STM: What A Friend
Lent 5
What a Friend
Somewhere drifting around in my memories is one of my Grandmother Sophie, my mom's mom, my daughter's namesake. She is kneading bread on the kitchen counter at her farmhouse in South Dakota. With her knee on a stool as she worked, because it ached. And often when she worked in the kitchen she would sing hymns. And the hymn she sings in my memory is "what a friend we have in Jesus". That is a comforting memory for me. It contributed to my understanding of my relationship with Jesus, that here is one whom we could call friend. The one who is always there. The one always at hand in a time of need. A friend
Certainly Mary and Martha and Lazarus saw Jesus that way, as a friend. He came often to their home, to rest, to teach, to use them as examples. Jesus in this text calls Lazarus his friend.
And he was their first call when Lazarus was in trouble. They needed him.
And I think Mary and Martha were in a tough spot in this story. This friend on whom they depended, on whom they counted. In whom they had put their faith, even Lazarus' well-being, fails to respond to their urgent call for him to come. He waits two days before leaving, tending to his other business. And then takes a day's journey to get to Bethany. This wasn't even a close call. Jesus shows up four days after Lazarus is dead. Four days late. And his friends Mary and Martha in their grief say, probably with a touch of accusation, "If you had been here, Lazarus would not have died.." If you had been here, the circumstances would be different, our hearts would not be broken. Where were you? Why did you wait so long? They must have wondered, "what kind of friend are you?"
Well, we certainly find out, don't we? A friend who did come. A friend who came to bring comfort, share their grief, but also a friend who came to build life-giving faith, a friend who did come to act. A friend who came in power. A friend who came in unprecedented power. So that we would know more, that we would see him as he describes himself as the resurrection and the life. The one in whom our faith may be invested, not just in his comforting presence, but in his power and promise.
Jesus demonstrates this power and promise against the greatest enemy. Jesus came because he has a thing about death. Doesn't care much for it at all. Hates in, in fact. Death moves him . . . to tears . . . as he witnessed the broken hearts of his friend. . . .Death angers him . . . . the scripture says he was greatly troubled. . . . well that's diplomatically put, . . .another way of translating that is, "Jesus snorted" in contempt and anger. Jesus wept truly, but he also snorted in anger as he confronted the death that had enveloped Lazarus, had struck fear and grief into the hearts of Martha and Mary. Jesus has a thing about death and moves against it because it is the greatest threat to faith, the greatest fear, the greatest heartbreak .. . . Jesus moves against it, decisively, so that we would know his power.
Jesus came not to tend just the physical, but also the spiritual death. When Jesus speaks of death in this passage, he is speaking about that which separates us from God. . . . that which overcomes that living relationship that God wants to have with us. With my apologies to Lazarus, he is a prop in this story so we can see the greater purpose of Christ, so that we would see the greater power over that which would separate us from God, so that we could clearly hear is call for faithfulness.
Yet, how often to do we feel that Jesus hasn't shown up to deal with our dilemmas? How often do we feel in our fear that Jesus must about some other business than our business, because our circumstances are not changing. The doctor said cancer. Where are you Jesus? The husband said goodbye. Where are you Jesus? The boss says, you're fired. The sister succumbs to depressions. How many times do we say, Jesus where are you?, wondering if he is about the business of someone more faithful.
Maybe the lesson from Lazarus is that Jesus never abandons us. Jesus will never fail to show. But the work of Jesus has its own hour. Patience and faith are how we deal with the interim of our demands on Christ and the reality of his response.
It turns out he is there working, even as he approaches, defying and denying those things that would separate us from God, the deaths we suffer in our faith, in our relationships, in our confidence. Jesus is there, proclaiming if you believe in me these things will not prevail. And even more--through them I will make myself known so you will greater healing than you even think you need.
Death is the big one, physical and spiritual deaths that separate us from God. Jesus hates them. So much so, that responding to Lazarus' death he draws himself closer to death. The disciples said to him, "go down there, and it's trouble." But Jesus is walking past Lazarus' grave to his own danger and death so that this resurrection, this bridge, this eternal healing, this eternal life would be sealed, overcome. There was no other way. He would experience that most hateful thing, visit those darkest depths, in order to wrest from it its power so that we would never be separated from God. I am the resurrection and the life.
Sometimes it's hard to hear that voice and sustain that faith isn't it, as we are caught in our own circumstances, even resigned to them . . . accepting of this death, this separation. I read a poem by a Spanish poet named Nicanor Parra, who reminds me that there is another voice. . . one that would comfort us in our resignation, in our death. Jesus shouted, "Lazarus, come out!" Parra reminds us there is another voice calling, encouraging our resignation and acceptance of our dark and broken condition. In his poem, the voice calls to Lazarus, "Keep on sleeping old friend. Keep on sleeping free of the petty doubts that haunted you. Lord and master of your own coffin. In the stillness of perfect night, free as a bird, as if you'd never walked among the living. Whatever you do, don't rise up from the grave. Why should you be so nervous. Like the poet once said, "You have your whole death in front of you."
Jesus is not satisfied that we would be masters of our own coffins. He will go to all lengths to save us from ourselves, from our condition. Just a little later, as Jesus gathers the disciples with him in Jerusalem, he says it again. "This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends. You are my friends."
So that we would not be bound to death, Jesus lays down his life . . . so that we would know the resurrection and the life.
That's the kind of friend we have in Jesus.
Copyright (c) 2002 by Pastor Robert J. Rasmus
What a Friend
Somewhere drifting around in my memories is one of my Grandmother Sophie, my mom's mom, my daughter's namesake. She is kneading bread on the kitchen counter at her farmhouse in South Dakota. With her knee on a stool as she worked, because it ached. And often when she worked in the kitchen she would sing hymns. And the hymn she sings in my memory is "what a friend we have in Jesus". That is a comforting memory for me. It contributed to my understanding of my relationship with Jesus, that here is one whom we could call friend. The one who is always there. The one always at hand in a time of need. A friend
Certainly Mary and Martha and Lazarus saw Jesus that way, as a friend. He came often to their home, to rest, to teach, to use them as examples. Jesus in this text calls Lazarus his friend.
And he was their first call when Lazarus was in trouble. They needed him.
And I think Mary and Martha were in a tough spot in this story. This friend on whom they depended, on whom they counted. In whom they had put their faith, even Lazarus' well-being, fails to respond to their urgent call for him to come. He waits two days before leaving, tending to his other business. And then takes a day's journey to get to Bethany. This wasn't even a close call. Jesus shows up four days after Lazarus is dead. Four days late. And his friends Mary and Martha in their grief say, probably with a touch of accusation, "If you had been here, Lazarus would not have died.." If you had been here, the circumstances would be different, our hearts would not be broken. Where were you? Why did you wait so long? They must have wondered, "what kind of friend are you?"
Well, we certainly find out, don't we? A friend who did come. A friend who came to bring comfort, share their grief, but also a friend who came to build life-giving faith, a friend who did come to act. A friend who came in power. A friend who came in unprecedented power. So that we would know more, that we would see him as he describes himself as the resurrection and the life. The one in whom our faith may be invested, not just in his comforting presence, but in his power and promise.
Jesus demonstrates this power and promise against the greatest enemy. Jesus came because he has a thing about death. Doesn't care much for it at all. Hates in, in fact. Death moves him . . . to tears . . . as he witnessed the broken hearts of his friend. . . .Death angers him . . . . the scripture says he was greatly troubled. . . . well that's diplomatically put, . . .another way of translating that is, "Jesus snorted" in contempt and anger. Jesus wept truly, but he also snorted in anger as he confronted the death that had enveloped Lazarus, had struck fear and grief into the hearts of Martha and Mary. Jesus has a thing about death and moves against it because it is the greatest threat to faith, the greatest fear, the greatest heartbreak .. . . Jesus moves against it, decisively, so that we would know his power.
Jesus came not to tend just the physical, but also the spiritual death. When Jesus speaks of death in this passage, he is speaking about that which separates us from God. . . . that which overcomes that living relationship that God wants to have with us. With my apologies to Lazarus, he is a prop in this story so we can see the greater purpose of Christ, so that we would see the greater power over that which would separate us from God, so that we could clearly hear is call for faithfulness.
Yet, how often to do we feel that Jesus hasn't shown up to deal with our dilemmas? How often do we feel in our fear that Jesus must about some other business than our business, because our circumstances are not changing. The doctor said cancer. Where are you Jesus? The husband said goodbye. Where are you Jesus? The boss says, you're fired. The sister succumbs to depressions. How many times do we say, Jesus where are you?, wondering if he is about the business of someone more faithful.
Maybe the lesson from Lazarus is that Jesus never abandons us. Jesus will never fail to show. But the work of Jesus has its own hour. Patience and faith are how we deal with the interim of our demands on Christ and the reality of his response.
It turns out he is there working, even as he approaches, defying and denying those things that would separate us from God, the deaths we suffer in our faith, in our relationships, in our confidence. Jesus is there, proclaiming if you believe in me these things will not prevail. And even more--through them I will make myself known so you will greater healing than you even think you need.
Death is the big one, physical and spiritual deaths that separate us from God. Jesus hates them. So much so, that responding to Lazarus' death he draws himself closer to death. The disciples said to him, "go down there, and it's trouble." But Jesus is walking past Lazarus' grave to his own danger and death so that this resurrection, this bridge, this eternal healing, this eternal life would be sealed, overcome. There was no other way. He would experience that most hateful thing, visit those darkest depths, in order to wrest from it its power so that we would never be separated from God. I am the resurrection and the life.
Sometimes it's hard to hear that voice and sustain that faith isn't it, as we are caught in our own circumstances, even resigned to them . . . accepting of this death, this separation. I read a poem by a Spanish poet named Nicanor Parra, who reminds me that there is another voice. . . one that would comfort us in our resignation, in our death. Jesus shouted, "Lazarus, come out!" Parra reminds us there is another voice calling, encouraging our resignation and acceptance of our dark and broken condition. In his poem, the voice calls to Lazarus, "Keep on sleeping old friend. Keep on sleeping free of the petty doubts that haunted you. Lord and master of your own coffin. In the stillness of perfect night, free as a bird, as if you'd never walked among the living. Whatever you do, don't rise up from the grave. Why should you be so nervous. Like the poet once said, "You have your whole death in front of you."
Jesus is not satisfied that we would be masters of our own coffins. He will go to all lengths to save us from ourselves, from our condition. Just a little later, as Jesus gathers the disciples with him in Jerusalem, he says it again. "This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends. You are my friends."
So that we would not be bound to death, Jesus lays down his life . . . so that we would know the resurrection and the life.
That's the kind of friend we have in Jesus.
Copyright (c) 2002 by Pastor Robert J. Rasmus