What’s to be done about death?
A Sermon by Rev. Dal McCrindle, Minister Emeritus
St. David’s United Church, West Vancouver
(Written for March 26 Lent 5: delivered on April 16 Easter 2 )
With a voice, loud enough to wake the dead, Jesus cries out to Lazarus' tomb,
"Unbind him, and let him go." These words ought to fill us with hope. After all, we, like
Lazarus, are bound by the forces of death and decay. If something can't be done about
our dying, then nothing much has been done for us.
This was a curious gospel for a day, so deep in Lent. We hadn't come to Easter
yet; however, we had this resuscitation text. A man is being raised from the dead, not
raised in the same way that Jesus will be raised, not resurrected, but still raised from
death to life. Doesn't this seem like an Easter story rather than a story fitting for Lent?
I hear John saying, in effect, "Whenever Jesus shows up, even if he shows up
late in Lent, the dead begin to rise, life begins to break out."
Here, deep in Lent, perhaps these words of life strike us even more forcefully
than if they had been spoken during the great fifty days following Easter. We are
preparing, in the forty days of Lent, for Easter. One way to prepare ourselves is by
being honest about the reality of death and the power of God in Jesus Christ to defeat
death. Even as Ezekiel sees the Spirit of God enlivening a valley of dry, dead bones,
even as Jesus raised Lazarus from the tomb, so Jesus comes to bring life to those of
us who live in the valley of the shadow of death.
Ezekiel sees a valley full of dry, dead bones. The bones are not only dead, they
are dry, really dead. No hope here. Nothing can happen. But then, there comes this
strange wind, this breath that brings the dead bones to life.
Jesus is summoned to the bedside of his ailing friend Lazarus. Alas, he arrives
too late. Lazarus has died. In fact, he has been entombed for three days by the time
Jesus gets there. Jesus goes to the cemetery and, in a loud voice, cries out, "Lazarus,
come out!"
At once, dead Lazarus comes forth, bound up in his grave clothes. And Jesus
commands, "Unbind him, and let him go."
Although death seems to be in command of our lives, forcing us to evade and to
deny its reality, Jesus is in command of death. When he gets to the cemetery, he takes
charge, gives the orders, defeats death. It's not yet Easter, God's supreme defeat of
death, yet even before Easter, Jesus is Lord of Life.
Years ago when I was in University in Philosophy Class our professor spoke of
the nobility and the grandeur of living life without the consolations of religion. It was
kind of difficult for a theological student. But anyway, he noted all of the famous, good
people who had been produced by atheistic and pure humanistic philosophy. So I
asked something about death and the professor replied, "Well, yes, young man, death
is definitely a problem for humanism. In the face of death, there really is not much to
be said by an exclusively human based philosophy of life. Death tends to be the main
defeat of secular points of view."
Yes, it does. Death is the great, all powerful defeat of all attempts to speak
positively about life without God. Though we humans have our virtues, even our most
noble ideals and ideas are no match for death.
And Jesus just hates death. He grieves when he learns of the death of his friend,
Lazarus. "See how he loved him," people exclaim. Those of you who are presently
grieving the death of a loved one know exactly what this means. Life, for all of its
occasional beauty, loses its lustre because it all ends in death. Before all of our
achievements and attainments, death speaks a devastating word.
We say things in a vain attempt to comfort ourselves like, "She will live on in our
memories; we shall never forget her."
But we do. Memory is no match for mortality. We forget, her image gradually
slips away from us, and death has the last word.
Lazarus in the tomb is bound. And we are also bound. Death jerks us around,
determines what we do, fills us with fear. We build, we achieve, accumulate, and
acquire. But everything fades, withers, decays, dies. That sombre fact accounts for
much of what we do in life. We build our fragile bridges over this great abyss. But we
cannot deny that we face an abyss.
We try to build some hedge against death, to take out some insurance against
it. But then, once we have built, and attained, there is still that mocking voice, "It all
ends out at the cemetery, everything finally finishes with me. I am death, and I will
have everything. It all belongs to me."
Into this sombre reality, a breeze blows, there is a breath, a life-giving breath. Old,
dead, dry bones take on flesh, move, live. Jesus comes out to the cemetery and, in a
loud, conquering voice, shouts, "Lazarus, come out!" This mummy-like form emerges
from the tomb. Then Jesus commands, "Unbind him, and let him go."
I think that he is shouting in order to overcome the strong, seemingly invincible
voice of death. I think he shouts so that we might hear and look up, and live.
On Palm Sunday, we followed Jesus as he goes toward that kingdom called
death. We will note, in reading of his prayer in Gethsemane, that he does not want to
die. Jesus loves life, this life. Yet he knows that this life doesn't last. We all move
toward death, one way or another, today or another day.
Watch how Jesus walks down that path toward death. He walks with a kind of
serenity, a kind of confidence. He walks confident in the power of God, the giver of life,
to give life even in the face of death. He walks not alone. Neither do we. Hear the
voice; heed the words: Come out! Rise up! Be unbound! Let go! Live!
At least that’s the way I see it!
World Peace Prayer
The prayer was first publicly used in July 1981 by Mother Teresa in the Anglican
Church, St. James’, Piccadilly in London but has its roots as an adaptation of a
Hindu mantra by Satish Kumar
Lead me from death to life,
from falsehood to truth;
lead me from despair to hope,
from fear to trust;
lead me from hate to love,
from war to peace.
Let peace fill our heart,
our world, our universe.