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Greetings, SBT Readers:
For some reason, today's readings reminded me of an archaic monastic discipline extending back to Christianity's first centuries and reaching almost into the present era --sleeping in coffins! While it is unlikely that this memento mori was ever widely practiced, the intention was to remind religious women and men that this world is fleeting and to therefore stay true to their vows. At the same time, the discomfort resulting from sleeping in one's own coffin probably served the same purpose as excessive fasting, flagellation, or wearing a hairshirt --mortification of the flesh!
In today's readings, however, we see a God of Love who invites us out of our graves (or coffins) and animates us with the Holy Spirit, giving life to dry bones and returning us to the Promised Land. As long as we are confined to our coffins (literal or symbolic), it is difficult to see and taste the goodness of the Lord; in fact, our austerities or limiting mindset not only blind us to the beauty of Creation but also disconnect us from the rest of humanity. Instead of expanding like the universe, our spirituality shrivels up, diminishing our gratitude, spontaneity, creativity, and self-awareness.
Lent is not a time for "coffins" but an opportunity to burst forth from our graves --like Lazarus-- to become a new creation. Paradoxically, the purpose of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving is not to bind us with funeral wrappings; rather, these practices have the power to open our minds and hearts to worlds beyond the world we inhabit so we might enter that Mystery beyond all knowing.
Lenten Blessings!
Elizabeth
SCRIPTURE REFLECTION
Link to the Sunday Readings
When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus
had already been in the tomb for four days.
Now Bethany was about two miles away, near Jerusalem, and many Jews had come to comfort Martha and Mary about their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went to meet him, but Mary stayed home.
Martha said to Jesus,
“Lord, if you had been here,
my brother would not have died.
Even now I know that whatever you ask of God,
God will give you.”
Jesus replied,
“Your brother will rise.”
Martha said to him,
“I know he will rise,
in the resurrection, on the last day.”
Jesus told her,
“I am the resurrection and the life;
those who believe in me, even if they die, will live,
and those who live and believe in me will never die.
Do you believe this?”
She said to him, “Yes, Lord. I believe you are the Christ, the Son of God, the one who is coming into the world.”
Jn 11:1-45
Interestingly, both Martha and Mary greet Jesus with identical words: "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." Despite their different personalities and how they each relate to Jesus, both sisters believe he could somehow have prevented Lazarus' death. Perhaps these words are meant merely as an observation, a statement of faith, or perhaps they come across as a rebuke-- either way, they communicate a very human response to profound loss. Martha and Mary are devastated; their beloved brother has died, and Jesus was MIA when they needed him. "Lord, if you had been here..."
could equally well be translated as "Lord, why weren't you here?"
One of my earliest memories is of holding my dad's hand as we walked along a rocky path in the Maltese countryside. I can see myself now-- aged two or three at the most-- breaking free, scampering ahead, and then taking a tumble. As my dad picked me up and dusted me off, I wailed, "You shouldn't have let go my hand, Daddy!" In my indignation, I forgot that I was the one who had let go and was quick to blame the adult closest to me for my scraped hands and muddied knees. Perhaps this is how Martha and Mary feel when Jesus shows up too late to save Lazarus. "Lord, why weren't you here? Why didn't you hold Lazarus' hand?"
Life is full of losses, setbacks, disappointments, and deaths of every kind. Sometimes, we are able to transcend physical and emotional pain and carry on with our daily activities until better days arrive; at others, we descend into what the psalmist describes as "the pit" -- that place devoid of grace and comfort in which we feel utterly alone and abandoned. Despised, hunted down, oppressed, hated, and mocked, we descend deeper and deeper into the intolerable darkness until, with the psalmist, all we can do is accuse God:
"I am steeped in trouble,
ready for the grave.
I am like one destined for the pit,
a warrior deprived of strength,
forgotten among the dead,
buried with the slaughtered
for whom you care no more...
You took my friends from me,
darkness is all I have left."
Ps. 88:4-6, 19
This, the darkest of psalms, poignantly captures the anguish that can entomb us. Trapped in the pit, we cannot see beyond our pain; weighed down by hopelessness, we lose our capacity to dream, to believe, and even to pray. At the very moment at which turning to God would be our lifeline out of the grave, we flail around in the murky darkness, cursing our lot. In effect, we become the living dead.
Sadly, there are those for whom the pit is the end of the story; unable to see beyond suffering, they are oblivious to the hands reaching into the darkness -- human or divine! Nor can they see the presence of the Holy One in the darkness itself, or hear their names echoing down Death's corridor, resounding like a summons across lost time: "Lazarus! Come out!" Other voices drown out the voice of the Holy One; other hands pull them down...
The Raising of Lazarus, however, assures us that death and other losses do not have to have the last word. Martha and Mary assume that Jesus has arrived too late, yet he shows up "in God's time" and summons Lazarus from the grave. The rock rolls, and hearing his name, Lazarus stumbles toward warm wind, rejuvenating spring... In raising Lazarus, Jesus prepares his disciples for his own resurrection while fulfilling his mission to "proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free." Lk 4:18. At the same time, he reminds us that God is the God of the living, the One who longs to open our graves so as to give us fullness of life both in this world and the next.
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