Raising of Lazarus.
Sermon on John 11:1-45. To be preached by Mike Finney on March 29th.
You know, trying to preach a sermon on this story can be hard work, and that’s true for many of the stories John tells. John is great for beloved, short sayings, but the larger stories are difficult.
Take the story we are looking at today. The raising of Lazarus from the dead, is the climax of John’s gospel, in many ways, and it is clearly the event which causes the death of Jesus.
So today I am going to try and enter John’s way of thinking and identify some of the ways in which the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead might serve as a sign for us.
Doing this, it is important to remind ourselves that Jesus had only recently left Jerusalem because people had gone so far as to consider stoning him to death for the blasphemy of claiming to be God. He went to Bethany Beyond the Jordan, where John the Baptist had baptised people.
That is where he was when he got this message, from his friends, Mary and Martha, that their brother was sick. Jesus must have been very close to Lazarus, because their message simply said, “Lord, he whom you love is ill.”
But John makes it clear that Jesus chooses not to go directly but dawdles for a couple of days before going. Why?
What’s going on here? Did Jesus want to make sure that Lazarus was good and dead before performing this mightiest of signs, so there would be no confusing this resurrection with resuscitation?
Is it the point, that Jesus is not just our saviour, that we can summon up any time we want to fix our problems? Or is he wanting to set the stage which will force the temple leaders to put him to death?
After the two days are gone, he announces to the disciples, “Okay, let’s go back to Judea.”
The disciples were incredulous. “Rabbi, the Jews were just trying to stone you there, and now you are going there again?”
Thomas, later called the Doubter, said, whether in resignation, exasperation or bravery, “Let’s also go, that we may die with him.” There was no question in their minds what another trip to Jerusalem would mean, and they were not up for it.
When they arrived, Mary and Martha both expressed resentment that Jesus was not there when they needed him, that he could have kept Lazarus from dying.
Jesus says, “Your brother will live again.” Martha replies, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.”
Jesus says, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, shall live; and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?”
Martha says yes, but here is what she says she believes: “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.”
That is not a promise that believers will never experience death, or that all will be brought back to earthly life if they die.
It is a promise that Jesus is the source of life and resurrection, and that death is no barrier to the life he offers. For believers, even if we die, we shall live and shall never die, and Jesus is the assurance of this.
The sign of this truth on that day was for Jesus to show he had power over death, power to give new life.
So, the tomb was opened, and Jesus called Lazarus from the tomb and had the people remove the grave cloths and let him go. He is no longer a prisoner of death. He is free to live.
John tells us that many of the Jews who were present to console Mary and Martha believed in Jesus that day, but others went to make a report to the pharisees.
We get a detailed account of a meeting of the Sanhedrin to discuss this situation.
The fear is expressed that if they do not do something, everyone will believe in Jesus and the Romans will get mad and come and destroy the Temple and the nation of Israel. The outcome of the meeting was that “from that day on they planned to put him to death.”
You see, Jesus performs this life-giving act and brings great joy, and the response is based on “what does this mean for me?” when negative repercussions are foreseen.
The obvious solution is to get rid of the problem. It is clear for John, that Jesus is consciously calling Lazarus out of the tomb knowing that he will take his place there in a very short time.
So, in what ways can this story mean something to us today? Certainly, there is the good news that Jesus is Lord over death and that believing in him leads to eternal life. But I think there is more than that.
I think it reminds us that Jesus is Lord in this life as well, and that he wants to give us an abundant life in this world as well as in the next. What are the implications of this?
Well, maybe there is something that has us bound in a tomb. What is it that keeps us from being the person that we want to be, and that God wants us to be?
Fear? Grief? Isolation from other people? Sitting in our home with the tv and the computer? I think Jesus wants to call us out of that tomb and unbind us and set us free to be fully alive.
You see, when we get used to being in that tomb it becomes our comfort zone, and we don’t even realise that it becomes a place of death and stagnation. It takes courage to answer the call of Jesus. To come out and hear him say, “Unbind him, and let him go.”
Maybe we identify more with the sisters who are outside the tomb. What is inside the tomb that we believe in is gone forever, which paralyses us from getting on with our lives?
Is hope buried away in there? The positive attitude we used to have. The faith that used to seem so clear and vibrant? Is our willingness or ability to love sealed away in that tomb because of past hurts and disappointments?
What would happen if we let Jesus unseal that tomb? Would our minds be flooded with fears and negative thoughts about the unfortunate consequences that might come about as a result, as with the Pharisees? Would our instinct be to slam that rock back up against the opening and not take the risk?
On another day when another stone had been rolled away from another tomb, the friends of Jesus faced such questions. My goodness – what now?
Part of me says this is a great thing, but what am I going to do with the fact that I denied knowing him, ran like a scared rabbit when he was in trouble, was afraid to show my face when they nailed him to the cross because they might do the same to me?
Am I willing to get my hopes up again after having them dashed, am I willing to love as deeply after experiencing the pain of such a devastating loss? Where do I go from here now that the tomb is no longer the last word?
Jesus says, “I came that they might have life, and have it more abundantly. I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live; and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die.”
One of the early church fathers’, Irenaeus said, “The glory of God is a person fully alive.” Paul said, “Whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s.” “Unbind them all, and let them go, that they might all be fully alive.”
Sermon on John 11:1-45. To be preached by Mike Finney on March 29th.
You know, trying to preach a sermon on this story can be hard work, and that’s true for many of the stories John tells. John is great for beloved, short sayings, but the larger stories are difficult.
Take the story we are looking at today. The raising of Lazarus from the dead, is the climax of John’s gospel, in many ways, and it is clearly the event which causes the death of Jesus.
So today I am going to try and enter John’s way of thinking and identify some of the ways in which the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead might serve as a sign for us.
Doing this, it is important to remind ourselves that Jesus had only recently left Jerusalem because people had gone so far as to consider stoning him to death for the blasphemy of claiming to be God. He went to Bethany Beyond the Jordan, where John the Baptist had baptised people.
That is where he was when he got this message, from his friends, Mary and Martha, that their brother was sick. Jesus must have been very close to Lazarus, because their message simply said, “Lord, he whom you love is ill.”
But John makes it clear that Jesus chooses not to go directly but dawdles for a couple of days before going. Why?
What’s going on here? Did Jesus want to make sure that Lazarus was good and dead before performing this mightiest of signs, so there would be no confusing this resurrection with resuscitation?
Is it the point, that Jesus is not just our saviour, that we can summon up any time we want to fix our problems? Or is he wanting to set the stage which will force the temple leaders to put him to death?
After the two days are gone, he announces to the disciples, “Okay, let’s go back to Judea.”
The disciples were incredulous. “Rabbi, the Jews were just trying to stone you there, and now you are going there again?”
Thomas, later called the Doubter, said, whether in resignation, exasperation or bravery, “Let’s also go, that we may die with him.” There was no question in their minds what another trip to Jerusalem would mean, and they were not up for it.
When they arrived, Mary and Martha both expressed resentment that Jesus was not there when they needed him, that he could have kept Lazarus from dying.
Jesus says, “Your brother will live again.” Martha replies, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.”
Jesus says, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, shall live; and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?”
Martha says yes, but here is what she says she believes: “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.”
That is not a promise that believers will never experience death, or that all will be brought back to earthly life if they die.
It is a promise that Jesus is the source of life and resurrection, and that death is no barrier to the life he offers. For believers, even if we die, we shall live and shall never die, and Jesus is the assurance of this.
The sign of this truth on that day was for Jesus to show he had power over death, power to give new life.
So, the tomb was opened, and Jesus called Lazarus from the tomb and had the people remove the grave cloths and let him go. He is no longer a prisoner of death. He is free to live.
John tells us that many of the Jews who were present to console Mary and Martha believed in Jesus that day, but others went to make a report to the pharisees.
We get a detailed account of a meeting of the Sanhedrin to discuss this situation.
The fear is expressed that if they do not do something, everyone will believe in Jesus and the Romans will get mad and come and destroy the Temple and the nation of Israel. The outcome of the meeting was that “from that day on they planned to put him to death.”
You see, Jesus performs this life-giving act and brings great joy, and the response is based on “what does this mean for me?” when negative repercussions are foreseen.
The obvious solution is to get rid of the problem. It is clear for John, that Jesus is consciously calling Lazarus out of the tomb knowing that he will take his place there in a very short time.
So, in what ways can this story mean something to us today? Certainly, there is the good news that Jesus is Lord over death and that believing in him leads to eternal life. But I think there is more than that.
I think it reminds us that Jesus is Lord in this life as well, and that he wants to give us an abundant life in this world as well as in the next. What are the implications of this?
Well, maybe there is something that has us bound in a tomb. What is it that keeps us from being the person that we want to be, and that God wants us to be?
Fear? Grief? Isolation from other people? Sitting in our home with the tv and the computer? I think Jesus wants to call us out of that tomb and unbind us and set us free to be fully alive.
You see, when we get used to being in that tomb it becomes our comfort zone, and we don’t even realise that it becomes a place of death and stagnation. It takes courage to answer the call of Jesus. To come out and hear him say, “Unbind him, and let him go.”
Maybe we identify more with the sisters who are outside the tomb. What is inside the tomb that we believe in is gone forever, which paralyses us from getting on with our lives?
Is hope buried away in there? The positive attitude we used to have. The faith that used to seem so clear and vibrant? Is our willingness or ability to love sealed away in that tomb because of past hurts and disappointments?
What would happen if we let Jesus unseal that tomb? Would our minds be flooded with fears and negative thoughts about the unfortunate consequences that might come about as a result, as with the Pharisees? Would our instinct be to slam that rock back up against the opening and not take the risk?
On another day when another stone had been rolled away from another tomb, the friends of Jesus faced such questions. My goodness – what now?
Part of me says this is a great thing, but what am I going to do with the fact that I denied knowing him, ran like a scared rabbit when he was in trouble, was afraid to show my face when they nailed him to the cross because they might do the same to me?
Am I willing to get my hopes up again after having them dashed, am I willing to love as deeply after experiencing the pain of such a devastating loss? Where do I go from here now that the tomb is no longer the last word?
Jesus says, “I came that they might have life, and have it more abundantly. I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live; and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die.”
One of the early church fathers’, Irenaeus said, “The glory of God is a person fully alive.” Paul said, “Whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s.” “Unbind them all, and let them go, that they might all be fully alive.”
A Sermon for Mothering Sunday
By Russell Stannard
Mothering Sunday is an opportunity to reflect on what it is to be a mother, and to be grateful to God for our own mothers. There are different kinds of motherhood, and I want to illustrate that by describing three mothers. Very different mothers but, as we shall see, all sharing one particular characteristic
I begin with my own mother. She was everything anyone could want a mother to be: gentle, loving, fun, hard-working – she was a conductor on the London buses. All went well until I was 8years old and my brother 6. That’s when World War II broke out and my parents were faced with a terrible choice. Living in London there was the threat of bombing. My parents obviously did not want to be separated from their children, but the safety of the children had to come first. So they agreed that my brother and I should be evacuated to somewhere safer. And so it was that my mother had to live for 5 long years without her children. She was not to see them grow up over all that time. What an awful sacrifice to ask of any mother.
Even at the end of the war after my brother and I came home my parents still faced hardship. While both of them had had to leave school at age 14 to get a job and help out with the family finances, they recognized the importance of their children getting a good education. So they skimped and saved in order that I could stay on at school and get the equivalent of A level, then a further three years while I went to university and got a degree, and then yet another three years while I got my doctorate. I was 24 years old before I got my first fulltime job and so could at last stop living off my parents. I have so much reason to be grateful to my mother (and my Dad). That was mother number 1
Mother number 2 was very different. She couldn’t have been more different. She was my mother’s mother, in other words my grandmother. It was to my grandmother that we were evacuated. It was she who took the place of my mother for much of the war time. She lived in a tiny cottage in a Staffordshire village. She had been the villagers’ midwife. Unlike my mother she was a strict Victorian disciplinarian. She had a reputation in the village for being fearsome. On going to the local village school, our new classmates were utterly aghast to learn that we actually lived with this dragon. ‘What?!’ they would declare. ‘You live with Old Ma Birkin!!!’
She ruled the house with a rod of iron. There were all these rules that had to be obeyed to the letter. For example, we had to turn up on time for meals. If we were late she would bellow ‘On the mangle board!’ This meant we had to take our meal out of the house to the scullery where she did the washing. There was this old fashioned mangle with wooden rollers for pressing the water out of the washed clothes, and in front of the rollers was a board. It was off this board we had to eat standing up shivering in the freezing cold weather.
She used to beat us, thumping us hard on the back with her fists. Is it any wonder we were so relieved when the war ended and we could go back to the gentler handling of our actual mother.
Now I know what you are thinking: What a terrible person. Why wasn’t she reported to the police for child abuse? But no. Don’t be hasty. Looking back over the years I myself came to see things very differently as I learned of all that my grandmother had herself had to go through in life. In the fullness of time I came to see that her own distinctive way of mothering young children had to be the way it was.
You see, when she was a young mother she gave birth to no less than ten children. Two tragically died young. But she had to bring up eight. And this she did in the cottage where she still lived when we were evacuated to be with her. It was a TWO bedroomed cottage. A husband, wife, and 8 children in two bedrooms! There was no bathroom. The only tap was in the small kitchen. Bathing and washing the clothes all had to be done in a tin bath filled by a kettle. The toilet was outside at the far end of the backyard. It was under those circumstances she had to be a mother to 8 children. Of course she had to lay down rules. If she was to survive, everyone had to follow to the letter the worked out, laid down routine. How else was she to get them all washed dressed and ready for school on time? How else to ensure that meals were prepared and promptly eaten on time so as to make space for the next sitting because all could not sit down and eat in the tiny kitchen at the same time. And so on.
Then to crown it all, after she was widowed and in her 70’s she gets lumbered with having to bring up my brother and me for several years. This she did out of the kindness of her heart. Yes her mothering was very different from that of our mother. It had to be that way. It was what we today would call ‘tough love’.
And did it work? Of course it did. None of the children who had been in her rough care ended up any the worse for it. After all she produced my lovely mother. She produced seven aunts and uncles for me who were all perfectly lovely and OK. And she produced my brother and myself, (and, dare I say, we also turned out lovely and OK!)
Mother number 3: the mother of Jesus. Just think of what she had to go through. A teenage girl, pregnant before her marriage, at a time when that was just about the worst thing that could happen to any girl. She was forced onto a long journey on the back of a donkey in the very last stages of that pregnancy; compelled to flee with her betrothed and the baby as refugees to a foreign land – like the refugees in our own time fleeing for their lives in Syria. Only a few short weeks ago we celebrated Candlemas and heard the old prophet Simeon, while welcoming Jesus as the long awaited Messiah, nevertheless had to tell Mary that a sword would pierce her heart too, a prophecy tragically fulfilled on that first Good Friday as Mary waited at the foot of the Cross and watched the awful agony of her dying son.
So there we have it: three stories of three very different motherhoods, each adapted to the particular circumstances prevailing. And I know that the good people of St Barnabas Church could tell many other such individual stories of their own mothers. But as I said at the beginning, all these stories have a common theme: They are stories of self-sacrifice. The making of sacrifices in order to give children the best possible start in life. It can be tough being a mother. God bless them.
By Russell Stannard
Mothering Sunday is an opportunity to reflect on what it is to be a mother, and to be grateful to God for our own mothers. There are different kinds of motherhood, and I want to illustrate that by describing three mothers. Very different mothers but, as we shall see, all sharing one particular characteristic
I begin with my own mother. She was everything anyone could want a mother to be: gentle, loving, fun, hard-working – she was a conductor on the London buses. All went well until I was 8years old and my brother 6. That’s when World War II broke out and my parents were faced with a terrible choice. Living in London there was the threat of bombing. My parents obviously did not want to be separated from their children, but the safety of the children had to come first. So they agreed that my brother and I should be evacuated to somewhere safer. And so it was that my mother had to live for 5 long years without her children. She was not to see them grow up over all that time. What an awful sacrifice to ask of any mother.
Even at the end of the war after my brother and I came home my parents still faced hardship. While both of them had had to leave school at age 14 to get a job and help out with the family finances, they recognized the importance of their children getting a good education. So they skimped and saved in order that I could stay on at school and get the equivalent of A level, then a further three years while I went to university and got a degree, and then yet another three years while I got my doctorate. I was 24 years old before I got my first fulltime job and so could at last stop living off my parents. I have so much reason to be grateful to my mother (and my Dad). That was mother number 1
Mother number 2 was very different. She couldn’t have been more different. She was my mother’s mother, in other words my grandmother. It was to my grandmother that we were evacuated. It was she who took the place of my mother for much of the war time. She lived in a tiny cottage in a Staffordshire village. She had been the villagers’ midwife. Unlike my mother she was a strict Victorian disciplinarian. She had a reputation in the village for being fearsome. On going to the local village school, our new classmates were utterly aghast to learn that we actually lived with this dragon. ‘What?!’ they would declare. ‘You live with Old Ma Birkin!!!’
She ruled the house with a rod of iron. There were all these rules that had to be obeyed to the letter. For example, we had to turn up on time for meals. If we were late she would bellow ‘On the mangle board!’ This meant we had to take our meal out of the house to the scullery where she did the washing. There was this old fashioned mangle with wooden rollers for pressing the water out of the washed clothes, and in front of the rollers was a board. It was off this board we had to eat standing up shivering in the freezing cold weather.
She used to beat us, thumping us hard on the back with her fists. Is it any wonder we were so relieved when the war ended and we could go back to the gentler handling of our actual mother.
Now I know what you are thinking: What a terrible person. Why wasn’t she reported to the police for child abuse? But no. Don’t be hasty. Looking back over the years I myself came to see things very differently as I learned of all that my grandmother had herself had to go through in life. In the fullness of time I came to see that her own distinctive way of mothering young children had to be the way it was.
You see, when she was a young mother she gave birth to no less than ten children. Two tragically died young. But she had to bring up eight. And this she did in the cottage where she still lived when we were evacuated to be with her. It was a TWO bedroomed cottage. A husband, wife, and 8 children in two bedrooms! There was no bathroom. The only tap was in the small kitchen. Bathing and washing the clothes all had to be done in a tin bath filled by a kettle. The toilet was outside at the far end of the backyard. It was under those circumstances she had to be a mother to 8 children. Of course she had to lay down rules. If she was to survive, everyone had to follow to the letter the worked out, laid down routine. How else was she to get them all washed dressed and ready for school on time? How else to ensure that meals were prepared and promptly eaten on time so as to make space for the next sitting because all could not sit down and eat in the tiny kitchen at the same time. And so on.
Then to crown it all, after she was widowed and in her 70’s she gets lumbered with having to bring up my brother and me for several years. This she did out of the kindness of her heart. Yes her mothering was very different from that of our mother. It had to be that way. It was what we today would call ‘tough love’.
And did it work? Of course it did. None of the children who had been in her rough care ended up any the worse for it. After all she produced my lovely mother. She produced seven aunts and uncles for me who were all perfectly lovely and OK. And she produced my brother and myself, (and, dare I say, we also turned out lovely and OK!)
Mother number 3: the mother of Jesus. Just think of what she had to go through. A teenage girl, pregnant before her marriage, at a time when that was just about the worst thing that could happen to any girl. She was forced onto a long journey on the back of a donkey in the very last stages of that pregnancy; compelled to flee with her betrothed and the baby as refugees to a foreign land – like the refugees in our own time fleeing for their lives in Syria. Only a few short weeks ago we celebrated Candlemas and heard the old prophet Simeon, while welcoming Jesus as the long awaited Messiah, nevertheless had to tell Mary that a sword would pierce her heart too, a prophecy tragically fulfilled on that first Good Friday as Mary waited at the foot of the Cross and watched the awful agony of her dying son.
So there we have it: three stories of three very different motherhoods, each adapted to the particular circumstances prevailing. And I know that the good people of St Barnabas Church could tell many other such individual stories of their own mothers. But as I said at the beginning, all these stories have a common theme: They are stories of self-sacrifice. The making of sacrifices in order to give children the best possible start in life. It can be tough being a mother. God bless them.