Fifth Sunday of Lent
March 13, 2005


What perturbs you?

It is a rare Greek word – "embrimasthai" - meaning to be moved deeply with a degree of anger. Such an emotion is usually associated with a snort or some physical gesture to emphasize the anger. Here it has the meaning of Jesus being moved to the pit of his being and it signifies indignation, not grief. Twice in today’s gospel, this word is used. Both times are revelatory. Both times it is in response to ‘death’. The first time is in the presence of the mourners – ‘Mary and those weeping’; John reports that he becomes perturbed and deeply troubled. The second time is as he approaches the tomb itself – Jesus, perturbed again, approaches the tomb.

Think about that. The initial reaction of Jesus in the face of death is anger. It is to be disturbed. It is to snort in indignation. This is not right. This grief, this sorrow, this lack of life, this tomb – it is not how it should be. And the Lord of LIFE reacts with the passion of God himself – anger, struggle, indignation. Death is not how this world was created to be. Sorrow, though as real as the tears that he himself sheds over Lazarus’ death, is not the goal of creation. And from the depth of his spirit comes a series of commands – “Take away the stone.” “Lazarus, come out.” “Untie him and let him go.” That is what moves in the heart of a savior – the utter conviction that death has no place among the living.

What perturbs your heart? What moves within you with indignation – with the snort that Jesus has in the face of death itself? Of the many ways to pray into this gospel, that is the one that most resonated with me this week. For isn’t that precisely what our Lent is supposed to be about – the facing of whatever wraps us in death as surely as the cloths bound Lazarus in his tomb? Aren’t we to hear the same invitation that woke Lazarus – “come out” – from wherever death holds you entombed?

Which is a two step kind of prayer, isn’t it. The first step begins with honesty. What about my life is death? What about my days stays small and dark and wrapped in the tomb? It is not easy to look at that. Monday, I had three people, whom I help on a quasi-regular basis, all call asking for ‘help’. (“help” = means monetary assistance.) I did fine with the first one. With the second, I was a bit sharp. When the third call came – a gentleman who only calls when he needs enough for bus fare to get to his job, I was downright testy. And it came out at him. If the calls had happened on different days, it would have been no problem. But they didn’t. And I was trapped in the world of death that was trying to protect myself – as if my money was really my own, and as if the needs of the poor had no call on my life. The first step is honesty.

The second step is to know that the same Jesus who stood PETURBED outside Lazarus’ tomb, stands outside my room and bids me “Come out” and “Untie the bonds” of poverty that kept this man shackled in his struggle, and me in my smallness of heart. Where do I live in death? How is God calling me to life again.

If we are honest – there are at least a half-dozen ways each day I live in death. Perhaps it is in our relationship with our spouse – when we’ve let the fire die and the anger build – and we are bound by years of unforgiveness. Maybe as kids, we are addicted to our video games and spend all our time in front of the computer and being short with our families and friends who enjoy our company. Perhaps there is selfishness about our generosity of time and talent that keeps us from helping others.
May we have the same “indignation of Jesus” in the face of all that is death in us. Then we will know the promise given to Martha – “The one who believes in me will live…”