What You Never Imagined

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

John 11:17-26; 20:1-18

April 5, 2015 (Easter) • Portage First UMC

I love science fiction and probably my favorite type of science fiction shows or movies are ones that deal with time travel. Specifically, I enjoy shows where they explore the “what if” sorts of questions—what if this one thing were changed, what might happen? That’s probably why I enjoy the British show Doctor Who so much, as it’s primarily about time travel—forward, backward and side-to-side sometimes! To me, the questions are fascinating: what if this detail were different? Would history be radically different as well?

We ask that same sort of question at various times in our own lives, don’t we? What if I had chosen this career path instead of that one? What if I had lived in this town rather than that one? What if I had asked him out on a date rather than being timid or shy? What if the Cubs won the World Series? And there are even more serious questions we ask: what if I had gotten the cancer instead of her? What if we had elected a different leader than we did? What if the accident hadn’t happened? What if I hadn’t made that mistake and lost my job? I have a friend whose story includes such a point in his life, where he was rising in his career, and then made “that mistake.” He never really said what it was, but it was enough to cost him his job. He spent a lot of time wondering what he was going to do next, how he was going to support his family, and he often asked that very question: what if…what if…what if?

In our Gospel lesson this morning, Martha is asking that same question, only she knows the answer. Her brother had been sick, and they had sent word to their very dear friend, Jesus, the healer from Nazareth. “Lord,” the messengers had said, “the one you love is sick” (11:3). And Jesus had listened, taken in the information…and not come. Or, rather, he had waited to come. Martha knows this because she knows where Jesus had been. He was in Perea, about twenty miles from Bethany, the town Martha, her sister Mary and their brother Lazarus lived in, just over the Mount of Olives near Jerusalem. Twenty miles was a long day’s journey, but Jesus could have made it in a day if he had wanted to. And yet, he hadn’t come. Without sending any explanation to these friends of his, Jesus stayed in Perea one day…then another day…then another day. Two extra days beyond the request. Then he told the disciples they were going to go to Bethany, to “wake Lazarus up” (11:11). But Lazarus is dead by now, and more than that, Lazarus is buried. Burial would have waited three days after death, just in case the person was in a coma, but after three days, in the hot Palestinian climate, decay begins to take place, and so the body would have been buried (cf. Tenney, “The Gospel of John,” Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 9, pg. 118). In the three days Jesus waited, and in the day he took to travel to Bethany, Lazarus has died, been certified dead, and put in a tomb without any hope of revival. He is as dead as anyone can be. In between the time when the tomb was closed and when Jesus showed up, Martha has been asking, “What if,” so much so that when Jesus does show up, she lets him have it. She doesn’t ask the question, because she already knows the answer. “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died” (11:21).

We know Martha, don’t we? At some point in our lives, we’ve all stood in a graveyard or by a casket or by the bed of a dying loved one and said similar things: “Lord, if you were here, if you had been here, things would be different.” We’ve cashed our last paycheck or signed divorce papers or listened to a doctor’s diagnosis and we’ve said, “Lord, if you had been here, things would be different.” And then, in the silence of our own heart, we are tempted to give in to the whisper that haunts us: “But I guess you’re not here, because this is the way things are.” Do you know Martha? Have you been Martha? “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

I think those disciples who had followed Jesus for three years must have had the same sorts of conversation with God on a hill called Calvary late one Friday afternoon. They had watched in horror as their master, their friend, their rabbi had been beaten to within an inch of his life. They had found themselves helpless as the Roman soldiers forced him to carry a cross beam, weighing somewhere around a hundred pounds for a third of a mile from the Roman governor’s house to Calvary. In good health, you can walk that in a few minutes; for Jesus, beaten as he was, it probably took half an hour or better (Hamilton, 24 Hours That Changed the World, pg. 88). There on that hill, he was subjected to what one author in ancient times called “the cruelest and most disgusting penalty” and another called “the most pitiable of deaths” (Hamilton 96). And they watched him die. Within six hours, Jesus was gone, and the disciples went into hiding for fear that the Romans would come after them next. Can’t you almost hear them praying that Friday night and all day Saturday, “Lord God, if you had been here, Jesus would not have died. I don’t understand this, God. Where are you? Why did you let this happen?”

We understand Martha, and we understand the disciples. But, like Martha, what we don’t understand is what Jesus says next. Like the disciples, what we don’t understand is what Jesus does next, and what he does on Easter flows out of what he says by the grave of Lazarus. All throughout the season of Lent, we have been looking at the seven “I am” statements in the Gospel of John as we’ve been seeking to better understand this God we can know. We’ve heard him claim to be the light of the world, the bread of life, the Good Shepherd, the vine, the gate, and the way, truth and life. But the most scandalous statement he saves for this place outside the tomb of one of his dearest friends, and if they don’t believe it then, he reminds them of it once more outside the walls of Jerusalem on that first Easter. Jesus’ most shocking claim is what he tells Martha beside the tomb of Lazarus: “I am the resurrection and the life” (11:25).

Now, if that doesn't shock you, it’s probably because we’ve tamed it. We’ve gotten used to that saying, that idea. We come to Easter and we know we're going to hear the word “resurrection” a lot. Ho-hum. Let’s just get through this and get on to the big dinner we have planned. But standing there by the tomb, resurrection would have been the last thing on Martha’s mind. You see, dead men don’t rise. And Lazarus has been dead long enough that they know there’s no hope. Now, some Jews in Jesus’ day had begun to believe in a life after death. You won’t find much of that in the Old Testament times, but by the first century, they had pieced together certain Scriptures and a belief that there was something more had taken root in many people’s lives. So when Jesus says to Martha, “Your brother will rise again,” she thinks that’s what he’s referring to. Life after death. I can almost hear the disappointment in her voice as she says, “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day” (11:23-24). To Martha, what Jesus says sounds just like conventional words of comfort—you know, the sort of things you say at the funeral home when you don’t know what to say to someone. It’s the first century equivalent of, “They’re in a better place.” And Martha responds in much the same way people do today. She smiles and says what’s expected: “I know he’ll rise again one day, someday.” What she’s really feeling is this: “I don’t want that hope. I want my brother back. Right now” (cf. Tenney 118; Wright, John for Everyone, Part Two, pgs. 6-7). But she knows that’s impossible. Right?

So did Mary Magdalene when she made her way from the Upper Room, where the disciples were hiding, to the place where Jesus was buried. She knows, beyond the shadow of a doubt, Jesus is dead. She watched him die. She watched them bury him. She watched the huge stone be rolled in front of the cave where his body was put to rest. And she’s waited anxiously all through Friday and Saturday to come and finish preparing his body for burial. She comes to the tomb not to see if he has been raised. She comes to finish the burial. She comes to honor a dead friend. And we know this because, when she sees the stone rolled away and the tomb empty, she doesn’t say, “Oh, he is risen!” No, she runs back to the Upper Room and says, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him!” (20:1-2). His body is gone. His tomb has been desecrated. We’ve got to make this right, because he was our friend! Jesus is dead, and dead men don’t rise. It’s impossible. Right?

She’s forgotten that there, at the tomb of Lazarus, Jesus redefined death and life. Jesus says something there that is so much better than we ever imagined. While we live in a world of death and pain and suffering, Jesus says he has come to bring a better world. No, actually, he says he is that better world. Martha is thinking that at some point in the future, her brother will live again, maybe, hopefully. Jesus brings that future into the present, and more than that, he says that things like life and resurrection and hope and mercy and not a matter of a time or a place. All of those things are found in him. Resurrection is no longer a matter of time and place. Jesus says, “I am the resurrection and the life” (11:25). In a world of death and suffering, where we ask questions about why such things happen, Jesus says he is the answer. It’s one of his most disturbing and frustrating habits, making himself the answer to our questions. It’s what causes people like C. S. Lewis to say he was either a lunatic, a liar, or the lord of all. Jesus knows this sounds crazy, which is why he asks Martha what he asks her: “Do you believe this?” (11:26). Do you believe me (cf. Wright 7; Card, John: The Gospel of Wisdom, pg. 135)?

Martha doesn’t answer the question, if you notice, and I wonder if it isn’t mostly because Jesus has just blown her mind. She really doesn’t know what he’s talking about because he has just stepped out of all the categories she knows, all the truth she has held onto all her life. In fact, she really couldn’t understand what Jesus says here until Easter. To be fair, we need to recognize that what happens there in Bethany is not a resurrection. It’s a resuscitation. Lazarus is “raised” from the dead only in the sense that he is given a few more years to live. What happens in Bethany is a postponement, at best (cf. Fuquay, The God We Can Know, pg. 113), and I’ve said before I’m not sure Jesus did Lazarus any favors here. Lazarus has to die again. He thought he had that out of the way, but now he’s back and he has to go through that again. And more than that, John tells us at the beginning of the next chapter that there are people who begin plotting not only to kill Jesus but also to kill Lazarus because people are believing in Jesus based on what happened to Lazarus (12:10-11). No, Lazarus is not the final word on resurrection. Jesus is. He is the resurrection and the life, and we have to get to Easter to know and experience what he really meant.

Paul says Jesus is the “firstfruit” of our own resurrection (1 Corinthians 15:20); in other words, what happens to him is a promise of what will happen to those who believe. So what happened to Jesus? He was dead, and then he was raised. His body was absent from the tomb, but when people see him, it’s Jesus but it’s not exactly the Jesus they knew. They struggle to identify him at first. So there’s continuity with his old body, but he’s also able to walk through walls, to appear and disappear at will. He eats along with the disciples, and he invites at least one of them to touch him. We don’t know everything that resurrection involves, but we do know that we won’t be “Casper the friendly ghost” floating around on clouds. Resurrection means we will be given new bodies, bodies that are meant to last forever, and that the whole of creation is going to be redeemed, resurrected. Easter is about more than you and me living forever and strumming harps and singing in the angel choir. Easter is about God’s radical reclaiming of creation, including you and me. Easter is a revolution, one that we never imagined could be possible. When Jesus stands there by the grave of Lazarus in Bethany, he is announcing something radically different than was envisioned for the future of humanity. Resurrection, new life, new hope, a world transformed, a people transformed. Easter is God’s final word on all of creation. Easter is Jesus reminding us that resurrection, hope, and new life are found in him. He is the resurrection and the life.

If you travel to Jerusalem today, you will be taken to two places that both claim to be the site of the crucifixion and the resurrection. Both have points in their favor, and while the Garden Tomb feels more authentic, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher has the weight of tradition behind it. Unfortunately, the hillside that was once there has been carved out and a huge church stands in its place today. When you go in, you turn to the right and ascend a narrow stairway that takes you to an upper chapel on top of the traditional site of Calvary. If you want, you can reach down under the altar and touch the rock. Then you come down another set of stairs and walk to a stone that is supposed to be the place where Jesus was laid after he was taken down from the cross. And then you go around another corner and enter a huge rotunda. In the middle of the rotunda is a small—I’m not even sure what to call it. It’s a small shrine, I guess, called the Aedicule, and inside are two chambers containing the only remnants of the tomb that was once there. I’ve been to Jerusalem four times and only inside the Aedicule twice, mostly because the last two times we were there, the wait was so long. This past fall when we were there, there was once again a line that wrapped around the rotunda, and so I asked Pastor Ken Miller, from Crossroads Family Church here in Portage, if he wanted to stand in line to enter the Aedicule. It was his first time there, and I didn’t want him to miss anything that he wanted to see. I’ll never forget what Pastor Ken said. He said, “No, I don’t want to stand in line to see a place where he is not.” Ken was exactly right. We don’t venerate the place because, for one, Jesus only used it for a couple of days and for two, he is the resurrection and the life. Resurrection is a person, not a place, a time or a thing.

I am thankful for that promise each and every day, but never more than when I stand beside a graveside. Like Jesus, I find myself standing more than I care to by a grave, a tomb, a place where a dear saint is being, as we say, laid to rest. And like Jesus, I often find myself with tears welling up inside. But what a tremendous privilege I have in those moments to be able to announce that Jesus is the resurrection and the life, and that those who believe in him will live even though they die. And in those moments, I sometimes hear Jesus whispering to me the same question he asked Martha: “Do you believe this? Do you trust this? Are you willing to stake everything on this truth?” Because belief is more than giving mental agreement to something. Belief is more than saying, “Yes, I think Jesus was a real person.” Belief is throwing your lot in with the person or whatever you believe to be true. Do you believe this? Jesus asks. And every day—not just on Easter, but every day—I want Jesus to hear my answer: “Yes, Lord, I not only believe this, but I’m counting on it.”

And so, it’s Easter, Resurrection Sunday, and I could spend a lot of time giving you the arguments as to why the resurrection is true. I could tell you why I cling to this faith so strongly. I could share stories of people who have experienced resurrection in their own lives. But even if I did all of that, as I’ve sometimes done in the past, it doesn’t escape the central question. Because, you see, the question Jesus asked Martha is the same question he asks each and every one of us this morning: do you believe this? Do you? And if you do, what difference will it make in your life? Resurrection is not just something for “the sweet by and by.” Resurrection transforms every moment of every day, because, you see, when we are people who live in hope, we are people who never give up on others, knowing God never gives up on us. When we live resurrection, we do not become better than others; rather we become consumed with a burning desire for others to experience and live resurrection as well. When we live resurrection, we begin to live life as Jesus would have us, and that means we live lives of sacrifice, of the greatest love, lives that we never imagined were possible. Do you believe this? Jesus asks. And if you do, it ought to change everything.

It’s that life of sacrifice we remember when we receive the bread and the cup of what we call holy communion. This practice goes back to Jesus and his disciples on their last night together, as Jesus took bread and cup and told them to remember him. But this act is more than just a remembrance. That is part of it, of course, but it’s also a call to us—a call to a life we never imagined. Contained within this bread and this cup is the promise of new life, a life free from the guilt and burden of sin. It’s a call to life lived in light of the resurrection. And even more than that, it’s a question. The bread and the cup ask us the same thing Jesus asked Martha: do you believe this? Do you believe new life is possible? Do you believe that the worst thing is never the last thing? Do you believe this? Do you? And will you live in a way that demonstrates that belief?

Christ is risen—he is risen indeed! Let us come together and celebrate his resurrection life by remembering the death that makes resurrection possible. Let us prepare our hearts to celebrate Holy Communion.