Imagination and Love

The gospel today presents one of the most famous stories about Jesus in which he raised his friend Lazarus of Bethany from the dead.

I am not always sure what to do with stories like this because they stretch me.  Are we supposed to believe that this story happened as they told it? Was Lazarus actually dead and entombed for four days and then Jesus brings him back to life? Or is it a “true” story in the sense that it is meant to teach us something important about the work of God in the world (but may not have happened exactly as it is told)?

I’ll start with some beautiful lines from the first reading from Ezekiel:

O my people, I will open your graves

and have you rise from them,

when I open your graves and have you rise from them,

I will put my spirit in you that you may live

When I think about “graves,” I think about the parts of ourselves that have disappeared or contracted somehow.  Maybe we have lost our sense of joy. Maybe we don’t think we will ever be happy again. Maybe we’re not sure we will recover from a heartbreak or betrayal.  Maybe we fear we will never be well.

Or perhaps we are in a relationship that seems lost or beyond repair. Maybe a situation seems lifeless and dead and nothing good can seem to come from it. Maybe all hope seems lost.

The promise from Ezekiel is not that “everything is going to be OK” so much as we will rise from the graves we are in and God’s spirit will enable us to live somehow – that whatever we are going through right now is not the final word.

In the gospel the story of the raising of Lazarus is yet another testimony to the end not being the end, and there are some very tender moments that I love in this story.

Jesus hears that his friend Lazarus is sick but, for whatever reason, feels the need to remain where he is for a few days.

We can all probably relate to this.  We’ve prayed. We’ve told God what’s happening and stressed the urgency. And God is delayed somehow. We might wonder, “Where were you?” And, of course, that’s what Martha and Mary were wondering (as well as the crowd). Where was Jesus?

Mary was just overcome when she saw Jesus arrive, however. In fact she runs to him.  She acknowledges that Jesus was late, but also softens and says that she knows that God will still move and work through him. I think she was just happy that he was there.

Think back to a time in your life when someone came to you during a difficult time and it just made all the difference.  Even if they could not change the outcome of the situation, per se, they were there for you, and you’ll never forget it.

In this reading, we hear the shortest line of the Christian scriptures that just gets me every time. “And Jesus wept.” Jesus loved his friends. Jesus loved life. Suffering affected him. And this loss was just so painful.

This is, perhaps, yet another connection we can make with this passage. What tears have we cried lately?  What losses have hurt?  What grief do we carry that we are trying to release?

Finally, Jesus goes to the tomb where Lazarus is and calls him to come out.  Lazarus rises and comes out, and the crowd is directed to unbind him and let him live unencumbered.

One of the reasons I shy away from reading this passage literally is that, for one, it only appears in John’s gospel (the latest one written and the one with the most developed “theology” related to Jesus).  And also because there were so many people in Jesus’ time who had suffered significant losses. Did Jesus really “choose” who he’d bring back and who he wouldn’t – who he’d heal and who he wouldn’t?

I might suggest that we think about this story as representing all of the “parts” we experience in our spiritual lives.

The part where we experience something hard and send for Jesus.

The part that wonders why he’s delayed.

The part that is overjoyed to see him coming.

The part that appreciates that he weeps with us.

The part that doubts him.

The part that gets brought back to life or is set free.

The part that knows that these “miracles” happen every day.

Jonathan Kozol wrote a book in the early 2000’s called Ordinary Resurrections which is about his work with young children in the Bronx. The children that he encountered – while facing enormous and harsh obstacles – had what Kozol called “ordinary resurrections” where the children kept hope and goodness alive on a daily basis in spaces and places where hope and goodness seemed absent.  This required their deep imagination and love.

To believe that the dead will rise from their graves requires imagination and love. To believe that something can emerge from spaces and places where hope seems lost requires imagination and love. To revive anything that seems lifeless or broken requires imagination and love.

We have had this done for us, and we are all called to do this in the world.