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It's a pretty well-known fact that we Americans aren't very good at dealing with death. According to the website, "Life in the USA,"
which describes itself as the "complete guide to American life for immigrants and Americans," we neither speak openly nor in much detail about death.
"Americans do not die," it says. "They 'pass away,' 'expire,' 'kick the bucket,' 'go to their reward,'
'breathe their last,' 'cash in their chips,' 'meet their Maker,' 'depart this life,' 'give up the ghost,' or other such avoidances.
Once death arrives, its victims are not 'dead.'
Instead, they are 'loved ones,' 'the departed,' 'the deceased,' the 'late so and so.' Rather than being buried, the dead are 'laid to rest' or 'sent to their reward.'"
I’m not sure why it's so difficult for us to talk about death or to even say the word. But it is for most people. We want to sanitize it, prettify it, and deodorize it.
And we are not only uncomfortable with talking about death, but we are just as uncomfortable with all of the emotions that seemingly arise from nowhere when death visits our lives.
We weep because of our loss, and we think something must be wrong with us because our tears won’t seem to stop. We shout at God and shake our fist at the heavens and then we slink away,
afraid that our anger at God is a grievous sin for which we will be held accountable. Impatient, as we are, with our own uncertainty and confusion in the face of death,
we jump back into our daily routines as quickly as possible in a feeble attempt to deny the pain that comes when someone dear to us dies.
We feel uncertain with our response to death, and we wish that there was an instruction book somewhere – something that would give us a clue as to whether or not
we are on track with these feelings of ours, something that would provide us with steps to move past our grief or at least clue us in to how long it will last.
Well, I'm afraid there is no instruction book. I wish there were. There aren't any answers, but I believe in this morning's Gospel reading there are some clues.
First of all, anger and confusion have always been normal responses to death. Both Mary’s words in this morning's reading, and her sister's words prior to the reading have a bite to them:
"Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." They sound like angry words to us, probably meant to criticize Jesus for his delay,
and in fact, they most likely had their desired effect in cutting him to the quick. The bystanders murmured just loud enough to be heard:
"Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?" Confusion and anger are everywhere we turn in this text.
And even Jesus was angry. The translators of our Bible, obviously uncomfortable with the image of an angry Jesus, tried to sanitize the original Greek by saying he was "greatly disturbed,"
when in fact, the original text said he was angry. Some people think he was angry at the crowds' lack of faith. Or maybe he was irritated that such a private event had turned into a public affair.
But I wonder if he was not angry at death itself? Martha was angry, Mary was angry, the bystanders were angry, and Jesus was angry.
This man, Lazarus, must have been very important in the lives of all these people, and now he was gone. And everyone needed something and someone to blame for their loss,
whether it was the absence of Mr. Fix-It Jesus or the cold injustice of Almighty God. Anger is normal. And so are tears. "Jesus wept."
It's the shortest verse in the Bible, but possibly, one of the most powerful. Jesus did not stand outside of the moment as an observer.
He participated in it with his tears. And when we cry because of the death of a loved one, we also participate in the moment with everyone else.
Our tears keep us present, no matter how much we want to escape the reality of death. In ancient Eastern Christianity, tears were thought to be a gift of the Holy Spirit.
They were said to cleanse the soul and could be of two kinds: There are the tears that are shed in sorrow for one's sins.
But there are also the tears that are an expression of the depths of our spirit and are a part of prayer. I believe the tears that Jesus wept were a prayer, a prayer from the very depths of his soul.
The anger and confusion you and I feel when someone close to us dies is normal. The tears we cry are normal. But that's really no consolation, is it?
Because it feels as if there's a part of us that has died along with that person. A good and happy part of our existence that we will never again experience as long as we live.
And it's at that point, that place in our lives when we feel as if we, too, have died, that God calls us from our own tombs just as Jesus called forth Lazarus.
God calls us out from the grief and pain that entomb us. And just as Jesus commanded the people to unbind Lazarus and let him go,
God's intent for you and me is to walk freely again, to throw off all of the sadness that binds us to our past, and to replace it with memories that will sustain us.
It's a courageous act, this re-entry into the land of the living. Letting go of the past is always an act of bravery. It's so much easier to remain within our tombs of sorrow,
living in the past, but not really living at all. We feel as if we are betraying the memory of our loved ones if we move on with our own life. But we don't.
If anything, we betray them when we refuse to return to the land of the living. If there is a message in this morning's story, it is, "Death does not have the last word."
Jesus demonstrated this to the crowds in a very literal way. This morning's story is sort of like a preview of the Easter story. When the resurrected Jesus stepped forth from his tomb,
he once again proved that death does not have the last word. If we are followers of the Christ, we, too, are a resurrection people, and that means we have experienced a transformation in our lives.
We are not hopeless and helpless in the face of death, but we rise up to a new life when we answer the call of God through Jesus Christ.
We hear God call us to come forth from our tombs and to remove anything that keeps us from experiencing freedom in Christ, and we step into the world to begin life again.
Although we aren't told what happened to Lazarus after he was raised from the dead, I like to imagine that he did something with his life.
You and I need to do something with the life we have been given, too. Regardless of our circumstances, regardless of our emotional and physical challenges,
we have the potential to impact the lives of other people. We have the ability to inspire others with our lives,
just as the saints who have gone before us inspire our own lives. We have the potential to pass a gift along to the rest of the world.
But that's only if we are willing to step forth from our tombs. Eventually the loud clamor of our grief for our loved ones dies down,
and we are finally able to hear the voice of God calling to us to come out of our spiritual tombs, and we find that we have been given a choice.
We have the choice to remain buried and cocooned away from the world, or we can re-enter the world as a resurrected people. Transformed into new life and transforming the lives of other people.
This past week, All Souls Day was the day we honor those who have died and left their mark on our lives. But we do no honor to their memories if we bury our spirits beside their bodies.
Jesus reminds us that death does not have the last word. So step out into the light of God's love and live. And may God bless you as you do. Amen.