Today, as Passiontide begins, the season of Lent becomes more sombre. Our service books reflect a shift of mood by providing different wording to be used from the Fifth Sunday of Lent. We’ve already encountered this change of gear in the prayers of penitence and in the gospel acclamation, and we will find it again at the Peace, and the Eucharistic Prayer and the Blessing. In each case the Cross has become more central to our worship – more prominently in our line of vision.
If we imagine the Cross casting a long shadow onto the ground, it is as though we have stepped on to the top end of that shadow – that we have begun to walk slowly along its shaft until, on Good Friday, we reach the foot of the cross itself.
The shadow imagery is helpful, I think, because for a shadow to exist there must be light – and the brighter the light the deeper and more intense the shadow. The shadow of the Cross is dependent on the light of the resurrection. And so, for these two weeks of Passiontide, we walk in the dark shadow of the Cross in the hope and knowledge of the bright light of the resurrection.
In this morning’s Gospel reading – a reading resonating with the message of resurrection – Jesus too steps into the shadow of the Cross. It was dangerous for him to go to Bethany – so close to Jerusalem where he had been threatened with stoning and arrest – and his disciples advised him against it.
At a human level, the illness of Lazarus placed him in a dilemma. He would wish to be with his friend – and to restore him to health. And yet to go carried serious risk.
But at a divine level, Jesus is clear that the illness of Lazarus is for the glorification of God – and a sign, to those who witness it, of his own glory. He delays going to Bethany, not because of his own dilemma, but because it must be clear that Lazarus is dead. He is not raised from sleep or fainting or a coma – but clearly from death itself. The Son of God both conquers death, and brings new life out of death.
‘I am the resurrection and the life,’ Jesus says to Martha. Even so, it is human mortality that forms the backdrop to this miracle. The scene is drenched in the deep emotions of grief and loss. And Jesus himself acts not with calm majesty, but weeping, trembling and shaking. He is deeply vulnerable. The cost to him of raising Lazarus, foreshadows the cost of his own triumphant resurrection on Easter Day. Human suffering and divine glory are inextricably woven together – for Jesus and for us.
In going to Bethany and performing this great sign of resurrection, Jesus steps into the shadow of his own Cross. And we hearing the story at the beginning of Passiontide step into that shadow too. We choose to step into it at this time in order to accompany Jesus on his journey to calvary, and thereby to accompany all who suffer. We step into it together as a church community here in this place, and in union with the world-wide church.
Yet there are times too when, as individuals, we find ourselves thrown into the shadow of the cross without any choice. Times of sickness, bereavement or confusion, when we struggle to make sense of what is happening to us and those we love. Times of tragedy such as the Boxing Day tsunami, or stories of agony and tears such as those told on Comic Relief last Friday night. Times when we are overwhelmed with emotion as Jesus was at the grave of Lazarus. Yet the resurrection promise holds true – out of human tragedy comes divine glory – out of death comes life – out of the Cross comes resurrection. Not a lessening of pain and suffering, but a transformation of them into something creative and life-giving. ‘Do you believe this?’ Jesus asks us as we walk in the shadow of the cross. And we are called with Martha to say ‘Yes.’ Martha, who, in the shadow of her grief, accused and blamed Jesus for her brother’s death, nevertheless says, ‘Yes, Lord, I believe.’
Can we too say, Yes?
Yes, to the promise of resurrection, even as we stand in the shadow of the Cross.
Yes, to the hope of resurrection, even as we look more fully towards our crucified Lord.
Yes, to the healing of resurrection, that even now yearns to unbind us and set us free.
For, remember, the truth of the resurrection has been revealed to us by a man who stood at the tomb of his friend and wept; by a man who hung on a cross and cried out that God had forsaken him at his greatest moment of need.
From the depth of raw human emotion comes the revelation of divine glory – in the earthly life of Christ; in the lives of Lazarus and his sisters; and in our own lives too. The shadow of the Cross is only made possible by the light of resurrection.
Amen.