Awkwardness Evaporates - Lent 5A

When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed home.
I can’t help but ponder how awkward was this meeting between Martha and Jesus?
Martha comes outside the village and meets Jesus on the road. She knows that Jesus is aware that Lazarus died because word had been sent, days ago. Jesus knows that Lazarus is dead because he waited a few more days before coming. Imagine: what is Martha thinking, feeling; what is Jesus thinking and feeling?

A little over a year ago, my friend- my brother by choice, died after a fight with cancer. In his last weeks my husband and I were apprized of his declining health; he moved from his home hospital bed to a hospice centre – where a daily watch was kept by those who lived closer than three provinces away.  Thank heavens for cell phones and social media: electronically we were kept informed, we shared prayer posts, texted our love, and felt like we were present in spirit. We made plans, so that we would be ready to travel when needed – the time chosen for us because I was asked by my brother to preach at his funeral service.
When our friend died, we set the plan in motion, arrived in Ontario, and prepared to face his family --- our chosen family. The visitation was in a cathedral, one walked up the side aisle, passed the casket at the front, and then greeted the family, before exiting down the other side aisle.
Waiting in the reception line was ... awkward.
One of my best friends had died, his wife – another best friend, my chosen sister, was waiting; our God-daughter and her brother were waiting, our adopted Finish grandmother was waiting... what was I going to say? How was I going to act? Was it okay that I hadn’t been there for the death? How could I be supportive and grieve at the same time? Was I going to fall apart? Did I feel guilty for living so far away, for not making a point to visit more? Had too much happened in the time since we last saw each other, face-to-face, that our connection was no longer strong? Good gracious.... awkward.

John’s Gospel has Martha go out to meet Jesus.  Their meeting is told as a conversation that starts in a hard-hitting kind of way.  It doesn’t start with the small talk of weather or local gossip. Martha starts off accusingly, if you had been here... And with that spoken, out of the way, the conversation turns to deeper thoughts, words to be seeded as hope amidst grief. Martha affirms, I believe you are the Messiah -the Son of God- the one coming into the world. Jesus and Martha contemplate resurrection, life from death – both later and now.  Satisfied with enough bread for the moment -  Martha goes to get Mary. Jesus remains outside the village where Martha had met him and waits for Mary to meet him there.
Mary rushes out to Jesus.  She kneels at his feet and weeps.

As the reception line in the cathedral shortened, as I wondered if my reaction would be a Martha sort or a Mary sort, as I passed the casket –the awkwardness of the moment evaporated-  in an instant I ended up in an embrace with my sister, an embrace without words that didn’t cease to end. In the silence and the time- standing-still of that embrace --- tears, acceptance, love – nothing had changed; but as we drew away from each other, squeezing each other’s hands, we acknowledged that everything had changed.

Jesus, Martha, and Mary are standing in the road outside the village; awkwardness evaporates, nothing has changed. But, as they pull away from each other, to move towards Lazarus’ grave -Jesus weeps, Jesus is disturbed in spirit, Jesus is deeply moved – walking together they acknowledge that everything has changed.

This is an experience to which many of us relate whether: a spouse dies, employment changes, survive cancer, change gender, become divorced or married, win the lottery, suffer addiction, a family member is imprisoned, adopt a child... all of these circumstances, and so many more, change us, change our relationships, and affect our ability to interact with our church family. In these times, people often withdraw from familiar relationships, stop coming to church, because of the awkwardness of the moment.  In the church community it appears that nothing has changed, but collective experience -because we are in relationship- will tell us that everything has changed.

Our current situation is like the story of Lazarus.
Lazarus is raised from the dead – nothing is the same – everything is made new. All of his relationships are affected. Loss does that. Grief does that. Death does that.

Church as we knew it, in a building and sitting in pews, died two weeks ago. From this death came new life – new expressions of church and virtual Christian community. Death forced a fervour of creation, innovation, and potential possibilities. Churches that were occupied with dwindling finances and inward crisis, moved to look outward.  Nothing -as in faith, theology, scripture, worship, ministry, pastoral care, offering- has changed, but we acknowledge that everything has changed. We are living in new life and in an expectation of the fullness of Martha’s affirmation: I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world. As virtual church community this affirmation is at the heart of creativity and innovations, brining the one coming into the world – into not just our building, but, into the world.

A colleague shared with a group of pastors earlier this week, that after a death -meaning any kind of loss that causes one to walk through the valley of grief, a valley of dry bones- changes a person such that when life returns to what is considered normal; it is normal but it is a changed normal. This can lead to a certain sadness, an awkwardness– a reserved celebration that we have come out the other side; a reserved ‘Praise the Lord’ all things are new. The first time one sits in a pew, alone, after a spouse dies; the first time, in a long time, when one can go to church and sit beside a family member newly arrived to Canada; the first conversation over coffee when it seems too much time has passed to have anything to talk about; the first Sunday after being away for a month, when all the children have grown and are unrecognizable, when we have forgotten names, and have new babies and their names to learn --- is sadness and awkwardness mixed with joy.

During this time of physical distancing and experiencing the fall-out of COVID-19, each of us has been put in a situation where we are daily confronting our relationship with death. We are living in a valley being scattered with dry bones. We face the possibility of physical death or serious illness. We face death, we face loss, whether in paychecks, lifestyle, pension funds, freedom, a sense of stability, connectedness, physical contact. We are all grieving, parts of life as we know it are dying, and all of us are in the process of being dry bones with new life being breathed around us. When this is over we can expect an awkwardness as we rise in a world where nothing is the same – everything is made new.
The Gospel in today’s scriptures stress that the word of the Lord brings new life to that which was dead; life comes out of death.

I think about this in relation to our virtual worshiping community. For this community we are experiencing a death of sorts – a loss- of eating together each week; sharing the sacrament of the altar. In pastor-world, and in Zoom meetings between Lutheran Bishops and theologians, many conversations have been had over the past two weeks about offering virtual communion; suggesting that if each person watching were to have a piece of bread and a little wine, that the Real Presence, through the words of institution could travel through cyberspace into each home; communion could still happen. Our Bishop has taken a different tact – not that he disputes the ability of the Real Presence to expand beyond our limited understanding of space and time- he suggests that we in a time of Eucharistic Fast. How very Lent.
I’m not sure that any of us who grew up in Canada, except for those who remember rationing during WWII, have been forced to fast.  Human beings are consumptive by nature and when we chose to fast give up something like chocolate or coffee or smoking, or fast a day before medical tests.  This Lent we have been forced into a fast – a fast from creature comforts, whether certain foods or toilet paper; a fast from movement -from going where we want when we want, and doing what we want, when we want; a fast from physical contact and gathering; and now a fast from Eucharist – a fast from the fullness of God’s grace that we experience through this sacrament. Nothing has changed, but, everything has changed.

Whenever Easter happens – that Sunday when we are once again gathered side-by-side in sacred space – in the awkwardness of the moment because we will all come changed because in a variety of forms we have faced death; walked through the valley of dry bones; we arrive at the Eucharistic table together to partake, to eat, to digest,... LIFE –
Some of us will come Martha-like, others Mary-like: there will be accusing thoughts – why did you let this happen?, and deep conversations, and kneeling, and tears; awkwardness will evaporate and in the depths of our loss, through the valley of death and dry bones, we will awake and be filled by the experience of the fullness of God’s grace in bread, wine, and community. LIFE –all will be new!  We will be new! I can’t wait to be resurrected to new life. Until then I hold fast to Martha’s affirmation:

I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.
... in your word is my hope.
... with You is steadfast love... and plenteous redemption.
Out of the depths my soul waits for the Lord.