Ezekiel 37.1-14; John 11.1-45
+ I picked up an interesting book a couple of weeks ago. It was
one of those books I thought, when I bought it, would be great Lenten
reading. The book is Heavenly Bodies; Cult Treasures and Spectacular
Saints from the Catacombs. It’s a
book of
photographs of skeletons—yes, skeletons— from the Roman Catacombs that
were, in the Middle Ages, distributed about Europe as relics of the saints and
early Christian martyrs. More often than not, these relics were placed in glass
cases in churches, dressed in luxurious clothing and posed in various lifelike
displays.
It’s the kind of book that, if you saw
it, you would no doubt say: “This is a book Fr. Jamie would LOVE!” I certainly
thought that when I first saw the book. What great Lenten reading, I thought! I got the book, I sat down with it one night,
and……it creeped me out.
Looking at photograph after photograph
of jewel-bedecked skeletons—full, completely skeletons, often dressed in
gold-encrusted clothing, with crowns and masks made of jewels, I will say, I actually
got the creepy-crawlies. I actually had to put the book aside, mostly unread.
For the first and only time in my life—and
I’m almost ashamed to admit this—I found myself actually agreeing with, of all
people, (sigh) John Calvin. Calvin, of course, found such displays horrific. He
believed that displaying human remains in any way was a travesty. He believed, as we do, certainly our Book of
Common Prayer affirms this, that “all flesh is dust, [and] to dust it must
return…”
“To attempt the resurrection of the
dead ‘before the appointed time by raising them in pomp and state’ was an
offense.” (p. 26 Heavenly Bodies)
And I will say there was something
kind of offensive about seeing these saints bones propped up in such a way.
I know. John Calvin and Jamie Parsley.
Those are two names you probably never thought you would hear in one sentence. Certainly
I never did.
But Calvin was, of course, very
against the displays of saints’ relics. And I must say, so am I. At least like they were in this book.
Those relics in that book, meant to
inspire people to have faith in the Communion of Saints and the sanctity of the
human body, only managed to shock me. They jarred me in an unpleasant way. There
is something disconcerting and downright frightening about
looking into the
empty sockets of human skull.
Certainly, two of our readings today
are also sobering experiences that jar us and make us sit up and take notice. The
first jarring reading, of course, is Ezekiel’s vision of the dry bones. It’s a great story in this Lenten season and
it speak loudly to the theme that I’ve used this Lent on our broken selves
being made whole.
The second reading that jars us is the
raising of Lazarus. Both are filled with images of the dead being raised. The story that probably speaks most deeply to
us though is the story of Lazarus. And
this story takes on much deeper meaning when we examine it closely and place it
within the context of its time.
One of our first clues that the
something is different in this story is that, when Jesus arrives at the tomb of
his friend Lazarus, he is told that Lazarus has been dead four days. This clue
of “four days” is important.
First of all, from simply a practical
point, we can all imagine what condition Lazarus’s body would be in after four
days. This body would not have been
embalmed like we understand embalming today in the United States. There was no refrigeration, no sealed metal
caskets, no reconstructive cosmetics for the body of Lazarus. In the heat of that country, his body would,
by the fourth day, be well into the beginning stages of decomposition. There would be some major physical destruction
occurring.
Second, according to Jewish understanding, when the soul left the
body, a connection would still be maintained with that body for a period of
three days. According to Jewish thinking of this time, the belief was the soul
might be reunited with the body up to three days, but after that, because the
body would not be recognizable to the departed soul because of decomposition,
any reuniting would be impossible. After
those three days, the final separation from the body by the soul would have
been complete. The soul would truly be
gone. The body would truly be dead.
So, when Jesus came upon the tomb of Lazarus and tells them to
roll the stone away, Martha says to him that there will be stench. He was truly dead—dead physically and dead
from the perspective of his soul being truly separated from his body.
So, when the tomb was opened for
Jesus, he would be encountering what most of us would think was impossible. Jesus not only reunited Lazarus’ spirit with
his body, he also healed the physical destruction done to Lazarus’s body by
decomposition. It would have been truly
amazing.
And Jesus would truly have been proven to be
more than just some magician, playing tricks on the people. He wasn’t simply awakening someone who
appeared to be dead, someone who might have actually been in a deep coma. There was no doubt that Lazarus was truly dead
and now, he was, once again alive.
Now, at first glance, both our reading from the Hebrew scriptures and
our Gospel readings seem a bit morbid. These
are things we don’t want to think about.
But the fact is, we are rapidly
heading toward Holy Week. Next week at
this time, we will be celebrating the triumphant entry of Jesus into Jerusalem.
We will be hearing the joyful cries of
the crowd as he rides forth. Within 11 days from now, we will hear those cries
of joy turn into cries of jeering and accusation. And, within no time, we will
be hearing cries of despair and mourning.
We, as Christians who follow Jesus,
will be hearing about betrayal, torture, murder and death as Jesus journeys
away from us into the cold dark shadow of death. These images of death we encounter in today’s
readings simply help nudge us in the direction of the events toward which we
are racing.
During Holy Week, we too will be faced with images we might find
disturbing. Jesus will be betrayed and
abandoned by his friends and loved ones. He will be tortured, mocked and whipped. He will be forced to carry the very instrument
of his death to the place of his execution. And there he will be murdered in a very
gruesome way.
Following that death, he will be
buried in a tomb, much the same way his friend Lazarus was. But unlike Lazarus,
what happens to Jesus will take place within the three days at that time
required for a soul to make a final break from his body.
And this brings us back to the story
of Lazarus. We often make the mistake,
when think about the story of Lazarus, that Lazarus was resurrected. The fact is, he was not resurrected. In
seminary, I had a professor who made very clear to us that Lazarus was not
resurrected in our Gospel reading. It
was not resurrection because Lazarus would eventually die again. He was simply
brought back to life. He was resuscitated, shall we say.
So, Lazarus truly did rise from the tomb in Bethany, but he was
not resurrected there. He went on to
live a life somewhat similar to the life he lived before. And eventually, he died again.
But Resurrection is, as we no doubt know, different. Resurrection is rising from death into a life
that does not end. Resurrection is
rising from all the things we encounter in our readings for today—dry bones,
tombs, decomposition and death. Resurrection
is rising from our own broken selves into a wholeness that will never be taken
away from us. Resurrection is new
bodies, a new understanding of everything, a new and unending life. Resurrection, when it happens, cannot be
undone. It cannot be taken away. Resurrection destroys the hold of death. Resurrection
destroys death.
And the first person to be resurrected was not Lazarus. The first person to be resurrected was, of
course, Jesus. His resurrection is
important not simply because he was the first. His resurrection is important
because it, in a real sense, destroys death once and for all.
Yes, we will all die. Yes,
we will go down into the grave, into that place of bones and ashes. But, the resurrection of Jesus casts new light
on the deaths we must die. The
resurrection of Jesus shows us that we will rise from the destruction of our
bodies—and our lives—into a life like the life of the resurrected Jesus. We will be raised into a life that never ends,
a life in which “sorrow and pain are no more, neither sighing, but life
eternal,” as we celebrate in the Burial Office of the Book of Common Prayer.
Because Jesus died and then trampled death, he took away eternal
death. Our bodies may die, but we will
rise again with him into a new and awesome life.
So, as we move through these last days of Lent toward that long,
painful week of Holy Week, we go forward knowing full well what await us on the
other side of the Cross of Good Friday. We
go forward knowing that the glorious dawn of Easter awaits us. And with it, the glory of resurrection and
life everlasting awaits us as well.
So, let go forward. Let us
move toward Holy Week, rejoicing with the crowd. And as the days darken and we grow weary with
Jesus, let us keep focused on the Easter light that is just about to dawn on
all of us.
