2nd
Quarter 2002
Scary indeed are the two scenes described in today's lessons from the gospel and the Hebrew scriptures. What happens in Ezekiel's vision of the valley of dry bones would lend itself to an episode in Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas, or something akin to "Night on Bare Mountain" in Fantasia. Ezekiel sees a vast field littered with bones that, at the word of God spoken through his prophet, come together, and then flesh and breath are given them by God's spirit. We would not blame Ezekiel if he hightailed out of there, Lord or no Lord. This is an awesome, no, a bizarre experience that would shake most of us to the core of our being. But God doesn't give his prophet much time to shake in his sandals or to ponder the sight. He reveals to the prophet the meaning of this visual parable. Ezekiel has witnessed nothing less than the resurrection of a dead nation. During the first part of his ministry, the prophet had been called to announce the bad news of the doom of Judah due to its violation of the covenant. Now he is being called to declare good news—the hope of the restoration to life of a captive, despairing people.
The second lesson is also about resurrection, but instead of corporate, it is an individual resurrection. It too must have been a scary one for those who first witnessed it. The story of the raising of Lazarus is a familiar one, depicted in hundreds of paintings and re-enacted in many of the Jesus movies. It's probably too familiar for us to appreciate its scariness, but had we been there, I am sure we would have felt fear at the first sight of the dead man emerging from the cave tomb, the winding cloths still about his decaying body. It might have been broad daylight, but watching a man you have been mourning as dead suddenly appear has to be unsettling. Who is this friend of the family, this rabbi from Nazareth who has authority even over death? What does he want when he invites people to believe in him?
John's answer is clear and unequivocal, contained in the words Jesus speaks to Martha, the sister of Lazarus, "I am the resurrection and the life…" Although some scholars see this as a post-resurrection story in which the early Christian community posits the Resurrection of Christ, for John this event is the pivotal point of Jesus' story. First, it is a sign that Jesus is who the church claims him to be, the divine Son of God with authority over life and death; and second, it is the no-turning back point that leads directly to the cross. Jesus' enemies must either capitulate to him as the Son of God, or, to protect their own authority and system, they must eliminate him. The rest of chapter 11 relates how the fearful Jewish leaders meet to plot against him, so that Jesus had to withdraw from Judaea for a while.
Both stories affirm a hope that life does not end at death. The people of the Jewish nation had abandoned hope as they were carried off into the Babylonian captivity. Martha and Mary wept bitterly over the untimely death of their brother, only to see their friend command even death to give him up. Who of us has not given up hope at times when cherished plans were destroyed by unforeseen events, when a loved one or friend was taken from us by a cruel accident or disease? There is so much disappointment and misery in the world. Especially since the events of September 11 must this seem so to many. All the more reason that we tell these old stories and share our trust in a God of life, and not death, a God who loves his creation so much that he sent his Son to redeem it from the darkness of sin and death. They present us with a God of such awesome power that encounters with him are scary—as the author of the Letter to the Hebrews says, "It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God."
For this God, unknown and yet known, distant and yet close, loving and yet wrathful, in the case of Ezekiel and the raising of Lazarus seeks to scare us into our wits, if by wits we mean that true wisdom that leads to the fulfillment of our potential. I know, the proverb is "scared out of our wits," but "scare" and "fear" here are used in the sense of a raging awe that demands a response from us.: "Son of man, can these bones live?" and "Lazarus, come forth!" and "Do you believe?" The Triune God, whose Spirit brought life to the dead bones of Israel, and whose Son commanded the dead Lazarus to come forth, is very much with us now, able and willing to bring resurrection to the faithful in their distress. But is it a resurrection to God's kingdom, not ours, a call to follow not our wills, with their small dreams and plans, but God's will with its vision of a world filled with justice and harmony. We will never find life safe or secure, but we will find it challenging because we are led by a God who brings us through our fears into a resurrection fellowship with the living God and with fellow believers.
Clement of Rome around 100 C.E. wrote in his Letter to the Corinthians:
Let us consider, beloved, how the Lord is continually revealing to us the resurrection that is to be. Of this He has constituted the Lord Jesus Christ the first-fruits, by raising him from the dead.
Perhaps we can see some of the following scenes from films as part of the Lord's "continually revealing to us the resurrection that is to be be:"
• The story of Lazarus and resurrection figures prominently in the film The Hurricane, the story of boxer Rubin "The Hurricane" Carter's long struggle to prove his innocence of murder. When he fails, even with the help of celebreties like Susan Sarandon and Bob Dylan, to win his freedom from prison, Rubin Carter withdraws into himself, believing that if he cuts off all contact with the world, he cannot be hurt any further. Then one day Lezra, a black teenager being mentored by a commune of Canadian whites, buys and reads Carter's book about his ordeal. The boy becomes so zealous of proving Carter's innocence that he convinces the Canadians to move to the U.S. and to pursue the case full time. There are many ups and downs, the older black man and the boy drawing close to each other during their visits. When a guard calls Lezra Rubin's son, neither correct him. At last, when it looks as if they will actually succeed, Rubin tells Lezra, "Behold a son," quickly explaining that he is quoting Genesis 29:32. He then points out that Lezra is a shortened form of Lazarus, the man Jesus raised from the dead. "Put them together," Rubin says, "and you have, `Behold, a son who has risen from the dead.'" Looking upon Lezra, he continues, "Hate put me in prison, but love is going to bust me out!" Lezra agrees, saying, "I am going to get you out." "You already have," Rubin replies. And so he has, the man who for all purposes was dead to the world (Rubin even convinced his wife years before to divorce him) has now been resurrected.
• A type of corporate resurrection takes place in the little town of River City where the man who styles himself as Professor Hill is supposedly forming a band of youth and citizens. Actually a con man who can play music only on a radio or phonograph, Hill hopes to be able to slip away from River City with his pockets lined with the money collected from its gullible citizens, ostensibly for band instruments and uniforms. However, Hill had not counted on meeting and falling in love with Marian, the town librarian. Drawn to her, he begins to feel guilty about his nefarious scheme and decides to actually from a band, even though he must dodge leading any rehearsal, lest his musical ignorance be revealed. When Hill's enemies accuse him of fraud, most of the townspeople at their meeting turn against him. Marian stands up and defends him. She knows that he is not who he claims to be—she has even hidden evidence that would reveal that he did not attend the musical academy from which he claims to have graduated—but she has seen something good in him, and even more, she sees the good that has come to their once hum-drum town. Appealing to the audience, Marian pleads with them to look around and see the difference that has come over their town since Professor Hill has come. There is a new sense of aliveness and purpose. People are working together as never before. It is as if their town, once dead, has risen to new life.
• Still another film in which a type of corporate resurrection takes place is Percy Adlon's delightful little film Bagdad Café. When Jasmine, a somewhat overweight German haus frau stranded in the Mojave Desert, first comes upon the Bagdad Café, it is a dismal place. Brenda, a black woman worn down by the cares of life, is so embittered that she has driven off her lazy husband and constantly is hounding her teenage daughter and son to correct their faults. Because careless Jasmine has simply appeared out of the desert, Brenda is suspicious of her and discourages her from taking a room in her run-down establishment. The café itself is frequented only by a few locals, most truckers preferring to pass it by. But through a series of occurrences Jasmine wins the confidence, first of the son and daughter, then of one of the longtime customers, and finally even of Brenda. Jasmine has been spending much of her time in her lonely motel room practicing magic tricks from a kit, obviously intended as a gift for someone back in Germany. When Jasmine tries the tricks for Brenda's family, they show their appreciation, and soon Jasmine is moving on to more complicated ones, which she performs while helping to wait on tables. Brenda's son enters into the act by providing music—earlier Jasmine had encouraged his piano-playing talent. Brenda, who has uncharacteristically been smiling a lot, sings for the cutomers, By now the ranks of customers has swollen, once word of the new joyful life in the café gets around. The once almost deserted, gloomy eatery is now a place of conviviality. But then the police learn that Jasmine does not have a green card, so she is sent home to Germany. Gloom from disappointment settles over the now quiet establishment. A trucker stopping by for a life of the spirits observes, "The magic is gone." Brenda, although kinder and gentler now, settles into lethargy, as do her children. One day there is a mysterious phone call. Mysterious because it is from Germany, but the connection is so bad that they cannot make out the message. Then one day Jasmine is deposited at the side of the highway. She has her suitcase with her. The two friends move toward each other for an embrace. The magic has returned. Soon the dead café will be resurrected, isolation and despair will give way to noisy joy and fellowship. In a real sense, life at the new Bagdad Café will be a foretaste of the kingdom into which Christ calls us.
Charlie Brown: "I can't even get mine unfolded!" (Charles Schultz, "Peanuts" comic strip)
Wrestling with God or being mightily used of God always leaves us with scars and the privilege of future sufferings.
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