Fifth Sunday of Easter, cycle A

John 14:1 -10

Today’s Gospel is consoling; we are promised that Jesus will come back for us and take us to be with him. We are promised a home in the Father’s house. We are told not to be troubled. Jesus tells us to believe in God but also in him. But then we get to some words that have caused a lot of division, a lot of misunderstanding. Jesus says, “I am the way, the truth and the life; no one comes to the Father except through me.” These words have inspired missionaries to travel all over the world bringing the gospel to everyone they can; they have inspired martyrs who have died for the true faith; they have lead to thousands of arguments between denominations about who is more Christian, or indeed, what it means to be Christian. And it leaves an elephant in the room: what about all those good people who have never heard of Christ or indeed, have heard of him but rejected the whole notion of God being incarnate.

The Church has always held that life everlasting in the heart of the Trinity, what we call heaven, is not out of reach for any human being. When I was being taught by the nuns in St. Helena grade school, the implication was that for a non-Catholic it would be a lot harder to get to heaven than those who belonged to the true faith, namely, us. As a elderly deacon, I liked the theory put forth by Karl Rahner, that you can’t get to heaven except by being in relationship to Jesus, but there was such a thing as an anonymous Christian, someone who might not overtly believe but sought to live according to his conscience. But still, the implication was that you were better off being an overt Christian than an anonymous one, and as one Jewish rabbi remarked, “I don’t need your Christ to have a share in the world to come.”

My grandfather Silas was born into a Mormon family, but left home at 14. He had a fourth grade education, and became a cowboy. He met my grandmother at a dance and it wasn’t too long before they were married. In those days if you were a Catholic and were marrying someone who wasn’t it was an informal affair in the living room of the rectory -- no church wedding for you! I don’t know what my grandfather believed; he didn’t really go to any church. He took my grandmother to mass every Sunday and sat in the car reading the newspaper while she attended mass. I think that if anyone were to look at his life, they would see a good man, who took care of his family; who had a drinking problem that he mostly kept under control, and who didn’t have a great deal of ambition. My grandmother also had a dear friend who had been raised a Catholic but had married and later become a Jehovah’s Witness. She was always happy to see me and would give me a back issue of The Watchtower to read, along with cookies or cake. She wasn’t extraordinary in any sense except her kindness. And the point is, I knew a lot of people, some religious, some not, who were not Catholic but seemed to live upright lives, had generous spirits, practiced kindness, worked hard, and really were no different than the Catholics I knew except they weren’t. And I still do. So what is Jesus talking about? Or why did John emphasize this? We don’t hear Jesus saying things like this in the other gospels.

And yet we Catholics believe that our Church was founded by Jesus himself, that the Bible is the Word of God, and that the Church is the vehicle which carries on the apostolic tradition, and whose teachings on faith and morals have divine authority. And Jesus, the scriptures and the church all teach that the only way to the Father is through Jesus, the way, the truth and the life. If the only way to get to the Father is through Jesus and there are plenty of people around who don’t believe this, we have three possibilities: many people despite living fairly blameless lives will not see heaven; many of us who take advantage of the sacraments and live lives that are less upright than some in the previous group will see heaven; it’s all a matter of who God chooses to be saved and to be condemned. Or, all can get to heaven but the further away you are from the Catholic church, the harder it is. But maybe the third alternative is the best. Jesus is the way; he brought to our world a new way of living, a way that involves self-giving love. He brought truth in that he revealed the nature of God, that God is love, that God is Father, that God is approachable. He is life, because through his life, death and resurrection in some way he balanced out all the sins of all mankind, so that death, which is the consequence of sin, no longer has power over human beings unless they reject his gift.

So it isn’t that human beings are excluded from salvation when they are not members of the Church -- God gives everyone what is needed for them to go to the Father. When someone opens oneself to the love of the Father and communicates this self-giving love to those around him or her, God has been at work through the person -- every good thing, Paul tells us, comes from God. When one chooses a life that is inwardly directed, that is self-centered, that rejects the dynamic that Jesus showed us (I am in the Father and the Father is in me, and we are in you) then God is not involved; the person by his or her life has rejected union with the Father.

But does this mean that we don’t need the Church? By no means. The Church is Christ’s mystical body; the Church is the vehicle for communicating what Jesus taught to the world. And we Christians have to live out Jesus’ way, Jesus’ truth, and show the world the life that he gives – and when we don't, we've become useless servants, and are arguably worse off than those non-Christians who so obviously are being touched by the Holy Spirit, who blows where he wills.

Fourth Sunday of Easter, cycle A

John 10:1 - 10

I sort of sympathize with Jesus’ audience who don’t understand what he is trying to tell them. I’m confused as well; is Jesus the gatekeeper, the shepherd, or the gate? Are we the sheep? Who are the thieves and robbers? Who are the strangers that came before him? Sometimes I wonder if Jesus was just having fun with them.

But I hear two things in this gospel passage. The first is that the sheep follow the shepherd because they know his voice. What does a sheep get out of the shepherd’s voice? He certainly can’t understand the words. The only reason he follows the shepherd because he hears his voice is because that is preferable to any other action for the sheep. He knows that the shepherd will see that he is fed and watered; he knows that he will be kept safe, and as the psalm says, he will be made to lie down in green pastures; and he has probably experienced the gentle hands of the shepherd who removes brambles from his fur and patches up cuts and scrapes.

And so the sheep hears the shepherd’s voice as a sign of security, of peace, of satisfaction. Jesus constantly tells us to have faith in him. He wants us to trust him,the way a sheep trusts his shepherd -- not on an intellectual level, because we can’t trust what we fully understand. Trust by definition means that there is an element beyond our understanding in this relationship. I think that is where we sheep often fail. We want certainty, we want to hang on to what we know; we create a whole web of things that make us secure, and that’s where we put our trust. So how do we know we are on the right path in knowing the voice of our shepherd? Saint Ignatius, the founder of the Jesuits, gave us a way. It has to do with first, recognizing decisions. A lot of times we tend to just choose the easiest path when we come to a decision point, perhaps not even seeing that this is a fork in the road for us. Second, we try to see which direction would would best be for God’s honor and glory; usually the first thing we think about with decisions is which is better for us. Third, we ask God for light, knowing that he will answer us; Fourth, we weigh the advantages and disadvantages of the potential outcomes of our decision, thinking about what God hopes for us; Fifth, we consider the most reasonable answer, and Sixth, we present our tentative decision to God and ask God to confirm it. The more we do this, the more we hear the shepherd’s voice, and the more we become capable of recognizing those competing voices which are not the voice of the shepherd. God is ready to help and the process described by Ignatius is actually acted out by Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane. He’s the model; he's the shepherd. And all of Mary Magdalene’s doubts and sadness were lifted when she heard the shepherd say her name; she recognized his voice.

The second thing about this passage is that peculiar claim Jesus makes that he is the gate. I’ve read about how shepherds would lay across the entrance to the sheepfold so that sheep could not leave and predators could not get in. I guess that makes sense, but we eventually end up asking ourselves whether we are in or out, and whether those people who aren’t like us are out or in. That doesn’t seem to fit with what Jesus wants us to know.

Jesus is the gate in the sense that our passage from the sheepfold to the green pastures must go through him. Christians during this lifetime are supposed to have a foot in this world and a foot in heaven. We go back and forth, engaged in the building up of the kingdom through our work, through our relationships, through our taking up our crosses. Christians are supposed to be transforming society, not hiding out in an upper room somewhere. But the only way we can really transform society is to keep going back to the one who comes down from heaven, who brings with him the pattern of the New Jerusalem, the city on the Hill that represents our goal. We study Jesus, as much as we can by reading the gospels, by seeing what the Church teaches and trying to understand it; and by looking for Jesus in each other, especially in our fellow Christians. We can't build up the kingdom of heaven unless we know what heaven is like. Jesus is the bridge between this world and the next, and the Christian goes back and forth, intentionally seeking to be a more perfect disciple, with God’s help, since none of this is possible unless God is involved. As Saint Paul told us, every good thing comes from God.

So the more I listen, the more I hear his voice; and the more I recognize that voice, the more I trust and the less I depend on the stuff that I have accumulated that makes me feel secure -- all of which I know deep in my heart can disappear in a flash. Our coronavirus crisis is a hint at that.

And the more I go back and forth between this world that I am supposed to be turning into God’s kingdom and the model for that kingdom, Jesus himself, the more I know that there is only one gate, and the more I will confidently go through that gate some day to rest forever in heaven. All God wants for you and I is that we become saints, and all he asks of us is to let him make us saints.

Third Sunday of Easter, cycle A

Luke 24:13 - 35

Our gospel story for this third week of Easter is an appropriate one. The two disciples are downcast; they say, “We had hoped…” And for many of us those sentiments are applicable to us. We had hoped that maybe by now we would have seen the light at the end of the tunnel, when things get back to normal; we had hoped that by now someone would have found a treatment for the coronavirus; we had hoped that maybe an old anti malaria medicine would have miraculously been found to be effective; we had hoped that our churches would have been opened..

When our hopes are dashed, our instinct is to seek a safe place. The apostles sought to shelter in a locked room; the disciples on the way to Emmaus were going home, back to the familiar little town outside of Jerusalem.

And there on the dirt road, Cliopas and his companion encounter a stranger. I think it’s interesting that Jesus, fresh from conquering death and sin, appears to these two disciples in the guise of a stranger. No fanfare, no showing of his wounds, no saying “Peace be with you”. He puts himself at their level, and meets them in their disappointment. He draws them out, and they articulate their sadness, they put it into words. “We had hoped,” they say. “We had hoped that this Jesus would be the one to save Israel.” It’s interesting that these two disciples not only experienced the disappointment, but also have heard the good news -- from the women, from Peter and John who visited the empty tomb; they’ve heard about angels and a stone rolled back and the burial cloths neatly folded -- but they choose not to believe. I sympathize.

After Jesus encourages the two travelers to put their sadness, their sense of betrayal, their loss of hope into words, he does something remarkable -- he retells the story in the context of the big picture -- the story of God’s faithfulness to his people, of God constantly calling them back from apostasy, of God keeping his promises. And as they see their own experience in context, they experience their hearts “burning within them” as hope is rekindled and as faith once again wakes up a little.

And when they reach their destination Jesus keeps on walking. In that moment they can choose whether to allow themselves to be changed, or to remain in their unbelief, in their loss of hope. Jesus never compels us; he always respects our freedom. I wonder if these two were the only followers whom he encountered, or if he met with many who did not invite him to stay with them. I wonder if that is still the case today, when Jesus quietly accompanies us for a little while, inviting us to see our sufferings in the context he offered his apostles more than once: “If anyone wishes to save his life, he must lose it…” and “If you would be my disciple, you must take up your cross and follow me.” He told us “Blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” And he perhaps reminded them that the passion,death and resurrection had been predicted by Jesus himself. Saint Louis Martin, the father of Saint Therese of Lisieux, questioned his pastor along these lines: “How can I hope to be a saint if I am not given suffering?” And he spent his last years suffering and rejoicing that he had been given this gift. He saw things in the context Jesus offers.

But the climax of this story is when Jesus sits with them and shares their meal. He takes the bread, blesses it, breaks it and shares it with them, and in that moment they realize who has been with them the whole time. And of course they rush back to the Apostles and share the good news.

But the climax of the story is the breaking of the bread. Did they recognize Jesus then because of the familiar gestures, words -- but it’s not clear who was at the Last Supper -- it seems to have been the apostles only, because the whole theology of the priesthood implies that the apostles received that grace when Jesus told them to do this in memory of him. More likely Cleopas and his companion were given a revelation at the moment, and then Jesus disappears from their sight.

And I think Emmaus continues to happen; I think Jesus joins his disciples -- that’s you and I, especially when our faith is weak, when our hopes die down, when we are tempted to become bitter and resentful. Our loving savior comes to us in disguise, reminds us that our misery can be redemptive, that our mourning can be turned into dancing, our grief will become joy -- all promises made by our God and recorded in our scriptures, by the way. And he still reveals himself in the breaking of the bread.

One thing I’ve learned from this long fast from the celebration of the Eucharist is that there is a joy in joining my fellow Christians as we allow ourselves to listen to the word of God, to have an opportunity to see how our lives can be transformed by this, and to break the bread which is at once the food Jesus provides and his real presence. I hope we all will never again be tempted to take this for granted -- this summit and substance of the Christian life.

Second Sunday of Easter, cycle A

John 20:19 - 31

In today’s readings we have a glimpse into the life of the early church -- people gathered together, worked great signs, shared everything, and were well regarded by all. They lived in such a way that others joined their way of life, sometimes large numbers, even people who had been priests in the Jewish religion. And we look around and say, that’s not the way it is now. And we sometimes decide that the reason for the difference is simply that we don’t have enough faith. Because deep in our hearts we think that with enough faith, things would go well for us, we would be able to really experience the joy that comes from being a people formed out of Christ’s resurrection. If we had enough faith we would conquer sin, we would face death with courage and even joy; we could see that everything worked for the glory of God, which, since we are brothers and sisters of Jesus, the God-man, would be our glory as well.

And the gospel story seems to be about faith as well. Why didn’t Thomas believe? And it seems as though Jesus indirectly reprimands him when he says, “You believe because you have seen, Thomas. Blessed are those who have not seen, but yet believe.” And Thomas will always be remembered as the one who doubted, even though the other apostles had the same reaction.

If only we had enough faith! But maybe we are going about this wrong. Someone once said that the opposite of faith is not doubt, the opposite of faith is certainty. There isn’t any room for growth in certainty, yet the New Testament writings are always talking about growing in faith, having little faith -- but when you are certain about something, that’s it. There are many Christians out there who seem to feel that the more faith you have, the more certain you are. I remember someone telling me that despite all the evidence to the contrary, despite biblical scholarship and the pronouncements of the Church, he believed that the bible was literally true in every respect -- because he insisted that was a consequence of his deep faith.

But Saint Paul said that we work out our salvation in fear and trembling. And maybe that’s what faith is really all about.

Faith is not proportional to how you feel, or for that matter to how certain you are about a statement of truth. Faith is really about doing what we know is the right thing. It’s easy to tell the truth when there are no consequences. But it can be very painful to tell the truth when we know we will suffer for it. A parent finds it easy to love a teenager who makes him proud; but it’s harder when the teenager is always getting in trouble. Faith means we love anyway. We can see that in the saints. The martyrs especially, but certainly every saint we can think of was a saint because he or she did the right thing regardless of the consequences. And we recognize and admire that, and attribute it to faith.

The apostles in the locked room had lost what faith they had; when Jesus appeared in their midst, they were afraid, until He showed them his hands and feet. In order to enter into the joy of that first Easter,the apostles had to see His wounds. And Thomas was really no different. He had lost his faith as well, and had to see the wounds before he would believe. And that is part of the faith journey. We do experience joy now and then, and in those moments find it easy to do what is right. Some people are helped along by that joy for long periods of their lives -- they delight in doing good -- and when the good bears fruit, they delight all the more. But part of faith is experiencing the wounds, just as the apostles did, and to identify the joy of doing good with faith is dangerous, because inevitably a time will come when a choice will have to be made, and the joy will no longer be there.

Saint John of the Cross identified two “dark nights” for the soul. One is when you face adversity, and you are able to get through it because you are aware of God’s presence. The other, the more serious, is when you face adversity and you discover you have no sense of God’s presence. It is as though there is no God. John tells us that this is actually a prelude to even higher levels of spiritual growth; but during that dark night you have to continue doing what you know is right, feeling no reward, feeling no closeness to God, trusting only that the dark night will end and you will be united once again to Jesus.

I think when Jesus reprimands Thomas, he is not criticizing the fact that Thomas believed because he had seen; He is instead saying that Thomas will have a hard time moving from certainty to true faith, precisely because of the certainty; Thomas knows Jesus has risen; those who have not had a personal revelation but still believe are at an advantage. But Thomas in those moments afterward reveals the beginning of his faith journey. He says, “My Lord” which is a proper response to someone who has risen from the dead, someone who had been his teacher and leader. But he says “My God” which is a leap of faith, and Thomas will spend the rest of his life doing what he knows is right, even to his eventual martyrdom, because of his faith, not his certainty.

Easter Sunday, 2020

John 20:1 - 9

When I was growing up Easter was almost as big a holiday as Christmas. We kids gave up candy for Lent, and on Holy Saturday at noon Lent ended for us. We would see how quickly we could eat a chocolate bar at precisely noon. The other thing was that we would get presents, not as lavishly as Christmas, but usually something nice. My sisters would get Easter clothes to wear to church. I’d get new clothes also, but as my wife could tell you, clothes don’t interest me. And there would be Easter eggs, and we kids would race around trying to get as many as we could. I’m sure everyone has their favorite Easter memories. However one that was sort of unique to us in Helena, Montana was that Easter Sunday the local nursery would usually open after being closed all winter. We would go just outside of town and join a lot of people as we walked through the greenhouses and saw the flowers blooming. In one part the owner had several exotic plants, including trees bearing bananas and oranges. The nursery reminded us after a cold and gray winter that spring was coming and the earth would be waking up.

I enjoy reading the accounts of the Resurrection in the Gospels. They are all a little different. In all the accounts women discover the empty tomb. In all the accounts some sort of heavenly being or beings announces that Jesus is risen. And then it’s crazy; he appears to Mary Magdalene, he appears to Peter; he appears to two travelers, he appears to his apostles in a locked room., he appears to all his apostles on the shore of the sea of Galilee. And it goes without saying they rush around telling everyone. I am not doubting the Resurrection appearances, but I wonder if the people who reported them just had no words for what they experienced. The only thing they were certain of, so much so that many went on to be martyrs rather than deny what they had experienced, is that they had encountered Jesus Christ in a glorified bodily form, after his terrible death on the cross.

When I think about the Easter of my childhood, another thing that comes to mind is that every adult that I knew then has passed away -- my grandparents, my parents, my uncles and aunts who were such a big part of my life. Four of my cousins have died as well. My wonderful wife and I are both getting more and more hints that we have far less time ahead of us than behind us. And I am a scientist by nature, and my reason keeps telling me that there is no afterlife, that when you die, that’s it. Oh, I know there are rational arguments that conclude that the soul lives on for all eternity, that it can’t be destroyed; but I’m also aware of arguments on the other side -- that our being conscious is just an illusion, and that there really is no such thing as free will. We are more complex than dogs, and dogs more than lobsters. But we are all just variations on the same theme.

But then I think about that time when Jesus’ disciples were hiding in a locked room, and suddenly they knew Jesus was in the room with them. And all the other times as well. In the heart of every Christian is the same supernatural instinct -- the hope that the Resurrection stories are more than pious legends, the faith that against all logic and science the Resurrection happened, and the fact that we Christians love someone who was crucified 2000 years ago but still moves among us, still speaks to us, and still loves us back.

And I remember all those people I loved when they were alive, the people who shaped me and were my role models, good and bad; the people who all shared in creating my personality and my past. And I am sure that they live on in some unimaginable way. Can I prove it? No. In the end it all comes down to faith, hope and love, and we Christians believe these virtues are theological, that is, they come from God himself.

So I think the stories of Jesus’ appearances after the Resurrection are true stories; they really happened. But the scriptural accounts are just the tip of the iceberg. The bottom line is that after the Resurrection the followers of Jesus and many others (Saint Paul says more than 500 and includes himself) experienced the living risen Christ.

Some Christians think that when Jesus ascended into heaven that was the end of his appearances. But I think they continue, even today. It’s just that we draw a line between how it was in the time of the first Christians and how it is now. Maybe it’s not, maybe Jesus still appears to some of his followers in such a way that they can hardly put it into words -- but their lives were changed by the event, and that is for me an excellent demonstration of authenticity. And those of us who have not had dramatic moments when we experienced the presence of Jesus Christ, if we are believers, if we are living lives in accordance with Jesus’ teachings, well, maybe we don’t need those experiences. After all, most Christians are persuaded by the testimony, both verbal and through action, of other Christians.

My faith tells me Jesus is risen and I will rise because of that. And I think on Easter morning of all those I have known and loved, and how, if I were a loving and all powerful God, they would never be forgotten; and if I were that God I would not let a single human being slip away into oblivion; and in those moments I sense that cloud of witnesses, my brothers and sisters in faith, my family members and friends who have passed on, and I know that if Jesus rose from the dead, so will they; and I choose to believe Jesus rose from the dead.

Palm Sunday, 2020

Matthew 26:14 - 27:66

We’ve just heard the Passion of Jesus read, according to the Gospel of Matthew.  Palm Sunday is a rough ride. We begin with Jesus being welcomed by crowds of joyful people and end with his death on the cross.  That Jesus died on a cross is a fact. But each Gospel account of that death is a little different, sometimes even contradicting other accounts.  We could spend a lot of time, as many have done, “harmonizing” the gospels so that we could have one story which ironed out the discrepancies and contradictions.  But if we remember that the gospel writers were writing theology, not history, we can then read the gospels the way they were meant to be read.

Matthew’s account builds on Mark’s.  Matthew, Mark and Luke, but not John, describe the tearing of the veil of the sanctuary in the temple.  Matthew goes on to describe six other phenomena not seen in the other gospels. These are: the earth quaked; rocks were splint; tombs were opened; the bodies of many saints who had fallen asleep were raised; and coming forth from their tombs after his resurrection, they appeared to many.  Matthew is telling us in a few short words, about the consequences of Jesus’ death.

First, the Jewish people believed that God was with them in a special way; he dwelt in the sanctuary of the temple.  It’s sort of the same kind of idea we Catholics have about the Eucharist; we believe Jesus is not limited in space or time but is present in a special way in the Bread and Wine after the solemn consecration by a priest.  In Jesus’ time priests who went into the sanctuary had to go through elaborate purification rituals and their access was severely limited. Sometimes priests would receive revelations, such as Zachary, the father of John the Baptist did.  But the temple veil was torn down the middle; God no longer was symbolically separated from his people! He can be approached by everyone; you don’t need a priest to make intercession for you.  

The earth quaked and rocks were split.  Earthquakes are very frightening, more so than many other dangerous natural phenomena -- because we expect the earth to be stable.  And the same is true of rocks. They don’t split spontaneously. And the people of Jesus’ time always blamed supernatural powers for earthquakes.  Only a God can shake the earth, and only a God can split a rock. As God rushes into the world from the temple, these things happen. Matthew wants us to know that the death of Jesus unleashes something new.  The world will never be the same. And Matthew in a way speaks to us about that idea that goes all through his gospel; Jesus is God with us; he is Emmanuel, he is the one who says “I will be with you always”. And he is in the earthquake, in the split rocks -- wherever great power is manifest.

And tombs were opened.  The one who splits rocks and shakes the earth opens the tombs -- not of everyone, but apparently of the holy people.  And notice that Matthew does not say the holy people were raised, he says the bodies of the holy people were raised. It is a peculiar idea we Christians have about our ultimate destiny; our bodies will be raised along with our spirits.  Many religions believe our spirits live on in some way, but we believe our bodies will be raised, even if you are cremated; even if there is nothing left to raise. Matthew is remembering the prophet Ezechiel, who has God promising to raise his people; who has a vision of bones being put together and covered with flesh and given life.  

And finally Matthew tells us “...and coming from their tombs after his resurrection they appeared to many”.  Notice that their tombs were opened and their bodies raised happens when Jesus dies; and the raised saints come forth after his resurrection and appear to many.  In other words, the power of Jesus’ death raises the good people who have been waiting; and the power of his resurrection, his conquering death, releases them also.  Matthew wants us perhaps to see that while Jesus conquers death, through Jesus those who have lived good lives in the past have also conquered death and after His resurrection they manifested themselves to many; they continue to be witnesses to His resurrection.

Perhaps the foremost witness is Mary, who down through the ages has appeared time and time again, not just to Christiains but to others.  But other saints have appeared as well, probably a lot more often than we hear about. Sister Caterina Capitana was dying of complications of stomach cancer and had a vision of Pope John XXIII three years after his death, and rapidly regained her health.  That was the miracle that led to his beatification. And in our resurrected bodies who knows where God will send us to participate in granting his gifts to people, or perhaps admonishing them to avoid a course of action as Padre Pio is said to have done?  

God is with us; God’s power cannot be resisted by anything; God can and does raise the bodies of the dead, and all of this stems from the irresistible power of Jesus’ death.  So pray today for faith, and be grateful for what God has done for his people.  

Fifth Sunday of Lent, cycle A

John 11:1 - 45

This last week I have found myself getting pretty upset with God. If this virus ends up injuring someone I love, or disrupting society so much that people will be roaming around in gangs stealing toilet paper from senior citizens, or our life savings will be wiped out and we will have to move in with our kids, whose life savings will probably also be wiped out -- well, you get the idea. And I’m kind of mad at God for a situation in which we can’t go to church, can’t celebrate weddings or funerals or even the Easter services that bring our worshiping communities together. And between you and I, I’m upset with God that I can’t receive Holy Communion. So I say, along with lots of other people, “Why, God? Why are you doing this to us?”

Today we just heard the story of the Raising of Lazarus. I think the story might help us if you, like me, are wondering why God doesn’t seem to be answering our prayers.

Jesus is informed of a tragedy waiting to happen. He does not seem alarmed, even when he tells his disciples that Lazarus has died. I’m pretty sure the apostles wondered why Jesus hadn’t dropped everything and rushed to the home of his dear friends, Lazarus and his sisters. After all, that’s what people do, especially if they can help. And they will especially do it for the ones they love.

That’s what Martha says, as she meets him at the edge of the village. “If you had been here, our brother would not have died!” If God was really in charge, he would have kept Lazarus from dying. After all, dying is about the worst thing that could happen to someone. And Jesus tells her in a calm voice, “your brother will rise”. Martha, being of the Pharisee persuasion, agrees. I know he will rise on the last day, but that doesn’t help now, does it?

Mary then spots Jesus, runs out and falls at his feet, and says the exact same thing, “If you had been here, our brother would not have died!” Now maybe I’m taking liberties here, because I see Martha being very human, shaking her fist in Jesus’ face. I don’t blame her for being angry. Mary, on the other hand, is on her knees. And Jesus reacts very differently, He becomes perturbed, deeply troubled, and he wept. That’s the part that’s so hard to understand about this story. Why did he become troubled and disturbed and weep? Is it all a sham, is it something to make the forthcoming miracle even more dramatic? Does it tell us something about God and human tragedy?

When Jesus weeps, he shows us that our sorrow is also God’s sorrow. We do not have a God who sits in heaven watching everything happen without a care; his grief is as great as, or greater than our own. As the Good Thief found out, God is right up on that cross next to our own. In our current crisis, God is with us. Emmanuel.

When Jesus weeps, he reminds us that there are times when words cannot help, It’s a lesson we need to learn over and over again, because we all keep forgetting it. Sometimes the only response to someone else’s tragedy is to simply weep with them. When you turn on the news or go to your favorite news sources, someone is always talking,speculating, blaming, criticizing, or second-guessing; and someone else answers back. And neither really knows what they are talking about.

When Jesus weeps, he grieves for what is lost. Lazarus will be restored, of course, but not to the way things were. He will suddenly be a cause for disruption in his peaceful village. There will be those who will rush back to church, so impressed by this obvious miracle. There will be those who will want to kill him, as we learn later in John’s gospel, because his very existence is a threat to their way of life, their power, their legitimacy. And there will be those who will decide it was all a trick to make Jesus into some kind of God, and they will blame Lazarus for going along with this ruse. Lazarus has definitely lost something, even though he is raised from the dead. Jesus loses something as well when he is resurrected; he bears the marks of the nails on his hands and of the sword on his side, for all eternity. And when we get through this terrible trial, we all will have lost something.

The climax of the story is that it shows us how God works. God does not make decisions about who he will heal and who he will not. We are invited to pray for healing and for other good things. God may choose to answer our prayers. But in the story of Lazarus, we see God working in his usual way, where he always redeems our suffering afterward. In the miracles described in John’s gospel, you can see that thread running through them. The healings that take place are healings of people who have been suffering, sometimes for a very long time, like the crippled man waiting by the pool of Bethesda, or the healing of the man born blind. Lazarus tells us that God even redeems the suffering after death. And the mystery of the Cross simply universalizes this theme. Does that console me? Do I cease being angry with God? It may be that I am still angry, because I’m human, and his ways are not my ways. But in the end, it comes down to faith. He has shown us how he works. The cross could not be clearer. It is now up to you and I to believe that God is with us, suffering with us, precisely so that our suffering can be redeemed.