A wake for Death itself
Commentary
My friend has the oddest idea: He wants to have his wake before he dies.
"Otherwise, what's the point?" he says. "All these people come and say nice things about you, and you don't get to hear them. They serve the best food, the best drink, and you don't taste a thing. It's a party in your honor, but you are the only one not invited."
My friend goes on to speak of the "Celebration of Life" held for someone who was dying of cancer. There was plenty of food and drink (no need for the guest of honor to watch his diet anymore!). There were speeches, both funny and touching. The guest of honor tired halfway through and had to go home, but he got the gist of it. How much more meaningful for him to be able to celebrate his life with all of his friends, than for the friends to gather only after his death.
Some will say that "funerals are for the living," and I won't dispute that. I only wish we could celebrate each other more, while we are still alive. Life is too short to miss the party.
God has an even better idea, however. God wants to throw a party while we are still alive, and make sure that the guest of honor will never trouble us again. Rather than having a wake for the living, God proposes having a wake for Death itself.
Isaiah 25:6-9
The prophet Isaiah plants the root of the idea with his depiction of the eschatological feast on Mount Zion. Isaiah 25:1-10a is a psalm of thanksgiving, and is part of a larger section (chs. 24-27) that probably owes a debt to apocalyptic thought, which posits "that day" when cosmic evil will be judged and God's goodness prevail (v. 9). The psalm completes a contrast between despair and hope, judgment and liberation, between an unnamed and obscure city (probably Babylon) and God's city, Jerusalem, the site of God's final party. Babylon has been God's instrument of judgment on many an arrogant city (including Jerusalem itself), but it is not immune from God's verdict on national pride (25:1-5; cf. ch. 24). The fortified city is now "a heap," that "will never be rebuilt" (v. 2; many scholars see this as an indication that this particular oracle comes from a time after the actual fall of Babylon in 539 B.C.). Babylon's destruction is a sign of God's care for the poor, the needy, and refugees who were oppressed by the "song of the ruthless" (vv. 4-5). As a result, even "strong peoples" and "cities of ruthless nations" will fear the Lord (v. 3). Turns out, this has been God's plan all along (v. 1). With the hostile city taken care of, God can set a table for one last great feast.
What a feast it is! The table includes "rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear" (v. 6; note the poetic parallelism). Chef God has prepared the tastiest morsels for the peoples of the nations. This banquet food is symbolic of salvation (v. 9); the depiction of the feast is modeled on accession banquets hosted by new kings for their constituents. In this case, however, the invitation is extended beyond the gates of the kingdom, for "all peoples" and "all nations" are invited -- not just Israel (vv. 6, 7).
The taste treats that Chef God has prepared for the guests are but appetizers in comparison to God's own fare. The peoples eat salvation, while God eats Death. God will "swallow" the "shroud that is cast over all peoples," i.e., the veil of mourning worn by those left behind. God will also "swallow up death forever" (v. 7). (Note that in both cases, the Hebrew verb is bala', "to swallow up," though the NRSV translates the first instance as "destroy"). Isaiah reverses a Canaanite myth, in which Death, construed as a divine being, swallows all things like the raging floods of the sea. Instead, God swallows up Death, to the comfort of those who sit at God's table: "Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth" (v. 8). The "disgrace of his people" probably refers to Death itself.
So God's great banquet means the end of all grief and mourning. Truly the peoples can sing, "Let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation" (v. 9). Then they can dig in and eat.
Revelation 21:1-6a
The culmination of the book of Revelation (21:1--22:5) spells out the fulfillment of the promises to "the one who conquers" (2:7, 11, 17, 26; 3:5, 12, 21; 15:2; 21:7), that is, the believer who has been faithful to the end. Such faithful believers can count on an invitation to God's last party, because they can count on the faithfulness of God, who is "the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end" (v. 6), whose words are "faithful and true" (v. 5; NRSV "trustworthy and true"). They owe their victory to the God who conquers.
A grand climax depicts God's conquest. The coming of Christ, the mounted warrior who is "Faithful and True" (19:11), results in victory over the beast and his armies, and the imprisonment of "the dragon, the ancient serpent, who is the Devil and Satan" (20:2). The millennial kingdom follows, after which Satan is finally defeated, the dead are judged, and the enemies of God -- including the devil, death, and Hades -- are thrown into "the second death, the lake of fire" (20:14).
There follows a vision of "a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away" (21:1). The vision is modeled on the oracles of the prophet Isaiah (65:17; 66:22); the idea that God's final act would be a renewal of creation was common in Jewish thought of the first century. With the old order passed, God is free to make a new creation, with one obvious difference: "the sea was no more" (Revelation 21:1). The symbolism of a dry earth should not be missed, and does not only recall the Exodus; in the Bible and in Jewish thought, as in much of the Ancient Near East, the sea was a cosmic force of evil. In the book of Revelation, the sea is the home of both the "dragon" (a term used for the sea monster or "Leviathan" of the Hebrew Bible) and the beast; it is also the throne of the great whore (12:3; 13:1; 17:1). Water was the weapon of choice when the dragon tried to execute the celestial woman and her Messiah-child (12:15). The final section of the book of Revelation includes the sea as one of seven elements that will be "no more" (including death, grief, crying, pain, the accursed, and night, 21:1, 4; 22:3, 5). With no sea on the new earth, evil no more has a place to live.
God, however, has a new home. "See, the home of God is among mortals," says the loud voice from the throne, as "the holy city, the new Jerusalem" descends from the new heaven (vv. 3, 2). The idea that there is a heavenly counterpart to the earthly Jerusalem is common in the New Testament (cf. Galatians 4:26; Philippians 3:20; Hebrews 11:10, 14-16; 12:22; 13:14; Revelation 11:2), as it was in Jewish thought of that time. The passage also reflects Greco-Roman notions of the ideal city, where human community may find its fullest expression. It is indeed a "holy city," in the root sense of that word; it is "holy, separated" from all that which is outside, i.e., the enemies of God in the lake of fire. Ironically, the walls of the city separate the insiders from the outsiders, but with those enemies subdued, there is never even a need to close the gates (21:8, 27; 22:15). That the New Jerusalem descends from heaven proves that it is a divine and not a human creation. As in Isaiah, there is an implicit contrast between holy Jerusalem and impure Babylon (cf. chs. 17-18, where "Babylon" probably represents ancient Rome). Where the voice of the bride had been silenced in Babylon (18:23), Jerusalem is now bedecked as a bride with jewels and gold (hinting at the fuller description of the city to come in 21:9--22:5).
In this new city God will pitch a tent; the "home" of God among mortals is literally the "tent," skene, and the verb translated "dwell" in verse 3 is from the same root, meaning literally "pitch a tent." The word skene was regularly used in the Greek Old Testament to translate mishkan, the word describing the wilderness tabernacle tent, which in turn came from the verb shakan, "to dwell" (note that the Greek noun and the Hebrew verb have the same consonants). From these words came the name given to God's glorious presence on earth, Shekinah (cf. Leviticus 26:11-12; Ezekiel 37:27). The brightness of God's presence, traditionally thought to fill the tabernacle/Temple, now fills the whole city (21:22-23; 22:5). As God was with the people of Israel through the Exodus, so now God will be with them in the holy city, Jerusalem (v. 3; cf. Exodus 3:14; Isaiah 7:14; Zechariah 8:23; Matthew 1:23).
The process of re-creation has made all things new (v. 5; cf. Isaiah 43:19). Revelation alludes explicitly to our Old Testament lesson: "He will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away" (v. 4; cf. Isaiah 25:7-8). Again, as in Isaiah, there is a contrast with the unholy city, for in Babylon there was in fact death, mourning, and pain (Revelation 18:9-24). Such things are simply "no more" in the heavenly city.
Even water poses no threat in this paradise. The evil sea is no more, but God gives to the thirsty "a gift from the spring of the water of life" (v. 6). "Water of life" is a multi-edged expression, since it can mean literally "flowing" or "running" water (as opposed to that gathered in a cistern), as well as a symbolic living water (cf. John 4:14; 6:35; 7:37-38). The water of life flows from God (Revelation 22:1-2). What better drink to accompany the eschatological feast?
John 11:32-44
Jesus' delay put off the party for his friend Lazarus for a few days, and in fact it was hardly a celebration he came to in Bethany. Jewish tradition demanded immediate burial (with some perfume and a wrapping for the body, but no embalming), and so mourning followed burial, usually for thirty days. The ritual included wailing and dramatic expression of grief, in which Jesus himself participated upon his arrival at the tomb (11:35).
Irony piles upon irony as Jesus weeps for his friend. As Martha and Mary both point out, Lazarus would not have died, had Jesus been there on time, for where God dwells, there death cannot live (11:21, 32; cf. Isaiah 25:7; Revelation 21:4). Jesus was not there, because he deliberately dallied, knowing that Lazarus would die (11:6, 11, 14). Nevertheless, it was more important that his disciples and others come to believe that Jesus was sent by God, than it was for Mary, Martha, Jesus and the rest to be spared their grief, or for Lazarus to be spared the pain of death (11:15, 42). So important was the mission that even the threat to Jesus' own life must be ignored (11:8). Indeed, the raising of Lazarus becomes the direct cause of Jesus' death, according to the Fourth Gospel, since from that day his enemies had decided his fate (11:45-53). As the good shepherd, Jesus has laid down his own life for the sheep, in risking his life for Lazarus (10:11-18). Jesus weeps not just for the one he loved, but for himself. His tears are not so much proof of his humanity, but of his solid determination to conquer, to swallow up death forever.
Thus the longest sustained narrative in the Gospel of John except for the passion narrative brings us to the brink of that same story. He comes to the aid of Mary, who will anoint him for his own burial (12:1-8). He tells his disciples that Lazarus' illness will not lead to death (11:4), knowing full well that it will -- his own. But the Son of God is glorified in the hour of his own death, and the temporary victory of Lazarus over death is an important step on the way to the final victory (11:4; cf. 12:23-24; 17:1). "He will be saved," Jesus tells his disciples (NRSV misses the double meaning of 11:12 by translating, "he will be all right"), and so will we all.
Jesus' delay meant that Lazarus was good and dead by the time he got there. The soul was said to linger near the grave for only three days, and Martha nails the coffin shut when she notes that "already there is a stench because he has been dead four days" (v. 39). What really stinks is the grip that death has on the assembled party. Though Martha has heard the news from the lips of Jesus himself, she has not quite realized its import: "I am the resurrection and the life," Jesus has told her (11:25). Where Martha was content to see Lazarus again at the great feast on Mount Zion (v. 24), Jesus was trying to transform the very categories of life and death. It is a new heaven and a new earth that he is creating, totally incomprehensible from the old perspective of the first heaven and earth. He is the one person who is able to live as if death were really dead; the rest of us need his help. We will get it. He himself is Lord over the present and future power of death.
He approaches the enemy with an attitude. John tells us of his anger and consternation (the NRSV translation of v. 33, "he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved," is too mild). Jesus is indignant at the power of death to take his friend. He is agitated at its seeming finality. He grieves over the inability of the witnesses to understand what they had seen and were about to behold (vv. 36-37). Nonetheless, his prayer is that the power of God for life shine through (vv. 41-42). His power emanates from his relationship with God, and his goal is to glorify that God in life and death (cf. 3:34-35; 10:30; 12:49; 14:24). All it takes is a simple command: "Lazarus, come out!"
When they unloosed his bindings, what a party they had!
Application
When one of my best friends was in treatment for terminal cancer, he was overcome with a desire for something you usually don't see on a hospital tray: a big, fat cheeseburger. He longed for the bun, the lettuce, the tomato, the goo of cheese melted over a hunk of meat. Licking their own lips, his friends rushed out to get him one. On their return, he bit into their offering and -- nothing. The poisons they had used to treat his cancer had robbed him of his taste buds.
That friend is now gone, and unfortunately I missed both funeral and wake. I do not believe that I have missed him entirely, however. All Saints' is the celebration of the intercommunion of the living and dead in Christ, the day we remember all believers, known and unknown. We celebrate their lives, their deaths, and their ongoing lives beyond death. We celebrate because God has swallowed Death, chewed it up, and spit it out. God has announced Death's funeral.
If Jesus is right, this present life is but a faint glimmer of ultimate truth, a relatively bland imitation of the real thing. When we think about how good the imitation can be at its best, how can our mouths but salivate at the invitation to God's final party? At Death's wake, I hope to sit at God's table with those who have gone before me, and those who will come after me, and bite into the juiciest cheeseburger in the universe. There we will all taste and see that the Lord is good.
Alternative Applications
1) Isaiah 25:6-9; Revelation 21:1-6a; John 11:32-44. Isaiah speaks of waiting for God's salvation, the fulfillment of a plan established long ago (Isaiah 25:1, 9). At the eschatological feast, the wait is finally over, and the people can rejoice in the long-awaited culmination of God's plan. Revelation reminds us just how long the wait is -- even if we were to see the return of the rider who is called Faithful and True (19:11), we still have to wait through a thousand-year kingdom for the complete defeat of Satan and the new heaven and new earth (20:1--22:5). Such lengthy waiting periods may seem to some to argue against the promises of God, but even shorter waits can cast a shadow over faith. Mary and Martha waited only a few days for Jesus, and had trouble believing even as he stood before them (his disciples too were confused by the wait). Jesus, however, worked on no time clock but his own -- that which counted down to the glory of God.
2) John 11:32-44. As a teenager, I learned that the easiest Bible verses to memorize were the shortest, such as John 11:35, "Jesus wept" (given a correct but infelicitous expansion by the NRSV into "Jesus began to weep"). It's easy to be sentimental about this "shortest verse in the Bible," but we need to realize that it does much more than prove the humanity of Jesus. The tears of Jesus show his participation in the grief of this world, and his care for those who are caught up in it. He does not look down with superiority on those who do not know as well as he; rather, he prays that they may come to believe through his actions, so that God may be glorified. As we pass through the veil of tears, we had well follow his example and grieve with those who grieve, until such time as God wipes away all tears from our eyes.
Psalm 146
This psalm appears several times in the lectionary with different applications during the Christian year. It is used in two different years in connection with All Saints' Day. What makes the psalm applicable in many settings, including All Saints', is the theme of God's love for the righteous (v. 8). There is tremendous value in remembering and celebrating the contribution of those who have gone before us. The act of remembering helps keep us faithful to the sacrifices and acts of kindness accomplished on our behalf. Celebrating the memory of those who have gone before takes on special significance as we acknowledge our belief in God's blessings and care for these faithful ones.
This psalm also includes an important insight regarding the character of the people we choose to place our trust in. The psalmist warns us, "Do not put your trust in princes, in mortals in whom there is no help" (v. 3).
This insight actually cuts two ways. On the one hand we are called to be responsible for finding and following "mortals" who are helpful. The psalmist is not saying in his warning that all mortal humans fail to offer help, only that some do. If being mortal disqualified all from being a mentor or teacher, we would all be lost. We must find those good role models and follow them. These are the teachers and role models who shape us and mold us. These are the ones whose life and memory we will celebrate throughout time.
The other side of this, or course, is the recognition that not all mortals are helpful. The psalmist zeroes in on "princes." The reason why should be obvious. What was true in the ancient world is also true now. People of wealth and power can take on a "larger than life" status. In our day these people would include politicians and pop stars.
They walk among us as giants. If we are not careful, we will grant them respect and awe beyond what they really deserve. More than that, because of their stature, we may allow them to shape us and mold us into their own image.
People who seem larger than life often have influence that far out-reaches their character. This is mostly our own fault. We often have difficulty distinguishing the path that leads to wealth and success from the path that leads to wisdom and integrity. The psalmist offers a subtle warning to us that we should not be overawed by people in the limelight. They are mortals like the rest of us and are not necessarily the best teachers.
Instead we are challenged to join in a song of praise celebrating God's goodness. God cares for the weak and oppressed. God cares for the prisoner and sets them free. God gives sight to the blind (vv. 8-10). In other words, while we are standing star struck by the "princes" that walk in our midst, God is standing with the poor and the needy. God stands where the righteous before us have always stood, and where we are challenged to stand as well.
"Otherwise, what's the point?" he says. "All these people come and say nice things about you, and you don't get to hear them. They serve the best food, the best drink, and you don't taste a thing. It's a party in your honor, but you are the only one not invited."
My friend goes on to speak of the "Celebration of Life" held for someone who was dying of cancer. There was plenty of food and drink (no need for the guest of honor to watch his diet anymore!). There were speeches, both funny and touching. The guest of honor tired halfway through and had to go home, but he got the gist of it. How much more meaningful for him to be able to celebrate his life with all of his friends, than for the friends to gather only after his death.
Some will say that "funerals are for the living," and I won't dispute that. I only wish we could celebrate each other more, while we are still alive. Life is too short to miss the party.
God has an even better idea, however. God wants to throw a party while we are still alive, and make sure that the guest of honor will never trouble us again. Rather than having a wake for the living, God proposes having a wake for Death itself.
Isaiah 25:6-9
The prophet Isaiah plants the root of the idea with his depiction of the eschatological feast on Mount Zion. Isaiah 25:1-10a is a psalm of thanksgiving, and is part of a larger section (chs. 24-27) that probably owes a debt to apocalyptic thought, which posits "that day" when cosmic evil will be judged and God's goodness prevail (v. 9). The psalm completes a contrast between despair and hope, judgment and liberation, between an unnamed and obscure city (probably Babylon) and God's city, Jerusalem, the site of God's final party. Babylon has been God's instrument of judgment on many an arrogant city (including Jerusalem itself), but it is not immune from God's verdict on national pride (25:1-5; cf. ch. 24). The fortified city is now "a heap," that "will never be rebuilt" (v. 2; many scholars see this as an indication that this particular oracle comes from a time after the actual fall of Babylon in 539 B.C.). Babylon's destruction is a sign of God's care for the poor, the needy, and refugees who were oppressed by the "song of the ruthless" (vv. 4-5). As a result, even "strong peoples" and "cities of ruthless nations" will fear the Lord (v. 3). Turns out, this has been God's plan all along (v. 1). With the hostile city taken care of, God can set a table for one last great feast.
What a feast it is! The table includes "rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear" (v. 6; note the poetic parallelism). Chef God has prepared the tastiest morsels for the peoples of the nations. This banquet food is symbolic of salvation (v. 9); the depiction of the feast is modeled on accession banquets hosted by new kings for their constituents. In this case, however, the invitation is extended beyond the gates of the kingdom, for "all peoples" and "all nations" are invited -- not just Israel (vv. 6, 7).
The taste treats that Chef God has prepared for the guests are but appetizers in comparison to God's own fare. The peoples eat salvation, while God eats Death. God will "swallow" the "shroud that is cast over all peoples," i.e., the veil of mourning worn by those left behind. God will also "swallow up death forever" (v. 7). (Note that in both cases, the Hebrew verb is bala', "to swallow up," though the NRSV translates the first instance as "destroy"). Isaiah reverses a Canaanite myth, in which Death, construed as a divine being, swallows all things like the raging floods of the sea. Instead, God swallows up Death, to the comfort of those who sit at God's table: "Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth" (v. 8). The "disgrace of his people" probably refers to Death itself.
So God's great banquet means the end of all grief and mourning. Truly the peoples can sing, "Let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation" (v. 9). Then they can dig in and eat.
Revelation 21:1-6a
The culmination of the book of Revelation (21:1--22:5) spells out the fulfillment of the promises to "the one who conquers" (2:7, 11, 17, 26; 3:5, 12, 21; 15:2; 21:7), that is, the believer who has been faithful to the end. Such faithful believers can count on an invitation to God's last party, because they can count on the faithfulness of God, who is "the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end" (v. 6), whose words are "faithful and true" (v. 5; NRSV "trustworthy and true"). They owe their victory to the God who conquers.
A grand climax depicts God's conquest. The coming of Christ, the mounted warrior who is "Faithful and True" (19:11), results in victory over the beast and his armies, and the imprisonment of "the dragon, the ancient serpent, who is the Devil and Satan" (20:2). The millennial kingdom follows, after which Satan is finally defeated, the dead are judged, and the enemies of God -- including the devil, death, and Hades -- are thrown into "the second death, the lake of fire" (20:14).
There follows a vision of "a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away" (21:1). The vision is modeled on the oracles of the prophet Isaiah (65:17; 66:22); the idea that God's final act would be a renewal of creation was common in Jewish thought of the first century. With the old order passed, God is free to make a new creation, with one obvious difference: "the sea was no more" (Revelation 21:1). The symbolism of a dry earth should not be missed, and does not only recall the Exodus; in the Bible and in Jewish thought, as in much of the Ancient Near East, the sea was a cosmic force of evil. In the book of Revelation, the sea is the home of both the "dragon" (a term used for the sea monster or "Leviathan" of the Hebrew Bible) and the beast; it is also the throne of the great whore (12:3; 13:1; 17:1). Water was the weapon of choice when the dragon tried to execute the celestial woman and her Messiah-child (12:15). The final section of the book of Revelation includes the sea as one of seven elements that will be "no more" (including death, grief, crying, pain, the accursed, and night, 21:1, 4; 22:3, 5). With no sea on the new earth, evil no more has a place to live.
God, however, has a new home. "See, the home of God is among mortals," says the loud voice from the throne, as "the holy city, the new Jerusalem" descends from the new heaven (vv. 3, 2). The idea that there is a heavenly counterpart to the earthly Jerusalem is common in the New Testament (cf. Galatians 4:26; Philippians 3:20; Hebrews 11:10, 14-16; 12:22; 13:14; Revelation 11:2), as it was in Jewish thought of that time. The passage also reflects Greco-Roman notions of the ideal city, where human community may find its fullest expression. It is indeed a "holy city," in the root sense of that word; it is "holy, separated" from all that which is outside, i.e., the enemies of God in the lake of fire. Ironically, the walls of the city separate the insiders from the outsiders, but with those enemies subdued, there is never even a need to close the gates (21:8, 27; 22:15). That the New Jerusalem descends from heaven proves that it is a divine and not a human creation. As in Isaiah, there is an implicit contrast between holy Jerusalem and impure Babylon (cf. chs. 17-18, where "Babylon" probably represents ancient Rome). Where the voice of the bride had been silenced in Babylon (18:23), Jerusalem is now bedecked as a bride with jewels and gold (hinting at the fuller description of the city to come in 21:9--22:5).
In this new city God will pitch a tent; the "home" of God among mortals is literally the "tent," skene, and the verb translated "dwell" in verse 3 is from the same root, meaning literally "pitch a tent." The word skene was regularly used in the Greek Old Testament to translate mishkan, the word describing the wilderness tabernacle tent, which in turn came from the verb shakan, "to dwell" (note that the Greek noun and the Hebrew verb have the same consonants). From these words came the name given to God's glorious presence on earth, Shekinah (cf. Leviticus 26:11-12; Ezekiel 37:27). The brightness of God's presence, traditionally thought to fill the tabernacle/Temple, now fills the whole city (21:22-23; 22:5). As God was with the people of Israel through the Exodus, so now God will be with them in the holy city, Jerusalem (v. 3; cf. Exodus 3:14; Isaiah 7:14; Zechariah 8:23; Matthew 1:23).
The process of re-creation has made all things new (v. 5; cf. Isaiah 43:19). Revelation alludes explicitly to our Old Testament lesson: "He will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away" (v. 4; cf. Isaiah 25:7-8). Again, as in Isaiah, there is a contrast with the unholy city, for in Babylon there was in fact death, mourning, and pain (Revelation 18:9-24). Such things are simply "no more" in the heavenly city.
Even water poses no threat in this paradise. The evil sea is no more, but God gives to the thirsty "a gift from the spring of the water of life" (v. 6). "Water of life" is a multi-edged expression, since it can mean literally "flowing" or "running" water (as opposed to that gathered in a cistern), as well as a symbolic living water (cf. John 4:14; 6:35; 7:37-38). The water of life flows from God (Revelation 22:1-2). What better drink to accompany the eschatological feast?
John 11:32-44
Jesus' delay put off the party for his friend Lazarus for a few days, and in fact it was hardly a celebration he came to in Bethany. Jewish tradition demanded immediate burial (with some perfume and a wrapping for the body, but no embalming), and so mourning followed burial, usually for thirty days. The ritual included wailing and dramatic expression of grief, in which Jesus himself participated upon his arrival at the tomb (11:35).
Irony piles upon irony as Jesus weeps for his friend. As Martha and Mary both point out, Lazarus would not have died, had Jesus been there on time, for where God dwells, there death cannot live (11:21, 32; cf. Isaiah 25:7; Revelation 21:4). Jesus was not there, because he deliberately dallied, knowing that Lazarus would die (11:6, 11, 14). Nevertheless, it was more important that his disciples and others come to believe that Jesus was sent by God, than it was for Mary, Martha, Jesus and the rest to be spared their grief, or for Lazarus to be spared the pain of death (11:15, 42). So important was the mission that even the threat to Jesus' own life must be ignored (11:8). Indeed, the raising of Lazarus becomes the direct cause of Jesus' death, according to the Fourth Gospel, since from that day his enemies had decided his fate (11:45-53). As the good shepherd, Jesus has laid down his own life for the sheep, in risking his life for Lazarus (10:11-18). Jesus weeps not just for the one he loved, but for himself. His tears are not so much proof of his humanity, but of his solid determination to conquer, to swallow up death forever.
Thus the longest sustained narrative in the Gospel of John except for the passion narrative brings us to the brink of that same story. He comes to the aid of Mary, who will anoint him for his own burial (12:1-8). He tells his disciples that Lazarus' illness will not lead to death (11:4), knowing full well that it will -- his own. But the Son of God is glorified in the hour of his own death, and the temporary victory of Lazarus over death is an important step on the way to the final victory (11:4; cf. 12:23-24; 17:1). "He will be saved," Jesus tells his disciples (NRSV misses the double meaning of 11:12 by translating, "he will be all right"), and so will we all.
Jesus' delay meant that Lazarus was good and dead by the time he got there. The soul was said to linger near the grave for only three days, and Martha nails the coffin shut when she notes that "already there is a stench because he has been dead four days" (v. 39). What really stinks is the grip that death has on the assembled party. Though Martha has heard the news from the lips of Jesus himself, she has not quite realized its import: "I am the resurrection and the life," Jesus has told her (11:25). Where Martha was content to see Lazarus again at the great feast on Mount Zion (v. 24), Jesus was trying to transform the very categories of life and death. It is a new heaven and a new earth that he is creating, totally incomprehensible from the old perspective of the first heaven and earth. He is the one person who is able to live as if death were really dead; the rest of us need his help. We will get it. He himself is Lord over the present and future power of death.
He approaches the enemy with an attitude. John tells us of his anger and consternation (the NRSV translation of v. 33, "he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved," is too mild). Jesus is indignant at the power of death to take his friend. He is agitated at its seeming finality. He grieves over the inability of the witnesses to understand what they had seen and were about to behold (vv. 36-37). Nonetheless, his prayer is that the power of God for life shine through (vv. 41-42). His power emanates from his relationship with God, and his goal is to glorify that God in life and death (cf. 3:34-35; 10:30; 12:49; 14:24). All it takes is a simple command: "Lazarus, come out!"
When they unloosed his bindings, what a party they had!
Application
When one of my best friends was in treatment for terminal cancer, he was overcome with a desire for something you usually don't see on a hospital tray: a big, fat cheeseburger. He longed for the bun, the lettuce, the tomato, the goo of cheese melted over a hunk of meat. Licking their own lips, his friends rushed out to get him one. On their return, he bit into their offering and -- nothing. The poisons they had used to treat his cancer had robbed him of his taste buds.
That friend is now gone, and unfortunately I missed both funeral and wake. I do not believe that I have missed him entirely, however. All Saints' is the celebration of the intercommunion of the living and dead in Christ, the day we remember all believers, known and unknown. We celebrate their lives, their deaths, and their ongoing lives beyond death. We celebrate because God has swallowed Death, chewed it up, and spit it out. God has announced Death's funeral.
If Jesus is right, this present life is but a faint glimmer of ultimate truth, a relatively bland imitation of the real thing. When we think about how good the imitation can be at its best, how can our mouths but salivate at the invitation to God's final party? At Death's wake, I hope to sit at God's table with those who have gone before me, and those who will come after me, and bite into the juiciest cheeseburger in the universe. There we will all taste and see that the Lord is good.
Alternative Applications
1) Isaiah 25:6-9; Revelation 21:1-6a; John 11:32-44. Isaiah speaks of waiting for God's salvation, the fulfillment of a plan established long ago (Isaiah 25:1, 9). At the eschatological feast, the wait is finally over, and the people can rejoice in the long-awaited culmination of God's plan. Revelation reminds us just how long the wait is -- even if we were to see the return of the rider who is called Faithful and True (19:11), we still have to wait through a thousand-year kingdom for the complete defeat of Satan and the new heaven and new earth (20:1--22:5). Such lengthy waiting periods may seem to some to argue against the promises of God, but even shorter waits can cast a shadow over faith. Mary and Martha waited only a few days for Jesus, and had trouble believing even as he stood before them (his disciples too were confused by the wait). Jesus, however, worked on no time clock but his own -- that which counted down to the glory of God.
2) John 11:32-44. As a teenager, I learned that the easiest Bible verses to memorize were the shortest, such as John 11:35, "Jesus wept" (given a correct but infelicitous expansion by the NRSV into "Jesus began to weep"). It's easy to be sentimental about this "shortest verse in the Bible," but we need to realize that it does much more than prove the humanity of Jesus. The tears of Jesus show his participation in the grief of this world, and his care for those who are caught up in it. He does not look down with superiority on those who do not know as well as he; rather, he prays that they may come to believe through his actions, so that God may be glorified. As we pass through the veil of tears, we had well follow his example and grieve with those who grieve, until such time as God wipes away all tears from our eyes.
Psalm 146
This psalm appears several times in the lectionary with different applications during the Christian year. It is used in two different years in connection with All Saints' Day. What makes the psalm applicable in many settings, including All Saints', is the theme of God's love for the righteous (v. 8). There is tremendous value in remembering and celebrating the contribution of those who have gone before us. The act of remembering helps keep us faithful to the sacrifices and acts of kindness accomplished on our behalf. Celebrating the memory of those who have gone before takes on special significance as we acknowledge our belief in God's blessings and care for these faithful ones.
This psalm also includes an important insight regarding the character of the people we choose to place our trust in. The psalmist warns us, "Do not put your trust in princes, in mortals in whom there is no help" (v. 3).
This insight actually cuts two ways. On the one hand we are called to be responsible for finding and following "mortals" who are helpful. The psalmist is not saying in his warning that all mortal humans fail to offer help, only that some do. If being mortal disqualified all from being a mentor or teacher, we would all be lost. We must find those good role models and follow them. These are the teachers and role models who shape us and mold us. These are the ones whose life and memory we will celebrate throughout time.
The other side of this, or course, is the recognition that not all mortals are helpful. The psalmist zeroes in on "princes." The reason why should be obvious. What was true in the ancient world is also true now. People of wealth and power can take on a "larger than life" status. In our day these people would include politicians and pop stars.
They walk among us as giants. If we are not careful, we will grant them respect and awe beyond what they really deserve. More than that, because of their stature, we may allow them to shape us and mold us into their own image.
People who seem larger than life often have influence that far out-reaches their character. This is mostly our own fault. We often have difficulty distinguishing the path that leads to wealth and success from the path that leads to wisdom and integrity. The psalmist offers a subtle warning to us that we should not be overawed by people in the limelight. They are mortals like the rest of us and are not necessarily the best teachers.
Instead we are challenged to join in a song of praise celebrating God's goodness. God cares for the weak and oppressed. God cares for the prisoner and sets them free. God gives sight to the blind (vv. 8-10). In other words, while we are standing star struck by the "princes" that walk in our midst, God is standing with the poor and the needy. God stands where the righteous before us have always stood, and where we are challenged to stand as well.
