Introduction

This is the sermon I preached at Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb., on Saturday and Sunday, Oct. 31 and Nov. 1, 2009, the weekend of the Solemnity of All Saints’ Day.

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Readings

Isaiah 25:6-9 or Wisdom 3:1-9
Psalm 24 (5)
Revelation 21:1-6a
John 11:32-44

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Prayer

Long ago, O God, you spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets. Now in these last days, make us listen as you speak to us by your Son. Amen. (based on Hebrews 1:1-2, NRSV)

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Message

“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.’” (John 11:32, NRSV)

A bit after that,
“…some of [the crowd] said,
‘Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man
have kept this man from dying?’” (John 11:37, NRSV)

And a little while later,
“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.’” (John 11:39, NRSV)

These brief passages remind us
of the intimate and heart-wrenching story
of grief and loss and pain and sadness
that John shares with us in today’s gospel.

It’s hard for us to hear this story
and not find ourselves somewhere
amid the family and friends of Mary and Martha and Lazarus of Bethany.

Perhaps this story reminds you
of the death of a loved one
and the time you, like Mary,
dropped to your knees in prayer and said,
“If, Lord.
If only things had gone a little differently.
If only you protected us,
then we would not know this death.
Where were you?
Why did this happen?
What did we do to bring this upon ourselves?”

On the other hand, maybe when faced with a death,
you find yourself filled with questions and doubts,
like the people in the crowd, so you say,
“Wait, Lord.
Wait a minute.
What’s going on?
If you really are who you claim to be,
if you can really do what you say you can,
then where were you?
Why do you play favorites?
You saved someone else’s loved one!
Don’t we matter too?”

Or maybe, in times of loss,
you protect yourself from the overwhelming waves of pain
by paying attention to the needs of others.
Then, with Martha, you pray,
“But, Lord.
But we don’t want anything to go wrong
with the funeral and the meal.
We don’t want to run late, fall behind,
run out, forget anyone, lose track of the details.”

When we face the death of someone we know and love,
we cannot avoid coming face to face
with the same questions and doubts and fears
that plagued the family and friends of Lazarus.
What could have happened differently, God?
Why didn’t you step in just in time to do something?
Please help me stay busy, so I won’t hurt so much.

These are the questions and thoughts
that run through our heads over and over.
They churn in the pit of our stomachs.
They poke at us and irritate us,
so that we cannot find rest.

But in a way,
as real as these questions are,
they only point to a deeper mystery.
They are like symptoms that remind us
of an illness that plagues us all.

The brute, hard, cold fact is the reality of death.
Why death stalks us is the basic question.
The diagnosis we all share is a terminal one.
The truth is that we will all die.

And Jesus knows this all too well.
He knows the sorrow we feel
when facing a loved one’s death
and he knows the ache of sympathy
that makes us hurt when someone we know is saddened by death.
And so, “When Jesus saw [Mary] weeping,
and the Jews who came with her also weeping,
he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved.” (John 11:33, NRSV)

He asked where Lazarus had been buried
and then he followed Lazarus’s loved ones to the tomb.
And, “Jesus began to weep.” (John 11:35, NRSV)

These are holy tears,
tears that flow from the eyes of our Lord,
tears that speak of his love for us.
And they remind us
that while he is the Word with God from the beginning,
he is also the Word who becomes flesh and lives among us.

And living among us as one of us,
he knows both the joy and the pain of our human lives.
And he shares fully in our grieving,
in the pain of our loss,
just as he knows fully
the ecstasy that comes from moments of joy.

But then he is also God,
and so he says to us what he says to Martha,

“Did I not tell you that if you believed,
you would see the glory of God?” (John 11:40, NRSV)

In John’s Gospel, “glory” is a key
to understanding the Good News of Jesus Christ.
In the Prologue,
we hear the Apostle proclaim,

“And the Word became flesh and lived among us,
and we have seen his glory,
the glory as of a father’s only son,
full of grace and truth.” (John 1:14, NRSV)

Just a little after that,
when Jesus had performed his first sign,
turning Cana’s water into wedding wine,
St. John’s Gospel tells us,

“Jesus did this, the first of his signs,
in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory;
and his disciples believed in him.” (John 2:11, NRSV)

And later, during Holy Week, in his priestly prayer,
Jesus tells how glory leads to unity:

“The glory that you[, Father,] have given me
I have given them,
so that they may be one,
as we are one.” (John 17:22, NRSV)

In all of these places,
we hear how the glory of Jesus
is tied together with the reality
of his life both as God and as a man.

And there is no point in life
that more clearly shows us this glory
than the moment of death.

Because we are human,
we can do nothing, in the end,
to stave off the death that will claim us.
We can postpone it, perhaps,
through the kind of life we lead,
the practice of medicine we call upon,
and our management of stress and rest.

But, in the end, yours and mine,
we will die, just as Lazarus did,
just as Jesus himself died upon the cross.

These moments of death are revealing,
times of honesty and truth.
They show us our finitude, our brokenness.
But they also show us the glory of Jesus.

He is the one who faces death,
who himself dies, but finds in death his glory and not his defeat.
And by the power of his Father’s love,
he is raised to life in their Holy Spirit.

This is what we see when we look at Jesus the Word,
and this is what we can trust is the destiny,
in and beyond the end of death,
for us and for those we love who die in him.

Today we mark All Saints’ Day,
when we remember
all who have died trusting and entrusted to God.
We give him thanks for their lives,
for the witness of their faith,
and we pray with longing
to be reunited with them,
and with Mary and Martha and Lazarus,
with John and the other apostles,
and with all of God’s saints.

And so, in one of our Eucharistic Prayers,
we lift our voices to God, saying,
“Send now, we pray,
your Holy Spirit,
the Spirit of our Lord
and of his resurrection,
that we who receive
the Lord’s body and blood
may live to the praise
of your glory
and receive our inheritance
with all your saints in light.” Amen. (Lutheran Book of Worship, p. 70)