Come Out!
All Saints B-24
Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago
The ancient Celtic Christians believed the veil between heaven and earth becomes especially thin at this time of year. Through the lens of autumn decay, awareness of the rhythm and turning of the seasons points like a compass needle controlled by the unseen magnetic force of love toward the undying life in Christ. On this festival of All Saints, the church is dressed in white baptismal colors as a sign of this life that we share. Today’s scripture makes explicit what is known in the natural world. Lazarus stumbles from the tomb to proclaim that death is a subset of life. Death is ephemeral and transitory. Only life is eternal. In Christ, God has swallowed up death forever.
In its place, the prophet Isaiah declares, “God has prepared for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear” (Isaiah 25: 7). Free from the sting of death, we no longer need fear anyone who would threaten our mortality. Baptism is the basis for Christian courage and joy no matter what life brings.
In today’s gospel Jesus had narrowly escaped arrest in Jerusalem when he declares his intention to return. The disciples were astonished, “Rabbi,” they said, ‘the authorities were just now trying to stone you, are you going there again?’ (John 11:7-8). Jesus returned to Jerusalem to confront everything we seek to avoid. He confronted the threat of physical violence. He confronted the hostility of the religious community. He confronted those who had given up hope. He confronted his grief at the death of a close friend. He confronted death itself.
Jesus wept. In fact, scripture says, he wailed. “When Jesus weeps, he legitimizes human grief. When Jesus cries, he assured Mary not only that her beloved brother is worth crying for, but also that she is worth crying with. Through his tears, Jesus calls all of us into the holy vocation of empathy.” (Debie Thomas, When Jesus Weeps, Journey with Jesus, 10/28/18)
“Jesus’ command to Lazarus (John 11:43) is symbolic of the invitation he issues to all the imprisoned, forgotten, left behind, left for dead, abandoned, and alone. Jesus calls those who, lured by the empty promises of false gods—power, things, money, prestige—are now bound by them. The God who weeps with us comes looking for us and rolls away the stone, no matter how far gone we are: “Come out!” (Michaela Bruzzese, Sojourner Magazine)
When he arrived after four days at the tomb of Lazarus there was already a stench. At home, we have a five-gallon bucket to collect food waste for compost. We get a new bucket each week. Day one it’s in the kitchen. By day four it’s in on the porch for as Martha said, ‘Lord, it stinketh.’ The story of poor Lazarus is the story of our own smelly rebirth as Saints in light.
Sometimes, I feel for poor Lazarus. He has barely begun his eternal rest. No doubt, it was well deserved. His eyes blinking open in the darkness of that cave could he see beyond his bandages? Jesus commanded him to return to his life, to engage again in the deadly tension and struggle with the leaders in Jerusalem. I wonder, did Lazarus join Jesus’ Palm Sunday parade? Jesus calls him into an uncertain future. He knew only that he would die again. He knew, also, that he was loved. His sisters and friends were there with him. He knew, also, that the love of God was in, with, and under him wherever he might journey whether in death or in life.
We might call this our nation’s Lazarus moment. We are forced to grapple anew with fundamental questions about governance, civic life, shared values, and the role of faith in shaping our collective future. As the recent ELCA Conference of Bishop’s statement declared, “We refuse to accept the ongoing normalization of lies and deceit” (10/1/24). Two very different and diametrically opposed visions of America lay before us. Like Lazarus, we do not know what the future holds or what kind of country we will wake up in later this week.
“As followers of Christ, we strive to meet this moment with clarity and courage, charity and conviction, drawing on the depths of our moral imaginations and theological traditions to articulate afresh a theology of democracy fit for our times…We face this moment with great resolve and deep humility. Christianity has had an ambivalent and at times hostile relationship with democracy, as evidenced in colonial domination and the dispossession of indigenous peoples, the brutal enslavement of Africans, and the denial of women’s rights. We continue to reckon with the legacies of slavery and segregation, and with the enduring racism that limits achievement of a true multiracial democracy… [Yet] core to Christianity is the belief that all people are made in the image and likeness of God (Gen. 1:26-27) and that our loving God is incarnate in the humanity of Jesus Christ. God’s love, therefore, embraces all of humanity and calls us to respect every person. Democratic governance is an outgrowth of our divinely endowed dignity and corresponding obligation to protect the rights, freedom, and equality of all.” (Ecumenical statement on Christian Faith and Democracy, faithandemocracy.net).
The story of poor Lazarus is the story of our own smelly rebirth as Saints of light regardless of what happens to us this week or any other week. Lazarus was dead in the grave. Lazarus could do nothing for himself. He could do nothing but receive the grace of God. The story of Lazarus assures us—do not be ashamed, do not be afraid to take whatever steps you need to take toward health and wellbeing that may be off-putting or even odious to others. Jesus commands us to come out. Come out from whatever afflicts us and keeps us small. I am with you.
Notice that while Jesus commanded Lazarus to come out, he commanded the community to unbind him. Can we be that kind of Christian community where we lovingly, carefully, help each other to remove our grave clothes? Can we do God’s work with our own hands without judgment, without recoil? Jesus, and all the saints, (like those we honor today with the photos and keepsakes arrayed before us), beckon to us to step from death into life, to pass once again through the waters of baptism, just as today, God calls little Luca Irvin Cruz to do.
God has set you apart, claimed you and called you holy. Today we join with all the saints, that ragtag family of believers. Therefore, anything you do in faith and love is holy –like changing the diapers of our kids; or volunteering as a tutor; or creating a home where laughter resounds; or caring for a sick parent; or casting your vote; or visiting a neighbor; or befriending a kid at school that other kids pick on; or anything else you do in faith. There is no place in our lives that can’t become a place for God to be at work to heal, comfort, restore, and call forth new life. “See,” Jesus says, “I am making all things new” (Revelation 21:5).
