Unbind Him

Ezekiel 37:1-14John 11:1-45 

In 2005, we were living in Louisville, Kentucky. The church we attended was also attended by many faculty at Louisville Seminary and many employees of the Presbyterian Center. There was a surplus of clergy among the Sunday morning regulars, and we would take turns as worship leaders: liturgists, preachers, officiants, you name it.

 One Sunday, it was my turn to act as liturgist. We planned to get to the 11:00 service at 10:30 so I would have time to go over the order of worship with the preacher, and we picked up a friend on the way. We got there early, and she was already waiting outside of her apartment building. After a few minutes of conversation where it was clear there was something troubling her, she asked gently, "What time do you think it is?"

"9:55."

"No - it's 10:55. Today is Daylight Savings."

I've never driven so fast in my life. We pulled up to the front door of the church at 10:01; I jumped out while Elizabeth parked and ran inside. The organ was playing the Prelude. I walked down the center aisle, as everyone laughed, knowing exactly what had happened. And so sooner had I taken my seat than the Prelude stopped. I popped back up and started with the morning announcements.

It wasn't long after that that a friend of mine sent me a quote from St. John of the Cross, a 16th century Spanish monk:

"Let those then who are singularly active, who think they can win the world with their...exterior works, observe here that they would profit the Church and please God much more, not to mention the good example they would give, were they to spend at least half of this time with God in prayer, even though they may not have reached a prayer so sublime as this.  They would then certainly accomplish more, and with less labor, by one work than they otherwise would with a thousand.  For through their prayer they would merit this result, and themselves be spiritually strengthened.  Without prayer, they would do a great deal of hammering but accomplish little, and sometimes nothing, and even at times much harm.....   It is beyond all doubt that good works can be performed only by the power of God."

 How many of us know we depend on God? How many of us act as if it all depends on us and our alarm clocks?

There is a paradox in our faith that I want to try and give voice to this morning. And the first part of that idea is rooted in God's central role in salvation history.

We see that in the Ezekiel lesson this morning. The prophet has been railing against the unfaithfulness of God's people; when Babylon's Nebuchadnezzar conquers Jerusalem and takes the people into exile, he considers that just desserts for their straying from the ways of God. And yet, in the midst of exile, God gives the prophet this incredibly vivid vision: a valley filled with dry bones. We can imagine the scene as a battlefield given over to the ravages of time. And yet, in this place of tremendous defeat and death, it is here that God chooses to give this promise of new life, of eternal love, of return and redemption. God's central role in all of this is key. When God asks Ezekiel if the bones can stand up and walk, Ezekiel himself knows the power of God all too well: "You know, O Lord," is his simple reply. God is at the center of it all.

And the same is true in our New Testament lesson. Lazarus, brother of Mary and Martha, is dying. They know of his miraculous healing powers, and they know that he can preserve Lazarus' life. But the healing that follows, where Jesus stands before the tomb (now four days in the making) and cries, "Lazarus, come out," that miracle is only part of the story. Much of the rest of it points the way to the central act of the cross. Jesus defies the fears of the disciples, knowing that re-entering Judea is to take their life into their hands. Lazarus' tomb is sealed with a stone; and the four days he has already been dead in some ways parallels the three days of Jesus' coming burial. And it is that cross which stands at the heart of our own stories of eternal love, of redemption and return.

God, and God as known in Christ, stands at the center. We know we depend on God; we know it on an intellectual level, a spiritual level, even a visceral level. And yet, we still act as though it all depends on us. And that's where we can get into trouble. Or in the words of St. John of the Cross, we can even do "much harm." Our own call to action comes with a dose of caution.

But here's the paradox: we do have a role to play in all of this, too. What God desires, more than anything else, is for us to be partners in this grand story; not the central actor, mind you, but with our own particular place in the narrative.

Let's look again at the Ezekiel lesson: it is God's promise of redemption that is made clear here; and yet, God commands Ezekiel to prophesy. There's no question that God could do this all without Ezekiel; but God desires Ezekiel's participation. "Prophesy to these bones," God tells him. And sure enough, Ezekiel does, and they stand, they re-grow sinews and skin. But they are still lifeless. "Prophesy again to these bones," God tell shim. And sure enough, Ezekiel does, and they take in breath, spirit, and come to life. God could have done all of this without Ezekiel; but clearly God wants Ezekiel to have a hand it is as well. The power is God's, even the words are God's; but they work through this ancient prophet.

We might note the same thing in our story from John's gospel. Once again, it is Jesus who makes the journey to Bethany at great risk to himself and his disciples; it is Jesus who commands Lazarus to come out. But note this: he asks others to roll the stone away. He calls to Lazarus to come out. He doesn't levitate him out of the tomb, he calls Lazarus to take that first step. And then he turns to the community gathered there, no doubt with mouths agape, and says, "Unbind him." There is no doubt that Jesus could have done all of this on his own. But he desires that others participate in this miraculous healing.

The bottom line is that God desires this kind of relationship with each of us. It is God who carries the power. And it is so often through our gifts and talents that God affects the world. God wants us to live in this paradox together, to know that the power is God's and yet that God wants us to take part.

I first began to understand this when I was in Seminary. I did not end up in Seminary because I was convinced I was going to be a minister. Instead, I went because I was very confused about what I believed; to put it simply, I wasn't sure if I was a Christian or not. It was, in many ways, an intellectual problem to be sorted out. And after a year, I had sorted many of those things out. I was, I was confident to say, a Christian. But what was I supposed to do?

My second year in seminary was spent in an internship on the Southside of Chicago. For half the year, I shadowed the pastor who became a true mentor. One of our days together we spent going around Washington Jane Smith home, were a half dozen of our members lived. We visited them together. Several months later, he sent me there on my own. I went and visited them, ending each visit with "Well, we'll keep you in our prayers," or words to that effect. They thanked me politely. The truth is that I was terrified of being expected to pray.

The last visit of the day was with Joe Hrula, a wonderful old Czech Presbyterian born and raised on the Southside. We had a great visit together, and he told me many stories from decades ago. I got up to leave, and said, "Well, Joe, we'll keep you in our prayers." Joe must have misheard me. He took off his baseball cap, bowed his head, and closed his eyes. I freaked. I was stuck now; I had to pray.

I don't remember a single word I uttered. But when I finished, Joe put his hat back on, looked me in the eye, and said, "Well done." For me, it was the equivalent of a new baptism, with a voice descending from heaven and declaring, "This is my son, my beloved, with whom I well pleased."

And in that moment, that paradox became clear. Because that prayer had nothing to do with me. The words weren't mine; they couldn't have been. God supplied them. But then again, it had everything to do with me. I was the one there in that room with old Joe; not someone else.

I am convinced that the same is true for each of us here. God can work through us; not only that, God wants to work through us. And even when we mess up, even when we forget to change our clocks, even when we freak out, God will still work through us. We are, each of us, called to prophesy to those dry bones, to roll those stones away, to unbind those released from the death of the tomb.

But here's the frightening truth: we can "get by" without God. There are many churches and many Christians and many pastors who do just that. We can stitch it together with our own willpower, by our own abilities. But if we do, then those bones may take on flesh and sinews and stand, but with that breath, that Spirit, they - we - cannot live.

At the heart of this paradox is the possibility of prayer with the relationship with God it presents. We speak to God, and we listen to God. Prayer will strengthen that relationship, and it will open us up to the possibility that God can and will work through us to impact the world with our God-given talents and gifts.

I invite you to read that prayer of St. John of the Cross again:

"Let those then who are singularly active, who think they can win the world with their...exterior works, observe here that they would profit the Church and please God much more, not to mention the good example they would give, were they to spend at least half of this time with God in prayer, even though they may not have reached a prayer so sublime as this.  They would then certainly accomplish more, and with less labor, by one work than they otherwise would with a thousand.  For through their prayer they would merit this result, and themselves be spiritually strengthened.  Without prayer, they would do a great deal of hammering but accomplish little, and sometimes nothing, and even at times much harm.....   It is beyond all doubt that good works can be performed only by the power of God."

How many of us know we depend on God?

How many of us act as if it all depends on us?