What You Never Imagined

John 11:17-26; 20:1-18

April 4, 2021 (Easter) • Mount Pleasant UMC

Sometimes it’s the small things that have great power—just ask my wife! Seriously, though, think about what we’ve been through in the past year. A tiny, unseen virus wreaked havoc on our lives, changed our lifestyles, shut businesses and lives down. A year ago, we were sequestered away and some still are. A microscopic virus held the power of life and death over us, caused great fear among us. Small things have great power.

Small words have great power, too. In our Gospel reading this morning, Martha is focused on one tiny little word: “If.” Her brother had been sick, and she and her sister Mary had sent word to their friend, Jesus, the healer from Nazareth. “Lord,” the messengers had said, “the one you love is sick” (11:3). And Jesus had listened, taken in the information…and stayed where he was. He was in Perea, about twenty miles from Bethany, the town Martha, Mary and Lazarus lived in, just over the Mount of Olives near Jerusalem. Twenty miles was a long day’s journey, but Jesus could have made it if he had wanted to. And yet, he hadn’t come. Without sending any explanation to these friends of his, Jesus stayed in Perea one day…then another day…and then another day. Two extra days beyond the request. We have no idea what he was doing there, but after two extra days, he tells his disciples they are going to go to Bethany to “wake Lazarus up” (11:11). By now, Lazarus is dead, and more than that, Lazarus is buried. In the three days Jesus waited, and in the day he took to travel to Bethany, Lazarus has died, been certified dead, and put in a tomb without any hope of revival. He is as dead as anyone can be, and when Jesus does show up, Martha lets him have it: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died” (11:21). One tiny little word makes all the difference: if. If you had been here!

We know Martha, don’t we? Maybe we’ve been Martha. Maybe even in the last year, we’ve stood in a graveyard or by a casket or by the bed of a dying loved one and said similar things: “Lord, if you were here, if you had shown up when we asked you to, things would be different.” We’ve cashed our last paycheck or signed divorce papers or listened to a doctor’s diagnosis and we’ve said, “Lord, if you had been here, things would be different.” And then, in the silence of our own heart, we're tempted to give in to the whisper that haunts us: “But I guess you’re not here, because this is the way things are.” Do you know Martha? Have you been Martha? “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

I think those disciples who had followed Jesus for three years must have had similar conversations with God on a hill called Calvary late one Friday afternoon. They had watched in horror as their master, their teacher, their friend had been beaten within an inch of his life. They had found themselves helpless as Roman soldiers forced him to carry a cross beam, weighing somewhere around a hundred pounds for a third of a mile from the Roman governor’s house through the city and uphill to Calvary. In good health, you can walk that in a few minutes; for Jesus, beaten as he was, it probably took half an hour or better (Hamilton, 24 Hours That Changed the World, pg. 88). There on that hill, he was subjected to what one ancient author called “the cruelest and most disgusting penalty” and another called “the most pitiable of deaths” (Hamilton 96). Nailed to a cross, hanging between heaven and earth. And they watched him die. Within six hours, Jesus was gone, and the disciples went into hiding for fear that the Romans would come after them next. Can’t you almost hear them praying that Friday night and all day Saturday? “Lord God, if you had been here, Jesus would not have died. I don’t understand this, God. Where are you? Why did you let this happen?”

We understand Martha, and we understand the disciples. The grief and despair makes sense. But in both cases, Jesus does the unexpected. All throughout the season of Lent, we have been looking at the “I am” statements in the Gospel of John. Claims Jesus made about himself: he is the light of the world, the bread of life, the Good Shepherd, the vine, the gate, and the way, truth and life. But he saves the most scandalous statement for this place outside the tomb of one of his dearest friends, and if they don’t believe it then, he reminds them of it once more outside the walls of Jerusalem on that first Easter. Jesus’ most shocking claim is what he tells Martha beside the tomb of Lazarus: “I am the resurrection and the life” (11:25).

Now, that statement doesn’t shock most of us, not anymore. We’ve gotten used to this idea. We come to Easter and we know we're going to hear the word “resurrection” a lot. Ho-hum. Let’s just get through this and get on to the big dinner we have planned. But standing there by the tomb, resurrection would have been the last thing on Martha’s mind. You see, dead men don’t rise. And Lazarus has been dead long enough they know there’s no hope. In fact, he’s been dead so long that when Jesus asks for the stone to be removed from the entrance, Martha says (in the old King James version), “Lord, he stinketh.” Lazarus was dead, without question. Now, some Jews in Jesus’ day had begun to believe in a life after death. You won’t find much of that in the Old Testament times, but by the first century, they had pieced together certain Scriptures and a belief that there might be something more had taken root. So when Jesus says to Martha, “Your brother will rise again,” she thinks that’s what he’s referring to. Life after death. I can almost hear the disappointment in her voice as she says, “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day” (11:23-24). To Martha, what Jesus says sounds just like conventional words of comfort—you know, the sort of things you say at the funeral home when you don’t know what to say. It’s the first century equivalent of, “They’re in a better place.” And Martha responds in much the same way people do today. She smiles and says what’s expected: “I know he’ll rise again one day, someday.” What she’s really feeling is this: “That’s nice. But what I really want is my brother back. Right now” (cf. Tenney, “The Gospel of John,” Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 9, pg. 118; Wright, John for Everyone, Part Two, pgs. 6-7). But that’s impossible. Right?

Mary Magdalene knew it was impossible when she made her way from the Upper Room, where the disciples were hiding, to the place where Jesus was buried. She knows, beyond the shadow of a doubt, Jesus is dead. She watched him die. She watched them bury him. She watched them roll the huge stone in front of the cave where his body was laid to rest. And she’s waited anxiously all through Friday and Saturday to come and finish preparing his body for burial. She doesn’t come to the tomb to see if he has been raised. She comes to finish the burial. She comes to honor a dead friend. And we know this because, when she sees the stone rolled away and the tomb empty, she doesn’t say, “Oh, he is risen!” No, she runs back to the Upper Room and says, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him!” (20:1-2). His body is gone. His tomb has been desecrated. We’ve got to make this right, because he was our friend! Jesus is dead, and dead men don’t rise. It’s impossible. Right?

It is impossible, except that there, at the tomb of Lazarus, Jesus redefined death and life. Jesus says something there that is so much better than we ever imagined. While we live in a world of death and pain and suffering, Jesus says he has come to bring a better world. Actually he says he is that better world. Martha is thinking that at some point in the future, her brother will live again, maybe, hopefully. Jesus brings that future into the present, and more than that, he says that things like life and resurrection and hope and mercy and not a matter of a time or a place. All of those things are found in him. Resurrection is no longer a matter of time and place. Jesus says, “I am the resurrection and the life” (11:25). In a world of death and suffering, where we ask questions about what might be and why such things happen, Jesus says he is the answer. It’s one of his most disturbing and frustrating habits, making himself the answer to our questions. It’s what causes people like C. S. Lewis to say he was either a lunatic, a liar, or the lord of all. Jesus knows this sounds crazy. That’s why he asks Martha, “Do you believe this?” (11:26). Do you believe me (cf. Wright 7; Card, John: The Gospel of Wisdom, pg. 135)?

Martha doesn’t answer the question, and I wonder if it’s because Jesus has just blown her mind. She really doesn’t know what he’s talking about because he has just stepped out of all the categories she knows. In fact, she really couldn’t understand what Jesus says here until Easter. To be fair, we need to recognize that what happens in Bethany is not a resurrection. It’s a resuscitation. Lazarus is “raised” from the dead only in the sense that he is given a few more years to live. What happens in Bethany is a postponement of death, at best (cf. Fuquay, The God We Can Know, pg. 113), and I’ve said before I’m not sure Jesus did Lazarus any favors here. Lazarus has to die again. He thought he had that out of the way, but now he’s back and he has to go through that again. And John tells us at the beginning of the next chapter that there are people who begin plotting not only to kill Jesus but also to kill Lazarus because people are believing in Jesus based on what happened to Lazarus (12:10-11). He’s the evidence and they need to get rid of Jesus. No, Lazarus is not the final word on resurrection. Jesus is. He is the resurrection and the life, and we have to get to Easter to experience what he really meant.

Paul says Jesus is the “firstfruit” of our own resurrection (1 Corinthians 15:20); in other words, what happened to him is a promise of what will happen to those who believe. So what happened to Jesus? He was dead, and then he was raised. His body was absent from the tomb, and when people see him, it’s Jesus but it’s not exactly the Jesus they knew. They struggle to identify him at first. So there’s continuity with his old body, but he’s also able to walk through walls, to appear and disappear at will. He eats along with the disciples, and he invites at least one of them to touch him. We don’t know everything that resurrection involves, but we do know that we won’t be “Casper the friendly ghost” floating around on clouds. When we are raised as Jesus was we will be given new bodies, bodies that are meant to live forever. We also know that the whole of creation is going to be redeemed, resurrected. Easter is about more than you and me living forever and strumming harps and singing in the angel choir. Easter is about God’s radical reclaiming of creation, including you and me. Easter is a revolution, one that we never imagined could be possible. When Jesus stands there by the grave of Lazarus in Bethany, he is announcing something radically new. Resurrection, new life, new hope, a people transformed, a world transformed. Easter is God’s final word on all of creation. Easter is Jesus reminding us that resurrection, hope, and new life are found in him. He is the resurrection and the life.

If you go with me next January to Jerusalem (shameless plug!), we will visit two places that both claim to be the site of the crucifixion and the resurrection. Both have points in their favor, and while the Garden Tomb feels more authentic, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher has the weight of history and tradition behind it. Unfortunately, the hillside that was once there has been carved out long ago and a huge church stands in its place today. Inside that church is a huge rotunda and in the middle of the rotunda is a small shrine called the Aedicule. Inside that are two chambers built over the only remnants of the tomb that was once there. I’ve been to Jerusalem five times and only gone inside the Aedicule twice, mostly because usually the wait is always so long. On one of those trips, I had another pastor along with me, and again the line was wrapped around the rotunda, so I asked Pastor Ken Miller if he wanted to stand in line to enter the Aedicule. It was his first time there, and I didn’t want him to miss anything that he wanted to see. I’ll never forget what Ken said. He said, “I don’t want to stand in line to see a place where he is not.” Ken was exactly right. We don’t worship the place because, for one, Jesus only used it for a couple of days and for two, he is the resurrection and the life. Resurrection is a person—not a place, a time or a thing.

I am thankful for that promise each and every day, but never more than when I stand beside a graveside. Like Jesus, I find myself standing more often than I care to beside a grave, a tomb, a place where a dear saint is being, as we say, laid to rest. And like Jesus, I often find myself with tears welling up inside. But what a tremendous privilege I have in those moments to be able to announce that Jesus is the resurrection and the life, and that those who believe in him will live even though they die. And in those moments, I sometimes hear Jesus whispering to me the same question he asked Martha: “Do you believe this? Do you trust this? Are you willing to stake everything on this truth?” Because belief is more than giving mental agreement to something. Belief is throwing your lot in with whatever you believe to be true. Do you believe this? Jesus asks. And every day—not just on Easter, but every day—my answer is the same: “Yes, Lord, I not only believe this, but I’m counting on it.”

And so, it’s Easter, Resurrection Sunday, and I could spend a lot of time giving you arguments as to why the resurrection is true. I could tell you why I cling to this faith so strongly. I could share stories of people who have experienced resurrection in their own lives. But even if I did all of that, as I’ve done in the past (and will probably do again in the future), it doesn’t escape the central question. Because, you see, the question Jesus asked Martha is the same question he asks each and every one of us this morning: do you believe this? And if you do, what difference will it make in your life? Resurrection is not just something for “the sweet by and by.” Resurrection transforms every moment of every day, because when we are people who live in hope, we know that the worst thing is never the last thing. We are people who never give up on others, because God never gives up on us. We are not better than others, but we are consumed with a burning desire for others to experience this life as well. When we live resurrection, we live lives of sacrifice, of the greatest love, lives that the world never imagined were possible. Do you believe this? Jesus asks. If you do, it ought to change everything.

It’s that life of sacrifice we remember when we receive the bread and the cup of holy communion. This practice goes back to Jesus and his disciples on their last night together, the night we remembered this past Thursday, as Jesus took bread and cup and told them to remember him. But communion is a remembrance, not a memorial, because we serve a living savior, not a dead teacher. This bread and this cup represents the promise of new life, a life free from the guilt and burden of sin, a life lived in light of the resurrection. But the bread and the cup also ask us a question. They ask us the same thing Jesus asked Martha: do you believe this? Do you believe new life is possible? Do you believe that the worst thing is never the last thing? Do you believe this? Do you? And how will your life be different because of it?

Christ is risen—he is risen indeed! Let us celebrate his resurrection life by remembering the death that made resurrection possible. Let us prepare our hearts to celebrate Holy Communion.