1 post tagged “restoring life...”
Some of you may have discovered a new television show this season called Pushing Daisies. The tone of Pushing Daisies, in my mind, is a rip off of the French movie Amélie (one of my all time favorite films). The premise of the movie, however, is more a la Lazarus.
Pushing Daisies is about a man named Ned, a gifted pie maker, who has special powers – specifically the power to bring people back to life. There are a couple of catches however: When Ned brings someone back to life for more than one minute, something of similar "life value" in the universe dies; and, once he brings a person back to life, he can't touch him/her again or else s/he dies -- permanently. Ned's powers have played out somewhat tragically in his life: his mother died of a brain aneurysm, he revived her but then accidentally gave her a good night kiss and she died again; the woman with whom he is in love, he can't touch because he revived her, and she'll die if he touches her. Ned takes all of this in stride and finds his vocation in both making pies and teaming up with a private investigator to bring murder victims back to life.
The lectionary readings this morning of the dry bones and the raising of Lazarus – like the whimsical series Pushing Daisies – prime us to turn our attention to the cycles of life and death. Next Sunday we celebrate Jesus' entry into Jerusalem and crucifixion. Then we launch into Holy Week – reliving the last supper, the crucifixion, and the empty tomb – until we finally greet the resurrected Jesus on Easter Sunday. This sequence of events calls to mind a radio interview I heard recently with a rabbi who talked about the journey Jewish congregations make during Yom Kippur – or days of atonement. She explained that during these high holidays – when the synagogues fill to the brim – the selected texts read are not the dramatic and forthright stories of the Hebrew Bible you might expect to hear on a day when the whole community actually shows up to temple. Rather, during Yom Kippur obscure texts get read about minor characters in the Bible. It's all a brilliant attempt on the rabbis' part to get people to slowly dial into their own sinful behavior of the past year. And three days later, the congregations are there, sitting with their own sins in a way that perhaps might not have been possible had the text knocked them on the head the first day of service. The Lenten progression of Bible texts follows this same logic, I think. We get a bit of a knock on the head with Ash Wednesday, but then there is some breathing space during our 40 days in the wilderness that allow for some interesting meetings with characters who hopefully teach us as much about our own humanity as we learn of theirs.
The Gospel passage we read from John is the last act of ministry, if you will, of Jesus before the procession into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. It's a disturbing story on some levels. Lazarus, like Jesus, is young – and his death untimely. It's also disconcerting that Jesus waits a long time – several days – before making his way to his friend. He waits so long, in fact, that according to Jewish tradition, Lazarus' soul would have departed his body and his corpse would have begun to rot. But Jesus finally does arrive to the scene where he meets Mary and Martha. Mary is quick to say that had he been at Lazarus' side, perhaps her brother would not have died. It's then that Jesus notices the weeping sisters and others also crying. And then he begins to weep. We don't know what was in those tears of Jesus'. Were they tears of anger directed to people who did not seem to have much faith in him? Were they tears for what would come to pass in the next several days? Were they tears for the brokenness of the world – or simply tears of exhaustion, frustration and sadness?
There is a beautiful story of a good and faithful rabbi…
"The day of Yom Kippur came, and all day the rabbi had fasted, done penance, and prayed for his people, his small congregation. That night, the holiest night of the Jewish year, they were all gathered in the synagogue praying, asking for forgiveness and mercy from God, blessed be his Name. The rabbi stood with his back to the people, tightly wrapped in his prayer shawl, and prayed. He prayed as fervently and intensely as he could. He remembers that every synagogue around the world gathering the Jews together on this day and all their prayers were ascending to God, the Holy One.
As he prayed he begged God for some sign that his prayer on behalf of his people was heard. As soon as he thought it and prayed it, he was taken aback. Why should the Holy One respond to such a prayer, when there were probably many others, hoping for the same thing? And yet, almost instantaneously, he was given an answer to his prayers. For just a moment her heard the voice of God, clear and ringing out like a bell: "Have Tam offer your prayers to me, and I will graciously accept all of you back into my heart, forgiving all things and showing my mercy upon you." And then just as surely the light, the sense, the sound, was gone. The rabbi stood with his back to the people praying still, and he was alone.
Then he turned toward the people. Instead of praying the prayer of intercessions as the ritual demanded, he called out: "Tam! Tam! Where is Tam?" He know what everyone was thinking – he had been thinking it himself just seconds before. Why Tam? Tam was hardly ever in the synagogue. He was poor, unlettered, and worked so hard that he often missed services. Oh, he was a good hearted enough soul, but he certainly hadn't amounted to much in the community. The rabbi didn't even know exactly what Tam did for a living. The people were stunned, shocked.
And poor Tam, who was in fact in the synagogue on this holy night, was equally stunned. He was paralyzed and could not move. Why did the rabbi call out his name instead of praying? What terrible thing was about to be visited upon him? But others in the synagogue recognized him, and the rabbi gestured to them to carry Tam forward to the front of the synagogue. Tam stood, silent, with head bowed before the rabbi. The rabbi spoke loudly and directly to Tam. "I have been praying for mercy and forgiveness for all of us on this night and I have been clearly told by God, blessed be hi Name, that we all will be forgiven and taken back into the heart of God if you pray for us, if you give your prayer to God on our behalf."
Tam was speechless. How could he pray? He could not even read the service, the prayers in the book. But the rabbi was insistent. God would only take the community back into his heart and give them a year of blessing, grace and mercy if Tam prayed for them. He had to pray for them! Finally, Tam agreed. But he looked at the rabbi and said: "I have to go get my prayers."
What? the rabbi thought. You have to go get your prayers? "Then go." he said.
Tam ran down the aisle, pushing people aside. Everyone was in confusion and disarray. But Tam did not live far, just down a street away from the synagogue's back door. He was back in no time.
Once again there was tumult in the synagogue as Tam returned to the front to stand but the rabbi and pray on behalf of the community. He stood before them all, and in his hands was a large earthen pitcher. He lifted it high, turned his back to the people, and addressed God. "O Holy One, you know I am not good at praying, but I bring you all I have. This pitcher holds my tears. Late at night, even when I am tired, I sit and try to pray to you. And then I think of my poor wife and children and the fact that they have no clean clothes to wear to services and are ashamed to come to the synagogue, and I cry. And then I think of all the hungry ones, the beggars on the steps of the synagogues and in the streets, in the cold and rain, miserable and so alone, and I cry some more. And then, God I think of what we do to each other. I think of all the gossip and hate, all the quarrels and wars, and I think of you crying, God, you looking down on us hurting one another so, and I know that you weep for us always. God, I cry for you and how we must break your heart and sadden you so. Please take my tears, accept my prayers, and take all of us back into your heart once again. Give us a blessing and forgive us in your great mercy and kindness.
And Tam took his pitcher and poured his tears over the floor of the synagogue. There was a long silence, and then the rabbi spoke, haltingly: "God has heard of Tam, and we are forgiven. We are once again the people of God. Let us live this year with grateful hearts."
The people sang, but they left the synagogue quietly. They vowed never to forget Tam's prayer or his pitcher of tears and to make sure there would be less to cry over in the years to come. They looked at Tam and his family differently, and their neighbors too. Some even reconciled with their enemies. But they all went home thinking of the tears of God."
From Lent: The Sunday Readings by Megan McKenna
Out of Jesus' tears comes the raising of Lazarus. Doubt and confusion surrounds him. Yet he stays true to his vocation to be an (unlikely) restorer of life and a kindler of the Spirit. It's interesting to note Lazarus walks out of that tomb, is presumably unbound and never heard from again. Many throughout history have creatively written endings to Lazarus' story. Pushing Daisies is a response in pop culture to the intrigue of this concept of "life after death". Jesus' life after death story, unlike that of Lazerus', offers a glimpse, however limited, into this segment of his life. The overall lack of emphasis on the specifics/details of "life after death" in the text pushes us back to the central themes of our lectionary readings – the work of "restoration of the Spirit." I've often admired the way some devote their entire lives to restoration work – be it of cathedral frescos, wetlands, rare books or ancient ruins. Yet I was struck that today's readings challenge us to see the work and art of restoration not just as the trade of specially trained professionals, prophets or messiahs. Rather, we are asked to play a part in restoring life to our selves, our churches, our communities and our world. And the tears we weep, like those of Jesus' and Tam's, may point to immediate spaces in need of restoration and a new breath of life.
Amen.
The Rev. Nicole Janelle
St. Michael's, Isla Vista
Lent 5 ~ 9 March 2008
