"and on those in the tombs bestowing life:" a sermon on the raising of Lazarus for Evensong of Easter 3

sermon preached in Merton Chapel for Evensong of Easter 3

Psalm 86; Isa 38: 9-20; John 11: 17-44

A few years ago, some American Episcopalian friends introduced me to Lent Madness: an online knockout tournament between saints from every period of Christian history. From Ash Wednesday to the end of Holy Week, the 32 saints nominated from the start of the tournament are whittled down to one, the saint of the year, who is celebrated as the winner of the Golden Halo – via rounds highlighting the saints’ stories, quirky quotes and saint-themed tat. It’s exactly as much fun as it sounds.

This year’s winner was Martha of Bethany: and, having followed her through the tournament from the Round of 32 all the way to the Golden Halo, I have come to think that Martha is both interesting and important – important in what she says and does, and also an important element in the structure of John’s Gospel where she is the catalyst for Jesus to reveal himself as the resurrection and the life, the glory of God. In this episode, which we heard this evening, we met her as a woman who is grieving, but still able to trust; someone who believes in the faith she grew up with, but is still able to receive the presence of Jesus as something new; someone who speaks and acts in huge faith. Martha makes a series of choices: to go to Jesus, to respond with belief rather than doubt, and to welcome the encounter that Jesus offers. And, in return, Jesus gives her something wonderful and new: a revelation of himself as the resurrection and the life, as truly God, come to meet her.

After all that, the miracle itself – bringing Lazarus back to life – could seem almost secondary. It’s not, of course. Partly because it’s presented, not just as a validation of Martha’s and her sister Mary’s faith in Jesus – though it is that. It’s also a revelation of who Jesus is; a foretaste of his glorification.

In these fifty days after Easter – fifty days, a seventh of the year! – we celebrate over and over again that, in the words of the Orthodox Easter troparion chant, “Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death and on those in the tombs bestowing life.” This is an Easter story not just because Christ bestowed new life on Lazarus, bringing him back from the tomb. It’s an Easter story because in doing so, Jesus revealed himself as the Christ: revealed himself as clothed with God’s glory.

And he revealed it first to Martha: a woman, grieving, hanging on with her fingertips to faith.

Let’s return to that interaction where Jesus and Martha meet on the road. When Jesus tells her that Lazarus will rise again, Martha doesn’t rise to the bait. Perhaps she can’t bring herself even to hope. So she plays it safe: she expresses a normal Jewish theological position. Yes, he’ll rise again: won’t we all? If she’d been a regular Evensong attender, she might have said “yes, of course I believe in the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting.”

And she’s right. As we are right to believe that and to say it in the creed. We will all come to the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting. But in the very presence of Jesus there is more to say than that.

And in the presence of Jesus – in the encounter with Jesus, where Jesus had come to meet her and she in turn had gone out to meet him – Jesus says something more. He responds to Martha with gentleness and respect; but also with an invitation and a gift: a weighty theological statement of his identity. I am the resurrection and the life.

Or, as Paul put it, Christ once raised from the dead, dies no more; death has no more dominion over him. And that means that Jesus wasn’t just the resurrection and the life for Lazarus – he IS the resurrection and the life. For Lazarus. For Martha. For Mary.

For the disciples.

For the church in every age.

For us.

We, as the church, are in those fifty days of Eastertide: the season of joy, of gold, of resurrection, of bright candles, of the triumphant shout of Alleluia, of hymns that rejoice in Christ’s victory. We assert that we are risen with Christ, reborn with him, brought over from death to eternal life. We see and hear and sing all those in this chapel tonight. But the thing about the liturgical year is that sometimes it can guide or at least reflect the shape of our own lives – and sometimes it can’t.

Martha knew this. Anyone who’s experienced loss, or illness, or real pain knows this. Our lives don’t always match up easily to the seasons of the church; our seasons of faith may fall very differently. So while we are hearing this story in Eastertide, we are also hearing it at the beginning of Trinity term. A term that holds much Eastertide joy – balls and garden parties, Summer Eights, sitting out in the sun on the meadows until late, Pimms and black-tie dinners – but also much uncertainty. Some will be facing exams: times of anxiety, worry, stress. Some will be facing endings: the ending of university life; of degrees, or courses; of plans. And some will have pain or grief or anxiety that has nothing to do with Trinity term.

And this story belongs there too. This story of a young man, ill and dying; of a family grieving, belongs in the darkness. But into this dark story bursts the light of Christ. Into the dark grief of Martha walks the solid, vibrant and vivifying love of Jesus. Martha’s abstract faith in the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting is met by the concreteness of Jesus, rolling away the stone from the tomb; of the shaft of sunlight piercing the darkness and someone sitting up and blinking in the light. Lazarus; alive, unbound and set free. Christ, on those in the tombs bestowing life. Christ, whose own dark tomb has its stone rolled away, and from it shine the beams of celestial light.

And so, I wonder where in this story you might be finding yourself this evening.

You might be in Eastertide – in the sunshine of Trinity term.

But you might be with Martha, somewhere else.

Maybe somewhere in grief or pain.

Maybe you are somewhere in anxiety or fear.

Maybe you are holding on with your fingertips to belief.

Maybe you believe in the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting; but you can’t quite manage to believe that it applies to you.

If you are in any of these places, you are in good company.

You’re in the company of the psalmist, writing psalms of lament like the one we heard the choir sing this evening. You’re in the company of Hezekiah, ill and afraid, whose plea to God we heard in the first lesson. You’re in the company of people who have known Jesus and followed him from the very earliest days.

And you’re in the company of Martha. Who grieves. Who runs to meet Jesus in order to berate him; who interrupts his promise with a brusque reminder that she knows the tenets of her faith just as well as he does; and who, despite all that, receives from Jesus the most astonishing revelation.

So if you are in those lamenting places, those lonely places, those grieving or fearful, anxious or doubting places: know that Jesus comes to encounter you there. Know that Martha’s journey holds a promise for you as well. Know that Jesus can bear your lament; and responds with a tender invitation to go deeper, to learn about his love for those in pain, and to see and taste resurrection life.

For that is the message of this story; that’s the message of this Eastertide. Jesus, who encountered Martha, can encounter you. Jesus, who brought Lazarus to life, can bring new life to us all. Jesus, crucified, is Jesus risen.

Jesus is life. Reviving, vivid, vibrant.Nothing else matters. Jesus is the resurrection and the life.

Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and on those in the tombs bestowing life. Alleluia!