Second Sunday of Easter

Known By The Scars

Acts 5:12-16; Revelation 1:9-11a, 12-13, 17-19; John 20:19-31 

It’s a story we’re all familiar with. We’ve heard it so many times before. As a matter of fact, like today, we hear it every year on the Second Sunday of Easter. Thomas, absent on Easter Sunday, demands to see the scars . . . the nail marks in the hands, the wound in the side . . . before he will believe the joy-filled proclamation of his fellow apostles that the Master, the Teacher, the Rabbi, the Miracle-Worker, the Crucified-One is now the Risen-One. And so, the following week, huddled in the safety and security of the Upper Room, Thomas’s doubts are vanquished. “Thomas, hear . . . see . . . touch . . . believe.” And falling to his knees, Thomas gives voice to what even those who heard and saw and touched the previous week didn’t - a proclamation of faith: “My Lord and my God!” And then, Jesus admonition: “Thomas, you believed because you have seen. Happy are those who have not seen and believed.”

For two thousand years, this Apostle has been stuck with a bad rap. For two thousand years we have labeled him as the “Doubting Thomas.” For two thousand years, we have patted ourselves on the back because, after all, aren’t we the ones who have not seen, yet we have believed? Hmmmm . . . maybe.

The evangelist John, the author of today’s Gospel passage, gives us a bit of information that none of the evangelists do. He defines Thomas’ name. I’ve gone back and searched through the pages of John’s Gospel and this is the only time he translates the meaning of a person’s name. Oh he defines words and the names of places. When we heard the Passion during Holy Week we heard that Jesus was lead from Gabbatha, the “place of the stone pavement” to Golgotha, the “place of the skull.” But this is the only time John tells us the meaning of a name: Thomas . . . Didymus . . . the twin.

Have you ever wondered who Thomas’ twin was? I have. And I finally know who it is. But that knowledge didn’t come by scrupulously looking through Scripture, or by hours of research online, or through extensive examination of historical documents. I found Thomas’ twin by simply looking in the mirror. And if you’re honest, maybe you’ve seen him in your mirror too. For we are all like Thomas. We are creatures who demand proof: hearing, seeing, touching. We need to dissect, analyze, compare. And in this age, when we have abandoned mystery, it becomes harder and harder to believe.

Why did Thomas need to probe the scars of Jesus’ body in order to believe? Perhaps it was because Thomas himself was scarred. Thomas bore the scars of grief - the pain of loss, the struggle with the emptiness that death brings. He bore the scars of cowardice and guilt because he ran away and abandoned a friend, someone he claimed to love. And he bore the scars of disappointment that something and someone that he had pinned his hopes on for three years was all for nothing. His dreams came crashing down around him. So what does he do now? And who is he, if not a follower of Jesus? So because of his scarred-ness, Thomas needs the assurance of seeing the scars of one who endured it all, and didn’t just survive, but RESURRECTED - undefeated, triumphant, glorious!

I too bear scars: Physical scars on my legs from the large painful ulcers that I suffered with for over five years; psychological scars from being dismissed from my job three years ago that has left its mark of the feelings of hurt and rejection, humiliation and embarrassment, guilt and inadequacy; and I bear emotional scars of grief and loneliness from the death of my parents.

What are the scars that you bear? We all have them . . . every one of us: Scars on our bodies. Scars on our souls. Scars on our hearts. Scars on our relationships. Scars of illness, of tragedy, of brokenness, of death. Scars of hate, bitterness, fear, anxiety, pain, sadness, guilt, resentment. Some of the scars are the result of our battle against God. Some of the scars have come in our battle standing with God. Some of the scars come from the wounds fighting love. Some scars come from the wounds in the defense of love.

And so, in the midst of the trials of life that confront us and leave their scars upon us, we, like Thomas, want the assurance that our faith hasn’t been in vain. We question whether God is real, if He has heard our prayer, if he is absent or distant, if he is really with us. We seek signs and miracles and visions and divine revelation. We desire to hear, to see, to touch. We too seek to probe the wounds of Jesus.

Why are those scars so important that they serve as distinguishing marks of Jesus for Thomas and for us? Well, the simple answer is that scars tell you a little about the life of the person who received those scars. And Jesus’ scars prove to us that Jesus chose to be actively involved with all aspects of human life, holding fast to the truth about God and about what makes for an enriching, abundant life, even when upholding that truth came at the cost of his own life. His scars prove that Jesus is one of us - someone injured and scarred on our behalf. We have a God who has suffered for us and who has the scars to prove it. He can understand the pains of human life on an intimate level. And he came back to life, not to exact revenge, but to offer his peace and forgiveness to any who would receive it. Jesus has demonstrated an ability to understand us and empathize with us even when we can't always - or when we choose not to - understand him. Jesus scars had meaning. His suffering was not in vain. And if his suffering wasn’t in vain, than just maybe the scars that are the marks of our suffering also have meaning if we unite ours with his. It is through Jesus’ scars that I’ve come to realize that a scar is a badge of victory. It’s an Olympic gold medal that proclaims to the world, and more importantly reminds ourselves, that we are winners. We’ve made it. We’ve survived. We’re healed. And we’re stronger.

But frequently we ask, where is Jesus now? Where is He - that I may touch Him? Where is He that I may see His face, and feel His wounded side? Where is Jesus now, so that I can feel His arms once again surrounding me, holding me in His love? Where is Jesus now, that I may know His healing touch? Where is He now - now when I need Him so badly, when I feel like an orphan in the world? Where is He now?

He is there - right there - sitting beside you this morning! And so you folks on the other side don't feel left out - He is also right there, sitting next to you. And He is there, in the back. And here, in the front. He is beside you. And in front of you. And behind you. And in you. And wherever the least one is among us. And wherever two or more of us gather to offer one another hope and strength and love for His sake. And He is here (Book of the Gospels), and here (sermon notes), and in our words of comfort to one another. And in a few minutes he will be here on our altar in the bread and the wine that have become His true presence – his Body and His Blood, the Eucharist. He is here! He is alive! He is risen! And you CAN put your arms around Him. And you CAN touch His wounded places. And you CAN hear Him again - and always - speaking His words - clear words - of comfort and hope to you!

It’s a story we’re all familiar with. We’ve heard it so many times before. For, it is the story of our lives: Thomas . . . Didymus . . . The Twin . . . Me . . . You. We have heard. We have seen. We have touched. And because we have, we too, with Thomas, can proclaim, “My Lord and my God!” Look! The cross in which the nails of our sins is abloom! From death, there is life! For Jesus Christ is risen! He is risen, indeed!

Easter Sunday

Everything Is Different Now

Acts 10:34A; 37-43; Colossians 3:1-4 John 20:1-18 

In the early gray light of morning, when the sun is not quite up; in that period when it is difficult to distinguish reality from shadow, a woman makes her way through the streets of Jerusalem. Her step is slow but purposeful. She pauses at the gate of the city for a moment, looks up toward a hill outside the city wall where, shrouded still in darkness, three empty crosses stand. She dries tears from her eyes, then moves on, as if carrying on her shoulders an unseen burden. Slipping along the outer wall of the city, finally she comes to a small garden – to a tomb in the garden where, some thirty-six hours before, her master, her teacher, her friend, Jesus of Nazareth, had been hastily buried.

What sort of woman ventures out at night to weep in a graveyard? One stricken by love, or grief – or both. Surely that is Mary’s story.

In the quiet of the garden, she has come to be alone with her thoughts, her memories, her grief, her love – knowing full well that she will never again behold her beloved carpenter-messiah.

She sits for a while in the garden, in the dark, alone with her memories, trying to gather the courage to visit the grave. She sits, and she remembers. She remembered the day Jesus came along, and that remembrance brings a smile. A rabbi – a religious man – but not like the disapproving ones of her home town. Rather than condemning, he revealed God’s love for her. It was as if he held up a mirror to her in which, instead of seeing what she had become, revealed what God had created her to be. And it was beautiful - in the love of this rabbi, she found God’s love, reaching down to her, through this man of God. Through the compassion of this healer of bodies and mender of souls she was cured of the demons that alienated her from others, from God and from her true self. And so she left everything behind, and followed him – free, happy and whole, touched by his love . . . challenged by his teachings.

Then came Good Friday, and everything fell apart. Jesus was arrested, beaten, vilified, and hung on a cross to die. She couldn’t understand how it could happen to someone so loving, so gentle. She shuddered. Was it the chill of the morning air, or the thought – that it might be for her sake that he died?

The shadows slowly receded as dawn broke over the garden. It was interesting, she noted, that she was the only one to come. Was it their grief or their fear that kept them away? It didn’t matter to her anyway – she had already lost the only thing important in her life – the only thing that made life worth living.

In the early morning rose of dawn, as she sat in the garden with her memories, she turned to watch the sun break over the tomb. It was then that she noticed that the stone was rolled away. A gasp escaped her lips. It wasn’t enough that they killed Jesus – even in death, they would not let him be! Her weak knees could barely carry her to the tomb, only to find it empty! Not only had someone robbed the tomb, but they had carried off his body! She ran to tell the others, but only Peter and John would come. Then they, too, retreated behind locked doors, trembling and fearful.

Only Mary remained in the garden, her watch of love shattered, dissolving into despair. Then, in the midst of her abject misery and hopelessness, she hears a familiar voice call out her name: "Mary!" And suddenly, everything is changed. Everything became different. Everything became new. Where there was death, now there is life. Where there was despair, there is hope. Where there was overwhelming sorrow, there is endless joy. Where there was only a tomb, there is new life.

Yes something changed that Easter morning nearly 2000 years ago. Something altered the reality of everyone involved in this story. Something wonderful! Something that turned a woman in mourning into a joyful witness. Something that turned cowards into preachers. Something that turned persecutors into believers. Something so wonderful that has swept time and space so that today we are sitting and standing in this building and telling that same story again.

In a few moments we will be declaring that something. We will declare what we believe: In a world of doubt and rejection…of idols and secularism: We believe in God, the Father All Mighty.

In a world that claims to honor intelligence and calls itself modern and belittles the supernatural, we believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, who was born of the Virgin Mary was crucified, died, and was buried, rose from the dead, and is now seated at the right hand of the Father.

In a world that honors selfishness and materialism and wallows in negativity and apathy, we believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy Catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting.

Today, Christians around the world celebrate that life has meaning. We celebrate that life is redeemed. We celebrate that to be human is to be good because when we are most ourselves, when we are most fully human, it is then that we recognize God.

Today's celebration challenges us to move from FEAR to FREEDOM. We are challenged to move from a relationship of fear to a free, life-giving relationship of love. We are asked to believe that even in spite of sin, evil and darkness, the world is better off because now we have a God who comes to look for us.

Today's feast invites us to move from the past to the present, from winter to spring, from death to life. Jesus invites you and me to come out of our own tombs into the light of His life.

In the end, all of this is fairly simple: nothing can separate us from the love of God - not time, not space, not even death. Since God was faithful to Christ, God will be faithful to us.

What does Easter mean for you today? G. K. Chesterton once said: "A Christian will do two things: dance out of the sheer sense of joy, and fight out of the sheer sense of victory." Is that where you are today? This morning, did you go to the tomb and graveyard of your life, and find them empty? Did you discover that the shadow over your life is not the shadow of the tomb, but merely the morning shadows of a new day? Did you get up this morning, full of the sense of possibility – that anything can happen – that ours is the God of new possibilities, of resurrection faith? Has the acceptance and love ignited by Jesus in you given you a new and different sense of who you are, and of what your life is about? Has it led you to a life of laughter, of love, of generosity of the heart? Do you hear Jesus calling your name, confirming for you that his love for you will never die?

In the early gray dawn, a woman sits alone, weeping in the garden, when the voice of her teacher, her healer, and now her Redeemer calls to her: "Don’t weep, Mary. Do not fear. Do not cling to something that is dead and gone - an old remembrance, an old hope. Go back to my brothers and sisters now and share the good news. Go back to life – to new life, resurrected life. Because now I am with you – and forever I will be with you. Everything has changed. Everything is different now. See, I make all things new.”

Good Friday

This is a narrative meditation of what perhaps Mary pondered as she reflected on the words she heard her son, Jesus, speak from the cross.

It is Accomplished

I suppose I must look a little different than you anticipated I would. Tonight you see me, not as the young madonna arrayed in a pale blue mantle, but as a woman shrouded in the black of mourning.

He said it would be this way, you know. For thirty three years I have kept in my memory what that old, wise, devout man named Simeon had said the day Joseph and I brought Jesus to be presented at the Temple. “And your soul a sword too will pierce” , he predicted. So many times I thought I understood what Simeon’s words meant, as I felt the prick of that sword as I bore some of the crosses that God has asked me to carry. But today, the sword has pierced me through. The sword has pierced me through just as surely as the centurian’s lance pierced the side of my son as his lifeless body hung limply from the cross.

What can I say this night as I reflect on the events of this past day. Can anything I say to you adequately convey the grief that I feel? There are just some things that there are no words for. As I stood beneath his cross, I recalled the words from the Book of Lamentations. Perhaps they express my feelings better than anything else could. “Come, all who pass by the way, look and see whether there is any suffering like my suffering.”

As I replay the day’s events in my mind, I try to make sense out of it all. I try to understand how this all happened . . . why this all happened? Why did such violence and hatred have to be inflicted on my son, a man whose words and actions spoke nothing but love and peace and forgiveness. I wish my husband Joseph was alive to help me deal with these things. He had such an extraordinary knack of being able to see God’s will in things. How I wish I could call upon his strength and wisdom now.

Of all the things that have happened today, which has led to such pain in my heart and such confusion in my mind, one thing keeps resurfacing. It was something that Jesus said just before he died. Raising his eyes toward heaven, my son said “It is acomplished.” What could he possibly have meant by that? Perhaps if I could only understand what he meant by those words, I could possibly make sense of the horrible events of the day.

So many images are beginning to come back to me in a rush now; so many things my son said and did during his lifetime. So many memories that I have kept treasured in my heart. Why do they suddenly come back to me now?

I think back to the beginning now. As I recall the words of the angel Gabriel, suddenly I understand them as perhaps I never did before. I do not speak of when the angel came to me, but when he came to Joseph in a dream to tell him that the child I was carrying was conceived through the Holy Spirit and that I had not been unfaithful to him. The angel told him to name the child “Jesus,” because he would save his people from their sins. The name itself means “savior.” And now I see. Today my son has fulfilled his destiny, the mission that began so long ago. Today, it has been accomplished.

My own words to my cousin Elizabeth now come back to me. “He has dispersed the arrogant of mind and heart. He has thrown down the rulers from their thrones but lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, but the rich he has sent away empty. He has helped Israel his servant, remembering his mercy, according to his promise to our fathers, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.” Everything we and our forefathers have waited for, everything we have been promised has been accomplished in my son. Truly today, the prophesy of Elizabeth’s husband Zechariah find their meaning, for through my son, God has visited and ransomed his people. It has all been accomplished.

I remember too my sons words to me when he was twelve years of age and Joseph and I found him with the elders of the Temple, after searching for him for days. Upon questioning him about the worry that he caused us, Jesus said, “Don’t you know I must be about my father’s business?” How strange those words seemed then. But today, I know that this is what today has been about. His father’s business. And now - it has been accomplished.

And then, that time we attended the wedding in Cana. I informed him that the bride’s family had run out of wine. He replied to me, “Woman, my hour has not yet come.” What strange words I thought then. But now I realize that today, on the cross, his hour has finally come. He once said, “Unless you eat of the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you.” That whoever eats his flesh and drinks his blood has eternal life. He said that whoever eats his flesh and drinks his blood remains in him and he in them. Today, he has become our sacrificial lamb. As his body was slaughtered and his blood shed upon the cross, his flesh has become true food and his blood true drink. Yes son, today your hour has come. It is accomplished.

I recall when John the Baptist sent his disciples to asked him if he was the Messiah. Jesus said, “Go tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind regain their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have the good news proclaimed to them.” Yes, all this, too, has been accomplished.

In the Garden of Gethsamane last night, I am told that while facing with sheer human terror what he obviously knew was his obvious destiny, he prayed, “Father, not as I will, but your will be done.” He has spread his Father’s word; he has done his Father’s will. And now his Father’s will has been accomplished.

I remember that once he said, “No great love has anyone but this, than to lay down one’s life for those he loves. That is what today has been all about, hasn’t it? He has proved the magnitude of his love. It has been accomplished.

My friends, before I depart from you tonight, I must ask you, has it really all been accomplished? Has it truly been accomplished in you? He accomplished it FOR you; have you let it be accomplished IN you? Do the things Jesus said and did really make a difference in your life? My son once said, “If you make my words your home, you will indeed be my disciples; you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” Have you allowed his words to find a homewithin you? O my friends, open yourself up to him. Allow him to move you, to shape you, to love you, to transform you. Let his life have meaning to you; let his death have a purpose for you. And if it has been accomplished in you, won’t you take up your cross and follow him? There is still hunger, there is still hatred, there is still injustice in the world. Let him again accomplish it. Let it be accomplished through you!

Palm Sunday (Cycle A)

The Palm and the Cross

Isaiah 5:4-7; Philippians 2:6-11; Matthew 26:14- 27:66 

The journey into Jerusalem began with the glorious spectacle of waving palms and adoring crowds. As Jesus entered the holy city, some people ran ahead, alerting friends and neighbors, while others threw their cloaks upon the road, crying, “Blessed is the King! “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” At that triumphant moment, there was nothing the crowd would have denied him. Nothing they would begrudge him. Nothing they would have withheld. Power . . . Riches . . . A throne . . . It was all within his grasp.

Or so it seemed.

But the rowdy crowd was as eager to “get” as to give. They were hungry — hungry for whatever Jesus could give them. Some were hungry for political status, and waved their palms for a King who would restore the Jewish state. Some were starving for power, and threw their cloaks before a Warrior who would crush the Roman army. Some were hungry for comfort, and shouted for a Hero who could fill their bellies and dry their tears. The crowd was hungry and it was all within their grasp…or so it seemed.

But God had a different plan. You see, this warrior, this ruler, this king rode into Jerusalem on a humble donkey, not a pure-bred stallion. He wore homespun, not polished armor. He spoke about sin and redemption, not national sovereignty or imperial might.

The jubilant crowd that lined the road to Jerusalem knew they were seeing a “winner”, but they completely misunderstood God’s vision of success. They didn’t realize that Jesus had come to conquer not just Rome, but the world. They didn’t understand that Jesus came to the holy city, not to deal death or to sidestep death, but to meet death head-on. He would conquer the world and death itself…by dying. The crowds that ripped branches from trees and screamed with excitement, didn’t understand that their hunger would be eased and their emptiness filled, not by conquest or power or wealth, but by the challenge of the cross.

No scripture study or theology class can explain the cross completely. No homily or lecture fully outlines its meaning. Yet, all of us who follow Jesus will eventually find ourselves walking that dusty, lonely path to Calvary, and standing before the cross.

Jesus said, “whoever wishes to come after me must deny themselves, take up their cross and follow me.” From a marketing standpoint, this message is a disaster. Just imagine how many followers Jesus might have if he had avoided the cross — if he said:
“Lay down your cross and follow me.”
“Ignore your burdens and I will make them disappear.”
“I will not suffer, and if you believe in me, you will never suffer, either.”
That’s a message designed to keep the palm branches waving!

But the cross teaches us that suffering can be redemptive, that burdens can be shared, that sins can be forgiven, and that darkness can be dispelled, transformed by the power of a loving God. The cross dares us to believe that life is more powerful than death and that love is more enduring than hate. It stands as a reminder that our views of “success” and “defeat” might differ from God’s, and that sometimes, God has a different plan.

This week, we too have come to the city gate, palm branches waving, agendas in hand, our want lists ready. As we welcome the King into Jerusalem, what are we hungering for?

Fifth Sunday of Lent (Cycle A)

“Lazarus, Come Forth!”

Readings: Ezekiel 37:12-14; Romans 8:8-11; John 11:1-45

He’s dead. She has died. Those are the words we dread to hear. They are especially painful when someone close to us, someone who has meant a lot to us has died. How are we expected to cope with the hurt that accompanies the death of a loved one? How can we deal with the pain, the emptiness, the questioning, the helplessness, and the yearning for things to be different?

I’m sure that Mary and Martha must have experienced something like this when their brother Lazarus died. And there is a tinge of rebuke and regret in Martha’s words, "If you had been here, Lord, my brother would not have died!" To her, Jesus seems uncharacteristically indifferent, seemingly uncaring about the death of somebody who was supposed to be a very close friend. He deliberately delayed going to Bethany after he had received word that Lazarus was ill. So by the time he gets arrives, Lazarus had already died, in fact the funeral has already taken place and the body of Lazarus is in the grave for four days.

Jesus sees their tears and feels their grief, and he weeps with them. He weeps not because he loves Lazarus - not because Lazarus has died – for he knows what he is about to do -- he weeps because Mary and Martha weep. He weeps because he is sharing the heartache of the sisters - because he sympathizes with them in their pain. His tears are tears of compassion. He knows what pain and sense of loss death brings. He’s saddened at the power that death has and the terrible suffering it causes.

But just maybe he is also saddened by a lack of trust on the part of Martha and Mary. Yes, they believed he could heal the sick, the blind and the paralyzed, but death – that was another thing. Death is so final. Yes, Martha did confess that Jesus was the Messiah, the Son of God, but she had no idea that Jesus had such power even over death. As far as those gathered at the grave that day were concerned, death is death. When it comes, it is final, absolute, the end.

For Jesus, however, death does not have the last word. There is no obstacle large enough to prevent the power of God from setting anyone free. "Lazarus will rise again," he states. He then goes to the tomb, and tells them to roll away the stone that blocks the entrance.

Traditional Jewish belief had it that the soul of a dead person somehow remains with the body for three days. After three days the soul departs finally from the body never to return, and that is when corruption sets in. When Martha objects to the opening of the tomb and says, "Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days”, she is expressing the common view that this is now a hopeless situation. Is that why Jesus delayed coming to the funeral, to let the situation become "impossible" before acting on it? G.K. Chesterton once said, "Hope means hoping when things are hopeless, or it is no virtue at all." In traditional Jewish mentality bringing back to life a person who is already four days dead and decaying is as unthinkable as Ezekiel vision of gray, dry bones are restored to life.

After praying to his Father, Jesus cries in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out.” and a dead man – a once dead man emerges totally wrapped in the burial shrouds.

Straight after this incidence at Bethany, Jesus will go to Jerusalem where he himself will experience death and three days later rise to new and eternal life. Jesus rises to new and eternal life, never to die again. Unlike Lazarus who walks out of the tomb with his burial wrappings, Jesus leaves behind the burial wrappings. He will not need them again. He will never die again. Lazarus will.

Jesus comes to give life that cannot be touched by death. Jesus’ resurrection was an announcement to the whole world that death has been swallowed up in victory. There is now nothing to be afraid of. Now, on the other side of death, there is the glorious hope of life, eternal life, life in heaven, a blissful life, a perfect life. This life is something to look forward to, not with fear, but with confidence.

Death is a very powerful force in our world and in our lives. When it strikes close to us, its dreadful power is felt to the very core of our being. But as powerful as death might be, there is one who is even more powerful – the risen Jesus. One day he will call to us as he called out to Lazarus, and we will walk out of the tomb. Lazarus was raised but he would eventually die again, but we shall be raised to life forever. This will be a new life, a life without the present hurts and hindrances, a life with all those saints who have gone before us.

But the story of the raising of Lazarus is more than a pointer to the resurrection of Jesus. This miracle is a challenge to never give up hope even in the hopeless situations in which we find ourselves as individuals, as a church or as a nation, for it is never too late for God to revive and revitalize us.

Many of us are held in tombs of our own making, and like Lazarus, Jesus bids us to come forth, to be unshackled and be set free.

“Lazarus, come forth!” he calls out to us. “Walk from the burial chamber built from all of the possessions that you surround yourself with, things that can offer you only fleeting happiness and contentment.”

“Lazarus, come forth! Forsake the career crypt where frenetic ambition leaves you no time for family, prayer or contrition.”

“Lazarus, come forth! Break out of the captivity of sin - of false pride, selfishness, hatred and revengeful desires - and experience the true freedom of the children of God.”

"Lazarus, come forth!" Come out of your tomb-like lives no longer filled with joy or hope or meaning or possibilities. Come and live again joined to the one who offers you forgiveness and life. Come into communion with the one who has a place and a purpose for you.”

The story of Lazarus illustrates that there is nothing that can hold us back. No tomb is strong enough. Like Lazarus, we must hear the voice of God calling us away from whatever imprisons us. God’s voice calls us from the past and calls us to the present. It calls us from our old habits and invites us to try new ones. It calls us from apathy and indifference to caring. It calls us from despair to hope. It calls us from darkness to light. It calls us from loneliness to community. It calls us from captivity to freedom.

To respond to that call can be scary because it means change. It means stepping into the unknown. Imagine how fearful it must have been for Lazarus to step out of that dark cave and into the light. But the voice of God was one that he knew and trusted and therefore he responded.

Scripture tells us that like Lazarus, we have a friend waiting for us. A friend who can roll aside the stone that keeps us entombed. A friend who can loosen the bonds of whatever it is that keeps us separated from God. A friend who can set us free. A friend who wants to give us new life. A friend who calls each of us by name and wants us to experience the grace and love and forgiveness a relationship with Him offers. That friend, of course, is Jesus. He wants to breathe new life into our old bones. He wants to set us free. This morning, let’s “do a Lazarus.” Let’s hear His voice. Let us “Come forth!”