Remembering the Future John 11:1-53

I am sure that many of you have heard the story of Lazarus coming out of the tomb, or parts of it, numerous times. You have probably heard it at funerals, in general sermons, through your personal Bible reading, and possibly in study groups. If this is the first time that you have heard it, I welcome you into some of the most encouraging and heartening passages of the New Testament. At the same time these are some of the most troubling and confusing passages.

This past week, I was again amazed by the number of shifts in time that take place and the bizarre behavior on Jesus’ part. To begin, we hear John tell the story of Mary to identify her: you know, she is the one who anointed Jesus with oil and wiped his feet with her hair, even though in the narrative of John’s Gospel, we will not be told of Mary anointing Jesus until the next chapter.

As I was reading, I noticed how the verbs do not always agree with the rest of the context of the sentences and that there are other allusions to events that have not occurred. Yet we, as the readers and hearers of this story, both when it was written and today, are to remember the future has already happened.

We hear that Lazarus is sick and a message is sent to Jesus to inform him of the fact with the desire that he come immediately. Does Jesus go to this person he loves? No. He decides to stay where he is for two more days. In the background of our “already, but not yet” memories, we hear “And on the third day, he was raised up from the dead.” But wait, that is not Lazarus; that is Jesus.  

Lazarus is four-days-dead when Jesus and the disciples arrive outside the village, outside the house of Martha and Mary. When Jesus tells Martha that Lazarus will rise again, she looks ahead to the future, to the coming messiah. Jesus tells her that the resurrection is not something to come; it is before her in that moment. Jesus says, “I am I am, the resurrection.” This is not some future thing that will happen; it is loaded with the history of the “I Am” of Moses encountering the burning bush, and it is happening again as Jesus speaks with Martha and as we hear it.

Then we come to that classic line all translators of this text wrestle with. Jesus looks to heaven and says, “I knew that you always hear me.” This past tense certainty comes with a present tense understanding “for the sake of the people standing here”, both those hearing Jesus that day and throughout time. This construct that begins in the past has a life in the present of the speaking that assumes the future of all of you gathered here today.  It is nothing short of spectacular how this short passage prefigures our language of Eucharistic mystery, “Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again.” We feel, more than hear, that “Jesus’ time has not yet come”, in the language of John. We are reminded that this story is about Lazarus, meaning God’s mercy.

The next instance is after Martha goes out to meet Jesus when we hear Martha whisper to Mary that Jesus is calling for her and yet there is no evidence in the text that Jesus has called her.

Then we hear the people respond to Jesus’ question, “Where have you laid him?” with the words that reveal the messiah earlier in John ch. 1, “Come and see.” Yet this time the words “Come and see” are not an invitation to find new life, they are an invitation to witness death—real death—stinking, rotting death. Again, John reminds us that Jesus truly died, but this story is about Lazarus, God’s mercy, not Jesus’ Easter victory.

Or, is it? Amid the seemingly poorly told, mixed-up tenses, and out of sequence events of this story of Lazarus, we encounter resurrection and the resurrected one who has the power to destroy death, to raise the dead of the world from their places of death into new life. We encounter the one who has the authority to command the stone to be removed from the tomb and lay it as the foundation stone of what is to come. In this spectacular way, we are called to remember, not the past, but the future. For the world of the resurrection is all about seeing the possibilities of what is to come—the realization of hope in the future, a world of anticipating  the true state of nothing separating us from God’s “Lazarus mercy and love”, that is, God’s everlasting grace.

No wonder that there were some who believed because of what they saw. No wonder there were those who had to go and tell the authorities what was happening. No wonder there were those who thought that this Jesus had to be stopped because, if more people understood that Jesus had the power to put death to death, everybody might come to believe in him.

Several years ago, a pastor I know had a young man who was new to the faith come to her office to tell her that he had enlisted and was being shipped out to Afghanistan. He asked for the prayers of the community while he was gone.

The pastor asked if there was anything else she could do for him before he left. He asked if she could tell him how to get a copy of that book they read from on Sundays. The pastor asked if he meant the book of hymns. He said, “No, that book that you read from every week.”

She said, “You mean the Bible?”

He said he didn’t know, but he would like to get a copy of it to take with him. He thought that he could read it while he was gone. It would remind him of the people he had met at church. She took him into the sanctuary where she gave him their Bible, The Message translation, saying, “This is a gift to you from us. We will get another and read it with you.”

Well, time went by, and the young man came home. He came back to worship and then showed up at the pastor’s office one afternoon. He asked, “Pastor, do other people know about this book?”

“Yes,” the pastor said.

“Do other people read this book?” the young man asked.

“Yes. Why do you ask?” the pastor responded.

“’Cause, after reading it, I couldn’t help but think, if more people read it, it could change the world.”

The writer of John, in this story, challenges us to witness the authority of Jesus who puts death to death. We are called to remember the future—the events that are to come—the world that invites us to imagine life abundantly, hopefully, joyfully, and prayerfully. We are called then, to tell the story in all times and in all places confessing the resurrection of the body and the life of a world, as yet unknown, to come. And so, in those words that we have been taught, we pray, “Your kingdom come. Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” Martin Luther reminds us that God’s will will be done—God’s kingdom will come without us praying for it—but, in this prayer, we pray that we might know, that we might know God’s will and know God’s kingdom on earth as it is in heaven, not sometime in the future, but right here and right now.

This is a precious story that grows when we find ways to share it. Today we heard Brandon join us in telling the story. With his voice, we learn that the story is not only for the old but for the young. And we give thanks for his voice in our midst, that voice of youth and promise.  It is the voice of here and now and the voice of the future. It is another voice that invites us to hear the story of Lazarus’ rising. Telling the story is not about remembering the resurrection in the future but of Christ’s presence in our lives today, lifting us up into new ways of living. It is a story of love and hope that our world needs and longs to hear. It is a message that can change the world. In God’s Lazarus mercy, “Come out!”.

We Interrupt this Program John 1:29-42

One night when it was stormy and good to be home from work, having sat down to watch my favorite T.V. show in the comfort of my recliner, and beginning to relax, involved in the show’s plot, just as the mystery was about to be solved, a klaxon horn blared into the soundtrack of the show and a weather map with color coded symbols appeared. The crawler at the bottom of the screen and an over-recorded voice said, “We interrupt this program with a weather advisory. The National Weather Service in Sullivan, Wisconsin shows severe thunderstorms capable of producing hail, heavy rain and strong winds south of a line running from LaCrosse to Appleton. This advisory covers MARQUETTE-GREEN LAKE-FOND DU LAC-SAUK-COLUMBIA-DODGE-IOWA-DANE-JEFFERSON-LAFAYETTE-GREEN-ROCK counties between 7:45 and 10pm. If you are in this area, take shelter immediately.”  Then after the klaxon blared several more times, it repeated. Finally, we were told, “We now return you to your local program.” But did I get returned to the program? No! Not only did I miss the best part of the show, but it was now in commercial break.
 

From the time that we are little, we are taught that it is not polite to interrupt. We are taught to wait for your turn in the conversation and then say what you have to say. Yet our lives are filled with interruptions. This day, in particular, is an interruption to the rest of our week. God’s sabbath time interrupts our daily routines reminding us of God’s plan, including intentional rest and retreat from the cares of our daily living. In the midst of interruptions, I welcome you to the second Sunday in Epiphany.

In the midst of our local programming, the Gospel of Matthew, we hear from the Gospel of John, filled with different, sometimes conflicting accounts of Jesus. This is not coincidental; it happens this day every year. Each year we read a different passage, but none-the-less, the second Sunday of Epiphany belongs to John. I wish I could tell you why, but I really don’t know.

Last week, in Matthew, we witnessed Jesus being baptized. This is important for us because the book of John reports that Jesus has been baptized, but in John we never witness the actual baptism. In fact, today’s text appears to take place the day after the baptism. This is only one of the many oddities of the book of John. At the other end of this Gospel, we will see the disciples and Jesus gathered for the last supper, but instead of giving the disciples wine and bread, Jesus washes their feet.

We could spend a lot of time comparing the Gospels, but what we mostly need to note is that the purpose of John’s Gospel is different. The other three Gospels—Matthew, Mark and Luke—are called the synoptic Gospels (“synoptic”, from Greek syn, with or together, and optikos, for seeing, or eye witness accounts). The Gospel of John is known as the exegetical Gospel (again, from the Greek, ex, out or from, and hegetikos, drawn out). This drawing out from or exegetical writing and reading of John allows us more direct understanding of who Jesus is. It is much more theological and therefore makes statements about Jesus that the other Gospels cannot make.

Today’s text is one of those statements about Jesus. John the Baptist says, “I have been telling you that I am not the Messiah, the Christ, the anointed one. That person is coming after me. I do not know him, but I have been baptizing people because through baptism I knew I would be able to recognize who the messiah is. And I found him; it is that guy over there. I saw the spirit of God descend from heaven and alight on that one. You see, I was told that the one the spirit alighted on and stayed would be the messiah, so I know that is the messiah. He is the lamb of God, the one who will be the sacrifice for the world, the cosmos, and through him we will all be made right with God. Through him, the sins of our ancestors have been forgiven, and, through him, our sins will be forgiven too. See him, the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. He is the son of God.”

There is no kinship between John and Jesus recorded here as in the book of Luke and hinted at in the book of Mark. There is no understanding that John should be baptized by Jesus as in the book of Matthew. In the book of John, the way that John recognizes Jesus is by seeing the spirit of God come down and stay with Jesus. This seeing is not something that is John’s alone. We, the readers and hearers of this story, are invited to see, with John, Jesus who is the messiah, the Christ, the anointed, and, in that seeing, to enter into relationship with Jesus’ disciples and with Jesus himself. We are invited to see and to name Jesus as the one who takes away the sin of the world.

Last week we talked about how important Jesus’ first words were for the Gospel of Matthew. “Let us do so now, for it is proper, in this way, to fulfill all righteousness.” This week we get to hear Jesus’ first words in the book of John. “What are you looking for?” A more literal reading would be, “What are you seeking, or searching, for?”

John’s disciples reply with the question, “Teacher, where are you staying?” They are wondering, “Where are you teaching, what are you teaching, how are you teaching? What is it that you think is so important that is different from what John has been teaching? After all, we have been John’s disciples and have had a good relationship with him. Why should we become your disciples? By John’s testimony we believe that you are the Son of God, but what difference does that make?”

In response to the disciples, Jesus invites them to, “Come and see.” This seeing that Jesus invites them to is theaomai; this Greek word is the root of theater. This is not just a peek in kind of seeing, but an IMAX kind of experience. It is more than just looking; it is a come and have your world rocked, a sensory, amped-up, get involved looking/overwhelming feeling, kind of experience. It is a relationship that will involve all your senses: hearing the word, seeing Jesus’ interactions with others, smelling perfume, tasting wine and eating bread, and putting fingers into the holes in Jesus’ side and hands. We will go to weddings and to homes in the night, we will go to the temple and to the cleansing pools of the city. We will smell the odor of the poor and the diseased, and we will hear the distant sound of Roman authority in fear. Throughout the Gospel of John, we will see “the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” reach out to people to establish and create new relationships of healing trust and hope. We will see the master gardener sow seeds of caring and compassion. We will see Christ stand before us as shepherd, gate, vine, and bread. We will witness Christ on the cross challenging our hearts and minds with claims of truth, life, and light.

Indeed, what are you seeking? What do you want to know about this Jesus who stands before you? What difference can he make in your life?

Jesus invites John’s disciples and us to, “Come and see.”

And so, when Andrew sees who Jesus is, he runs to report what he has seen, discovered, found. He goes to his brother Simon to bring him to what he has found: the messiah, the Christ, the anointed One of God. And the divine theater begins. “You are Simon. From now on you will be Cephas, and for the sake of you who don’t know Aramaic, that is Peter in Greek, and for those of you who don’t know either Hebrew, Aramaic or Greek, that is rock in English. You are the rock, the living foundation stone on which I will build.”

Jesus began to build with Simon Peter. It is not something that is done and completed; it is an ongoing building project that requires sweat equity, sacrificial living, and the hands of many. Come and see. Look around yourselves right now. For, in the midst of our lives, in the midst of our worship, Christ interrupts our comfort zones and invites us to see ourselves, the Church that has been built and the Church that continues to be built in the evangelizing relationship of the world of need, in the presence of the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world, Jesus Christ, the son of God, our savior and Lord.

So, with Andrew, who accepted Jesus’ invitation and went to see, we too see Jesus, the Lamb of God, and find the Messiah. We too need to ask ourselves, who do we want to tell of our great find? Who do we want to invite into this relationship we have in the lamb? Who will benefit from our news of what is the Good news for God’s people? Who can we invite with Christ’s words, “Come and see.”

I now return you to your regular local programming already in progress.