21 March

Dear Friends,

This coming Sunday, we will be reading the story of Lazarus (John 11). I have always found this story perplexing. We often accept other stories and their metaphors in the Bible without question, but this one is not so straightforward. Why did Jesus resurrect this particular person, and what are we meant to learn from it? It is a miracle, certainly, but of what kind? What sort of resurrected life was granted to Lazarus, his sisters, and their community?

What I appreciate, though, is that it takes the full weight of human emotions, grief and suffering, seriously. John searches for the right words and actions to draw us into this moment of mourning; he devotes far more attention to these emotions than to the miracle itself. He shows us that new life is not obvious. All we see is the stench of death and the sorrow of those left behind. At least in the first half of the story, there is no presumption of any resurrection. Even Jesus weeps.

If we are to consider the entirety of the Lazarus story, then at the very least, it wants to tell us that we are already resurrected people. Jesus came to us for the sake of resurrection and life. That is, resurrection and life in the present, not only in some distant future or far-off realm. No, God also brings us back to life in the everyday moments. Perhaps this is what we often need: to be revived, to be brought back to life once more. 

As Amy Frykholm writes, “resurrection appears on the surface to be the exact opposite of ordinary living and ordinary dying. In our world, the dead do not return to life. Death is final”.

Yet, not everything in our world contradicts resurrection:

“…there is a hidden logic to resurrection that is not at odds with the world we know. The sun returns every morning, without fail. Spring arrives; green shoots appear where there was once only dry ground. Cycles of living, dying, and living again testify to the strange truth that nothing is ever truly lost”.

Howard Thurman describes this resurrection and newness well in his prayer, “Our Little Lives”:

Our little lives, our big problems—these we place upon Thy altar!

The quietness in Thy Temple of Silence again and again rebuffs us:

For some there is no discipline to hold them steady in the waiting

And the minds reject the noiseless invasion of Thy Spirit.

For some there is no will to offer that is central in the thoughts—

The confusion is so manifest, there is no starting place to take hold.

For some the evils of the world tear down all concentrations

And scatter the focus of the high resolves.

War and the threat of war has covered us with heavy shadows,

Making the days big with forebodings—

The nights crowded with frenzied dreams and restless churnings.

We do not know how to do what we know to do.

We do not know how to be what we know to be.

Our little lives, our big problems—these we place upon Thy altar!

Brood over our spirits, Our Father,

Blow upon whatever dream Thou hast for us

That there may glow once again upon our hearths

The light from Thy altar.

Pour out upon us whatever our spirits need of shock, of lift, of release

That we may find strength for these days—

Courage and hope for tomorrow. 

In confidence we rest in Thy sustaining grace

Which makes possible triumph in defeat, gain in loss, and love in hate.

We rejoice this day to say:

Our little lives, our big problems—these we place upon Thy altar!

Marius Louw