Following Jesus: Being Free Together

A certain man, Lazarus, was ill. He was from Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. (This was the Mary who anointed the Lord with fragrant oil and wiped his feet with her hair. Her brother Lazarus was ill.) So the sisters sent word to Jesus, saying, “Lord, the one whom you love is ill.”

When he heard this, Jesus said, “This illness isn’t fatal. It’s for the glory of God so that God’s Son can be glorified through it.” Jesus loved Martha, her sister, and Lazarus. When he heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed where he was. After two days, he said to his disciples, “Let’s return to Judea again.”

The disciples replied, “Rabbi, the Jewish opposition wants to stone you, but you want to go back?”

Jesus answered, “Aren’t there twelve hours in the day? Whoever walks in the day doesn’t stumble because they see the light of the world. But whoever walks in the night does stumble because the light isn’t in them.”

He continued, “Our friend Lazarus is sleeping, but I am going in order to wake him up.”

The disciples said, “Lord, if he’s sleeping, he will get well.” They thought Jesus meant that Lazarus was in a deep sleep, but Jesus had spoken about Lazarus’ death.

Jesus told them plainly, “Lazarus has died. For your sakes, I’m glad I wasn’t there so that you can believe. Let’s go to him.”

Then Thomas (the one called Didymus) said to the other disciples, “Let us go too so that we may die with Jesus.”

When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. Bethany was a little less than two miles from Jerusalem. Many Jews had come to comfort Martha and Mary after their brother’s death. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went to meet him, while Mary remained in the house. Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother wouldn’t have died. Even now I know that whatever you ask God, God will give you.”

Jesus told her, “Your brother will rise again.”

Martha replied, “I know that he will rise in the resurrection on the last day.”

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me will live, even though they die. Everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?”

She replied, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Christ, God’s Son, the one who is coming into the world.”

After she said this, she went and spoke privately to her sister Mary, “The teacher is here and he’s calling for you.” When Mary heard this, she got up quickly and went to Jesus. He hadn’t entered the village but was still in the place where Martha had met him. When the Jews who were comforting Mary in the house saw her get up quickly and leave, they followed her. They assumed she was going to mourn at the tomb.

When Mary arrived where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet and said, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother wouldn’t have died.”

When Jesus saw her crying and the Jews who had come with her crying also, he was deeply disturbed and troubled. He asked, “Where have you laid him?”

They replied, “Lord, come and see.”

Jesus began to cry. The Jews said, “See how much he loved him!” But some of them said, “He healed the eyes of the man born blind. Couldn’t he have kept Lazarus from dying?”

Jesus was deeply disturbed again when he came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone covered the entrance. Jesus said, “Remove the stone.”

Martha, the sister of the dead man, said, “Lord, the smell will be awful! He’s been dead four days.”

Jesus replied, “Didn’t I tell you that if you believe, you will see God’s glory?” So they removed the stone. Jesus looked up and said, “Father, thank you for hearing me. I know you always hear me. I say this for the benefit of the crowd standing here so that they will believe that you sent me.” Having said this, Jesus shouted with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his feet bound and his hands tied, and his face covered with a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Untie him and let him go.” --John 11:1-44 (CEB)

That day. That day.

My sister, Mary, and I--we lived in Bethany, along with our brother, Lazarus, who lived nearby. Bethany was close to Jerusalem, only about a mile and a half away. It was small and secluded, just a few hundred people living across the Mount of Olives, east of Jerusalem.

It was so peaceful. Full of palm trees rustling in the breeze as  you came out of the valley. Hidden away from the bustling noise of Jerusalem. It was a beautiful place, our home. Just an hour’s walk into the city.

So, it was a perfect place for Jesus to stay, when he came to Jerusalem. He did it often. We became close. Because he was our teacher. Our rabbi. 

On one of his visits, my sister, Mary, did something a little impulsive. On that visit, Mary took our entire stash of nard--a very expensive anointing oil--a full pound that we had collected over a long time. She took the entire pound of nard and poured it all over his feet. His feet! Instead of selling it so we could give to the poor. That’s what we’d intended. Oh, she was criticized for it. Judas, especially, didn’t like it. 

But, back to the story of that day. 

Lazarus had been sick. We’d been caring for him and he, just wasn’t getting better. We decided to send for Jesus. He had left Judea, the area where we lived. The things he’d been doing here, the signs he’d been performing, the way he’d been challenging our religious leaders - well, it wasn’t safe for him here. So, he’s gone back across the Jordan. To the place where John had first baptized people and told them about Jesus.  

We knew it wasn’t safe for him, but still we sent for Jesus to come. We’d seen him heal others who were sick. Or crippled. Even blind. We were hoping - maybe selfishly - that Jesus would come and heal Lazarus. We knew it would take him 3 days to get here, but still we asked.

But, he didn’t come. And Lazarus got worse. And worse. And, then, unbelievably, he died. My brother. Dead. My dear sweet, kind, loving brother Lazarus. Dead. And no Jesus. He never came. To heal his friend. My brother.

We were heart-broken. I was heart-broken. But, more than that. I was angry with Jesus. He had the power - I’d seen it with others. With complete strangers, no less. Why not with one of his dearest friends and disciples? Why had he let this happen. I felt like he’d abandoned Lazarus. And us. 

And, then, four days after Lazarus had died. After, according to our tradition, his soul had already left his body. Then. Then! Jesus came.

I heard he’d entered the village and went to him. I was so angry. I said to him, “Lord, if you had been here. If you had been here, Lazarus wouldn’t be dead.”

And, then, I challenged him to do something, knowing that if he asked, God would answer. I wanted him to do something. What? I wasn’t sure. But, he had to do something. Something to make up for not saving Lazarus.

Then, Jesus spoke. He said that Lazarus would rise again. I knew that. It was central to my belief, something that my ancestors had believed, that our souls were immortal. I told Jesus this. That I believed I would see him on the last day. But, I didn’t believe that I would see him again in my own lifetime. 

Then Jesus said words to me that I didn’t really understand. Not then. He said that he was the resurrection and the life. He said that, if we lived in him and we believed in him, we would never die. Then, he asked me if I believed this.

What came out of my mouth, then, was even a surprise to me. But after I had seen. After all the signs Jesus had done, there was nothing else to say, but “Yes. Yes. I believe. I believe, Lord, that you are the Christ. The Son of God. The one to come. The Messiah.” 

But, Lazarus was still dead. 

I went, then, to get my sister, Mary. Funny, how when she finally came out to greet Jesus she said the very same words I had just spoken to him. “If only you’d been here…” And she started to cry.

He looked at her. I could see how upset he was. He asked where we’d put Lazarus’ body. We showed him. It was a short distance away.

Then. Then, when we got there, I knew. I knew how much Jesus loved Lazarus. And Mary. And me. He began to weep himself. 

I had never seen him cry before. Jesus? The man who wasn’t afraid of anyone, who wasn’t afraid to challenge the hypocrisy of our religious leaders.?The man who seemed to have all of the power of the world. Here? Standing in front of me, in front of the tomb, crying?

The tomb was a cave, really. This was our custom. To bury our dead in holes cut into rocks. This was where we had buried our brother. To protect his body from grave-robbers, which were such a problem in our time, we had a very large stone rolled in place to block the entrance. It took several men to put it in place.

As Jesus was standing there, weeping…upset…he told the men to roll the stone away. I thought he was crazy. After all this time, my brother’s body would stink. I tried to convince Jesus not to do this - that the smell would be so bad. And, wasn’t it already enough that he had died, but then to smell his corpse, too?

Then, Jesus reminded me what he’d said before to me. “If you believe, you will see God’s glory.” 

The men rolled the stone away. Then, Jesus looked up into the heavens. He gave thanks to God for hearing him. And, then, in a loud voice--so loud that it seemed he wanted everyone around to hear--Jesus shouted, “Lazarus! Come out!”

It was as though time had moved backward. There. Right in front of me. My dead brother stood. Alive. Still wrapped in his grave clothes. With his feet and his hands still bound. With the linen still covering his face, Lazarus walked - WALKED - out of the tomb. Alive.  My dear sweet, kind, loving brother Lazarus. Alive. 

Then, Jesus spoke again. “Unbind him and let him go.” 

Unbind him and let him go. How powerful those words would become for us in the next week! We would watch Jesus willingly go to his death. Then, just a few days later, miraculously be raised from the dead. Just as Jesus had raised Lazarus from the dead. 

After those events, I began to understand what those words really meant. Unbind him and let him go. Unbind me and let me go. Unbind you and let you go.

Jesus wants us to be free. He knows our human struggle. The wilderness in which we live. The hardship and grief we experience. The oppressive forces and evil in the world. The limitations of who we are as human beings, falling short of transformation. Over and over and over again.

But, what if? What if it isn’t about getting out of the desert? Out of the wilderness? What if we are called to dwell in our doubts, our fears, our anxieties and brokenness so that we might stand together with others who are trapped in their own wilderness experiences? What if we make a place - a home - right there? Together. A home that exists right there - in the tension between despair and hope.

Because, that’s what we found that day. Right in the middle of heartbreak and hope. We found a home. Together. In Jesus. Who, out of death, brings life. Out of bondage, freedom. For us. And for you, too. 

Preached March 6, 2022, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, with Third, Louisville, and New Goshen Presbyterian.

Lent 1

Readings: John 11:1-44; Psalm 104:27-30

Journey to the Cross: Seeing and Being Seen

Have you ever pulled off the freeway onto an off-ramp and seen someone standing there asking for money? Or pulled up to a stoplight and, as you wait, you're approached by someone begging for loose change with a sign that says “Please help me!”? What do you do? How do you respond when you see someone suffering? Do you roll down your window and give them some money? Or do you, perhaps, as I often do, roll your window up a little and turn your eyes away. Because, you know what will happen if you make eye contact, right? They’re sure to think that maybe, if they ask you a little more, you’ll see them. You’ll see how they’re suffering. And, maybe, you might be moved to help.

This is our story today. It’s not a story that’s often read as part of the lectionary. Because it’s a hard story. But, it seems like we’ve been hearing a lot of hard stories this year. Hard stories in the midst of what has been a long, hard year.

Our reading is from the 16th chapter of Luke. 

“There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, ‘Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.’ But Abraham said, ‘Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.’ He said, ‘Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father’s house— for I have five brothers—that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.’ Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.’ He said, ‘No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.’ He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’” --Luke 16:19-31 (NRSV)

To begin with this morning, I’d like to place this parable in its context in Luke. Just a few verses earlier, Jesus has been teaching his disciples about the power of wealth and power. Ending his teaching with this infamous, often misquoted, verse: “No slave can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.”

Immediately after, the Pharisees, who have been listening in and about whom Luke writes explicitly that they were “lovers of money,” - the Pharisees begin to ridicule Jesus. In response, Jesus tells this story about the rich man and Lazarus.

What’s immediately striking about this parable is who is named and who is not named in the story. Usually, in scripture, those who are without power are unnamed. But, it’s different here. The rich man. The wealthy man. The man who dresses in purple and, literally, the softest underwear. The man who feasts daily. Who kills the fatted calf like the father in last week’s story, not just for a special celebration, but every single day. Every day this man feasts sumptuously. In our world today, he might be a one percenter. A Jeff Bezos or Elon Musk of our day. Yet, this one - this ultra rich man in our story - is unnamed. 

By contrast, it is the poor man who is named. Lazarus. Lazarus, meaning “my God helps.” He is the one who is named. Lazarus, a beggar. Who is covered in sores from a skin condition. Who is licked by dogs.  Not dogs like ours, who lick us out of affection. But wild dogs. Filthy, garbage-eating mongrels who roam the streets. These are the dogs licking the sores of Lazarus, who is the one named in today’s parable.

Each day, Lazarus lies outside the gate of the wealthy, unnamed man. Begging for food. Asking just for scraps from the man’s sumptuous table. And he receives nothing.

Then, the story changes. Both men die. And, in another of Luke’s great reversals, Lazarus is carried away to the bosom of Abraham - a place in Jewish legend of great bliss. The rich man is buried and finds himself in Hades - the nature of which continues to be debated today. Wherever it is, the rich man is in a place of “torment,” our text tells us. 

Now, if we were to give the rich man the benefit of the doubt, maybe, while he was alive, he was so far removed from the grittiness of life - maybe, just maybe, he never saw Lazarus lying outside his gate. There’s no mention of this in the first part of the story. So, maybe he really isn’t such a bad guy after all. Just a little gluttonous. But, not as bad as we might first think. 

Soon, though, that theory is blown apart. Because, we read in verse 24, that the rich man looks up, sees Abraham and Lazarus, and asks - no, orders, Abraham to send Lazarus to dip his finger in water and cool his tongue. He knew who Lazarus was. Had likely seen him, his skin condition, the dogs licking his wounds. Had likely heard him begging just for scraps. And he has done nothing. Then, on top of this, fails to understand that he no longer has power or control. Even as he orders that Lazarus be sent to help him.  

Are we like this rich man? Have we heard the cries of those struggling in this past year? Have we seen them? Have we looked them in their eyes and said, “I see you. I see your pain. I hear your cries.” Or do we, like the wealthy man, like me, turn away. Pretend not to notice. Never look them in the eyes, because if we did. If we truly did, we could no longer ignore them. Or walk away. Or do nothing.

It may be overwhelming for us. When we think of all the people in need or the injustice that plagues entire systems in our society, it may be overwhelming. That there’s nothing you or I can do to change things. That we’re just one or just a few people. What difference can we really make?

But, the rich man was only one person. And Lazarus was also one person only asking for a little. How might the story have ended if, just one time, the rich man had seen - really seen - Lazarus. Seen his suffering. Seen his need. And made one small gesture. A few scraps from his table. 

Jesus was one person, too. Who continues to transform our world.  Jesus. Who sees us. Who calls us to his side. Who welcomes and comforts us. And who sends us to welcome and comfort - to see and to hear the unnoticed in our world. 

Will this past year change us? Will this experience change us? Will it change how we respond? Will we see and hear and act in new ways when we move beyond this pandemic? 

I hope so. 

I hope that, in these next months, our prayer may be that the Holy Spirit push us to new places. To new people. To new life. In and through Jesus Christ. Amen.

Preached March 14, 2021, online with Grace & Glory and Third Lutheran churches, Goshen/Louisville, KY.

Fourth Sunday of Lent

Readings: Luke 16:19-31, Psalm 41:1-3

Unbound and Free

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. So 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.” Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to their homes.

But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and 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. They 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.” When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” 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.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). Jesus 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.’” Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her. John 20:1-18 (NRSV)

Have you ever had a deja vu moment? Perhaps you know what I’m talking about. That moment when, for just a second or two, you have a feeling that you have previously experienced what you are experiencing in that exact moment. You have a name for it now. Deja vu. We didn’t. But, it was what I experienced that morning. That first day of the week. 

My name is Mary. No, I’m not that Mary--Mary Magdalene--the woman who was first to the tomb. First to see Jesus alive. First to tell all of us--the first apostle to the rest of the apostles. 

And, no, I’m not that Mary--Mary, the mother of Jesus--the woman who stood at the cross and watched her beautiful baby boy, now grown, being crucified. The mother who Jesus ensured would be cared for by the beloved disciple. The act of a devoted son.

I’m also not that Mary (There are a lot of Mary’s, aren’t there?). I’m not Mary of Clopas or, as you might better know her, Mary, the mother of James, one of the Twelve. Who also stood with Jesus’ mother at the foot of the cross.

I am the Mary of Bethany. Of “Mary and Martha” fame. Sister of Martha and lazarus. You know me. I’m the one who sat at Jesus’ feet while my industrious sister worked to prepare a meal and serve it to Jesus. The one who got into trouble with her. And with Judas, when I poured oil on Jesus’ feet, oil that cost nearly a year’s salary.

I know. I’m not very practical. My sister says my head is often in the clouds. That I’m too emotional. Not level-headed enough. But, it’s my way. And I wonder if it’s because I am the way I am that led to that deja vu moment that morning.

When Mary returned to the place where we had been staying, the place where the twelve and the rest of us disciples who had been close to Jesus over the three years we had followed him. When she returned to the place where we were hiding. And when she announced that she had seen Jesus. And as she continued to tell us the story of her experience. That, at first, she didn’t recognize him. But, then, when he called her by name. Mary. It was as though her eyes had been opened. And, as she was telling this amazing story, it was at that moment that I felt I had experienced this once before.

I had. It was only a week or so earlier that I had experienced all of these same emotions. The deep sadness I felt at the death of my brother Lazarus. The feeling of abandonment by Jesus--that he could have prevented Lazarus from dying, but that he didn’t. The anger I felt when, finally, Jesus arrived and it was too late. The deep grief as I watched him weep, just as I was weeping. And, then, the surprise, when Jesus called his name--just like Jesus called Mary’s name in the garden that morning--and Lazarus came out of the tomb. And, then, the ecstatic joy and freedom I felt for my brother, when Jesus told people to unbind him from the grave clothes. To unbind him and let him go.

When Jesus died on that Day of Preparation for Passover, I felt the same range of emotions. Sadness. Abandonment. Anger. Grief. But, there was one more I felt. One more we all felt. And that was fear. 

Our fear came early that morning after the Sabbath. Mary had gone to the tomb. When she arrived she saw that the stone that had been placed in front of the opening had been removed. She never went inside. Instead, she ran back to find Peter and the beloved disciple to tell them that “they” had taken the Lord from the tomb and that “we” didn’t know where they had put him. Do you notice how she reaches what one could argue is a very rational conclusion? They had taken his body. Grave-robbers at it once again.

That’s what we do, isn’t it? In the middle of irrational moments, we jump to the most rational conclusion. Trying to make sense of everything. Trying to make meaning in the midst of chaos. Trying to fit everything into a neat, little box. Into our neat, little box. Lacking imagination and refusing to be open to the possibility of something extraordinary. 

We should have known better. Because we had already witnessed the extraordinary with the resurrection of my brother. But, we forget all of this, don’t we? Even though, when we look back our our lives and our experiences and we see how God has continuously brought new life out of death and light out of darkness, we fail to remember. We limit our imaginations and the possibilities. We pack them tightly away. In our fear, we pack them tightly away in our neat. Little. Boxes.

Mary went back to the tomb after telling Peter and the other disciple. And, as she stood outside, weeping, angels appeared to her. “Why are you crying?” they asked. “Whom are you looking for?” And then the gardener--or the man she reasonably thought was the gardener--asked the same questions. “Why are you crying?” “Whom are you looking for?”

I wonder if, at that very moment, Mary had her own deja vu moment. Because, we had heard Jesus ask that question many times before. “Whom are you looking for?” Yet, she still didn’t recognize him. Only after he called her by name. “Mary.” It was then that she recognized Jesus. Alive. Standing right in front of her. “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me.”

Whom are you looking for? How are you limiting the possibilities? Do you jump to worst possible conclusions, doubting the life--the abundant life--that God has promised? Do you limit your imagination from believing in the extravagance of God? In your fear, do you seek to control everything around you and keep it in your own neat, little box? Afraid to let loose. To let go and see what God might do? When the Good Shepherd calls you by name, do you follow?

Whom are you looking for?  

Set your imagination free. Unbind it and let it go. And experience the unexpected. Experience the freedom that Jesus gives. Freedom from everything that keeps us away from him. Freedom to answer his call. Freedom to live into your call and to be transformed by the experience. Freedom to let Jesus into your neat, little box. And to blow it to smithereens.

Come and see the possibilities. Come and see and experience what freedom looks like in the presence of Christ, our risen Savior. Come and see that those deja vu moments teach us to move out of our fear and into the joy and abundant life of the resurrection. 

Jesus called me. Jesus calls you. Calls each one of you by name. Come. And see. And be free. Amen.

Preached April 1, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Easter 1
Readings: Psalm 118:21-29; John 20:1-18

God's Kingdom Revealed: For Everyone

The next day the great crowd that had come to the festival heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem. So they took branches of palm trees and went out to meet him, shouting,

“Hosanna!

Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord—

    the King of Israel!”

Jesus found a young donkey and sat on it; as it is written:

“Do not be afraid, daughter of Zion.

Look, your king is coming,

    sitting on a donkey’s colt!”

His disciples did not understand these things at first; but when Jesus was glorified, then they remembered that these things had been written of him and had been done to him. So the crowd that had been with him when he called Lazarus out of the tomb and raised him from the dead continued to testify. It was also because they heard that he had performed this sign that the crowd went to meet him. The Pharisees then said to one another, “You see, you can do nothing. Look, the world has gone after him!”

Now among those who went up to worship at the festival were some Greeks. They came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, and said to him, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” Philip went and told Andrew; then Andrew and Philip went and told Jesus. Jesus answered them, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor.  John 12:12-26 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from the One who comes in the name of the Lord, our Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

Over the past few weeks, we’ve been seeking a better understanding of what the kingdom of God looks like. We jumped ahead, looking at the interaction of Jesus and Pilate on that Passover day, on that Good Friday. Trying to more fully understand the revelation of God’s kingdom. That, when the world offers us its truth, it is a truth that often comes out of a desire for power and control, and a truth that perpetuates hatred and diminishes life. 

The world’s truth is countered by God’s truth--a truth that is revealed to us in the person of Jesus Christ. A truth that is about love. A truth that gives life instead of diminishing life. A truth that God’s kingdom is not of this world, but, yet, that God. Loves. This. World.

We also looked at the unexpected nature of God’s kingdom. That when the world challenges us to cling tightly to our status or power as we so desperately seek to belong, God challenges us to be vulnerable. To bare our souls. To be fully who we are in all our humanity. And, in that vulnerability, to unexpectedly find connection and belonging. With God and with each other.

Today, we jump back in time to the Sunday before Passover. Five days before, to be exact. And we find Jesus entering Jerusalem for what will be his last time. We know it. But the characters in our story today--Jesus’ disciples and the crowd gathered around him--have yet to know it.

What brought us to this point? In the days leading up to the Jerusalem entry, Jesus performed his last and most significant sign--resurrecting his friend, Lazarus, from the dead. After four days in the tomb. Stinky. Smelly. His body perhaps even beginning to decay. Suddenly, he heard Jesus call his name and was brought from death back to life. This sign was the turning point. Not only for Lazarus. But, especially, for Jesus. Because it was this sign--this miracle--that was the last straw for the religious authorities. They witnessed the growing number of people who were following Jesus because of this miracle. They began to see Jesus as a threat to their own power and their political relationship with Rome. They decided that they would kill Jesus. And, not only Jesus, but Lazarus, too. Because Lazarus was walking proof of the miraculous work of this Jesus. Of Nazareth. 

As the story of Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem opens, it is not the same crowd that surrounds him. Instead of the crowd following him because of Lazarus’ resurrection, this is a Passover crowd. It is a crowd numbered in the tens of thousands--probably around 75,000 people on top of Jerusalem’s existing population of 30,000. People who have come to Jerusalem for this annual festival--a festival that God commanded them to commemorate. A festival that remembers that Passover night and God’s deliverance of Israel from bondage in Egypt.

This festival has taken on a growing meaning for the Jews. Since the collapse of Israel and then Judah, the Jews have undergone constant captivity. First, the Assyrians. Then, the Babylonians. Then, the Greeks. And now, the Romans. As the years have passed, there has been a growing yearning for the promised Messiah--the one God promised to them who would free them. Once again. Just as with that first time from Egypt. But this time, forever.

So, as the people witness the signs that Jesus has performed--the turning water into wine, the healing of the blind man, the resurrection of Lazarus--they have begun to wonder and even hope. “Is he the one?” “Is this the Messiah?” Hoping that Jesus will be the king they yearn for. This is why Jesus rides into Jerusalem on a donkey. Because, donkeys are what kings ride after they have been victorious in battle. This is why they throw palm branches down into his path. Because palms are a symbol of victory in ancient Israel. Signs of triumph. Triumph over oppression and bondage.

Huge crowds welcome Jesus into Jerusalem for the Passover. Crowds so large that the Jewish leaders virtually throw up their hands. “See!” we read verse 19. “See!” You’ve accomplished nothing! Look! The whole world is following him.”

And, in fact, this is true! The whole world was following Jesus. Because in the very next verse, we read that some Greeks were there. Gentiles. They sought out Philip and Andrew--the two disciples of Jesus with Greek names. These Gentiles, these Greeks, sought out the disciples who were like them. And asked to meet Jesus. They, just like the Jewish people, were caught up in the fervor. In the possibility that, finally, the Messiah had come “Look! The whole world is following him.”

But, the experience of that day was deeply ambiguous. Because we know the rest of the story. We know that soon the world would reject and turn against him. Soon, he would be crucified. And die on the cross.

This is the last revelation of God’s kingdom. That God refuses the world’s “no.”  And says, “Nevertheless, I came for you.” Because, everyone gets the invitation to “come and see.” Everyone. Come and see this kingdom of God that offers a truth that is about love and life. Come and see this kingdom of God that offers connection and belonging. Come and see this kingdom of God that is for everyone. Everyone. No one out. Everybody in.

What are you looking for? Who are you seeking? As we move into this holy week, I extend God’s invitation to you to come and see. Come and see. And experience the full revelation of God’s kingdom in the Messiah, God’s Son, Jesus Christ. The Word made flesh. A revelation that is for you and for me. And for everyone. 

No one out. Everybody in.


Amen.

Preached March 25, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY

Palm Sunday

Readings: Psalm 24, John 12:12-26

Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. Mary was the one who anointed the Lord with perfume and wiped his feet with her hair; her brother Lazarus was ill. So the sisters sent a message to Jesus, “Lord, he whom you love is ill.” But when Jesus heard it, he said, “This illness does not lead to death; rather it is for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” Accordingly, though Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, after having heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was.

Then after this he said to the disciples, “Let us go to Judea again.” The disciples said to him, “Rabbi, the Jews were just now trying to stone you, and are you going there again?” Jesus answered, “Are there not twelve hours of daylight? Those who walk during the day do not stumble, because they see the light of this world. But those who walk at night stumble, because the light is not in them.” After saying this, he told them, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I am going there to awaken him.” The disciples said to him, “Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will be all right.” Jesus, however, had been speaking about his death, but they thought that he was referring merely to sleep. Then Jesus told them plainly, “Lazarus is dead. For your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.” Thomas, who was called the Twin, said to his fellow disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.”

When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb four days. Now Bethany was near Jerusalem, some two miles away, and many of the Jews had come to Martha and Mary to console them about their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed at home. Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.” Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha said to him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” She said to him, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.”

When she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary, and told her privately, “The Teacher is here and is calling for you.” And when she heard it, she got up quickly and went to him. Now Jesus had not yet come to the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met him. The Jews who were with her in the house, consoling her, saw Mary get up quickly and go out. They followed her because they thought that she was going to the tomb to weep there. When 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.” When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” Jesus began to weep. So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”

Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. Jesus 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.” Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” So they took away the stone. And Jesus looked upward and said, “Father, I thank you for having heard me. I 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.” When he had said this, he cried with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The 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.”

Many of the Jews therefore, who had come with Mary and had seen what Jesus did, believed in him. John 11:1-45 (NRSV)

That day was the worst of days. That day was the best of days.

My sister, Mary, and I--we lived in Bethany, along with our brother, Lazarus, who lived nearby. Bethany was a village, close to Jerusalem - only a mile and a half away. It was small and secluded, just a few hundred people living across the Mount of Olives, east of Jerusalem.
It was so peaceful. Full of palm trees rustling in the breeze coming out of the valley. Hidden away from the bustling noises of the nearly 50,000 people who lived in Jerusalem. Bethany was a beautiful place. And it was only an hour’s walk from Bethany into the city. 

So, it was a perfect place for Jesus to come and rest and be refreshed. He did it often. We became good friends. We became his followers. 

On one of his visits, my sister, Mary, did something a little impulsive. (She’s the emotional one, Mary. I’m more level-headed, much more practical.) On that visit, Mary took our entire stash of nard--a very expensive anointing oil--a full pound that we had saved over a long period of time. She took the entire pound of nard and poured it all over his feet. His feet! Instead of selling it to give money to the poor. That’s what we had intended. Oh, she was criticized for it. Judas, especially, criticized her.

But, back to the story of that day. 

Lazarus had been sick. We’d been caring for him. He wasn’t getting better. So, we decided to send for Jesus. Jesus had left Judea. The things he’d been doing, the signs he’d been performing, the way he had been challenging our Jewish leaders--well, much opposition had risen against him. So, Jesus had gone back across the Jordan, where it was safer.

So, when Lazarus didn’t get better, we sent for Jesus to come. We had seen him heal others who were sick or crippled or even blind. We were hoping--maybe selfishly so--that Jesus would come and heal Lazarus. He was a three days’ walk away.

Lazarus got worse. And worse. And, then, he died. My brother. Dead. My dear sweet, kind, loving brother Lazarus. Dead. And no Jesus. Jesus never came. He never came to heal his friend. My brother. Lazarus.

My heart felt broken. I was grieved at his death. I was angry with Jesus. He had the power--I had seen it with others, with complete strangers. Why not with one of his dearest friends and disciples? Many others came to grieve with us and to try to comfort us. But not Jesus. I felt as though Jesus had abandoned Lazarus. And us.

And, then, four days after Lazarus had died. After, according to our beliefs, his soul had already left his body, then. Then! Jesus came. I heard that he had entered the village. I went to him. I was angry. I said to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother wouldn’t have died.” And then I challenged him. I said, “Even now I know that whatever you ask God, God will give you.” I wanted him to do something. What? I wasn’t sure. But, he had to do something. Something to make up for not saving Lazarus before he died.

Jesus told me that Lazarus would rise again. I knew that. It was central to my belief, something that my Jewish ancestors had believed, that our souls were immortal. I told Jesus this. That I believed I would see him on the last day. But, I did not believe I would see Lazarus again in my own lifetime.

Then Jesus said words to me that I didn’t fully understand at the time. He said that he was the resurrection and the life. That if we lived in him and we believed in him, we would never die. He asked me if I believed this. 

My response? Well, even I didn’t quite expect it. But, somehow, after all I had witnessed. After all the signs I had seen Jesus do--the healings, the feeding of the thousands, restoring sight--well, after all of that, I could do nothing else but to say, “Yes. Yes. I believe. I believe, Lord, that you are the Christ. The Son of God. The one to come. The Messiah.”

But, Lazarus was still dead. 

I went, then, to get my sister, Mary. Funny, how when she finally came out to greet Jesus she said the very same words I had just spoken to him. “If only you’d been here…” And she started to cry.

He looked at her. I saw how upset he was. He asked where we had put Lazarus’ body. We showed him. It was a short distance away.

It was then I knew how deeply Jesus loved Lazarus. And Mary. And me. Because, when we arrived at the tomb where we had buried Lazarus, Jesus began to weep.

I had never seen him cry before. Jesus? The man who wasn’t afraid of anyone, who wasn’t afraid to challenge the hypocrisy of our Jewish leaders. The man who seemed to have all of the power of the world. Here. Standing in front of me, in front of the tomb, crying?

The tomb was a cave, really. This was our custom. To bury our dead in holes cut into rocks. This was where we had buried our brother. And, then, to protect his body from grave-robbers, which were such a problem in our time--To protect Lazarus’ body, we had rolled a very large stone to block the entrance to his tomb. It took several men to put it in place.

As Jesus was standing there, weeping, disturbed, he told the men to roll the stone away. I looked at him. I thought he was crazy. By this time, Lazarus’ body would have begun to stink. I said, “Lord, the smell will be awful. He’s been dead now for four days.” It wasn’t bad enough that he had died. Did we need to smell his corpse, too?

In reply, Jesus said to me, “Didn’t I tell you that if you believe, you will see God’s glory?”
I was confused. As I was trying to understand, they rolled the stone away. And then, Jesus looked up into the heavens. He gave thanks to God for hearing him. And, then, in a very loud voice--so loud that it seemed he wanted everyone around to hear--Jesus shouted, “Lazarus! Come out!”

It was then, for a moment, as though time had ceased. Because, there, right in front of me, my dead brother was now alive. Still wrapped in his grave clothes. With his feet and hands still bound with cloth. With the linen still covering his face, Lazarus walked--he WALKED--out of the tomb. My brother. Alive. My dear sweet, kind, loving brother Lazarus. Alive. Not dead. But, alive.

And, then, Jesus told them to “Unbind him, and let him go.”

Alive. Free. Who frees people? Who raises people from the dead, but God?

Then. Then. I believed the words I had said earlier, “You are the Christ. The Son of God. The one to come. The Messiah. You. I believe.”

From death to life. This is what Jesus did for Lazarus that day. That worst of days. That best of days. I saw it. And I believed it.


Isn’t this what you believe, too? That this Jesus, this Son of God, brings you from death to life? Is this what you believe in your baptism? That ancient ritual that comes out of my own tradition?

Isn’t it in your baptism that you are put into the water and that old, unbelieving person you are is drowned? That out of the water comes a new, living, believing creature. Just like Ezekiel’s vision--where God told him to breathe the Spirit into the dry, dead bones. And they came alive again. Isn’t that what your baptism is all about? From death to life? Just like my brother, Lazarus? Just like Jesus? That you and I and Lazarus and all believers die and rise with Jesus?

And that the Holy Spirit breathes in you--lives and breathes in you--and creates new life. That out of your dying in baptism, you are made alive and free. We are all made alive and free. And God continues to make us all alive, and to free us, and to create life wherever there is sin and bondage, and brokenness and death. 

Because that is who God is. God is life. God continuously looks for ways to breathe new, creative life into us. Here, in this place. Out there, in our world.  

I believe that. I believe that we have been freed. That there is life now to be lived. That the Spirit of God is present now and is our hope now.

And that God takes us from brokenness to wholeness. From dying to rising. From death to life. Here. Now. And forever.

I believe it. I pray you do, too. Amen.

The Woman with the Long Hair

Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, "Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.” (John 12:1-8 NRSV)

I knew that visit was different.

Perhaps, it didn’t seem very different.  Jesus had visited our small village often.  It was convenient for him.  You see, Bethany, was so close to Jerusalem, only a mile and a half away.  And it was so small and secluded, just a few hundred people living across the Mount of Olives, east of Jerusalem.  So peaceful.  Full of palm trees rustling in the breeze coming out of the valley.  Hidden away from the bustling noises of the nearly 50,000 people who lived in Jerusalem.  Bethany was a beautiful place.  And it was only an hour’s walk from Bethany into the city.  So, it was a perfect place for Jesus to come and rest and be refreshed. 

He would stop to visit my sister, Martha, and I.  Or he would stay overnight in our village, sometimes with Lazarus, our brother.  Or with our neighbor and friend, Simon, who Jesus had healed from leprosy.  

But, that visit.  Well, there was something different about that visit.  Something different from all of the rest. 

It had only been a few weeks since Jesus had raised my brother, Lazarus, from the dead.  I think you know the story.  How Lazarus had become sick and we had sent for Jesus, who was across the Jordan, east of Jericho.  The road from Bethany to Jericho was 45 miles--a three day’s walk.

We sent for Jesus when Lazarus became sick, thinking that he would respond immediately.  That he would come to heal our brother, who we knew was one of his closest friends.  Yet, he didn’t come until several days later.  Until after our kind, sweet, quiet brother was already dead and in the tomb for three days.  

I’d anointed his body for the burial.  Our family had accumulated a large amount of anointing oil--over a pound of pure nard.  Or, as you measure it, over 12 ounces. 

Nard was a rare oil.  It was imported from Nepal, northeast of India.  We imported nearly all of our spices from the Far East, but nard--well, nard was something special.  Along with frankincense and myrrh, nard, made from the spikenard plant, was very rare.

Because it was so rare, it was also very expensive.  We had saved up small quantities of it, so that we might use it to anoint the bodies of family and friends for burial.  We were so frugal in our use.  Over time, we had accumulated a pound, which was a large amount--an amount that if sold in the marketplace would bring half of a year’s salary, which in your currency was nearly $30,000.  

We were not wealthy people.  This was the most expensive thing we owned.  It was very precious to us.  I kept it in an alabaster jar, stored away in a small cupboard.  Only Martha and I knew where it was kept.

After Lazarus died, I was nearly inconsolable with grief.  The professional mourners in our village had long since left, yet I continued to grieve.  I was so distraught over his death.  But, even more than that, I grieved that Jesus, in whom I had trusted and believed and who loved Lazarus like a brother, had not come when we called.  And there was no message.  Nothing.  Lazarus had died.  So had my faith in Jesus. 

And, then, he came.  My sister, Martha, greeted him with an accusation, in such a loud voice I could hear it from inside our house.  “Where were you?  If only you had been here, Lazarus would not be dead!” 

I went outside.  I was crying.  When I reached Jesus, I crumpled at his feet, sobbing.  He looked at me.  And, then, he, too, began to cry.  He started to walk to the tomb where Lazarus was buried.  We followed him.  When he arrived, he ordered the stone removed from the entrance.  Then, in a loud voice, he called for Lazarus to come out. And he did.  Alive.

Jesus had raised my brother from the dead.

Things began to change from that point.  The story spread.  Large crowds of people began to follow Jesus and his small group of disciples.  Crowds numbering in the thousands.  It was as though this sign--this raising of my brother from death to life--this was the sign the people needed to truly believe that Jesus was the Messiah to us for thousands of years.  It was him!

The more people saw my brother, the more the story spread.  And the greater the crowds became.  Our religious leaders began to feel threatened.  You see, Jesus had not hesitated to challenge them.  He had not hesitated to stand up to them and to publicly accuse them of corrupting our beliefs.  They hated him.  And, then, when Jesus said he was the Messiah and they saw Lazarus alive, and the crowd of believers growing--well, things began to happen.  Their hate turned into action.  They made a plan, a plan to kill both Jesus and Lazarus.  A plan that even involved Judas, our friend and one of the twelve.

But, at the time Jesus came to our house on that Saturday evening, six days before the Passover, I didn’t understand all of this.  You have a saying--that hindsight is 20/20.  That’s very true.  I understand everything now.  But, then, I didn’t. At least not fully.

Yet, I could feel that this visit was different.  There was something in the air.  Tension, sadness, excitement? All of these wrapped into one? It’s hard to name, but I could feel it.  I could feel it just like I feel the wind blowing.  And, perhaps, it was the wind that blew into me that evening, that breathed in me and caused me to do what I did.  

You see what I did was completely improper.  No woman of good standing would have let down her hair like that.  No woman of good standing would have even considered anointing a man with oil.  Men anointed men.  Kings anointed kings.  Women--well, women only anointed dead men and dead kings. 

Yet, Jesus never seemed to care about these rules and conventions. He never seemed to see me, a woman, in any way that was different from from any man or from anyone else.

So, as Jesus and Lazarus and the others reclined around the table after dinner--a dinner served, of course, by my dear sister, Martha--as they reclined there, I went to that small cupboard and I took out that alabaster jar that contained everything of value to us. 

And I broke it open and poured it onto Jesus’ feet.  Not his head, but onto his feet.  As a slave would have poured oil onto the feet of her master.  And, then, I let down my hair and I used it to wipe Jesus’ feet. 

Perhaps, my gestures were too intimate.  Perhaps, they were too extravagant.  Yet, in that moment, I looked into his eyes and I knew that they were right.  And, in that room filled with the beautiful fragrance from the oil, I knew that I was deeply loved by him. I felt like the bride hearing the bridegroom speak the poetic words to her from Song of Songs: “Your plants are an orchard of pomegranates with pleasant fruits, fragrant henna with spikenard, spikenard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon, with every kind of incense tree, with myrrh and aloes, and all the finest spices.”

The reaction from the others was immediate.  Judas--that betrayer, that non-believer--led it, condemning me for using all of this expensive oil on the Jesus’ feet, instead of selling it to help the poor.  As though I had never helped the poor in our village. 

But you know what that’s like--when you give wholeheartedly to help the poor or the hungry and are immediately criticized by those who talk about helping others, but do nothing about it.  It seems that good and true actions always bring immediate criticism. 

Jesus’ reaction was immediate, too.  He told Judas to leave me alone.  And then he said these words, words that I didn’t understand then, but do now.  “This perfume was to be used in preparation for my burial and this is how she has used it.”  I didn’t know then what I know now--that we would never have had the opportunity to use this oil to prepare Jesus’ body for burial.

Jesus said something else, something that may seem confusing.  “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”  Those of with him, we knew what he meant.  We understand that he was quoting only part of a verse from Deuteronomy, a verse that reads in full, “Poor persons will never disappear from the earth.  That’s why I’m giving you this command: you must open your hand generously to your fellow Israelites, to the needy among you, and to the poor who live with you in your land.” (Deut. 15:11, CEB)   

We understood at least this much then.  But there was so much more to understand.  And that’s why this visit was so different.  Because, from this visit things began to happen that allowed me and the others to understand why Jesus had come to earth.  It began with this visit. 

You see, the very next day, Jesus would ride a donkey into Jerusalem, into the crowd of thousands gathered from the countryside to celebrate the Passover and to celebrate this man about whom they had heard so much.  And then, just as quickly, to turn on him and crucify him. 

In hindsight, I now understand everything.  I understand that Jesus generously and abundantly gave his own life on the cross for me and for you.  Generously and abundantly.  Sparing no expense.  

And I also understand that I should live and serve just as he did--giving generously and abundantly of myself and my gifts to serve others, especially those in need. 

That’s why this visit was so different.  May you go and do the same.