November 4, 2018 - All Saints Sunday - Lazarus and God's Promise Pushing Us To Grieve Out of Love

Lorie McCown

"On All Saints' Day, it is not just the saints of the church that we should remember in our prayers, but all the foolish ones and wise ones, the shy ones and overbearing ones, the broken ones and whole ones, the despots and tosspots and crackpots of our lives who, one way or another, have been our particular fathers and mothers and saints, and whom we loved without knowing we loved them and by whom we were helped to whatever little we may have, or ever hope to have, of some kind of seedy sainthood of our own."

-Frederick Buechner, The Sacred Journey

Most Creator Sunday worship services since my mother's passed have shifted my focus either to  the recognition of, or grief over, both her death and my father's passing. Today All Saints Day was celebrated and and my eyes were open to something new. I heard in the past there were other congregation members who never attended All Saints Day because it was too hard after the death of a loved one. I understood that today.

Pastor Ray started Children's Time with a question as usual. He asked the children "What is a saint?"  and , later, "Who is a saint?" 

Lutherans know we should consider everyone both saint and sinner. Only a few of us raised hands when Pastor Ray asked, "Who out there is a saint?" . There are multiple reasons for this. We do know how the named saints are formally recognized through the process of canonization in the Catholic church.

Also acknowledging the saint within appears to stand in opposition to acknowledging the sinner within. If  someone is declared a saint who has not gone through a religious heroic and rigorous  journey there is a sense of discounting an accomplishment. This immediately leads to a "good works" argument and justification of the label which is even more uncomfortable .

Since we all are classified as both saint and sinner it is hard to completely embrace these labels completely, either for ourselves or others. I have been thinking about the saints in my life recently and the word still comes hard as a description of an individual for me.

Yet, as a discipline, I acknowledge my parents today as Saint Yvonne and Saint Ralph, as well as other members of my family, friends and fellow congregation members. Immediately honoring those in my life in this way invites a comparison with those typically thought of as "saints". With this acknowledgment other feelings are uncovered. It opens up a deep wound or, more precisely, makes me aware of this deep wound I must confront about the nature of the spirit and my understandings of resuscitation, resurrection and eternal life.

As I said, I have pondered those saints in my life for a few weeks now. Saints that know and have communicated the truth at pivotal moments for me.  Saints who were seers, and who saw what really mattered in a situtation. Saints who were realists, idealists and dreamers. Those who embraced suffering out of love.  Saints who embraced a heroic joy.  (This is one of the criteria for canonization: Saints must have joy.)

Saints are servants of Christ.  They look at the truth of the Bible verse "What profits a man if he conquers the whole world but loses his soul? And saints continually conquer the sinners within themselves. The battle is not won just once.

The story of Lazarus does not necessarily feel connected to the celebration of All Saints Day. It almost feels inappropriate. Why does power over death appear to be confined to Lazarus?

Pastor Ray preached about all the characters in today's Gospel passage about the raising of Lazarus. I empathized with all their different reactions to death. The grief that is mixed with accusation in a natural response to any death The whispered internal thought "Could not Jesus, who opened the eyes of the blind man, have kept my mother and my father from dying?" Then, of course, the list expands and explodes with the great tide of all I have known who died.

On first read, Lazarus is a story about the overcoming of death. a resuscitation where Lazarus comes out of the tomb. Jesus says to Martha, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha answers, “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.” and Jesus says to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?”

Lorie McCown

“Yes, Lord,” she replies, “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, who is to come into the world.” Is the implication of this that basically had Martha kept to her understanding of resurrection at the last day, rather than declaring her belief in Jesus, Lazarus would not have come out of the cave? Would another implication be that the resuscitation of Lazarus was *the* sign of the power of Jesus over death?

The story of Lazarus, when viewed this way, becomes more of a fun house mirror right now in how to confront the death that preys on my thoughts. I see myself saying what Martha said to Jesus. I long for comfort, the love and the touch of my mother. Today, however, I clearly see a difference between Lazarus' resuscitation and the promise of eternal life which is evident to me in the Gospel story.

The resuscitation of the physical body is not the central fact around the power of Jesus over death. The resuscitation of Lazarus is not, in itself, a sign of eternal life. What I do or don't believe about Jesus and death is not a factor in my mother's eternal life any more than Martha's belief affected the resuscitation of Lazarus. If this had been the point of John's Gospel the story Lazarus being alive would have emphasized far more, Lazarus might act beyond coming out of the tomb or speak, perhaps praising Jesus and proclaiming the power of God. Instead what happens is presented as incomplete, without that particular, expected and triumphant ending.   

Pastor Ray  described the crowd Jesus addressed to complete what happened to Lazarus as a character. Pastor Ray preached when Jesus said, "Untie him and let him go". that Jesus recognized community was needed to complete this miracle. I am realizing just how much I need a community at this moment of vulnerability. Recently the most meaningful moments have come to me when I acknowledge  how much I rely on my family and others even when I can stubbornly resist dwelling on that truth.

The memorial for my mother on Saturday and what can be done in this world to respond to death is necessary for me. Honestly, every memorial for those who have passed away is needed. These processes, rituals, emotions and reflections are a part of that mysterious unbinding and letting go process needed after a death. The process can start the creation of something new when old structures in our lives are crumbling. When we lose individuals in this way a process of renewal reignites a spirit of hope within.

I must admit, even with that hope reignited, facing everything to be confronted with courage is still not within my grasp at this moment. This service and this Gospel were hard to reflect on. What does the unbinding of feet and hands really mean? How do we let a person go? The enormous emptiness and immediate presence of all I am experiencing clings to all these reflections and they shake me to the marrow of my being.

I did recently read these words:

Grief never ends... but it changes
It is a passage, not a place to stay.
Grief is not a sign of weakness, 
Not a lack of faith...
It is the Price of Love.