Mortal Bones in the Present Dominion
“Jesus... then cried with a loud voice, ‘Lazarus, come out!’” — John 11:43.
Most of you have heard me say this before and some of you have heard me say it at least 50 times. I met one Bonnie Scott in the fog on an island off the coast of Maine in 1987. That meeting, that chance encounter, changed our lives.
She, of course, lived in Brunswick, Maine. I lived in New York City. A little more than a year later, September of 1988, I moved to Maine and we got married.
But my personal journey toward being open to even meeting Bonnie started the year before we met, 1986. That’s the aspect of the story on which I want to concentrate. I believe some of what happened that year provided the space for our encounter.
The part of my personal journey I want to talk about has to do with the work, the ministry I was doing as a member of the laity at the church I attended in New York City. To be clear, the important phrase in what I just said was the reference to my work as (quote): “a member of the laity.”
At that time I belonged to All Angels Episcopal Church on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. I’d like to explain some of that aforementioned work by describing what a typical Sunday looked like for me.
I’d get to the church on a Sunday morning at about 7:45. The church is on West 80th Street, between Broadway and West End Avenue, just around the corner from Zabar’s, the best known delicatessen in the City.
Having arrived at the church, I would grab a hand cart, go to Zabar’s and, since it would not yet be open, knock on the door. They were always expecting me.
Why? I would pick up their day old bread, bread they could no longer sell— boxes of it. Sometimes there would be just one cart load, sometimes two or three.
We used the bread for the soup kitchen at the church. At 1:00 p.m. on Sundays we would feed between 200 and 250 people. Some were homeless. Some were just hungry. Some were simply hungry for companionship.
Companionship was an important aspect of this. We made sure a member of the church sat at each table, just to talk.
I was always finished the bread run by 8:15. That is when leaders for the services of worship on that day— clergy, musicians, choir members, lay readers, liturgists, chalice bearers— gathered in the office of the rector, the pastor for prayer.
We would pray for the members of the community of faith who might attend a service that day and for those who Would not. We would pray for those who would be fed at the soup kitchen, pray for any personal concerns, pray for the concerns of the community. We would then scurry off to prepare for the service— musicians to rehearse, liturgists to look at the readings, the pastor to brush up her sermon.
There were two services, one at 9:30 and one at 10:45. I coordinated the Lay Readers and Chalice Bearers. I kept the rota, the schedule of the people who would participate in the liturgy. I was also often, myself, involved in one service or the other in those liturgical functions.
When I was not involved in the liturgy, I was involved with the choir. And, of course, I would sometimes write an anthem for the choir with my good friend Paul Lee Johnson.
After the second service a group would get the church hall ready for the soup kitchen meal. Most Sundays people would have started preparing soup by 11:00 a.m. And yes, the fare was soup and the bread I had earlier dragged around from Zabar’s. Some Sundays I would stay and help out at the soup kitchen.
A couple of years after the soup kitchen started, the church began to offer a 7:00 p.m. service. The constituency that service served tended to be the homeless and those came to the soup kitchen. Once in a while, I would hang out for that service too.
Sunday night the church had 10 beds set up for homeless men in conjunction— they did this in conjunction with another shelter with another shelter— which was closed on that night. I occasionally helped staff that.
Wednesday evenings was the other big ‘church day’ for me. There was a brief service at 5:30 followed by a ‘bring you own bag dinner’ and Bible Study. Most of the time that ran until about 8:30. (Slight pause.)
So, what was it that happened in 1986, the year before I met Bonnie which seemed to empower that meeting? (Slight pause.) I had a clear sense God was calling me to a different ministry, perhaps even to a different place.
So I started to give away what I was doing. Another person took over the bread run. I trained someone else on scheduling lay readers.
I kept giving stuff away not knowing why I was doing that, just knowing I needed to do that. And then I met Bonnie and my life changed.
But what I am trying to say is this call, this sense was, in the long run, not just about getting married and moving, even though that obviously a big part of it. And even though I wound up going to Seminary once I moved to Maine, this is not about the fact that I eventually went off to seminary. This is about ministry, lay ministry.
You see, when I moved to Brunswick and joined First Parish Church, United Church of Christ, I became a member of their Christian Education Board. In the church school I taught the Middle School level students. I became the Church representative on a senior citizens non-profit housing board.
All these ministries were very, very different than the ones with which I had been involved before. And they were all just as valid.
Yes, my personal life changed with the move. And my involvement in ministry changed also. (Slight pause.)
And these words are from the Gospel commonly called John: “Jesus... then cried with a loud voice, ‘Lazarus, come out!’” (Slight pause.)
If you have attended an Easter Sunday Service I’ve conducted its likely you have heard me say words like these: Resurrection is not about resuscitation or reanimation. Resurrection is what it says it is: Resurrection— something so different it cannot be explained with mere language. (Slight pause.)
In contrast to Resurrection, it could be argued that the story of Lazarus is about resuscitation or reanimation. But I would also suggest the writer of John is at least a little ambiguous on that count, and rightfully so.
In terms of meaning, there are other possibilities. One has to do with the location of the story in the Gospel of John. Given its place, given its sequence in the whole Gospel, this story is the last public act of ministry offered by Jesus.
Hence, despite the fact that Lazarus does emerge from the grave, I would suggest the story is not about resuscitation nor is it about reanimation nor is it even about a miracle. The story is about... ministry. It is about the call of Jesus to us concerning ministry.
Jesus shouts: “Lazarus, come out!” But come out to do what? This Lazarus is not a resurrected Lazarus. This Lazarus, who Jesus loved, will eventually die. Jesus knows that. Still Jesus shouts: “Lazarus, come out!” (Slight pause.)
You see, for Lazarus there is still more ministry to be done. Do we know what that will be? No. We don’t. But I see no reason to doubt it will happened. (Slight pause.)
If there is one thing of which I am convinced, it is this: each of us has ministry to do. Each community of faith has ministry to do.
Do I know what that ministry is? No. I don’t. Each person and each community of faith needs to figure that out for themselves. And, over time, that ministry is likely to change.
And what ministries might these be? Well, here’s a couple of examples: It may be working in a soup kitchen or teaching at Middle School level in the Church School.
In this church, it may be helping with the Thanksgiving Basket Drive. Or it may be offering leadership in the course of worship, singing in the choir, being a liturgist.
It may be visiting a parishioner who is ill or home bound or in a nursing facility. It may be doing coffee hour. It may be joining one of our Missions Committees or filling a gap on a standing committee.
The choices we have are multiple. The calls we have are a multitude. But this I guarantee: we are all called to do. (Slight pause.)
Perhaps the real question for us in this reading is this: what is the call of Jesus to us? It seems clear to me the call of Jesus to Lazarus was not about resuscitation or reanimation.
The call of Jesus to Lazarus and to us is about ministry. In short, each of us and all of us, are called to the work of ministry in the name of the one Triune God.
Are we willing to hear that call? Are we willing to accept that call? Are we willing to respond to that call? (The pastor points to a lit candle used during the Children’s Time.) Are we willing to let our light shone? [1] Amen.
04/10/2011
United Church of Christ, First Congregational, Norwich, New York
ENDPIECE: It is the practice of the Pastor to speak after the Closing Hymn, but before the Choral Response and Benediction. This is an précis of what was said (the Pastor again points at the candle used at the Children’s Time): “That we might be a light to the world is, of course, one of the prime sayings, slogans of the Protestant Reformation. The other is that we are a priesthood of all believers, thereby empowered, each of us, to do God’s work.”
[1] At the Children’s Time the pastor lit a candle and said if you’ve ever been in a church building you realize churches have a lot of candles. Sometimes they are used to signify the presence of the Spirit or the Spirit of the Christ. But another possibility was they signify our own spirit which we need to let shine by doing the work of God.
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