The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face. ~ John 11:44
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There is an ancient tradition, repeated often by teachers in the early church.
It relays that, in the decades that Lazarus lived
after he was resurrected by Jesus,
and before he died for the second time,
[that] Lazarus never smiled.
Though he was glad to be “back,”
these writers have said,
he was quite shaken by what he had seen while dead
and [as a result] he never fully recovered.
[pause]
I don’t know if this tradition is completely accurate or not,
or in accord with how Lazarus lived out his days,
but I do know that it certainly has some resonance with the story from John which we just read today.
“Come out!” Jesus says.
And so Lazarus does.
And there he is.
Standing there.
Tall and alive and breathing
and so on.
And yet, nonetheless,
it appears that
Lazarus’ wounds remained.
There was gauze.
And bandages.
And stench.
And broken toenails and accumulated plaque
and so on.
Whatever had ailed him,
whatever had eaten him up, in the end,
did not fully devour him,
but still,
it left its mark.
He was alive.
And yet, touched by Death,
he had been changed forever.
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And it wasn’t just Lazarus.
Jesus, Martha, and Mary,
had not died, of course.
But, they did feel
what we all feel
when we lose someone we love.
That presence of an absence.
That piece of us wrenched out of us.*
That terror in the silence where the peace used to be.
Mary, Martha, and Jesus had not yet died,
but they, too, had been marked.
And even after the stone was rolled away
and the bandages were removed
their scars [too] would remain.
+++
I very much love this image of new life in the Gospel.
As I wrote to you all earlier this week,
I believe it’s “Big-T True” in the spiritual sense:
That is:
Not just because it happened once upon a time.
But because it continues to happen.
Time after time.
Again and again again.
It is True, I believe,
that it is possible to receive a sense of new life,
of life-again after loss, as the parable testifies.
And that it is also true that we never fully leave our wounds behind.
+++
But that’s not the only truth in this story.
Amen?
There’s something else.
Loss makes an imprint, yes (it teaches us)
Loss carves something out of us.
Loss takes a piece of us away.
This is all true.
And/But/Also, at the same time,
all of these things are also true of Love.
Though pain can diminish us, we learn from the story,
Love
in a way that we can never fully understand
has the power to bring us to life again.
Love is the power that resurrects.
This is why Jesus [Love made Flesh]
is always dwelling at the margins.
And with people that other people
and the people that religious people
demean and degrade and despise.
Because this is central to his mission and to his heart.
Jesus goes to where the pain is.
Jesus goes to where the grief is.
Jesus goes to where the dying is.
And Jesus loves.
And love makes us,
scars and all,
just a little bit more alive.
+++
[PAUSE]
In the words of St. Theresa of Avila,
my friends
Today, you are Christ’s body.
You are Christ’s hands and feet.
Christ has no body now but yours.
And it is through you that God looks with compassion at the world.
Your body. Scars and all.
Marked up and lacerated.
Filled with pain and losses.
And yet also filled with love.
A love that is eternal.
And a love that’s beautiful.
And love that can wake the dead.
Let us share this love.
However and where ever we can.
Amen.
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