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Life
is God’s Will
First
Reading: Ezekiel 37:1-3 [4-10] 11-14
There are
so many deaths, every day, that put caring people through the most
extreme grieving. People sometimes
say, her death was God’s will; or, God wanted her more than we did.
But after reading this morning’s lessons and reflecting on this whole
painful area of life, I am convinced that death is never God’s will
— or not God’s ultimate will. It may be, in the case of great
pain and suffering, that it is God’s circumstantial will for a person
to be released. But I think scripture is clear that death was not one
of God’s inventions or intentions. In the beginning
of Creation, in the Garden of Eden and what that story represents, there
was no death. There was to be no aging or illness, either. We hear this
in scripture; for example, a reading that we hear at funerals, from The
Book of Revelation: and I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Behold,
the dwelling of God is with men. He will dwell with them, and they shall
be his people, and God himself will be with them; he will wipe away every
tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there
be mourning nor crying nor pain any more, for the former things have passed
away." This is not
only what heaven will be like; this is God’s will for us now, in
this life — that we may live, that we may live fully, that we may
live without pain, sin or death. Because in
the Life of the Spirit, there is no death. In the Kingdom of God, there
is no aging or deterioration. In the beginning, death was not part of
God’s plan. Death is part of the fallen-ness of the Creation. Sin,
as St. Paul says, is the sting of death, like the tip of an iceberg. Neither
sin nor death are of God’s making. When earth becomes fully the Kingdom
of God (for which we pray every time we say the Lord’s Prayer), there
will be no death. But for the
time being, there is death. There is aging and deterioration. Death is
often life’s very deepest pain. Pain from the loss of loved ones
and pain from the knowledge of our own death. There are
times when we may have to admit to ourselves that we must at last stand
in the Lord’s presence and know that we are at last powerless. That
we are not “like grass,” but that we ARE “grass,”
and we wither and we fade and we die. We sit with pain that we cannot
overcome. Tragedy, sickness, despair, sadness. And we would like to believe
that we have some control over our lives...but then suddenly, or perhaps
in a long, slow, drawn-out illness, we are reminded that we are grass,
and so are our loved ones...we are grass. And perhaps behind a closed
door, sitting in the home of Lazarus, and Martha, and Mary, who was the
one who washed Jesus’ feet with her tears and wiped them with her
hair, these three individuals who were so close to Jesus, who loved him
with all they had, perhaps behind closed doors one evening he told them
who he was. He told them that he was the Son of God, and that death was
not natural. That the forces of death here on the earth were contrary
to God’s creating, breathing, living power, and he wanted them to
know that his gift to them was not only mercy and forgiveness, but life
itself. Knowing that
we will die and that those we love will die can threaten our ability to
live life with optimism. It can take the joy and the meaning out of our
lives. But death is also part of our humanity. Life, if you think about
it, is a series of little deaths and resurrections. And it is often in
those death-and-resurrection experiences that we meet God, that we meet
hope, that we find out there really is a net to catch us. We experience
deaths in life all the time: The death of a dream. The death of our youth.
The death of that which was and seemed like it would always be, and is
no longer. The death of a friendship or a relationship. These deaths in
the midst of life are a foretaste of our death at the end of our life.
And many times we look back and see that from these little deaths has
come new life, new growth, resurrection. Despite
the reality of death, Julian of Norwich, the ancient mystic, said, All
will be well. She said it because she knew that life is God’s will;
that death is unnatural and will not win out in the end. She said it because
in Jesus we find, in the midst of our pain, comfort, strength, perspective. Jesus wept,
and those tears, shed for Lazarus his friend, comfort us with his grieving
for our pain. He was, we are taught, 100% divine but also 100% human.
That humanity shows often, but nowhere more than in his weeping for Lazarus
and for his grieving friends. Sometimes all that we can do for those in
pain is to weep for them. Many years ago in a small town in Virginia,
a girl in my youth group was killed during an exchange trip to Quito,
Ecuador, where she was working with other youngsters of the Episcopal
Church of that country, in a summer bible school. She and two others from
our diocese died in a jeep accident when a mudslide washed them into the
Amazon River. The bodies could not be found for some time, and back in
Lynchburg, I was spending a lot of time with her family, especially with
her mother, who had been my secretary. On the day of Becky’s memorial
service, I watched as Bishop William Marmion arrived to do the service
and stopped off to see Lois, the mother, at her home. I watched as Lois
went to the door and as she and the bishop greeted each other silently,
put their arms around each other and cried. They stayed that way for some
time. Later in the day, I asked the bishop how he was able to deal with
people during such a tragic and painful time. He said, “Sometimes
there are no words. Sometimes you just have to do a ministry of presence.” A story I
heard this past week was about a little boy who won the “most caring
child” award in his school. It seems that the elderly man next door
had lost his wife to death, and the boy’s mother took the boy next
door to express their sympathy. They saw the old man sitting in the back
yard. The boy ran to the man and sat in his lap. He sat there for quite
a while. Later, at home, his mother asked him what he had said to their
grieving neighbor. The little boy said to his mother, “Oh, I didn’t
say anything. I just helped him cry.” At times
of great emotional and spiritual pain, our faith in and dependence on
Christ and those in whose faces we see Christ may be the only thing that
can get us through it, can help us accept, can give us, finally perhaps,
some peace. Life is God’s
Will, not death. In the life of the spirit there is no death. In the Kingdom
of God, there is neither aging nor deteriorating, only life everlasting. That is why
it is not surprising that God drew the dry bones of Israel together, that
the Wind of God, the spirit and breath of God, blew life into those bones
and made them live. God’s
will for us is life. That is why it is not surprising that Lazarus was
raised from the dead--- Because deadness of our bodies, deadness of our
spirit, deadness of the life force within us --- is not God’s will. LIFE in all
its fullness is God’s will. Deadness will not win out in the long
run. Healing of cuts, healing of spirit, healing of death, all are God’s
intention. God’s plan. Jesus brings life out of death. Jesus calls
us from death of spirit, just as he called Lazarus out of the tomb. It is not
surprising that Jesus was raised to new life. God’s whole intention
for us is life, everlasting life, fullness of life. The entire creation
is infused with God’s gift of life. It will be
in the age to come, that God will be fully in charge. Then there will
be no death, no sin, no suffering. Just light. Whether the event that
brings in this new age will be the return of Jesus or some other wonderful
cataclysmic event, we cannot know. But know this: God’s will is that
we shall have life, the fullness of life, and that we shall have life
everlasting, now and in the life to come. Amen. First
Reading: Ezekiel 37:1-3 [4-10] 11-14 Gospel:
John 11: 17-44 |
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