Reflection 1 – Jesus and his friends
What we have just heard is a ‘big story’ – so ‘big’ that we are going to hear it this morning in
two instalments. And ‘big’ too in the sense that it is generally accepted by the scholars,
interpreters and commentators that this is the critical turning-point, the lynch-pin of John’s
Gospel – not only the seventh and most important of the signs John tells us were performed
by Jesus, prefiguring his own death and resurrection, but also the moment when the
authorities moved towards taking the decisive action against him that led to Calvary. In the
other Gospels it is the over-turning of the money-changers’ tables in the court of the temple
that stirred the powers-that-be into action; in John’s Gospel that incident comes at an earlier
point in Jesus’ ministry. Only in John’s Gospel does the story of the raising of Lazarus appear
– but more of that anon; and, although a Lazarus-figure appears in Luke’s Gospel – in the
sobering parable Jesus tells of the rich man Dives’ hard-heartedness, only in John’s Gospel
do we meet Lazarus, the brother of Mary and Martha, who is present later when his sister
Mary pours costly perfume over Jesus’ feet; and then we are told subsequently that the
authorities wanted to do away with Lazarus since it was on account of him that many of the
Jews were deserting and believing in Jesus.
That’s all we know or hear of Lazarus – introduced at the start of the reading we have just
heard as a certain man. The adjective ‘certain’ is perhaps a little misleading: the Greek means
something more like ‘There was this sick man Lazarus…’. The house at Bethany and the
sisters Mary and Martha are only mentioned three times in the Gospels: in addition to this
story and the later anointing, in Luke’s Gospel there is the familiar story, just after the parable
of the good Samaritan, of how Jesus was welcomed into the sisters’ home – when Mary sat at
his feet, lapping up what he said while Martha got hot and bothered in the kitchen laying on
the meal. Although there are only these three mentions, it seems clear from the tone and
content of the accounts that these people were good friends of Jesus and their house was a
safe place for him. We all need these safe havens – where we can retreat for a while from
pressures, demands and expectations and relax among good friends; but it is especially
important for people with a public profile and big responsibilities. When Donald Dewar was
Secretary of State for Scotland and then Scotland’s first minister I remember hearing how he
had a coterie of close friends whose homes he went to escape from the pressing round of
duties and recharge his batteries.
And it sounds as if the home at Bethany, just a couple of miles or so from Jerusalem, served
this purpose for Jesus, although this time it was different. There’s a charm and deep intensity
of emotion about the story with all the insight it contains into Jesus’ humanity and his
divinity. In their worry about Lazarus the sisters send for Jesus with the message Lord, he
whom you love is ill. But Jesus, even though they were good friends, did not apparently
regard this as a matter of urgency. ‘Why on earth didn’t he go immediately?’ we may well
ask. What kind of person doesn’t get into their car, jump on the next train or bus in such
circumstances when a cry for help comes from a close friend or relative? The commentators
agonise over trying to explain this – why he waited for four days, when it seemed a matter of
life or death. But that is the whole point of the story: within the Jewish tradition the soul
hovered over the corpse for four days after the death; for the miracle to ‘work’, to be
persuasive and to be fully to God’s glory Lazarus had to be really dead. Jesus even says to
the disciples For your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. This is the
significance too of the rather confusing sequence of verses in the passage we just heard –
about light and dark, and Lazarus being asleep – at the end of which Jesus told the disciples
plainly, Lazarus is dead. Moreover Jesus’ response – or apparent lack of immediate response
– emphasises too the difference between human time (how we see the wheres and whys and
whens) and God’s time – the right time, the longer, broader view, the perspective beyond
ours.
And we hear too in the passage the reaction of the other protagonists, some of Jesus’ friends.
Thomas, the sceptical stalwart, bold and courageous – notwithstanding the certainty of
impending opposition and danger at the hands of the authorities, says Let us also go, that we
may die with him.
Then there is Martha’s part in the story. She is the activist, the practical one, the instigator.
Just as she was the one who welcomed Jesus into their home in the Luke story, so it is she
who goes to meet Jesus. Maybe there is even something of a role reversal compared with
Luke. Here it is Martha’s relationship with Jesus that is the focus of attention, and what she
says in the dialogue that ensues is very significant – her absolute confidence and trust - ‘If
you had only been here Lazarus would not have died. You could have prevented it.’ She fails
fully to understand the real meaning of what Jesus us saying about God’s promise of eternal
life. But when he utters the words that disclose his identity and are the very heart of the
Christian faith I am the resurrection and the life, the penny drops and in the end Martha gets
it – the moment of recognition and commitment: You are the Messiah, the Son of God, the
one coming into the world.
And we’ll leave what happens next until we have heard the second part of the Bible passage.
But first we shall sing – 689: Just as the tide creeps over silver sand….
Reflection 2 – What do we make of miracles?
I’m not going to go into this part of the story in quite so much detail – partly because it is
pretty familiar. Martha goes back home and tells Mary Jesus is asking her to come too to
where Lazarus is buried. The other mourners who had gathered in the house, as was the
custom, went along as well. Mary repeated what Martha had said before – if only Jesus had
been there he would have prevented Lazarus’ death. Jesus’ reaction is one of anger and
anguish: twice we are told he was ‘deeply disturbed’, he began to weep; there is speculation
among some of the bystanders as to how and why the man who gave sight to the blind could
not have intervened in this situation. And then the dramatic, very sensory conclusion to this
story – the smell, the sounds, the sight of Lazarus appearing swathed in bandages – and the
reaction of those present: for many, we hear, in effect a conversion experience; for others, as
the passage goes on to say, a potential threat to social order and stability – a critical turningpoint in Jesus’ ministry when the authorities decided they must get rid of him.
There are so many questions that this story raises, and there is time only to deal with some of
these – and fairly sketchily at that. As I said before, this is ‘a big story’. Surely such a
significant event as this would have featured prominently within the oral tradition concerning
Jesus’ life and ministry. Why then, for goodness’ sake, is it only in John’s Gospel and not in
the others, which share much material and were composed earlier? . And because it doesn’t
– especially in Luke’s Gospel where the healing theme is so prominent, inevitably some will
ask – did it really happen? And, more fundamentally, could it have happened? what do we
make of miracles?
I seem to remember a good few years ago, when I was exploring different perspectives on the
Christian faith, reading a book with the title But that I can’t believe. I can’t find it on my
bookshelves now: that probably means I thought it was so good that I lent it to someone, or
that when I was having a clear-out I didn’t think it worth keeping! But I still have my
Fontana copy of CS Lewis’ popular book on miracles, first published in 1953 - although it
was obviously sometime after that when I acquired my copy! When we read the Bible – and
the Gospels especially – it is important to remember the kind of literary work it is. It is not a
straight historical narrative: none of the Gospels sets out to be an accurate chronological or
biographical account of what happened in Jesus’ life and ministry. So it is always necessary
to interpret what one is reading – and to try to answer such questions as ‘what is going on
here?’; ‘what is the author’s intention, the purpose and significance of this passage?’ –
whether it is parable, narrative, purported words of Jesus or whatever.
I have said before – but it is worth repeating - that the Bible is not the words of God but the
word of God. It is the word of life – giving us insight, above all through what it says about
Jesus and the life of the early church, into God’s eternal truth, God’s loving purpose of
fullness of life for all. It is not necessary for a Christian to believe in the literal truth or
infallibility of the Bible: some of us may find it hard to see how one can do so in view of the
internal inconsistencies and contradictions; but for people who feel able to do so that is their
choice. Similarly it is not necessary to believe that the physical miracles recounted in the
Gospels were actual historical events – the water turned into wine at Cana, Jesus walking on
water and calming the storm, the healing of blind Bartimaeus, the raising of Lazarus and so
on.
We use the word ‘miracle’ too lightly sometimes. Strictly speaking it is perhaps most helpful
to regard a miracle as a supernatural event – an occurrence that defies our understanding of
the material world, that doesn’t fit into the normal pattern or natural order of things. So
someone who places great store on empirical knowledge and has an absolutely high regard
for the power of reason is likely to deny the possibility of miracles happening. Others of us
will acknowledge the limitations of human experience and knowledge: There are more things
in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy, as Hamlet said. So we
might want to say - miracles could happen, but we are not sure that everything that is
described or claimed as a miracle did happen. After all if we believe in a God of love and
justice, how do we reconcile this with the kinds of miracles that involve a degree of
discrimination, God intervening, as it were, in some situations of difficulty and suffering but
not in others? Moreover, to make too much of all this and to get into a tizz about it is actually
to miss the point.
The miracle stories are rooted in particular situations, relate to specific incidents and people
because they are intended to convey a thoroughly down-to-earth message, an eternal truth
that is real and relevant for each and every one of us about the all-encompassing love and
irresistible grace of God. This story – of the raising of Lazarus – might have happened more
or less as John’s account tells us: believe that if you wish. Or it could be a development or
embellishment of some oral tradition, a story of a healing event that had made a big local
impact – and in that time and culture wonder-workers and miracle-makers were just about ten
a penny: apparently almost village had one. Or again we can regard the story of the raising of
Lazarus as essentially a brilliant piece of creative artistry which the writer of John’s Gospel
has produced as part of the build-up to his account of Jesus’ passion, death and resurrection
and to prefigure and underline the significance of his message. Abstract ideas and mere
words are not nearly as powerful and persuasive as stories: this of course is why again and
again we find Jesus teaching through parables; and ‘there is no argument against love in
action’. (W Barclay) So this could be seen as a kind of everyman story: the name Lazarus
means ‘God helps us’; the particularity of Lazarus being brought back from the dead is not
the main point at all; the real miracle is the gift of new life; the recurring theme, within the
passage, of the glorification of God emphasises the basic message of the universal power of
God’s love – God’s grace is stronger than sin and death; it brings transformation and new life
into the darkest and most difficult situations.
This is the end of our searching. This is after all why we are here. This is the Gospel hope.
And Easter is coming!