Rev. Jon Smoot

March 9, 2008

 

"Resurrection - in Lent?"

This is a strange Sunday in the lectionary cycle of gospel readings – the story of Lazarus being raised from the dead. Lent is supposed to be about repentance, somber music, and personal stock-taking – which eerily matches the foreboding economic drumbeats in the Post, or maybe echoes what you may be feeling about our church in what seems like a transitional time that goes on and on - and here we are talking about resurrection! Which is not a bad idea at all, actually. While we’re in strange-mode, I thought I’d throw in another strange little passage, about which I’ll bet you’ve never heard a sermon – and on which I know I’ve never preached – the story of Paul and Eutychus, in Troas. I’m taking a flyer here and linking two stories – Lazarus and Eutychus, and hoping that you won’t fall dead asleep and tumble down a rabbit hole, or out of a three-story apt building window.

 

Speaking of boring, Karl Barth once told a company of preachers: “Preachers must never be boring. However, to a large extent, the pastor and boredom are synonymous concepts. Listeners often think that they have heard already what is said in the pulpit. They have long since known it themselves. The fault certainly does not lie with listeners alone. Against boredom, the only defense is being biblical. If a sermon is biblical, it won’t be boring. Holy Scripture is in fact so interesting and has so much that is new and exciting to tell us that listeners cannot even think about dropping off to sleep.”

 

Lazarus we’re familiar with, but here’s a strange and interesting story:

“A young man named Eutychus, who was sitting in the window, began to sink off in a deep sleep while Paul talked on and on. Overcome by sleep, he fell to the ground three floors below and was picked up dead.” I’ll bet you can relate to some extent. I am only vaguely reassured when so many of you tell me that the half-hooded eyes or closed eyes of you parishioners or of your spouses during preaching should not be interpreted as ennui, but as intent listening. Sometimes, when the church gathers, the preacher goes on a bit too long. Luke tells us that Paul started speaking late morning, and was still going at it at midnight, packing in as much teaching as he could before moving on the next day.

 

It’s stuffy and hot, and a 16-year old, named Eutychus, which in the Greek means “Lucky,” is perched in the window, hoping the fresh air keeps him awake. Paul drones on, and Lucky dozes off, topples out of the window falling to his death three stories where Luke says that a couple of ushers picked Lucky up dead. That is rather interesting in itself…

 

But here’s the most fascinating part of the story. Luke, who is traveling with Paul, says that Paul paused his teaching, bent over the boy, tenderly embraced him, and said to the grieving church: “Do not be alarmed, for his life is in him.” What happened then? Paul resumes his teaching, “As I was saying…” …as if resurrecting the boy was the most natural thing in the world. As one biblical commentary notes, “Paul’s resurrection of this dead boy appears as a mere ‘hiccup’ during his teaching ministry.” And commentator William Willimon notes that “Lucky is brushed off, his breathing resumes, and church continues. The next day Paul is headed for Miletus and Lucky is back at school.” 

Here’s what we are to make of this story and the down-playing of a miracle. Paul is standing in the long line of premier prophets of Israel who exercised divine power to wrest life from death. Paul interrupts the normal flow of things to reverse the flow of life to death – and does so in a manner that suggests that life is the normal flow of things, not death. Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead as the sign that God gives life – as Jesus himself will reveal in his own passion and resurrection.

 

Which means that we need to think differently about church. We tend to think of church as pretty much every other institution in our lives – prone to degeneration and decay, or even death at the worst, or if we’re “lucky,” just somnambulant torpor. Maybe what scripture is doing – maybe what Luke and Jesus are saying, is that where we expect death, there is the embrace of life instead. As Willimon notes again: “Where we expected a church service to turn into a funeral, Paul confidently breaks bread, eats, continues to talk until daybreak because why let a thing like death stop a good sermon? And a child is presented alive.” Even Luke’s laconic comment at the end points to the subordinate role of miracle, by pointing to the supreme role of the message: Paul resumes the message, the boy is taken home alive, “And they were not a little comforted.”

 

What the scriptures – the message of God - are trying to do is to destabilize our expectations for the normal way things work. The word desires to smash through our bone-headed small-mindedness with the defiant message and action of the prophets that reverse the normal flow of things to decay and death. For God, Life is the normal flow of things, not death. Over and over again, scripture thunders: “Do not be afraid” “God is sovereign”. “Let not your hearts be troubled.” “Do not be alarmed, for his life is in him.” Lucky’s resurrection could simply serve as a sermon illustration for what could have been Paul’s sermon topic that day, “Do not be alarmed, for there is life!” Bradley Hills has had tough, even incredibly dark times – at one point 19 years ago, it appeared that BHPC was just about going under, with failure to thrive, but God said, “Do not be alarmed for there is life.” And there sure was.   

 

And now, we journey on in transition at church, and we are tempted in our frustration, or even grief, to say with Martha and Mary, “Lord, if you had been here, we would not still be waiting for our future and our new pastor and have to put up with this interim.” And Jesus would say, “This transition does not lead to death; rather it is for God’s glory.”

Maybe Jesus waits a long little longer than three days after saying this, but that just makes the guaranteed resurrection all the more beautiful, poignant, and powerful. I have no fears for this church because I expect resurrection. Saying that doesn’t make me Pollyanna – it makes me Christian.

 

Maybe we don’t expect resurrection in church, but we must: God does in fact raise the dead – that’s an existential fact, for I am one of those who fell to his emotional and marital death, but also one to whom God said; “do not be alarmed for his life is in him”, and it was. Many of you are walking miracles. Maybe we just don’t know enough about each other’s stories to realize this. I would wager my pension that there are scores of you who have had front-row seats on resurrection. I have known hundreds of people who have fallen out of the window, died, been re-born and raised from the dead. You see, Resurrection is not a theological concept or a “get out of the tomb free” card – resurrection is an existential fact – an inexplicable presence of undying life and hope. The same God who raised Lazarus from the dead, Lucky from the dead, and Jesus from the dead, will be with us when we are overwhelmed by the dangers we face, the transitions we face, the burdens we bear, or the fears about the future that sometimes rob us of our hope.

 

Now, that’s what God does – raise the dead with the stronger word of hope and life. We have a job to do as well. God raises the dead, but we are the lucky ones who get to unbind them, like the friends of Lazarus did when he stumbled out of his tomb.

 

Let me tell you about Alice. Alice was an elderly woman in my church. She was very quiet, kept to herself, showed up for church every Sunday and sat y herself. She rarely made eye contact with anyone, and scuttle out after church not talking to anyone. Everyone just assumed that Alice was just a crabby, elderly lady, who wished to be left alone. One Sunday, she stopped and asked me to visit her that afternoon. I did, and she worked hard to be pleasant and upbeat but it was clearly hard on her. Finally, I asked her, “Alice, why did you invite me over today?” She began to shake uncontrollably as she named the stench of the tomb that had entrapped her for so long.

 

It was guilt. She had faithfully cared for her ailing husband for six months. He was an obnoxious, demanding, rude man who found fault with everything she did for him. One day she lost her temper with him: “Roy, you are a selfish, uncaring, and demanding man. You always have been.” Those were her last words to him: He died that night. Part of her died that night as well, shutting her in a tomb of guilt and shame. I told Alice that all was forgiven. Could she now dare to receive God’s grace and let her guilt go? I prayed with her to be released from the shame and guilt. In one of my most rewarding pastoral moments, Alice was unwrapped before my eyes, re-born – and she was set free. Alice was a transformed woman: she re-entered the life of the church, amazing everyone with her energy and joy and we all rejoiced with her.  

 

That’s our role in community: God raises the dead, but we get to pull the threads that still cling to one another, unbinding one another as the gift God gives us in community.

Do you see the binding cloths of grief still around someone? – do you feel the sense of hopelessness that someone may have? Pull the threads by inviting them to coffee and tell your story and let them tell you theirs, and let God’s story embrace you both. The last act in resurrection is the unbinding -- and God gives it to us, to do on behalf of one another. Now that’s a resurrection story in Lent.