Richard Bollman, S.J.

5^th SUNDAY of LENT (Year C and A, 2007)

Isaiah 43:16-21; Philippians 3:8-14; John 11:1-45

We’ve been hearing Gospel stories

that call us to look again at Jesus, in open inquiry, in wonder:

he is shown to be the water we live by,

the light we walk in, the light in which we work and make decisions--

and in today’s story, he is shown to be life itself, powerful over death.

You might say these are teaching stories,

but it is more than ideas that we learn.

You might say these are miracle stories,

but Jesus is more than a wonder worker.

As he declares this morning, he is one with God,

and the glory of God is shown is everything he does.

Our faith in Jesus is a growing faith, never finished,

a relationship that is in movement toward deep and lasting life.

You will hear the voice of Paul today speak of his unfinished faith story

and how important it is to keep knowing Jesus,

how it brings perspective and courage even in a life marked with suffering.

And we begin with the testimony of Isaiah

back centuries before Christ,

calling people to trust their own time in history

in which God was doing something new, calling the people together again.

So are we the continuation of that new people,

being formed by God even right now.

HOMILY; "The Household at Bethany"

Just a few things to say here, about this Gospel.

Remember, first of all, that the Gospel is the presence of Jesus even now.

Just as the broken bread, the cup we share at communion

are a sacrament of the presence of Christ, so too is the Word.

Not the book exactly, but the word proclaimed, falling on your ear

making its way to the heart and mind and will.

The presence of Jesus, not the Past-ness of Jesus.

And our way to the Presence, what is being offered,

is to trust the story, the details as they are told,

coming as they do from the first community, from John’s community,

meant for us.

So notice how this is a story of a household

where Jesus is known, welcomed, loved, and not fully understood.

In this household of the sisters and their brother

you find different ways of faith, and some growth in faith,

but mostly there is a depth of affection.

Jesus take part in that love. As the story goes:

"Jesus loved Martha and her sister and their brother Lazarus."

Everything happens in that context. That love motivates Jesus to come,

and it draws people together, the neighbors, even the authorities take notice.

Here with this human loss, people come together, and Jesus is sent for.

There is this waiting, expectation, and willingness to welcome him.

So as we listen, as we let the story be present,

it is perfectly right for us to ask: where is this household,

and who are these sisters and brothers and neighbors.

They are ourselves. We are the people Jesus loves and knows and visits.

This is where the presence is desired and revealed.

In the present, not just a past memory.

So looking through the details of these person’s heart and souls,

we come to understand how we grow and change when Jesus is present.

Without doubt, we see ourselves here in the words of Martha–

"Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died."

You can feel the urgency and sense of possibility in what she says

because she approaches Jesus with knowledge of him as miracle-worker.

She has a glimmer of hope that he might even yet, somehow, do something.

It’s a very mixed state of mind, just like all of us know well,

sorting out what we expect of Jesus, and giving him advice along the way.

Notice how she hopes for some action on Jesus part,

but resists opening the tomb later on. That kind of mixed respect.

Jesus draws her out: (there it is, Jesus is always drawing us out)

wanting her to say what she believes, about death, about her brother.

And she tells him what she most knows

which is that she expects to rise with all the good Jews

on the last day. Out there then.

As is often the case, Jesus offers her more than she has room for now:

"I am the Resurrection and the Life," is what he tells her, from his heart.

"I know you are the anointed one, the Son of God who has been sent."

That’s what she hears. It is what Peter declared also, some time earlier.

This is wholehearted, true, and honest, and it is just the beginning

of taking in the revelation of Jesus.

And with that Martha drops the encounter and calls her sister.

It seems to be the urgent call of Jesus, asking her to come,

still to this place at the edge of the little town, Mary the disciple is called.

Mary repeats the same words as her sister,

"If you have been here, my brother would not have died."

Mary says this, at his feet, as the story is told.

She is often there, at his feet, not a slavish position,

but a place of learning and hospitality.

And she knows Jesus as teacher and as friend.

There is a simple and direct faith in her that asks for nothing else

than companionship in the loss. She asks nothing.

Presence, affection, contact. This is what she has.

And with that, there is a kind of silent willingness for more.

Martha, you might say, is conditioned by what she knows and expects.

Mary has a more unconditional relationship with Jesus.

These are ways of being that we recognize.

And then there are the neighbors who voice a complaint we all find familiar–

couldn’t you have done something to prevent this death!

It’s not so much that some of us are like Martha, some like Mary,

and some of us like the neighbors:

it’s that we are all learning the Lord, making our way,

responding as we can, sometimes putting out a lot of conditions:

do this and I’ll be satisfied.

Filling in the answers before we know what the question means.

And in the midst of this, Jesus wept.

We here in this beloved community, faithful, full of dedication and service,

we need to look into the face of Jesus who weeps among us.

The neighbors thought he wept for Lazarus.

There is greater evidence that he wept for the whole crowd,

in affection, yes, and in compassion for what we go through,

and how we are all afflicted with fear of death, just a groping faith,

and he wept in hope that we would trust and come closer

and not place conditions on him, not relegate him to being visitor,

but to let him be what he declares he is, Life itself.

There is, through the Gospels, an invitation, the same one

extended in this story to Mary.

Get up, he is calling you. Now.

This is a very powerful moment, and it is the point of reading the Gospel,

Sunday after Sunday.

This Jesus who we all know and profess in some way by faith

actually is the Resurrection and the Life:

actually is powerful over every fear, all that we can’t manage,

powerful over injustice and even death itself, and right now

speaks the word of life we are hearing,

each of us intimately in our own language and situation,

and he speaks this word out of love

which does not have boundaries or conditions,

right now knocking on our door,

shaken with desire to connect with us,

the union with God we desire

and already it overflows.

So when the stone is rolled away from the stench of death,

what Jesus offers to everybody is confidence, courage, spirit,

peace, gratitude, joy.

He offers himself as the present gift: in friendship and mutual strength, something now let loose in the world.

This is where our faith is being drawn to, Sunday after Sunday.

To the one who abides in us and in whom we abide

for the good of the world.