Practicing Resurrection

Isaiah 25: 6-9; John 11: 28-44, by Rev. Carson Overstreet
Van Wyck Presbyterian Church
November 1, 2015
All Saints Day

On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-matured wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-matured wines strained clear. And he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death for ever. Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken. It will be said on that day, Lo, this is our God; we have waited for him, so that he might save us. This is the Lord for whom we have waited; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation. – Isaiah 25: 6-9

When [Martha] had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary, and told her privately, ‘The Teacher is here and is calling for you.’ And when she heard it, she got up quickly and went to him. Now Jesus had not yet come to the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met him. The Jews who were with her in the house, consoling her, saw Mary get up quickly and go out. They followed her because they thought that she was going to the tomb to weep there. When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, ‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.’ When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, ‘Where have you laid him?’ They said to him, ‘Lord, come and see.’ Jesus began to weep. So 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?’

Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. Jesus said, ‘Take away the stone.’ Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, ‘Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead for four days.’ Jesus said to her, ‘Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?’ So they took away the stone. And Jesus looked upwards and said, ‘Father, I thank you for having heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.’ When he had said this, he cried with a loud voice, ‘Lazarus, come out!’ The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, ‘Unbind him, and let him go.’ - John 11: 28-44


I always like sitting in their story. Each time we sit with the sisters – Mary and Martha – there always seems to be some nugget of wisdom to take away. Mary and Martha are approachable. They are not just two women with opposite personalities – the one who knows when to be still and the one who doesn’t know when to stop working. Mary and Martha allow us to look at ourselves, men and women alike, in a candid way. They hold a part of the human story and reveal another way faith helps us to reframe it.

Mary and Martha were overwhelmed by a crisis. It was the great loss of their brother Lazarus. I think it is human nature for our first question in a crisis to be ‘Why;’ why would God let this happen? The sisters asked the question. Their friends who rallied around them asked the question. But that is really not the focus of this story. God does not cause tragedies to happen and faith does not prevent us from hardships in life. Rather God is present with us in the messiness and faith gives us God’s perspective on things.

Christ sat with Mary in this difficult space. He was giving her a glimpse of how to experience the hope of resurrection. Christ had compassion and wept with her. Christ came beside her in solidarity as Lazarus’ death greatly disturbed him too. As they approached the tomb Christ asked for the stone to be moved. Mary got a little nervous about really looking into this loss that disturbed her so. ‘Oh Jesus, if we move that stone the stench will be – well you know.’ It really is a bit of comic relief. And then John gets to the heart of the human story.

You see, we are resurrection people. Tony Compollo used to say, “It might feel like Good Friday, but Sunday is coming.” God is on the move to bring light and new life out of darkness and death. If we believe, then we will see the glory of God. Our belief and trust in God’s transforming power is not culminated in reason or plain sight. It comes together by personal and communal experiences of God’s glory.

Christ gives us courage to look into our grief and loss; not just literal grief and loss from the death of loved ones. Christ gives us courage to look into the other things in life we grieve: our unresolved situations, our conflicts, and our deep concerns. Christ gives us courage to look into those things that greatly disturb us. If we were to approach that tomb which holds our grief and consider moving that stone alone, then we would worry about the stench too. You and I have a fear of poking and prodding what disturbs us. Isn’t it better for everyone if we just bury our grief and lay it to rest? To move the stone might open the flood gates of our emotions. It might stir the pot of family chaos. It might let fear run loose through our minds. We don’t want to move that stone.

John’s Gospel chooses some interesting words about moving that stone. Jesus said to take away the stone and just as it shifted Jesus looked upward and gave thanks to God. The Greek describes Jesus saying, “Lift up the stone” just as he lifts up praise for God’s ability to bring light and new life out of a dark tomb and death. Now that is practicing resurrection.

My heart has a tendency to lightly hold stories of when life significantly shifts for another. I am always curious to know how others allow faith to reframe their human story when it gets hard. Some need long pauses of space and time for the Spirit to whisper the peace of God which surpasses all understanding. Some say all they can do is continue to pray and trust God is present and working through the difficult times until God reveals more. As we see God’s faithfulness lift up the stone and we see glimpses of resurrection hope, we lift our voice in praise too. Isaiah’s words of praise become our own, “This is the Lord for whom we have waited for! Let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation (Isaiah 25:9).

I like the way Anne Lamott says it because it is real: “Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness, the discomfort and letting it be there until some light returns.”

If we go back to the gospels, Christ could not avoid the mess, the emptiness, or the discomfort of the cross. He let go of his power and control to die for us so that God would raise him and us to new life. God’s work in the cross and empty tomb is not just an eternal promise. It has implications for how we live our lives today. Christ empowers us to practice resurrection. He gives us a model of how to let go of our desire to control, to face our losses, and to trust that God is transforming our emptiness into new life.

A short time ago a friend of mine shared how life had shifted and she was struggling to allow faith to reframe the story. She allowed me to borrow her words:

A year ago it felt as if a part of my life died. I was laid off from my job. I felt completely alone as nearly all of my friends had moved. My living situation suddenly changed. My significant relationship ended. I was broke. I was physically ill from stress. I wasn’t just riding the struggle bus, I was driving it and the brakes were out. It was overwhelming. But through it all I sensed God was taking care of me.

As I was coming through this dark time I began to look outside of myself and God revealed something to me. We are all dealing with crisis. Either you just got out of one, you’re in one, or you’re about to face one. Even when it feels like something significant in life has come to a dark end, God is working behind the scenes to transform the situation, to transform us, and to bring us to new life.

This time of year the foliage falls from the trees and the time changes the length of daylight. The barrenness of the coming season slowly approaches. This time of year nature has a long conversation in my heart about our human story and when it gets hard. The season of autumn is usually filled with gratitude for God’s abundance, thanksgiving for the blessings of family and community, and the coming anticipation of God birthing new hope into a world which still needs a Savior.

But the reality for many of us in this season is that the shorter days and barren trees stir up the emotional work that we still need to tend to. We begin to feel the nag of loneliness, the grief of losing loved ones, the loss of good health, the grief of strained relationships. They are the things in our lives that disturb you and me. And yet Christ comes beside us in solidarity and compassion. Christ empowers us to look into the tough spaces that are crying out for new life.

Nature helps me to see how we practice resurrection, particularly this time of year as the leaves change color and fall to the ground. May you catch a glimpse of practicing resurrection in this closing poem I wrote a few years ago. The words came from my own longing to feel God’s transformation. May it speak to your longing too:

The Letting Go

O, tree of autumn,
you capture my attention
with your strength and beauty.

I have noticed you from afar
and gaze deeply into the manifold witness
you proclaim through your majestic colors.

How do you stand so tall and graceful
enfolded by the splendor of God’s mysterious Creation?

Are you confident in the beauty that you exude
or do you stand with humble roots of wisdom
knowing the change that is to come?

The journey of your transformation goes unnoticed
until the brilliance that surrounded you is all but gone
and only a few leaves of your glory remain.

As each leaf fell to the ground, was it hard to let go?
Was it a solemn release of all you held dear
or did Grace move you to trust the guiding hands of your Creator?

I see the barrenness that awaits you,
for it is in your transformation that barrenness can’t be avoided.

Remind me of the courage it takes
to persevere through the barrenness of winter.
Remind me of the new creation that awaits in the letting go.*

In the name of God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

*"The Letting Go," by Carson Overstreet, October 2009.