Lord, he whom you love is ill. (John 11:3)
Down-playing the seriousness of the illness. Unreasonable delay in taking steps to address the crisis. Making unsupported claims about his own authority. Failing to take responsibility for acting too late. All these are features of the story of Jesus’ raising of Lazarus, which begins when Jesus gets a message from Mary and Martha that his beloved friend is sick. “Lord, he whom you love is ill.”
And Jesus doesn’t rush to save him.
Now, let’s be clear: Jesus is not the president of the United States, and the president of the United States is no Jesus. No sir. Not even close.
But it is possible that the Gospel has something to say to us in the midst of our current crisis, because the Gospel knows what crises like these feel like. Admittedly, the death of Lazarus is the tiniest microcosm of our current moment.
But we can assume from the few details we have in John’s Gospel that Lazarus died too young and unexpectedly, and from a sudden illness.
Martha has the hardest words for Jesus: “Lord, if you had been here my brother would not have died.” When she adds he next statement, it feels only weakly hopeful to me: “But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.”
What was she hoping for? A passage to heaven for her brother Lazarus. That seems to me to be the most she could have hoped for. A word of consolation would have been enough, a promise that there is something beyond, the assurance that now he is in a better place.
I am well familiar with such words of consolation, since I have dispensed them more than once in the face of death. So often it feels like the best you can do.
But I am no Jesus. No sir. Not even close.
The raising of Lazarus provides the perfect backstory for the beginning of Jesus’ establishment of a zombie army for the coming apocalypse. Lazaraus, the first zombie, could have been Jesus’ trusted lieutenant as they overpower the Roman occupiers and set up a religious state dedicated to the establishment of God’s reign on earth.
But sadly, Lazarus is no zombie. No sir. Not even close.
It’s telling that Lazarus says nothing in this story, after he has been resuscitated, and we never hear from him again in the Gospel. Although there is a legend that says that Lazarus and his sisters were all put into a boat that had no sails, oars, or helm, and that managed to convey them all to the south of France, where Lazarus became the bishop of Marseilles.
Part of me doesn’t object at all to this legend. Part of me wants France to grab hold of any reminder of hope, any memory of the triumph of life over death. And what better reminder could there be than Lazarus?
And not only France, of course, also Italy, and Spain, and Germany, and New York, and Seattle, and Philadelphia, and every corner of the world that’s overtaken with worry and fear and sickness and death. Lord, he whom you love is ill.
Because, remember Lazarus is alive, he is not a zombie. And his resuscitation serves a singular purpose: that purpose is to demonstrate that Jesus has power over death. And if he has power over death, then he also has power over life.
The purpose of Lazarus’s resuscitation is not to show us all what can and will happen to us. No, it’s a wonder that Jesus didn’t say to those standing by, “Look, I’m only going to do this once,” because the fact of the matter is he was only going to do it once. And we do well to remember that not one of us is any Lazarus. No sir. Not even close.
When Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead, it is to show that he does indeed have power over death, which is going to be very important if people are going to realize who he is, if they are going to be able to see him for who and what he is, if they are going to believe that he is more than a teacher, more than a rabbi, more than a healer, more than a miracle worker. It’s very important if they are going to invite him to have power over their lives.
It’s interesting to note that no one ever responds to Jesus’ raising of Lazarus with fear and amazement, as is the case with so many of Jesus’ other works of wonder in the Gospels.
I think part of the reason that fear and amazement are more or less missing from this story, is because there is an explanation for the miracle of Lazarus’s resuscitation provided from the very beginning of the story, when a report is first brought to Jesus about Lazarus’ condition. “Lord,” they say to him, “he whom you love is ill.”
John is at pains to repeat that Jesus loves Martha and Mary and Lazarus - all three of them. And then, when Jesus arrives at Bethany, to find that Lazarus is already dead, and Martha and Mary are weeping, John tells us that Jesus wept too. And again, an explanation for what is about to happen is provided. Those standing by already know what power is at work in him, for they say, “See how he loved him.”
Yes, sickness is at work here. Yes, death is at work here. Yes, there was unreasonable delay in a potential cure. Yes, even Jesus himself downplayed the seriousness of the illness. Yes, he made claims that could not at the time be supported about his authority to make everything well. Yes, he fails to take responsibility for responding too late to pleas for help.
So sickness and death seem to be the ones who will carry the day.
But love is at work in him. And love is more powerful than sickness or death. And that is the lesson Jesus wants us to learn and to know.
Now, look, he’s only going to do this once (until his own resurrection, that is), so he wants us to see it. Love carries the day. Sickness and death will happen, but love will carry the day. Love wins, as we often like to say these days.
Lord, the one whom you love is ill. This is not a cry from the past, it is our present crisis. And Jesus knows. Jesus weeps. For Jesus loves us. And love will carry the day.
Notes for a sermon preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
29 March 2020
Saint Mark’s, Locust Street, Philadelphia
The raising of Lazarus by William Blake