Week 5 of Lent: The Light Through the Crack

Worship on Facebook

March 29, 2020 Psalm 22

Deborah Laforet John 11:17-37

“The Light Through the Cracks”

Let us pray.  Let the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to you, O God, my rock and my redeemer. (Psalm 19:14) Amen.

I’ve seen a meme the past couple of weeks that has hit home with me.  It comes up with different background pictures, but the words are always the same: The coronavirus is the earth’s way of giving humanity a time out.  As an environmentalist, as someone who is very concerned about our climate crisis, I often wonder how the earth will punish humanity for the way we have abused this planet.  A time out seems entirely appropriate.

When we suffer, we look for an explanation.  Some of us blame ourselves.  We must have done something to deserve this suffering.  Others will blame outside forces like our parents, the government, the universe, or God.  I have heard people wonder if they are suffering because God was out to get them or they were being punished for some reason, known or unknown.  Others, instead of blaming God, will wonder about God’s absence.  Where is God?  Why isn’t God helping people who are suffering?  Where is God when people are hurting?  

We may hear this question a lot in the next while as people become sick and are hospitalized, as people grieve loved ones who have died, as people lose their job or lose their businesses, or as people struggle with isolation and claustrophobia from physical distancing and self-isolation.  Why has God made this happen?  Why hasn’t God intervened and helped us against this virus?  God, where are you?

And it’s OK to ask these questions.  It’s OK to raise our fists to God and be angry.  It’s OK to doubt and wonder if evil and suffering would happen if there really was a God.  

You can find these very thoughts in our bible.  People of faith have grappled with these questions for a long time.  It’s one of the reasons I love reading the psalms.  Like a lot of poetry, they are expressions of strong emotions.  Sometimes they are expressing joy and celebration, but mostly they are crying out, sometimes against an enemy, sometimes against God, sometimes against oneself.  In reading the psalms, or better, in speaking the psalms out loud, which I believe is how most poetry should be read, we can hear the anguish, the frustration, the shame, the heartache, and the fear.

The psalm that Chris read for us today was put on the lips of Jesus as he hung from a cross.  He spoke the very first line of this psalm:  “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  How often do we feel this?  How often in our suffering, our hurt, our fear, do we feel forsaken, forgotten, abandoned by God or friends, family, or church, or community, or health?  How often do we, as we hear in verse two of this psalm, cry by day, and receive no answer; and by night, but find no rest?  Some of you who are feeling isolated at home may be feeling like there is no one to respond, and others are lying awake at night, wondering what the next day will bring.  Because we are all physical distancing and self-isolating, we are left with lots of free time for worry, anxiety, or existential angst.

We have a very real story of grief in the gospel of John that Grace read for us.  Mary and Martha have just lost their brother, Lazarus.  They had sent word to their friend, Jesus, that Lazarus was gravely ill, but Jesus came too late.  By the time he reached their home, Lazarus was dead.  The first words with which both sisters greet Jesus are, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”  

Some of you know how this story ends.  Jesus is asked to be brought to the tomb, asks for it to be opened, and then he demands that Lazarus rise, and, unbelievably, he does.  This story is used a lot to illustrate the power of Jesus and his wondrous miracles, but there’s another part of this story that is also lifted up.  It’s referred to as the shortest verse in the bible although it is interpreted differently in different translations.  Verse 35 reads, “Jesus wept.”  In my translation, it reads, “Jesus began to weep.”  

Again, we have this very human side of Jesus.  Jesus loved Mary and Martha and had compassion for them, and he loved Lazarus, so of course he cried along with them.  This is how I view God in times of sorrow.  When I am hurting or suffering, I imagine God weeping with me.  I imagine that God knows the depths of my pain like no other and feels it too.  It helps me to feel that I am not alone and that I am understood and seen.  

But I don’t imagine God stops there.  Jesus didn’t stop there.  He wept with Mary and Martha and then raised their brother from the dead.  He died on a cross, crying out, “why have you forsaken me,” and then rose from the dead, walked out of his tomb.  New life and promise comes after suffering and grief and, in fact, it’s the suffering and grief that sometimes brings the new life and promise.  

Leonard Cohen wrote, “There is a crack in everything; that’s how the light gets in.”  This crack in our world right now is devastating and feels like it’s growing and we’re unsure where it’s going to spread.  Some of us feel helpless and feel that there must be a higher power out there who can help us solve this problem.  We are that higher power.  We are the light that will shine through this crack.  With our faith that gives us hope, with the Spirit that inspires and moves us out into the world, we are the ones who will make a difference.  I’m referring to the health care workers, social service agencies, grocery store workers, and all those that are working in areas that have been deemed essential, but I’m also referring to those who are stuck at home.  

In fact, you may have the more important role right now.  While everyone else is putting out fires, you have the opportunity to first, take care of yourself.  You cannot take care of others if you are not taking care of yourself.  Then, second, remember that you are not helpless.  Years ago, I knew a woman who was in her eighties and in a nursing home, very rarely leaving the building, and she made phone calls every day to people.  That was her ministry.  Right now, we have children and adults in the congregation writing letters and making cards to be sent to people stuck at home.  Some are offering to deliver groceries or do yard work.  Some are painting windows and writing messages to people as they walk by.  I heard this week that one child danced for her friend outside the house.  

Sometimes it just means entertaining your brothers and sisters and doing your homework.  Other times, it means supporting your family by making a meal or cleaning the house.  Sometimes it’s calling a friend.  Sometimes it’s offering support and encouragement for those struggling more than others.  Everyone of us can be doing something.  In fact, I challenge you to put in the comments something that you could be doing.  What gift do you have that you could share?  What ministry that you thought could only be done in person could you do at home?  Sit in front of your computer and share with us what you can do.  Those who don’t have this option, write it down at home and maybe share it with someone later.  I want you to show us your light that shines through the crack.  

I’m going to finish with some words that were shared online by a teacher of mine, Ted Dodd.  I thought they were relevant to our time and they’re beautiful.  He wrote: 

In John’s gospel, Jesus’s friend, Lazarus, died.

Lazarus lay in a tomb.

In our world today, many are entombed in isolation,

and too many have died.

In the shortest verse in the bible, Jesus wept.

The gospel of John paints

Jesus weeping for his friend, Lazarus.

In these days on our planet, Jesus weeps,

for the death and disease,

the distance and isolation,

the stresses and tensions.

We pray for all those who are sick,

who suffer,

who grieve,

for all those in front line positions,

for all those affected 

economically, socially, mentally, physically, vocationally, and spiritually.

The gospel promise is newness and hope,

is resurrection,

is life.

May the world know the peace of this promise.

May the promise come soon.

May it be so. 

Amen.

Deborah Laforet