Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord Psalm 130:1
Our psalm for today, Psalm 130, is one of my go-to psalms. I have others, 23, 46, 91, 121, all psalms with words and phrases that come to me from deep within my memory during times of struggle, grief, hope, joy. When I was a girl, my family, like most members at St. Paul’s in Allentown, attended Wednesday Evening Lent Worship. By the time my Dad closed up the store made the night deposit at the bank and dropped the mail at the post office, got home and ate supper, we were always late. The only seats left were the unpadded ones in the balcony. Every week we sang Psalm 130 to a mournful tune that I still remember, “Out of the depths, have I cried unto thee, O Lord. Lord, hear my voice.” The words combine with the music became a rolling wave of sorrow washing over the whole congregation, even the ones in the balcony. Psalm 130 was forever imprinted on my soul. It’s been a source of comfort throughout my life especially in hard times.
All of this makes me wonder, if that was also true for Martha and Mary. Surely as faithful Jews, they knew this psalm. Surely, as they nursed their sick brother Lazarus, they prayed it, crying out to God for healing, for hope. Surely, when they sent the messenger to Jesus to tell him, “Lord, he whom you loved is ill,” they wanted him to hear their supplications, their pleading request and realized their anguish. So, that he would come to heal Lazarus, to bring him back from the brink of death, as he had for so many others. Out of the depths, they cried.
Only, Jesus wasn’t attentive to the voice of their supplications. Instead, he waits two more days and then takes two days to do the 30- mile trek from where he had been baptized at the River Jordan in Galilee. There, he was safe from those who sought to kill him. However, in the home of his dear friends, Lazarus and his sisters in Bethany, he was just three miles from of Jerusalem, and all that awaited him there. By the time he finally arrives it’s four days later and instead of lying in his sickbed, Lazarus is lying in his tomb.
Martha and Mary waited and waited for Jesus. They looked out the window and down the lane every few minutes, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Together, the sisters watched for the morning. Together they prayed for his arrival. When Martha hears that Jesus is almost there, she goes to meet him and out of the depths of her sorrow and grief, cries, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother won’t have died.”
If you had been here! From around the world, we’ve been hearing this “if”: if the virus had been contained, if hands had been washed, distance maintained, precautions put into place, if they not gone on that cruise, if, if, if. We can add to the list, “If she hadn’t smoked, if he hadn’t become addicted to the opiate, if the other driver hadn’t run the red light, if access to the gun hadn’t been so easy, if you had been here. We know the depth of Mary’s anger and fear for many of have shared it. She couldn’t help to express it to get it out. But then she turns to Jesus saying, “Even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.” She was in the valley of the shadow of death, and now morning has come.
It can be like that – just getting through a night in the valley of the shadow while waiting for the morning is an act of faith. Jesus is now with her and though her brother is still dead, Martha’s grateful. She says she believes Lazarus will rise again in the resurrection at last day. But then Jesus says, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believes in me even though they die, will live and everyone who lives and believes in me will never dies!” Jesus changes everything.[i]
“Do you believe this?” he asks Martha, and us too. And while she, nor we, are unable to fully understand the amazing implications of such believing, together with her we are invited into the depth of God’s steadfast love and overflowing salvation. Such abiding love, such amazing grace is more than we can possibly imagine. One of the many joys of being part of a six-generation congregation, is that as we live, grow and share in this love together we learn from one another. When one forgets, another reminds. The elders teach the young wisdom, the young remind the elders of joy.
Then, Martha calls for her sister Mary, telling her the teacher has arrived. Mary goes to him. Some of her friends follow. Like Martha, she begins with “if only” and then dissolves into tears. Everyone is weeping and in the face of this grief, Jesus weeps, too. He doesn’t hold back. There’s no attempt at self-control, no stiff up lip here. Jesus sobs. The old King James Version of the Bible translates the Greek best, “He groaned in spirit, and was troubled.” His friend is dead. Mary’s and Martha’s brother, is dead. I like what the New Testament scholar, Gail O’Day says about it, “Even though Jesus is the light of the world, even though he is the resurrection and the life, death remains a formidable enemy… And when the power of death is minimized, then the power of the resurrection is also minimized, because without a real enemy, the resurrection becomes an empty victory.”[ii]
Out of the depths, Jesus cries. Cries for Lazarus, cries with Mary and Martha, with you and me, cries for the victims of war, of the coronavirus, of gun violence, of hunger, of cancer, of accidents, of overdoses, of Alzheimer’s, of all the ways we die. And in doing so Jesus enters into our places of hurt and fear, of anger and despair, of disbelief and yes, even of death, joining with us, watching and waiting for the morning.
Finally, we get to the tomb. When Jesus orders the stone to be taken away, Martha protests, “There will be a stench.” Jesus tells her to look with the eyes of faith, to believe. Then he prays to God and with a loud voice calls, “Lazarus, come out!” The power of Jesus’ words awakens the dead man. He comes out wrapped in his burial clothes, a dead man, alive and walking. Jesus, the Lord, redeems Lazarus.
Jesus’ life is God’s act of love and grace. Mary, Martha and Lazarus knew the joy of being in his presence, of sharing meals and stories, of laughing and praying, of being raised from the dead, as did so many others who were healed, freed, loved and blessed by him. As do we, for our life together in Christ is also God’s act of love and grace. And while being together virtually, I long for the day we can be present together in the flesh – with the babies in the back pew nursery, with the 3, 4 and 5 years singing a song and clapping along, with our elders sharing the peace, with all of us at the table of our Lord. Our life together is Jesus’ act of love and grace.
But let us remember, it was Jesus’ raising of Lazarus, that raised the ire of the religious authorities and from that day on they plotted to kill Jesus. Our Lord’s death is also God’s act of love and grace.[iii] In Bethany, life stepped out of an open tomb as it will in a Jerusalem garden on Easter morn. And because of that when we look death in the face, we find the grace of God – the Lord who redeems Israel and us from all our sins. Amen.
[i] Gail R. O’Day, The Word Disclosed, Preaching the Gospel of John, St. Louis, Missouri: Chalice Press, 2002, 105.
[ii] Ibid., 108-109.
[iii] Ibid., 115-116.