March 29, 2020
And on this strangest fifth Sunday of Lent in my lifetime, we continue to sit in our homes, or wherever we are, avoiding contact with other people … even as Ezekiel cries out in chapter 37, “O my people, I will open your graves and have you rise from them. And I will put my spirit in you that you may live.” And continuing in Psalm 130, “Out of the depths (from the grave?) I cry to you, O Lord, hear my voice! Paul sounds like he is admonishing, but I think he is simply grateful in Romans 8, “Those who are in the flesh cannot please God, but you are not in the flesh. On the contrary, you are in the spirit.”
All this lectionary preparation to lead up to the great story in John 11 when Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead, and this, make no mistake about it, was a physical thing, although as Rick Faber says, “When Lazarus is brought  back to his former life (resuscitation) rather than brought forward into new and eternal life (resurrection), he has his focus right. It is on the Lord alone.”
After all those few days had come and gone, after Mary and Martha and a host of others had gathered around the tomb, after the stone had been pushed aside and the smell of Lazarus’ dead body been assimilated, Jesus called out in prayer, “Father, thank you for hearing me!” And then turning into the awful void, the blackness in the side of the mountain he called out, a muted, throaty scream, “Lazarus, come forth!” Lazarus, come forth. Lazarus, come forth.
Jesus, confident in his Father, said it only once, shouted it only once, screamed it only once. Let US make man in our image. Let US prevent them from eating the Tree of Life, lest they live forever in their sin. Let US join with our children at the tomb, and let US cry out “Lazarus, come forth!”
And Lazarus, God bless his soul, did come forth.
Rumi wrote, and Rick Faber records, this poem of the 13th century …
“Quietness” by Mevlana Jalaluddin Rumi (1207-1273)
Inside this new love, die
Your way begins on the other side.
Become the sky.
Take an axe to the prison wall.
Escape.
Walk out like someone suddenly born into color.
Do it now.
You are covered with thick cloud.
Slide out the side. Die,
and be quiet. Quietness is the surest sign
that you have died.
Your old life was a frantic running
from silence.
The speechless full moon
comes out now.
