eventually called, and the consultation gives us all the same diagnosis: we are going to die. That is, your body will eventually fail you; and then one is left to ponder what’s next after that. A person leaves that place of stasis, and thank heavens for that, but then where do they go, what do they do? When Lazarus awoke from that horrible sleep of death, realized what had happened, what effect did it have on him? But in knowing who it was who awakened him, I think we can make a fair guess as how he responded. Our Catholic tradition says he became a bishop.
I would suggest here that Lazarus’ resurrection resembles Christian baptism more than the baptisms John did in the Jordan River before Jesus began his public ministry. A life lived apart from God, an afterlife without God, those are manners of existence that would be sheer torment the longer one is there. But it is passing strange that so many in our society today, live their lives in just such a manner, like the many I see, waiting and distracting themselves with their phones. It’s not a living hell. It isn’t heaven. But for so many, it’s life.
This reminds me of C.S. Lewis’ book, The Great Divorce. We know him as the author of the Narnia stories, but this was a more adult contemplation of the afterlife that saw the realm of the dead as a great, drab, grey city whose boroughs stretch on without seeming end. And the denizens were those awaiting judgment, but seemingly oblivious to this. And so, they lived in little grey houses, in grey and lifeless streets, occasionally coming out to look about, yet with no real expectation that things would change. The story features the appearance of an excursion bus that could take the inhabitants on a visit to heaven, and the story Lewis gives us is of these coach tours. We then listen to the conversations on the bus and they run the gamut of excuse-making among human beings, the self-justification, and the self-pity, that has them not only oblivious to their predicament, but also sceptical of heaven; even when they are shown it, even when they are invited to step out of the bus and look around for themselves. They won’t wake up to their circumstances.
This is all to say that the ordeal of Lazarus is something a lot of us go through, a lot need to go through, a necessary step in our spiritual progress. How many in our western society would count themselves “friendly” with Christianity, a friend of Jesus, yet not convinced of its message, not sure if this remarkable man from Nazareth is really God. And yet, they will not look into it in any serious way – they settle for the waiting, they settle for the greyness, within themselves, and increasingly that dullness without. They won’t go on the excursion; or if they do, they won’t go as a pilgrim, but as a mere tourist.
It’s perhaps unfair to speculate about Lazarus based on our knowledge of his sisters. We know them. The sisters call Jesus, Lord. But we hear how they speak to him: they don’t quite get it. To Martha’s credit, she has faith that whatever Jesus asks of the Father will be given. Yet there she has a mistaken distinction: Jesus is seen as a prophet, one who can intercede but does not possess the power – for Martha, he isn’t God, just very close to God. For the sisters, he is the Teacher of God’s word, but they haven’t quite grasped that no, he is the word of God. And that is why Jesus has to explain it to her: Martha, I am the resurrection, I am the power of God made flesh, the creative life-giving word made incarnate. I’m not a messenger; I am the message; I don’t just bring the good news of resurrection, I am it.
It’s hard not to agree with those cultural commentators who look at the state of our culture, in the sense of the songs and movies and novels produced that are increasingly dull, poorly composed rehashes of better things; that substitute ideology for originality, preachiness for artistry; who look at our zombie institutions that no longer form minds but would appear to consume the brains of those who enter into their sphere; who look at our once largely safe cities, that were both culturally and economically vibrant, and see instead decay both in physical infrastructure, but also in the people themselves, and not just the homeless and the addicted, but also the widespread depression and anxiety suffered by so many. They come to the conclusion that Western civilization is dead. And we know statistically that our young people smell the stench of it, and in growing numbers are leaving, going abroad to where there is life, and opportunity.
But I see something else happening: people coming back to life, those who will be baptized and confirmed at Easter, not only here but in parishes across the diocese, in diocese across the planet, in numbers not previously seen: young and old, nominally Christian and formerly atheist, all wanting to escape the death they see, they sense, they smell; desiring to be unbound by the world and freed to live in the liberty of God’s truth. And there many watching, to see if the Church of Christ can really restore these to life. Sceptical, but just curious enough to wait and see. So, it is for us to decide, will we be Christ’s Church, and continue his work, his signs, his miracles that do nurture, nourish, transform and resurrect. Or will we accept death, mourn and wait our own turn? I say no to that suggestion. No, we who have been reborn in the spirit, whose lives have been resurrected from the death of sin, of despair, of faithlessness, of meaninglessness, we know and believe, and so have the Spirit dwelling within. And so, to see the many spiritually dead, this must grieve us, not that we are without hope for their eventually redemption, but to simply see them in such a state of limbo, of spiritual stasis, of meaningless distraction, but also likely, of underlying anxiety. And so with Christ, we should be just as bold in shouting, speaking in loud voice to the spiritually dead, “come out!” Come out, be unbound, set free, and so, truly live.
Amen.