So, say what you will, even with all it's translation errors and arcane language, I still love the King James Bible.
We all have our favorite verses, and I'll bet that for most of us, those favorites are most likely from this old, dear King James version.
I think the poetry and strangeness of the language makes those passages easier to remember. I think that there is a part of our brains that file away unusual phrases, things we wouldn't normally say the way we normally say things in our normal, day-to-day lives.
And today, we have what I believe to be the verse that all of us recognize. It is the succinctness of English is a simple subject and simple verb. It is the answer to a Bible trivia question. It is the shortest verse in the Bible. We all know it.
Jesus wept.
Our translation today does not say it that way. Our translation says, “Jesus began to weep.” That is probably the better translation from the Greek, but still it takes away from the starkness of the King James version. Jesus wept. There is no doubt here about who is doing the action and what the action is. Jesus wept.
There are so many thing going on it our story today. It's another long one with a lot of action. Word comes to Jesus that his friend, Lazarus, is ill. Jesus wants to go, but his disciples are wary of this being a trap by some Jewish leaders who are looking to kill him. He delays; and Jesus finds himself facing death after all – the death of his friend. Lazarus's family, Mary and Martha, both rebuke Jesus and then testify to his divine power and purpose. Then Jesus performs one of his most famous signs – he raises Lazarus from the dead.
But there, inside all this action, all these comings and goings, are those two beautiful, poignant King James words: Jesus wept.
We don't know much about Lazarus, this brother of Mary and Martha, this friend of Jesus. He only shows up in this story, dead...and then alive. And he's mentioned in the next chapter when Jesus returns to Bethany and stays at his home. In that story, the chief priests are considering putting Lazarus to death because he was a constant reminder of the power of Jesus.
And while we can surmise that by this point, Lazarus is thinking that he's had more than his share of life and death issues, the fact is that we really just don't know who he is.
And I think that's the whole point.
All that matters about Lazarus is that Jesus loved him. All that matters is that when Lazarus died, Jesus loved him so much that he wept. Not knowing who Lazarus was, what he did for a living, what he like to eat, what made him laugh, who his favorite teams were. . . not knowing who Lazarus was makes him anybody, really.
Lazarus could be a father worried sick over a child that has turned to drugs and developed a serious problem. Jesus wept.
Lazarus could be a person struggling with mental or physical health issues. Jesus wept.
He could be a wife waiting for her husband to come home from his sift at the hospital. Jesus wept.
He could be lying in bed, praying that the person he loves will make it through quarantine. Jesus wept.
He could be a group of folks grieving the loss of one so loved and desperately missed. Jesus wept.
Lazarus could be you. Or you. Or you. Or me.
We can all become Lazarus because life is so often not just life, but life and death. We sometimes are overwhelmed with all the stuff going on in our lives and die just a little from it. It's so easy to turn our lives into an eternity in a tomb. Sitting there, feeling alone, covered in shrouds, unable to move as that large stone gets rolled up, blocking our escape, plunging us in darkness.
Alone and afraid. We've done all we can do; we've really tried. But sometimes it feels hopeless There's nothing left. We are just bones without spirit. It's so easy.
But if we can just manage to shake of those shrouds, we can sit for a while in silence and begin to notice some things. Air is seeping into this tomb. And look! There's a glimmer of light coming around the edges of that stone – it wasn't sealed so tight after all. And listen. Do you hear it?
“Lazarus, come out.”
And there are fingers, working their way around the stone, hands moving it out of the way. Friends who have loved us enough to keep vigil.
And the stone rolls away, and the blinding light shines in, and, again, we hear, “Lazarus, come out.” And there he is, Jesus, arms open. We aren't just bones after all, and we know that we should walk that path, at least that far, out of our quarantine and into those arms.
The path is not always easy, and sometimes it will lead where we don't really want to go. But still he's there, with those open arms. And we have friends, after all, willing to support us. To pray with us; to comfort us; to try to make us laugh when life is awful; to hold our hands when we just can't laugh, not right now. Look around your screen, see how many friends there are. See how many friends believe in us and want to help us and love. See how many people are here who have had their own Lazarus experience and know that, whenever we finally come out of our tomb, Jesus is there, offering a kind of healing we weren't expecting, leading us down paths we didn't know we could travel, calling us to love and be loved, calling us to bring others from their tombs.
Patiently saying again and again, “Lazarus come out.”
“Lazarus, come out.”
And we come out. We move to those arms, comforted in them. And we notice something in his loving eyes. He's still weeping. But now they are tears of joy.