Urbi et Orbi
There was a man named Lazarus who lived in the village of Bethany with the two sisters, Mary and Martha, and he was ill. It was the same Mary, the sister of the sick man Lazarus, who anointed the Lord with ointment and wiped his feet with her hair. The sisters sent this message to Jesus, ‘Lord, the man you love is ill.’ On receiving the message, Jesus said, ‘This sickness will end not in death but in God’s glory, and through it the Son of God will be glorified.’
Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, yet when he heard that Lazarus was ill he stayed where he was for two more days before saying to the disciples, ‘Let us go to Judaea.’ The disciples said, ‘Rabbi, it is not long since the Jews wanted to stone you; are you going back again?’ Jesus replied:
‘Are there not twelve hours in the day?
A man can walk in the daytime without stumbling
because he has the light of this world to see by;
but if he walks at night he stumbles,
because there is no light to guide him.’
He said that and then added, ‘Our friend Lazarus is resting, I am going to wake him.’ The disciples said to him, ‘Lord, if he is able to rest he is sure to get better.’ The phrase Jesus used referred to the death of Lazarus, but they thought that by ‘rest’ he meant ‘sleep’, so Jesus put it plainly, ‘Lazarus is dead; and for your sake I am glad I was not there because now you will believe. But let us go to him.’ Then Thomas – known as the Twin – said to the other disciples, ‘Let us go too, and die with him.’
On arriving, Jesus found that Lazarus had been in the tomb for four days already. Bethany is only about two miles from Jerusalem, and many Jews had come to Martha and Mary to sympathise with them over their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus had come she went to meet him. Mary remained sitting in the house. Martha said to Jesus, ‘If you had been here, my brother would not have died, but I know that, even now, whatever you ask of God, he will grant you.’ ‘Your brother’ said Jesus to her ‘will rise again.’ Martha said, ‘I know he will rise again at the resurrection on the last day.’ Jesus said:
‘I am the resurrection and the life.
If anyone believes in me, even though he dies he will live,
and whoever lives and believes in me will never die.
Do you believe this?’
‘Yes, Lord,’ she said ‘I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, the one who was to come into this world.’
When she had said this, she went and called her sister Mary, saying in a low voice, ‘The Master is here and wants to see you.’ Hearing this, Mary got up quickly and went to him. Jesus had not yet come into the village; he was still at the place where Martha had met him. When the Jews who were in the house sympathising with Mary saw her get up so quickly and go out, they followed her, thinking that she was going to the tomb to weep there.
Mary went to Jesus, and as soon as she saw him she threw herself at his feet, saying, ‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.’ At the sight of her tears, and those of the Jews who followed her, Jesus said in great distress, with a sigh that came straight from the heart, ‘Where have you put him?’ They said, ‘Lord, come and see.’ Jesus wept; and the Jews said, ‘See how much he loved him!’ But there were some who remarked, ‘He opened the eyes of the blind man, could he not have prevented this man’s death?’ Still sighing, Jesus reached the tomb: it was a cave with a stone to close the opening. Jesus said, ‘Take the stone away.’ Martha said to him, ‘Lord, by now he will smell; this is the fourth day.’ Jesus replied, ‘Have I not told you that if you believe you will see the glory of God?’ So they took away the stone. Then Jesus lifted up his eyes and said:
‘Father, I thank you for hearing my prayer.
I knew indeed that you always hear me,
but I speak for the sake of all these who stand round me,
so that they may believe it was you who sent me.’
When he had said this, he cried in a loud voice, ‘Lazarus, here! Come out!’ The dead man came out, his feet and hands bound with bands of stuff and a cloth round his face. Jesus said to them, ‘Unbind him, let him go free.’
Many of the Jews who had come to visit Mary and had seen what he did believed in him.
We are told that we are still in the infancy of our social isolating and life-limiting experience, yet it seems fitting, if not challenging, that we are also in our annual quarantine (40 days) of Lent. Lent, even in sunnier, more hopeful times is meant to bring us to the core of who we are in our relationship with God. Each Gospel moves Jesus nearer to the dreadful inevitability of the Cross, something that surely must take all his focus, yet he is still distracted by the needs of others.
John's account is virtually Shakespearean. The mis-timing. The 'will he, won't he?'. The asides to the audience. The not quite unexpected finale where one imagines the whoops of celebration continuing whilst Jesus stoically turns his face again towards Jerusalem.
Some years this account seems like a precursor of the Resurrection, the power of God to answer prayer, to reach beyond death. Some years this feels like a dreadful poke in the eye for those who have asked God's help and felt refused, 'he save others why can't he save ....?'
This year?
‘This sickness will end not in death but in God’s glory'.
This year, the world is ailing, the outbreak of the coronavirus has resulted in comic memes that the world has 'sent us to our rooms', a very human response of needing to laugh at fear so that we can deal with it. Fear has become the great leveler, no-one is immune, everyone is responsible. In many ways, we have stepped up, denying ourselves freedoms and exceptions, offering ourselves to the needs of others, carrying out rituals of protection with sanitiser, soap, and stripes of gaffer tape.
In faith, it has been remarkable how quickly the Church has found the world wide web (if it's still called that anywhere?). It has certainly left the building, with online communities building every day.
We build walls of prayer in the spaces we are able to fill and we pray not to become overcome with despair, entombed without hope. What more can we do? What more?
On Friday evening Pope Francis played both Martha and Mary in the desolate emptiness of St Peter's Square. A clip is included below.
Francis spoke for everyone. We know life has changed. We can't pretend that suffering is someone else's problem. There's no point in shame or blame. We know we know we are implicit in what has gone wrong. We know life must change, and change again, until we have a new way of living. We know that there hope and that we need help.
Francis brought Jesus to the door of the tomb. Light into our darkness. An ancient blessing that lets go of all that was and begins again. Urbi et Orbi from heaven to the City and the World.
And with that blessing let's rise, let's work together, in faith and love, in service, for each other.
This year?
‘This sickness will end not in death but in God’s glory'.
This year, the world is ailing, the outbreak of the coronavirus has resulted in comic memes that the world has 'sent us to our rooms', a very human response of needing to laugh at fear so that we can deal with it. Fear has become the great leveler, no-one is immune, everyone is responsible. In many ways, we have stepped up, denying ourselves freedoms and exceptions, offering ourselves to the needs of others, carrying out rituals of protection with sanitiser, soap, and stripes of gaffer tape.
In faith, it has been remarkable how quickly the Church has found the world wide web (if it's still called that anywhere?). It has certainly left the building, with online communities building every day.
We build walls of prayer in the spaces we are able to fill and we pray not to become overcome with despair, entombed without hope. What more can we do? What more?
On Friday evening Pope Francis played both Martha and Mary in the desolate emptiness of St Peter's Square. A clip is included below.
Francis spoke for everyone. We know life has changed. We can't pretend that suffering is someone else's problem. There's no point in shame or blame. We know we know we are implicit in what has gone wrong. We know life must change, and change again, until we have a new way of living. We know that there hope and that we need help.
Francis brought Jesus to the door of the tomb. Light into our darkness. An ancient blessing that lets go of all that was and begins again. Urbi et Orbi from heaven to the City and the World.
And with that blessing let's rise, let's work together, in faith and love, in service, for each other.
Comments