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"Lazarus, come out! " (John 11:43) |
Lazarus Is Brought to Life Deeply moved once more, Jesus went to‑ the tomb which was a cave with a stone placed at the entrance. “Take the stone away!” Jesus ordered. Martha, the dead man's sister, answered, "There will be a bad smell, Lord. He has been buried four days! Jesus said to her, Didn't I tell you that you would see God's glory if you believed They took the stone away. Jesus looked up and said, I thank you, Father, that you listen to me. I know, that you always listen to me, but I say this for the sake of the people here, so that they will believe that you sent me. "After he had said this, he called "Lazarus, come out!" Lazarus came out. His hands and feet wrapped in grave cloths, and with cloth around his face. “Untie him," Jesus told them, "and let him go.'' -John 11 |
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Who is that man in the tomb? Who is he in the midst of friends and loved ones, yet often separated from them; unable to find even in those closest to him the depth of communion and understanding and trust and mutual sharing that he know he ought to have? Who is Lazarus? Who is that man in the midst of a wonderful world of things and experiences, yet imprisoned in a hectic schedule, blinded by worries and fears, sealed off from the joy which he senses could be his? Who is that man aware that within him there is a potential to create, and to give that somehow he could be quite a different person, yet entombed in guilt about past failings, fear of what other people will think, continually cutting down and compromising on his hopes for himself, wondering if things ever will be different, afraid to look at himself for fear the sight might be disgusting? Who is that man surrounded by many voices speaking of the meaning and purpose of life, feeling in hi., heart of hearts that God ought to be somewhere ‑ like Jesus, a God to whom he could give himself unreservedly ‑ yet living in doubt and mystery and fear, somehow ignorant of what the voices are saying? Who is that man in the tomb? Who is the man Jesus loves, for whom he weeps, to whom he speaks? Could I be that man? Could I be Lazarus? Could this story of resurrection be my story? What is that well‑known I‑known and well‑ loved voice saying, out there beyond the walls of my tomb? Is he serious? Does he really want to look into my life, at how I really feel? Can he stand the sight of my broken promises, my poisoned thoughts, my worship of petty things, my failure to love? Can he stand the corruption of my heart, he whose hopes for me have been so high? Come to think of it, I know the answer to that question. He already has seen written on his own body and in his own wounds the measure of my sin. And he forgave. From the very midst of his agony, he FORGAVE. That sort of love I can trust. If only I could accept his care for me. Maybe I could unload to him. Maybe in the power of his compassion n I could face myself. Now the stone is rolled away. I can see the light through my bandage. I can feel the warmth of the sun. I hear the voice again: "Lazarus, come out!" What is he saying? Does he actually believe that I can walk out into a new life? Does he really want me to be with him? Does he truly feel he can use me, right now and right here? Does he seriously hope that I can begin to lead a new life, that I can leave death behind? It's all so sudden. I know so little about life out there with him. I have been where I am for so long. Out there in the new life is risk and pain. I know it. Perhaps I ought to wait, Yet, suppose he is right? Suppose I could get up and walk with head high and eyes open? Suppose I could really be a new person? There is authority in that voice; firmness, assurance. If he believes I can begin anew, perhaps I can! He believes in me; should I not believe in myself? Perhaps waiting out there with Jesus is the person I was meant to be. It is time for me to get up, to wake up, and to walk out! How did I get here? Standing in sunlight, the murmur of amazement around me, a strange joy within. If only the cloth were taken from my eyes I could see the light which I am sure is all around me. My bandages are bonds. If only I were free of them, my mouth, my hands, my feet could speak the love my heart feels. "Unbind him and let him go!" Friendly hands, stripping away the vestiges of death, helping me struggle back to life. It will take time I know. It has taken years for me to screen out my vision of the pain in my neighbor's eyes, to stop listening to his voice unless it concerns me, to keep my hands from reaching out to his need except when the coast is clear, to persuade my heart that what I feel, what I think what I want, are the most important things. It will hurt I know. Those old relationships and prejudices and defenses, those goals and habits and values, are all a part of me now. Ripping them away will draw blood. But they must go. I thought I was preserving my life, but I was only committing suicide, slowly entombing myself in sin. The old patterns must go. For I would be free! I must welcome the pain. It is that joyful anguish of a new birth, the small price I must pay for the abundant life. The cloth is off my eyes. The light is dazzling, almost binding. But there he is, the one who called me, and he speaks again. "I myself am the resurrection and the life; the man who believes in me will live even though he dies, an anyone who is alive and believes in me will never die at all." I see him but dimly. I know him but little. But one thing I know. In him there is life. With him I could never go back to the darkness, never give again to death. With him by one's side nobody could really die, not now ‑ not ever! Now I must speak. The time has come. There is but one thing to say, " My Lord and my God!" Who is that man in the tomb? Who is that man that Jesus loves, for whom he weeps, to whom he speaks? Could I be that man? Could I be Lazarus? Could this story of resurrection be my story? (John Lynn Carr) “I am the Resurrection and the Life ‑ He who believes in Me will never die ‑ Alleluia” |
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