Isaiah 25:6-9; Ps 24; John 11:32-44; Revelation 21:1-6a
Last week, something very unexpected happened to me. I'd prepared a lot of material for Bible Sunday, I looked at my watch, and I realised the last section would take us 10 to 15 minutes over our normal ending time, so I decided to leave it out. But straight after the service, three different people came up to me and said, You shouldn't have done that! We wanted to hear what you were going to say next! I should have had more faith in you...
Well, past is past, and last week's sermon is stale bread. But because it was Bible Sunday I was going to demonstrate how we can use our imaginations to enter the story of a Bible text, and to find God speaking to us through it. And that technique doesn't just work with the story I would have used last week, of Bartimaeus, the blind beggar who sat by the road from Jericho to Jerusalem and called out to Jesus to help him. So today I'm going to invite you to come with me on a journey of hundreds of miles and thousands of years. Together we're going to Bethany, the home of Mary and Martha and Lazarus.
It's a small place, Bethany. Nothing much goes on there. The roads are quiet, apart from clip-clopping donkey hooves. There aren't many houses in Bethany. But today there's a real crowd outside Martha's house. What's going on? Is someone ill? No - worse than that, someone must have died. The rabbi's there, with his long beard, and everyone's in their best clothes, to show respect for the dead. Must be Lazarus - he's never been a strong man, and he's not been out of the house for months. Those sisters of his do everything for him, especially Martha. Mary goes round with her head in the clouds, but there's no real harm in her, just a bit dreamy.
But today Mary's beside herself. Her hair's all wild and loose, as if she's been tearing at it. She's talking to someone in the crowd, a man who looks as if he's been travelling. His clothes are travel-worn, and he looks almost as upset as Mary does. What's she saying to him? If you'd been here, Laz would still be alive. What happened to you? Why didn't you come when we needed you? Could it be the miracle-worker who drops by their house? Jesus, or something?
Looks a bit like him. What's he saying to Mary? Where did you bury him? Well, where would anyone be buried in Bethany? He's in the village cemetery up the road, in the tomb with his mum and dad and all their ancestors. Daft question. But it's obvious the man's in shock: he's crying!
A grown man, and a teacher of the law, crying out loud! It's hard not to feel sorry for someone that upset, but someone in the crowd mutters, one of those voices clearly meant to be overheard, If you can make blind people see, why couldn't you do something about this? But that's not fair. Only God holds the powers of life and death. Anyway, Mary's showing him the road to the tomb. And it must be Jesus, because everyone's going with them, the whole crowd, carried along by what? Excitement? Nosiness? Anticipation?
Now Martha comes from the tomb to join them, and if Mary's reproachful, Martha's angry. It stinks! she shouts. Whatever I believe about you, whatever we hoped you are or could do for us, I can't get round the fact that Laz has died! Someone's got to be practical around here! And she's got a point. There's a reason funerals happen fast in this climate. But Jesus seems to be going mad. He's going over to the tomb, and getting help to roll away the stone. He's thanking God, for goodness sake, as though you could ever thank God for a death. And just as if he were God, and could ignore the laws of nature, he's calling inside: Come on out, Laz!
Who does he think he's kidding? But sure enough, there's movement inside the tomb. And unbelievably, Lazarus is walking uncertainly towards the light, where his sisters are waiting to unwrap him from the graveclothes they'd buried him in just three days earlier.
Everyone's crowding around Lazarus. Mary's hugging him so hard he's looking a bit unwell again, and Martha's bossing everyone around, telling them to give him some air and for goodness sake to stop fussing! Just for a moment, everyone seems to have forgotten about Jesus. But you've not. You look over to him, this person who holds God's power, and you find yourself sighing deeply. What's the matter? Jesus asks you. Do you need new life too?***
On All Saints' Day, ironically, it's easy to get a bit intimidated by our ancestors in the faith. There were so many more of them, for one thing: within living memory, this congregation has gone down to a quarter of its former size. Yesterday I was watching the last games of the season at St Andrew's tennis club - there were some very good men's doubles going on - and reflecting that we'd be pushed to afford a site like that for a tennis club today. It'd be easy to see our progress as a church in terms of a downhill slide towards the grave.
But as I reminded myself and you in our theme introduction, though without us there is no church, the church was not our idea, but God's. And God is able to work with us and with everything we bring: our lifegiving hopes and gifts, but also our deathly doubts and fears. Look at Jesus with the family at Bethany: Lazarus, whose weakness has overcome him at last; Mary who weeps bitterly for her brother and reproaches Jesus for having left them in their hour of need; Martha who has to think of the practicalities, even when her own heart is breaking. If saints always have perfect faith in God, these aren't saints. These are human beings, hurting and looking for help, as we are too.
But when we look to God for help, what we don't get is life the way it used to be. Mary and Martha as well as Lazarus were changed by the experiences they'd undergone with Jesus, and their relationship with him would never be the same as when he dropped round for tea and the sisters bickered about who should do the housework. And the church that we know now is not the same as the church that once was. We have more links into the local community - someone said to me recently, This church cares about Broomhall, when it never felt like it before. We work more with people whom we may not see on Sunday mornings, but still count as part of our community, on Tuesday afternoons or on Friday mornings. These events are church, as much as worship on a Sunday or Network on a Wednesday; and maybe they're easier for people to get to know us at first too. Of course, we still have much transformation to undergo and a lot of wounds to heal, as individuals and as a church, before we find ourselves at Isaiah's party. But with God working with and on us, I see hope for our future. Do you?