This was my second entry into LSTC's James Kenneth Echols Preaching Celebration in 2023. I was one of two co-finalists who preached the sermon in person during the final event at LSTC's historic building at 1100 E 55th St. My colleague Katie Mueller was the other co-finalist.
Did a scripture passage ever make you wonder “What happened next?”
The Bible is not like a novel, in which all the loose ends of characters’ lives are tied up at the end. We’re not sure what happens to Jesus’ good friend Lazarus after Jesus restores his life. We know all too well what happens to Jesus.
This story is the tipping point in the gospel of John. Already in Chapter 7, we learn some Pharisees want to imprison this itinerant teacher who has performed six miraculous signs and has stirred up Judea. Just before this passage, Jesus barely escaped Jerusalem during the feast of the Dedication, after a mob heard him teaching that he is one with God, and they nearly stoned him to death for blasphemy. So, Jesus and his followers regroup across the Jordan, away from Judea. Now, three years later, Jesus is back where it all began, at the Jordan. Jesus is teaching when he receives the word: Come at once: your friend Lazarus is dying.
The siblings Mary, Martha and Lazarus are Jesus’ chosen family. Their home in Bethany has been his place of refuge. One would expect that Jesus would leave immediately to get there, to have a chance to make a difference. However, it is also in Judea, just two miles outside Jerusalem, a dangerous place for Jesus to be. Probably with his disciples’ encouragement, Jesus stays and teaches for two more days, then says, “Let us go to Judea again.” The disciples know nothing they say will stop Jesus from this journey and what is to come. Bluntly honest, Thomas speaks what they all are thinking: “Let us also go, that we may die with him.”
Two days later, Jesus and his disciples arrive in Bethany. Lazarus had died the day Jesus received the sisters’ message. Yet, in their pain, both sisters speak harsh words, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
To translate Mary and Martha’s grief-filled words, they had given in to hopelessness. In the Jewish faith, people typically are buried the day they die. The soul, it is believed, leaves the body after three days. It was now Day 4 – and past the point of no return. Jesus was met, first by Martha, who professes her faith in the resurrection to come. Jesus readjusts the frame: “Not someday, Martha, today. Not somewhere, Martha, here. Right here, right now. Do you believe?”
“Yes Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the One coming into the world.” Despite her grief, Martha speaks the most profound faith statement in the Gospels.
Martha and Jesus then join up with Mary. Jesus accompanies them to the tomb, ostensibly to grieve with them. Deeply moved, Jesus weeps. Then in a foreshadowing of Jesus’ own resurrection, Jesus commands the stone be rolled away. He performs his seventh and final sign: “Lazarus, come out!” followed by, “Unbind him, and let him go.”
What happened to Lazarus next? The story doesn’t tell what happens to Lazarus after Jesus brought him back to life. We learn that some tried to kill him. If he wasn’t killed, did Lazarus forever have to live with the whispers and finger-pointing ... "There, he’s the one who was dead." Perhaps after a while, the novelty wore off and Lazarus may have wished he had never been brought back to life. Perhaps there was some survivor’s guilt that his resurrection, this final sign, led to Jesus’ crucifixion.
Throughout my previous work in human services, I met a lot of Lazaruses, but one sticks with me:
This man had experienced one tragedy after another. A severely abusive father who beat him and his brother. A serious car wreck that he barely survived. An industrial accident that messed up his ankle. Then, a cancer diagnosis.
He wanted to financially provide for his wife, but one thing or another stopped him. His injuries prevented him from doing physical labor; his PTSD was a barrier to anything stressful. One employer after another rejected him. Then his wife left him.
I heard the echoes of Lazarus in his frustration: “I’m alive, but I can’t really live. I’m still bound and no one will set me free.”
He’s not the only one – the cries of Lazarus are everywhere in our world. Tell me if you’re heard them too: Freed from a tomb at the Department of Corrections but bound by a felony record.
- Freed from the tomb of society’s mis-gendering and misunderstanding but bound by discrimination and the costs of medical and legal processes.
- Freed from the tomb of addictions but bound by a track record of job losses.
- Freed from the tomb of an abusive marriage but bound by a lack of work history and the high cost of childcare.
- Freed from the tomb of a life-threatening illness but bound by income limitations to keep Medicare and Medicaid.
- Freed from a tomb of an unsafe country but bound by the rules of asylum petitions in our country.
Every one, a Lazarus brought to life, but still bound. Trapped between what is, and what could be. Certainly not living the abundant life that God meant for all people.
It’s necessary and a privilege to feed the hungry, provide shelter to the unhoused, to visit the prisoner, to wholeheartedly support Pride, Reproductive Rights, and Black Lives Matter events. But it doesn’t remove the binding of systemic injustice. It doesn’t restore equity to all people.
It doesn't set them free.
What if we went all out, and followed Jesus’ instructions to unbind the Lazaruses of our world and set them free? What would God’s liberating freedom look like? I’m not certain – but I once caught a glimpse of it.
On God’s Work, Our Hands Sunday 2016, a young man and his mother sat amidst our congregation. Kind of a surprise, because it was a short service of sending, to bless us to do God’s work in our communities. In his homily, my pastor revealed he had come to know the young man through a request to perform some community service hours. He had every intention of completing the hours, but between his work and a health condition, the burden had become great. An unbinding had become necessary.
So, on that day, with the council’s blessing, this young man – no longer a stranger, but our neighbor – was released from his burden by the combined service hours of 18 service projects, hundreds of volunteer hours. Words from that ritual in the worship service echo even now: “That he be set free. That he stand tall in Christ.” And as he rose in that moment, he DID stand tall among us. He was unbound – set free for a different future. (Yeah, it still chokes me up.)
It takes both emergency relief AND advocacy to break down the barriers that prevent people from living lives of joy and freedom. None of us can do it all, but I believe we were ALL given a spirit of justice and a vision of the kin-dom set right, as it should be. It’s part of your vocation, not in some future call, but now, right here at LSTC. You may be the person volunteering at the food bank while I write letters to legislators, asking them to continue support for SNAP, meals for seniors and school children, and immigration reform. You may take the gospel and the Eucharist to those behind bars while another mentors youth with the goal of ending the school-to-prison pipeline. While volunteers with The Night Ministry are bringing food and supplies to unhoused individuals, a busload of people from an interfaith coalition is rallying at the capitol for more affordable housing. As our grateful response for God’s grace setting us free, we have MORE than enough to do in this world!!
In our gospel today, I wondered, what happens next for Lazarus? John really never gives us the answer – only that Jesus not only resurrected him but unbound him and set him free.
What we will do with this message in 2023 and beyond remains to be seen. We still are living the question, searching for answers. What I do know is this: We do our work of Christ when we see and hear our neighbors and accompany them in removing the structural barriers that hold them back. We CANNOT do it alone, but I am convinced, we ARE here, answering this call, to ignite the fires of justice in our churches and communities. We are the peace-bringers AND the waymakers. We are the inspired AND the inspiration. We are the visionaries AND the hands and feet. We are the Church …the Public Church … the now AND not yet. We are called not only to share pastoral and prophetic words, but also to unbind Lazarus wherever we find him.
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