Episode Transcript
[00:00:02] Speaker A: Please pray with me.
Lord, open our hearts and minds by the power of your Holy Spirit. That as the Scriptures are read and your word is proclaimed. We may hear with joy what you say to us today. Amen.
Today's scripture is John, chapter 11, verse 17 through 44.
On his arrival, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. Now Bethany was less than two miles from Jerusalem. And many Jews had come to Martha and Mary. To comfort them in the loss of their brother.
When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him. But Mary stayed at home.
Lord, martha said to Jesus, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.
Jesus said to her, your brother will rise again.
Martha answered, I know he will rise again in the resurrection. At the last day, Jesus said 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?
Yes, Lord, she answered. I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God who is to come into the world.
After she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary aside. The teacher is here, she said, and he is asking for you. When Mary heard this, she got up quickly and went to him.
Now Jesus had not yet entered the village. But was still at the place where Martha had met him.
When the Jews who had been with Mary in the house comforting her. Noticed how quickly she got up and went out. They followed her. Supposing she was going to the tomb to mourn there.
When Mary reached the place where Jesus was and saw him.
She fell at his feet and said, lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. When Jesus saw her weeping and the Jews who had come to along with her, also weeping. He was deeply moved in spirit and trouble.
Where have you laid him? He asked. Come and see, Lord, they replied.
Jesus wept.
Then the Jews said, see how he loved him.
But some of them said, could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?
Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb. It was a cave with a stone laid across the entrance. Take away the stone, he said. But, Lord, said Martha, the sister of the dead man. By this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days.
Then Jesus said, did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?
So they took away the stone. Then Jesus looked up and said, father, I thank you that you have heard me.
I knew that. You always hear me. But I said this for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe that you sent me.
When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, lazarus, come out.
The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped in the with strips of linen and the clothes around his face.
Jesus said to them, take off the grave clothes and let him go.
This is the word of God.
[00:04:13] Speaker B: As Ashley reminded us in her children's sermon this morning, this is indeed one of the most emotionally vivid passages in all of scripture.
We get that not just in those powerful words, Jesus wept. One of the most often memorized verses in Scripture, as it's just two words long. You've all memorized it now. Jesus wept. John 11:35. Congratulations.
But even before we get to that verse, already we're hearing about Jesus emotional state.
We hear these words that Jesus was deeply moved, that he was deeply moved, that he was troubled. And it seems to me worth lingering on those emotions, weeping, being deeply troubled, being disturbed. Because it seems we can often imagine Jesus as dispassionate, even stoic, sometimes picture him so above and beyond the waves of human emotional vicissitudes that he would never fall prey to such himself. But with those two words, Jesus wept. Such misconceptions of an emotionally detached Savior are blown apart.
Earlier we read, quote, greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved was Jesus. And some translations of that verse paint our Lord's response even more evocative terms. I love how the Bible scholar Raymond Brown translates this particular depiction of our Savior's emotions. He translates it like this. He writes that Jesus shuddered, moved with the deepest emotions, moved with the deepest emotions.
Now, what were those emotions? Well, there's some disagreement about that among those who've carefully studied the Scriptures because you see the phrase that's often translated as shuttered or greatly disturbed can imply indignation, even anger. And some argue Jesus is enraged in verse 33. He is angry at people's lack of faith. Didn't they hear what he just said, that he was the resurrection? Didn't they trust that God could bring new life to this situation? Some argue Jesus is angry at the lack of faith he sees. Others argue, like Raymond Brown himself, that Jesus is angry here at Satan, angry at the power of death that still holds sway before Jesus gives to Lazarus new life.
But others argue it will was sadness that moved Jesus as he heard Mary and the Jews weeping. Our own Dale Bruner reminds us how Jesus had affirmed grieving, had affirmed those who mourn how he'd said in the Beatitudes, Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. And Dale suspects sadness and not anger was the emotion that ruled our Savior's heart as he was moved with those grieving.
Well, whether it was anger or sadness or both that the weeping of Mary and the Jews evoked for Jesus, those two emotions are certainly displayed elsewhere as the Gospels portray the life of our Savior. Remember how Jesus overturned the tables of money changers in the temple and did so with anger? Or remember how Jesus laments over Jerusalem doing so in sadness?
Deep, hot emotions. Anger and sadness. They're there in the Gospels. In today's passage, we get them in hot, vivid colors, red and blue.
Such an emotionally charged passage seems appropriate for our day. Doesn't seems to me this is one emotionally charged period in history.
Reading the newspapers or seeing the news feeds can send us quickly into rage or into anguish.
This congregation, we've long celebrated compassion towards immigrants, refugees and asylum seekers and valued solidarity with them. We have a deep concern for creation and for the thriving of the natural world. And as Presbyterians, we've long valued, you know, checks and balances on power, both in the church and in local and larger national systems of government. So concerned as we are with human sin and power being concentrated just a few hands and holding such values as we do, there are plenty of things to stir up today. Anger and sadness to leave us. As Raymond Brown renders Jesus response in today's passage moved with deepest emotions. Moved with the deepest emotions.
And if that weren't enough on its own to make 2025 an emotionally charged year, let's add this to the mix. Our community has just suffered a loss of truly historic proportions. The Eaton fire, which began the evening of January 7th and burned for 24 days straight, now ranks as the second most destructive fire in the history of the state of California and the single most destructive fire ever in Southern California. It took down more than 9,000 structures, I've read, including so many of our homes or the homes of those near and dear to us. Eight families in this congregation, not to mention family members, friends of those in this congregation. And in addition to that, a host of people are still displaced and probably won't be able to return to their homes for months because of the smoke. And not just individuals and families, but churches and schools and businesses, lost buildings. Think of Altadena Community Church, St. Mark's School, Altadena Hardware, where we would go so often.
Some families even lost loved ones in the fires. And there's Nothing that can stir up deep emotion like loss.
Soon after the Eaton fire destroyed our home, Jill and I took a trip to Costco in Azusa. And the trip had hopeful moments. You know, we were in an unfamiliar living space, but somehow walking into Costco, like, all right, this is familiar. You know, I get this place. I've been here a lot. Oh, there are the. There's the technology aisle, there's the clothes. It all looks so familiar, you know? And then we were able to buy some things, a new electric toothbrush, a new dog bed, some new socks. And that was sort of this hopeful time of feeling, okay, one small step on that journey towards rebuilding and relief, you know, that journey that could lead to a new day. But then we're walking down the tool aisle.
The tool aisle.
But it brought to my mind these tools that I'd had from back in my days as an auto mechanic. Some of those tools I remembered using alongside Albert, my team leader for years when I was a mechanic, and others with Jimmy and others that I'd used for years afterwards, fixing the car in my own garage in these tool chests that I had. And I thought of all that just gone.
And there in the Costco tool aisle, I was moved with deep emotion. And there I wept.
More than a week later, I read in the news on January 22 of how churches like Knox, along with hospitals and schools, are no longer to be designated as sensitive locations by the government when it comes to immigration raids.
I shuddered and I wept.
Given all that's taken place this past month and a half, don't you, too, hear those words from John's Gospel of how Jesus was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved of how Jesus wept? And don't you say, too, yes, yes, I know. I know what that's like. I, too, have been moved. I, too, have been moved with the deepest emotion.
So what do you do with those emotions that can fill us in a Costco tool aisle, or reading the news or driving through Altadena and seeing firsthand the destruction? What do we do when we find ourselves as Jesus was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved?
Well, certainly today's passage offers us license, if not downright encouragement, to let such emotions find healthy and honest expression. We're shown in Jesus own life and ministry a move not to bottle up such emotions, but allow them to emerge not in ways that harm others, but allow them to emerge in ways that can be part of our and our community's healing.
Tears, as our scriptures portray them, are a part of that journey from death. And loss to life and renewal. At least they are in the story of Lazarus.
Before new life fills the scene, grief and mourning and weeping take place for a friend and family member. To many a beloved friend, we read of Jesus, and it's only after the tears we read, after the deep emotions and their outward expression, that our Savior then says, lazarus come out.
Only then does Lazarus step from death to life. Only then do Mary and the others who had been crying in grief look on with what I imagine was wonder and delight told by Jesus. Unbind him, set him free.
Friends, I don't know. I don't know why tears are such an integral part of the journey we see depicted in the life of Jesus, bringing one beloved to him from death to new life.
I only know that's the story we read. The road to life restored goes through the valley of loss and sorrow, the great theologian Augustine of Hippo wrote in his confessions of his own journey from heartbreak to hope. These words he wrote, the tears stream down, and I let them flow as free as they would, making them a pillow for my heart. And on them my heart rested.
The desert fathers of the early church put it like weep, for there is no other way. Weep, there is no other way.
Last Wednesday night, many of us heard Mona and Samantha, members of the San Gabriel band of Mission Indians of the Tonga, the Gabrieleno people, share with us a saying popular among indigenous peoples. A bucket of tears has to spill over or it will flood the world.
So many of the psalms in our scriptures express lament, anguish, sadness, anger, even rage.
It's as if the writers of the psalms, like Jesus himself, saw that it was only on the other side of lament that renewal lay our Lord's own resurrection, a resurrection that promises us a future day when all will be well, when the dead shall live. Even that resurrection of Jesus lay on the other side of a cross, the other side of mourning and weeping and loss.
Why is grief and anger, destruction and loss right there in bold colors, in heartbreaking clarity on the road to resurrection?
I don't know, friends.
I only know what I see there. Written in the Bible.
Jesus wept.
Vincent Harding, the great African American historian of the civil rights movement and a Christian pastor, notes how the expressions of sorrow and anger have long been integral to the movement for racial justice in this country. They're part of the journey, he writes time and again.
He writes of black women who led the community in mourning and grieving for those lost in the struggle toward that dream. Martin Luther King Jr. So powerfully articulated during his speech in The March on Washington. And in his book Hope and History, Vincent Harding quotes Sonia Sanchez as she laments the death of another black leader in the movement towards social change, Malcolm X.
Sonia wrote these words after the death of Malcolm X to an assassin's bullet.
Do not speak to me of martyrdom of men who die to be remembered on some parish day. I don't believe in dying, though I too shall die and violets like castanets will echo me.
Yet this man, this dreamer, thick lipped with words, will never speak again. And in each winter when the cold air cracks with frost I'll breathe his breath and mourn my gun filled nights.
What might have been is not for him or me but what could have been Floods the womb until I drown.
There is a time in life, a time in history, to truly be, as the Gospel of John puts it, greatly disturbed in spirit and moved with the deepest of emotions.
Or as Ecclesiastes puts it, there is a time to weep, a time to mourn.
Only then can you hope to move body, mind and heart into that gracious offering of Jesus there all the time.
Life, life made new. Resurrection, life, eternal life, life with God.
Jesus wept, Jesus mourned. And then Jesus said, lazarus, come out.
I had lunch yesterday with Grace, the associate pastor at Pacific Palisades and a dear seminary friend of mine. Her home survived the fires intact, but the campus of Pacific Palisades Presbyterian Church is gone, together with all the houses, businesses, schools and other buildings around them.
She and I are both getting asked the question often we shared. Are you going to rebuild? Are you planning to rebuild her in regard to her church campus? Me in regard, along with Jill, to our former house. And what's the answer Grace and I give?
Sure, we're looking ahead already to a rebuilding process that lies in our future. Her church, my neighbors, we're all talking about it. But Grace and I know too, from our journey of life with Jesus that there is mourning to be done, loss to be acknowledged, tears to be shed in the journey. And we want to be attentive to that, attentive with others, to not try to short circuit that process, you know, even as we hold firmly, as we do to the promises of Jesus and to his presence right in the midst of it.
One final question I thought I should address before closing, as it may be troubling you. It's troubled many a Bible scholar and theologian.
Why should Jesus feel such sorrow or anger if he knew Lazarus would be given life again? Jesus had clearly been intending to raise Jesus, raise Lazarus from that state of death. He announced that he was planning to do that back in early chapter 11. If you know new life is coming, if Jesus knew new life is coming for Lazarus, why mourn his passing? Why grief?
And the best answer I can come up with is this. In that precise moment, that moment that Jesus wept, new life had not yet come to Lazarus. Yes, Jesus, the resurrection and the life was right there. But with that was a promise of resurrection yet to come, a promise of life to come in that moment. At that time, Lazarus was dead and in a tomb. And so in that moment, tears, sadness, grieving were so appropriate. Jesus himself engages in them.
And then after the tears, Jesus and others could open their eyes and glimpse anew the wonderful promises of God.
Praise God. Praise God for a Savior who gets moved with the deepest of emotions. Praise God for a Savior who weeps. For we don't. We need. Don't we need a Savior? When we're overcome with sadness, when we're overcome with anger, when we're overwhelmed with emotion, who can be there in that?
In those times when all we see is destruction or loss, who can be there, hold us, be a presence for us, and as we're ready and able, take us by the hand in that journey of renewal, rebuilding new life.
Let me leave you with the words of Nicholas Woltersdorf. He's a philosopher and theologian who Jill and I got to know when she was pursuing a PhD at Yale. He could really get abstract as a deep thinker. And I still remember sitting with Jill and others in Nicholas Woltersdorf's office as he said to us, you know, there's nothing as practical as a good theory.
But he knew how to bring theories down to earth. And he did so for me in a short book entitled Lament for a Son. Woltersdorf lost his son Eric to a mountain climbing accident. And his son was only 25 years old, five years older than my daughter Lucy is today.
And Wolters Dorff wrote of how his Christian faith helped him walk through that journey of grief and mourning to slowly glimpse the light of a new day.
In Lament for a Son, Walters Dorff offers this reflection. He writes, it is said of God that no one can behold God's face live.
I always thought this meant that no one could see God's splendor and live.
Then a friend said to me, perhaps it means that no one can see God's sorrow and live.
Or perhaps God's sorrow is God's splendor. God's sorrow is God's splendor.
In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, amen.
