Roosters, Cat Fights and Cars: and a sermon for 5th Sunday in Lent

Sermon for Sunday 29 March 2020

5th Sunday in Lent

Lutheran Church of the Redeemer, Jerusalem

The Rev. Carrie Ballenger

Ezekiel 37:1-14

John 11:1-45

By the way, the title of this sermon (Roosters, Cat fights, and Cars) describes the conditions for recording this sermon, not the content! You can click the link just below to see and hear me preaching in my garden. Feel free to share with others!

Pr. Carrie

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Good morning! Last week I included a children’s book in my sermon, and this week it just so happens I’m starting again with a reading from one of my favorite authors, Shel Silverstein.

This is a poem called: Whatif, from the book “A Light in the Attic.” Maybe you have this book, too! If so, feel free to grab it off the shelf and read along (it’s on page 190)

Last night, while I lay thinking here,

some Whatifs crawled inside my ear

and pranced and partied all night long

and sang their same old Whatif song:

Whatif I'm dumb in school?

Whatif they've closed the swimming pool?

Whatif I get beat up?

Whatif there's poison in my cup?

Whatif I start to cry?

Whatif I get sick and die?

Whatif I flunk that test?

Whatif green hair grows on my chest?

Whatif nobody likes me?

Whatif a bolt of lightning strikes me?

Whatif I don't grow taller?

Whatif my head starts getting smaller?

Whatif the fish won't bite?

Whatif the wind tears up my kite?

Whatif they start a war?

Whatif my parents get divorced?

Whatif the bus is late?

Whatif my teeth don't grow in straight?

Whatif I tear my pants?

Whatif I never learn to dance?

Everything seems well, and then

the nighttime Whatifs strike again!

***

I don’t know about you, but I’ve been plagued by the Whatif monsters a bit lately.

What if I get sick, or my loved ones get sick?

What if I can’t see my family for a long time?

What if hospitals run out of supplies?

What if we all lose our jobs?

What if I lose my mind being cooped up in my house for so many weeks?!

Almost as bad as the Whatifs are the Ifonlys, which are equally nasty little monsters.

Lately, the Ifonlys have been saying things like this to me:

If only our countries had better planned ahead for the possibility of a global pandemic

If only the borders had been closed sooner

If only we had more truthful and trustworthy leaders

If only we had more masks, more tests, more doctors, more time.

This global health crisis we’re going through seems to have opened a giant new portal for all those Whatifs and Ifonlys to crawl into our ears and enter our minds and our hearts.

But of course, this isn’t new. Times of stress and difficulty, of grief and sometimes even of joy often seem to cause us to ask (these mostly unanswerable) “What if” questions and to make “If only” wishes.

In our Gospel lesson for today, Mary and Martha are both struggling mightily with the “Ifonlys”.

“If only you had been here, Lord, my brother would not have died!” cried both Martha and Mary, at different times.

Maybe things could have been different—if only Jesus had been Jesus—but now, it’s too late. Lazarus is dead. And it’s already been four days, so there’s quite a stench.

In other words, this stinks! Or, as it says in the King James version of the Bible: 

LORD, THIS STINKETH! Amen!

We’ve all been in a stinky place before—maybe you are in that place now—but we also know that the If onlys and whatifs are rarely helpful in these times.

When I consider today’s Gospel story, I find it interesting to note that deep down, Martha and Mary’s “if onlys” don’t actually come from a place of doubt, but from a place of faith. They believed that Jesus could have saved their brother Lazarus. They believed that Jesus had the power to make Lazarus well, to heal him, to stop things from going the way they did.

Yes, they were angry, and confused, and grieving – but they also had faith that Jesus could do something.

Or, at least, that he COULD HAVE done something.

Past tense.

To me, this feels a bit like where we might be now. We trust God—and also we wonder why God didn’t do anything about this. We trust in the resurrection and the life we have through Jesus, crucified and risen—and we also wonder if this could be the pandemic that ends the world.

I know that I have sometimes prayed my morning prayers, and then 5 minutes later sat and stewed about the impossibility of a situation. I have sung in church “Take O Take me As I am” and then walked home thinking about all the things I could to do to make myself more loveable, less like I am—lose 10 pounds, give more to the poor, be a better friend or a better daughter, read the Bible in one year—or, just read the Bible.

I know I’m not the only one who lives in this tension between trusting God and also wishing for things to be different. We can simultaneously have faith in God and doubt God’s action in our lives or in the world because we are at the same time saint and sinner. We can simultaneously believe we are loved and forgiven and raised to new life in Christ, that God will never abandon us—and stay up at night thinking “whatif” and “ifonly” because…well,  because we’re human.

So Martha and Mary were being normal human beings—like you and like me—when Jesus arrived at their brother’s funeral and they met him with a somber “If only you had been here.” If only. They believed, and yet they had also accepted the reality of Lazarus’ death. They accepted that this was the end of Lazarus’ story.

When I think about the situation the world is in today, I think it’s fine, and good, for us to be like Martha, and proclaim loudly: THIS STINKETH, LORD.

Quarantine stinks. Social distancing stinks. Being sick stinks. Not being able to be the church in the ways we are accustomed, stinks. Losing jobs stinks. The death toll in Italy, in Spain, in the US – rising every day – this stinks to high heaven, as my dad would say.

Coronavirus stinks.

But the message of Scripture for us today is that this is not the end of the story. The dry bones in the valley came together, one by one, and lived again! Lazarus, dead for four days, was called out by Jesus and walked away from the tomb! Jesus came to the tomb, when everyone else had given up hope, bringing Lazarus new life. Jesus came to the tomb, when everyone else said the story was over, and showed each of them a new chapter called “resurrection.”

And then, not long after, Jesus of Nazareth, crucified by our world which couldn’t quite handle his message of love and life, was raised by God on the third day.

The cross was not the end of the story. And this will not be the end of society or the collapse of the world economy. This is not the end of our story.

This is not the end, because the Risen Christ is here, right now, opening the doors of our tombs, of our hearts, of our minds. Letting in fresh air! And calling us to new life and new ways of being.

Friends, I’m so looking forward to being unbound like Lazarus.

And I don’t only mean being unbound from this lockdown—although, can you imagine the party we will have when we are out? St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, Cinco de Mayo, End of School, Beginning of Summer, all rolled into one. Thanks be to God!

But I mean: I’ve been thinking about what we might be released from when we emerge from this time of isolation. How might our new life look? 

What might the post-Corona resurrection community look like?

Might God in Christ be releasing us from the bonds of selfishness, and consumerism? Of xenophobia and isolationism? Of concern for the economy which trumps concern for the elderly or the poor? Might the walls in our hearts and in this land, from where I’m preaching, finally come down?

I don’t know. Inshallah, I hope so. 

And, this still stinks. But the love of Jesus—and the glory of each new day—always chase away the Whatif and Ifonly monsters, and turns me back toward the God of resurrection and new life. Thanks be to God.

Let us pray:

Gracious God,

God of all compassion and consolation,

your breath alone brings life to dry bones and weary souls. 

Pour out your Spirit upon us,

that we may face despair and death with the hope of resurrection

and faith through Christ, our Lord. 

Help us to dance with the spirit,

the breath of life, which calls us out of the valley of dry bones

and into the Kingdom of God,

both a present reality and the grounding of our future hope.

Holy Father,

Father of Christ who revealed the way of life,

inscribe your law on our hearts that in this life,

we may be the body of Christ. 

Help our hands to hold the sick and suffering. 

Help our feet to walk with the poor. 

Help our ears to listen to those who live in despair. 

May our eyes be affixed upon the suffering of the cross

and the hope of the empty tomb

so that we may live as resurrection people.

Sovereign Lord,

Mother of all in the power of the Spirit,

you know our faults and yet you promise to forgive. 

Keep us in your presence and give us your wisdom. 

Open our hearts to gladness,

call dry bones to dance,

and restore to us the joy of your salvation. 

We pray this in the name of Jesus Christ,

who lives and reigns with You and the Holy Spirit,

one God, now and forever, as we continue to pray the prayer your Son taught us to pray,

as we do every week at Redeemer Church,

praying each in our own mother tongue:

Our Father, Who art in heaven,

Hallowed be Thy Name.

Thy Kingdom come.

Thy Will be done,

on earth as it is in Heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses,

as we forgive those who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,

but deliver us from evil.

For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory

Forever and ever. Amen.