There was not a dry eye in the house. This Sunday’s worship included the reading from the Gospel of John where Mary, Martha, and Jesus were all weeping at Lazarus’ death. We read about his death and resurrection every year about this time. It becomes a preview, we often say, of the wonderful and surprising things to come. Rarely do we weep when we read it. It has become much too familiar, and we know the ending.
It was either ironic or by careful calculation that a lay person was invited to share his faith journey at the conclusion of the Sunday worship. In a very real sense, he fleshed out the story of Lazarus in his own experience of coming to grips with depression which had sent him to the brink of death. He recounted a time in his life when he saw four friends, all dealing with some of the same self destructive issues with which he dealt, suddenly lose their lives. He was sure he was next. He ended up in a treatment facility. More importantly, he also found himself in the graceful care of a young woman who loved him and a Church fellowship who embraced him. Slowly, he found health, life, and purpose. He was tearful throughout his testimony, and many others cried or sniffed back tears as he recounted his return to health.
What was so very evident to me as I heard this young man’s story was the love and care of many who would not give up on him. It seemed to underscore the persistence of Mary and Martha, and of Jesus, not to give up on Lazarus. As we in the Church move toward the celebration of the resurrection on Easter Sunday, I wonder if we too often try to imagine some ethereal scene never realized or observed before. I wonder if the resurrection is really more visible and more present that we think. Perhaps it’s as near as the love which encircles us right now and urges us not to give up, no matter how bad things get.
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