Fifth Sunday of Easter: To Suffer like Stephen

Passages: Acts 7:55-60, Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16, 1 Peter 2:2-10, John 14:1-14

In you, O LORD, I have taken refuge;
let me never be put to shame;
deliver me in your righteousness.

Turn your ear to me,
come quickly to my rescue;
be my rock of refuge,
a strong fortress to save me. –Psalm 31.1-2

"While they were stoning him, Stephen prayed, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit." Then he fell on his knees and cried out, "Lord, do not hold this sin against them." When he had said this, he fell asleep. –Acts 7.59

The past two entries in this blog focused on Christian counter culture and the call to carry the cross. During the season of Easter, the lectionary reminds us that the Christian life is one at opposition with the world; a life full of trials and persecution. The promise of Easter is not a promise of an easy life – Christ did not suffer so that we would not. The promise of Easter is that God will be present in your suffering, and there will be a transcendent victory. In our Acts lection, Stephen is stoned to death before Saul for publicly testifying his faith. Like Jesus, Stephen was not delivered from his execution nor did he plead with God to alter his fate – he forgave his persecutors and committed his spirit unto Jesus (echoing Luke 23.46, where Jesus calls out on the cross, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit”, which echoes today’s Psalm 31).

Today’s Psalm lection, Psalm 31 prays to the Lord “to come quickly to my rescue; be my rock of refuge.” This provides an interesting contrast to the acts. Clearly, God did not come to the physical rescue of Stephen. If the Lord was Stephen’s rock of refuge, that refuge did not provide sanctuary from the rocks hurled at his body. The Psalm also asks the Lord to “let me never be put to shame.” Yet Stephen suffers the shame of being publicly executed for heresy.

Yet Stephen and other Early Christian leaders had a radical understanding of righteousness and God’s presence in their life. The Holy Spirit gave them the strength and virtue necessary to accomplish their mission in the world; but it did not keep them safe. Stephen’s death, like Jesus’, was admired as the most fitting end for a holy man (or woman). He faced his death as Jesus did, and Christians did not see death in martyrdom, but everlasting life. Last week I spoke of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s nonviolent resistance that is based on a similar understanding of Christ’s example. King understood suffering’s role in the coming of the Kingdom of God, and recognized the transforming power of living Christ’s example of love in the face persecution. Stephen’s death also demonstrates the transformational power of braving persecution with love – it is in this passage that we are introduced to Saul – who “was there, giving approval to [Stephen’s] death” (Acts 8.1). Saul, of course, is the Apostle Paul and the most dramatic conversion story in the New Testament. Although Saul is not blinded on the road to Damascus until later, it is clear that Stephen, and other Christians Saul encountered in his persecution, were planting the seeds of righteousness in the perhaps the second most influential figure of the New Testament (after Jesus). If Jesus had come to Saul in a vision without the preceding example of Stephen, perhaps Saul never would have been transformed into Paul. The death of Stephen was something Paul surely carried with him throughout the entirety of his mission as Apostle to the Gentiles, and must have been an inspiration in his own beatings and imprisonments.

The message of inevitable suffering that will befall Christians and the power of facing that suffering with love and compassion for your tormentors is a prominent message of the Easter lectionary, but often missing from modern pulpits during the season. This Sunday I heard a great sermon from Rev. Molly Baskette on violence. It challenged the disconnect between condemning violence in the world, which is often muffled by distance from our comfortable lives in Massachusetts and our consumption of violence as entertainment. A thoughtful and intelligent preacher, Rev. Baskette, dealt with the theme in a nuanced and thorough way. However, having been reading Acts, I was waiting for her to connect the theme of violence in her sermon with the violence and brutality experienced by the first generation of our church. She spoke of how our rejection of violence as Christians – if we thoroughly answer that call in refusing to participate in the fantasy of violence everywhere in society – will alienate us from the world. But there was nothing about how it would provoke the violence of the world. The idea that many of would experience violence or brutality because of our commitment to Christ’s message of peace and justice seemed like a foreign possibility. Truthfully, times have changed so that, at least for American Christians, it is indeed a remote possibility that we will experience anything close to Stephen’s or Paul’s trials.

But all people face hard times, and times when their convictions are truly tested. And almost all people will be touched by violence at some point in their lives, and it’s important to have a solid conception of how that violence is to be met and understood. Like in the 31^st Psalm, I pray that the Lord be “a strong fortress to save me” but know that it is not necessarily physical salvation; so I commit into his hands my spirit, and hopefully I will have the strength to suffer like Stephen.

Fourth Sunday in Easter -- Taking up the Cross

Passages: Acts 2:42-47, Psalm 23, 1 Peter 2:19-25, John 10:1-10

“But if you suffer for doing good and you endure it, this is commendable before God. To this you were called, because Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in his steps.” 1 Peter 2.20-21

1 Peter reminds that doing the right thing is not always easy or safe. In fact, as Christians we are called to a life of suffering for our convictions. This message is easily lost in comfortable congregations; many Christians come to church to lay down their burdens and to ease the suffering of their lives. They are looking for stability and an anchor in life, not adversity or challenge. The rise of prosperity theology – charismatic preachers proclaiming that God rewards the faithful in this life with good health and financial well-being – demonstrates how many people are thirsty for a faith that will lift them up and ease their sorrow. But Christian prosperity comes in an unexpected and somewhat paradoxical way: We are called to suffer for our faith, but in that sacrifice find redemption and a "more excellent way."

Peter is careful to only commend suffering when it is on behalf of good. I also think Peter avoids glorifying suffering, although this less clear. Many have criticized Christianity for its self-sacrificial and need-denying obsession with suffering. Often in history, Christian monastics would subject themselves to physical pain and emotional tumult in an attempt to come closer to God in their profound suffering. Yet that suffering was brought deliberately upon themselves. Although they were searching for a deeper faith, they were not suffering on account of good deeds that they performed in the world. Often they were punishing themselves for their own sins, thus not enduring suffering for goodness, but for penance and purification. While a Christian theology that makes sense of suffering and persecution is indeed necessary and healthy, it is important to avoid masochism or glorifying suffering.

But it equally important not to have a theology that demonizes suffering. Not all suffering, at all times, is bad. Often secular morality focuses merely on alleviating suffering and raising comfort in the world -- which generally is a very good thing -- but finds itself conflicted when the seemingly "good" action requires great sacrifice and even more suffering than the alternatives. The example of the cross gives Christians courage in pursuing what is right even when the consequences seem grim and terrible. Few things frighten me more than the thought of torture. Yet my greatest moral teacher knew his fate and did not flee. He had the power to avoid crucifixion, but because of his mission suffered for the redemption and transformation of society.

In my last post, I explored how that although the church has prominently shaped mainstream culture, Christian ideals and values still remain counter cultural. For the first Christians, following Christ did mean persecution and violent suffering. It meant challenging the injustices and norms of society. Christ preached a message of justice for the poor and the corruption of wealth, a message of healing for the sick. Although in many modern societies religious tolerance is such that professing Christ won't induce a beating, I think that living Christ's example in the world will still lead to conflict with the status quo and bring the suffering and struggles that come with it.

Forty years ago Martin Luther King, Jr. was murdered for his commitment to justice and his prophetic profession in Christ. Before his murder, King had been beaten and imprisoned. But, knowing the consequences for speaking the truth and challenging his culture, he stood in the pulpit and asked men and women of all ages to join with him. He reminded Christians that the crown of our glory is made of thorns, that we are called to carry the cross like Christ. And through the torment, the jabs and insults, we are to display love and forgiveness, and be committed to peace. King understood how this process transformed society. The courage and restraint of protesters attacked by dogs or assaulted with hoses opened people's eyes and changed their hearts. It gave many others the courage to stand up for goodness, even when it means sacrifice and loss.

Because suffering was a reality of Christ's ministry in the world, it will also be a reality of the mission of the global church, the body of believers. Christ does not rescue us from suffering on the cross as a substitute -- he serves as an example of a more excellent way that transcends death. But although God calls us to endure trials on His behalf, he is always present and gives us the strength to endure. The great preacher Phillips Brooks once challenged his congregation by saying: "Pray not for easy lives -- Pray to be stronger men! Do not pray for tasks equal to your powers, but powers equal to your tasks." I have faith that the strength, endurance and comfort of the Lord will guide believers through their most difficult trials and tasks. As the famous Psalm from today's lectionary praises, "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me."

April 6 -- Third Sunday in Easter

Passages: Acts 2:14, 36-41, Psalm 116:1-4, 12-19, I Peter 1:17-23, Luke 24:13-35

With many other words he warned them; and he pleaded with them, "Save yourselves from this corrupt generation." Those who accepted his message were baptized, and about three thousand were added to their number that day. Acts 2:40-41

For you know that it was not with perishable things such as silver or gold that you were redeemed from the empty way of life handed down to you from your forefathers. 1 Peter 1:18

The New Testament is rife with passages of disapproval of “the world” and, in the case of these two passages, the specific generation of Jesus’ age. It pushed against the materialism and corruption of not only Rome, but the Jewish religious order in which many of the very first Christians were raised. Even as someone who reads these passages 2,000 years after that generation has passed, it’s not difficult to hear the implications these passages have on our own generation. In fact, Christian counterculturalism is found alive and well in a various Christian groups from Pentecostals to postmodern emergent Christians. But is it possible to simultaneously reject the “corruption” of this generation while embracing an aged Christianity from our ancestors?

There is some debate whether the first Christians really saw themselves as starting something “new” or rather continuing the Jewish tradition. To the Early Christians, Jesus was the fulfillment of the Scriptures, actualizing the ancient values and vision found in them. Their rejection of society and the religious order of their parents was the rejection of a society they saw as incapable of living up to those ideals, a society of materialism and hypocrisy that kills its own redeemer. It was a society that got it right in word but failed in deed. The Scriptures it held up were sacred, but the cultural reality was “empty.”

I am of the opinion that every generation has its corruption. It’s the nature of our fallen condition. I’m also of the opinion that our sin and shortcomings are not solely individual, but systemic; they are found in the patterns and structures of society. Because of this, we should be wary of the values we learn from society, even from our parents. However, these shortcomings are not insurmountable, and we are not such products of our environment that we have no possibility for redemption or change. Just as every generation has its corruption, they each have their potentials and faith in transcendent ideals. Jesus saw himself as the fulfillment of Scripture, living up to the Word of his faith. Because of the fallen condition of his time, this made him a revolutionary and an outcast. Ironically, living the highest ideals of his society made Jesus one of its worst criminals.

Likewise, I do not think Jesus would be received well in today’s society or religious order. As a minister, this has interesting implications for me. If Jesus’ narrative were to play out in a modern context, I’d be a member of the religious institution unable to listen to or accept the prophetic voice. As someone who is accepting and serving the religion I was raised with, passages about the corruption of the world and the unreliability of social teachings can be particularly troubling. But I’ve never really seen myself as a conformist (who does?), and to me becoming a minister was far from accepting a role as a social guardian. I saw it as a way of rejecting the materialistic society before me and choosing a life of service – not to the status quo but to the ideals of Christianity.

Christians in the first century were called by Peter and others to leave a selfish, sinful culture. Even after two thousand years, and even in many societies controlled or influenced by the Christian church, the call remains the same. The fact that the Church, in many places, is inseparable from the cultural fabric of the society and by no means immune to corruption, means that living the Word may even mean going against the Church. But this isn’t a complete rejection of the past, and everything that has come before us: Although Jesus went counter to the culture of his people, he embraced their faith and highest ideals in full.

March 30 -- Second Sunday of Easter

Passages: Acts 2:14, 22-32, Psalm 16, 1 Peter 1:3-9, John 20:19-31

I think it’s easy to read John 20.29, when Jesus tells Thomas, “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed,” as a direct message to the reader, who is presumably deciding whether to trust this account of Jesus’ life. Thomas is a historical disciple who actually got to see the Resurrected Christ – and feel his wounds – and we are those who have not. But I think we all have more in common with Thomas than is readily apparent. I know that, at times, I have felt the blessings of God very concretely in my life; there have been times when Christ’s presence has been easily recognizable. Like Thomas, at these moments – when we feel God’s presence tangibly and plainly – it is easy to put our trust in God. But, even though there have been times in my life when God’s presence was comprehensibly manifest, there have been many others that were far more mysterious and full of doubt. We are never permanently in the condition of Thomas feeling Jesus, nor are we permanently in a state of disbelief and doubt he felt before the appearance of Jesus.

This process has revealed itself to me in my life before. When I was an adolescent, a head injury sparked a muscle movement disorder. For three years – with varying degrees of intensity – my arms would jerk suddenly and my eyes would rapidly and uncontrollably blink. I had difficulty reading, writing and some days could barely perform simple tasks like getting dressed. Doctor’s struggled to find a diagnosis, and other teens at school often teased me and claimed I was faking my condition. But, as difficult and traumatic as the ordeal was, and as much as I would kick and scream if I was told I had to go back to those years, they have shaped my character and faith in a powerful and positive way. I do not look on those years with regret, wishing that I was able to have a “normal” high school experience (I have had many friends recount their high school years, and so far I’ve failed to meet someone with a “normal” adolescence – the age is almost defined by awkwardness). In the pain, and in the struggle, it was hard to see God at work. But I see it now. In fact, as I recount almost all of my trials in life, each one has its own redemption. Although they were far from crucifixions, the Easter story reminds us that great tragedy is followed by profound victory and renewal.

Yet, although I have seen this pattern in the life of Jesus – and to a smaller extent my own life – there continue to be times where I feel like Thomas; full of doubt and unable to believe in the redemption during the saddest of times. Although not as severe or debilitating as my high school head injury, this past week has also been a time of great trial and sadness (fittingly around Easter). In this situation, it is very hard for me to see what is necessary or redeeming about it – to have faith that there is a purpose to it. Friends and family of mine, whose opinions I respect and admire, have reminded me of the goodness, and indeed victory, that will come out of the situation. But part of me pushes against that, thinking I’ll only trust that good can come of this when it unambiguously reveals itself to me.

The words that Jesus tells Thomas, then, carry different meaning to me now. He says, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” In a way, this can be read as blessed are those who can, in the midst of doubt, confusion and even tragedy – the times where God’s work is mysterious and difficult to see – put their faith in God and the redemption that comes through the Lord. In the Greek, the word “blessed” is also easily translated as “happy” and “fortunate.” When a person can have faith that the trial they endure – and the loss that they feel – will be transformed and Resurrected, even before this event clearly appears, they are indeed fortunate. It’s not always easy to recognize God’s work in the world. Thankfully, the alive and Resurrected Christ is willing to bare his wounds, and proclaim his victory.

Easter Sunday

Passages: Jeremiah 31:1-6, Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24, Acts 10:34-43 and John 20:1-18.

Hope Chapel, a large Evangelical church near my home in Manhattan Beach, California, blasts trumpets at six a.m. Easter morning. To my secular neighbors, this made Easter morning one of their least favorite mornings of the year. Although not traditionally an early riser, I definitely didn’t mind being woken up at dawn by trumpets on Easter Sunday. Even as a young child, Easter has always been my favorite holiday. It’s an odd choice for a kid, considering the splendor of Christmas and the fireworks of the Fourth. I’m not even that big on chocolate, and was always the last of my siblings to finish my Easter or Halloween candy (often I would give a lot of it away). But even when I was a child, the excess and ordeal of Christmas bothered me. Easter was festive enough to be set apart from other family gatherings, but relatively simple compared to Christmas. Although I certainly didn’t grasp the theological concepts yet, it was easy to sense the seriousness of the day and its profound importance to Christianity.

My older sister never shared the same enthusiasm for Easter as I did. I loved Easter egg hunts so much so that my mother would continue to hide empty plastic eggs around the house for a month so I could “pluck eggs” – my sister would seldom pluck eggs with me after Easter, especially since there wasn’t anything in the egg. My younger brother was way too pumped about Christmas to even consider Easter as a contender in the year’s favorite holidays. Santa brought Nintendo – the Easter Bunny left a basket with stocking stuffers. Christmas morning was spent in pajamas, playing with your newest and coolest toy. Easter morning you wore stiff, uncomfortable dress clothes on hard wooden pews, bored out of your mind.

But the trumpets and the suits, the eggs and the pews, made sense to me, even if they didn’t to my neighbors. It’s not that I truly understood Easter – I still don’t really understand Easter. But I sensed there was a substance to the day that exceeded all others. Now that I'm an adult, Easter remains my favorite holiday for some of the same reasons. It's resistant to commercialization, it's substantive and, perhaps most importantly, it's challenging. The challenge of Resurrection Sunday is best seen in the image of the Empty Tomb.

I had a professor say the other day that The Empty Tomb was the heart of the Christian faith. I wouldn’t call it the heart of our faith – I think God’s love occupies that sacred space – but I would say it is Christianity’s ultimate reality. The original ending of the Gospel of Mark, the earliest composed, ended with Mary Magdalene, Mary mother of James and Salome fleeing Jesus’ tomb, where his body was not found and a messenger declared his resurrection, terrified. The earliest and most reliable manuscripts of Mark have no image of the risen Christ!

Mark is our reality as Christians 2,000 years after Jesus’ Resurrection. Unlike Thomas, we cannot feel the wounds and touch the hands of the savior. Unlike Mary Magdalene in the Gospel of John, we cannot look upon the face of our Rabboni (teacher). We don’t even get to see an empty tomb. We have an ancient account about an empty tomb, passed down through more than a hundred generations. Christ’s resurrection is a mystery – none of us can know with certainty. And that unanswerable mystery presents a challenge.

In the Gospels we see the challenge of the Empty Tomb dealt with a host of ways, but Mary’s reaction in today’s lection is particularly insightful. Instead of believing what Jesus repeatedly claimed he would do, Mary Magdalene is convinced that someone moved Jesus’ body. She laments, “They have taken my Lord away and I don’t know where they put him.” In the throws of this despair, Jesus stands before her, but she cannot even recognize him. She tells that which she seeks, “if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him.” Perhaps the doubts of Jesus’ disciples should comfort us with our own doubts in the face of the Empty Tomb, and perhaps their fears of the unknown should comfort our fears. Although this passage in John reveals to us the humanity of doubting Jesus’ victory, it also shows us how getting lost in those doubts will obfuscate how God is visibly working in our lives. After all, during her self pity and lament, Mary didn’t even recognize Jesus’ presence.

I’m not exactly sure what it says about my faith that I’m attracted such a challenging holiday, one that simultaneously mourns loss and celebrates victory. Nor am I certain about what it all “really means.” But I do believe that God is speaking to me during this time of year, and that my connection to Easter is something to be examined and reflected upon. The fact that it’s not just barbeques and fireworks, decorations and presents (not to diminish the importance of Christmas), but also serious, piercing to the foundations of our faith, makes Easter truly unique and set apart from other holidays. For the most part, Easter has resisted the consumer culture of so many other holidays precisely because its message is difficult to package, and has the mysterious image of the Empty Tomb beneath its feet. But for those of us who look into that tomb and believe in the victory and resurrection of Christ, standing on that ground is the image of transcendent life.

Have a happy and blessed Easter.

Palm Sunday -- Seeing Zechariah in the Triumphal Entry

Passages: Matthew 21:1-11 and Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29. See also: Zechariah 9 and 14.

Jesus enters Jerusalem

Seeing Zechariah:

Today’s lectionary presents us with Jesus’ “Triumphal Entry” into Jerusalem in Matthew 21. In the passage, onlookers laying their cloaks and branches down in front of the donkeys shout “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” These words are found in our other lection for the day, Psalm 118. Also quoted in this passage is Zechariah 9.9: “See, your king comes to you, gentle and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” By quoting Zechariah, the Gospel of Matthew draws attention to the scripture, and close examination of the text reveals other parallels between Zechariah and the Triumphal Entry. So much so, that I would suggest adding Zechariah 9 or 14 to the lectionary for this week (today’s liturgy omits the Old Testament and Epistle lection).

Zechariah is a prophetic text written after the First Temple period, and is the main Hebrew scriptural source for Matthew’s narration of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. Zechariah means “Yahweh has remembered,” and can be seen as a reminder to continue traditions from the first Temple period into this new era. Zechariah, although presented as one text, is commonly broken up into 1 Zechariah (ch. 1-8) and 2 Zechariah (9-14). 1 Zechariah visions a future of peace and prosperity for Israel, with an emphasis on the role of the priestly order. 2 Zechariah, on the other hand, is disillusioned with this priestly order, and puts forth a vision of peace and prosperity established by Yahweh himself. It is fitting then that the Gospel of Matthew, which depicts the priestly order of the Pharisees as calculated and corrupt, quotes from the beginning of 2 Zechariah, when Yahweh rides into Jerusalem “righteous and having salvation, gentle and riding on a donkey” (Zechariah 9.9 NIV).

There are two other powerful allusions to 2 Zechariah in “Triumphal Entry.” According to Matthew, Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem begins in “Bethpage on the Mount of Olives” (Mt. 21.1 NIV) the same place where the Lord arrives in Zechariah 14.4:“On that day his feet shall stand on the Mount of Olives” (NIV). Although not in our lectionary, Matthew’s account of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem climaxes with Jesus expelling traders from the temple and turning over the money-changers tables (Interestingly, in the Gospel of Mark, Jesus visits the temple but takes no action, leaving and coming back later to “cleanse” the temple). This strongly echoes the final lines of 2 Zechariah: “And on that day there will no longer be a Canaanite (or merchant) in the house of the LORD Almighty” (Zechariah 14.21).

The Gospel of Matthew goes to great lengths to demonstrate Jesus’ continuity with the Hebrew scriptures and Jewish tradition, and today’s lectionary is no exception. Perhaps most confusing – but quite interesting – is that Matthew adds another donkey to the processional. Jesus asks his disciples to bring him a donkey with her colt (offspring) and then mysteriously rides “them” into town. Mark, which was written before Matthew and most scholars agree that the author of Matthew had access to Mark when compiling the Gospel, only has one donkey. So do the Gospels of John and Luke. But Matthew adds an additional donkey, and then says that he sat on “them.” Unless Jesus was a larger man than depicted in every single painting of him ever painted, this is a physical impossibility. Why would Matthew complicate the processional like this, especially when he has a source that tells him there is only one donkey in the processional? We can’t know for sure, but the most likely answer is because Matthew interprets two donkeys present in Zechariah 9, and wants the entry to fulfill the Zechariah prophecy to the letter. While the thought of the author of Matthew “fudging” the text to make it better fit a prophecy may be somewhat distressing, it does show us exactly how important Zechariah and exhibiting Jesus’ continuity with Hebrew Scriptures is.

Some paintings of the scene based on Matthew have Jesus riding the mother donkey, with her child following nearby. This is one way to reconcile the impossibility of Jesus riding both donkeys simultaneously, but the ambiguity should alert us to the highly formative role 2 Zechariah plays in the formation of our Palm Sunday narrative.

Fifth Sunday in Lent -- Back from the Dead

Passages: Ezekiel 37:1-14, Psalm 130, Romans 8:6-11, John 11:1-45

Lazarus emerges from his tomb

Lazarus is an interesting figure in the Gospels. With the exception of Jesus Christ, he is the only other person to come back from the dead. But Lazarus is not interrogated about his experience. He is a tangential character in the broader narrative of the ministry, death and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth. The Gospel moves on, with no canonical follow-up on Lazarus. You have to wonder – what happened to Lazarus? What kind of life did he lead after being resurrected from the dead?

I have always been interested in stories about people whose lives were greatly impacted by the historical Jesus. Last year, around this season, I began writing a play for high school youth loosely based on the story of Barabbas, the criminal released when the crowd was given the choice between Barabbas and Jesus. Barabbas is a unique figure because his literal reality for what for all of us is a spiritual reality: Jesus took his place on the cross. In researching the play, titled Jesse Barabbas, I read a short novel by Swedish author Pars Lagerkvist titled Barabbas. There is also a movie starring Anthony Quinn with the same title. In the Lagerkvist story of Barabbas, there is a memorable episode where Barabbas seeks out Lazarus to learn more about Jesus. He meets with Lazarus at his home.

The Lagerkvist Lazarus was not what you’d expect. I figured Lazarus lived the remainder of his life in good health, a follower of Jesus grateful and joyful at the life afforded him by a profound miracle. But Lagerkvist challenges that idea – his Lazarus is dark and morose. Lazarus is almost a zombie, a man who should be dead but through divine power remains on the earth past his natural time. Tired and seemingly longing for the fate that was miraculously altered, Lazarus had no profound insights about life and death. He was living testament to Christ’s power, and proved to Barabbas that Jesus was indeed no ordinary man. However, instead of beholding the glory of God as Martha does when Lazarus emerges from the tomb, Barabbas struggles with a more complex figure. He sees a man like him, whose fate was altered by Jesus (although Lazarus in a much more supernatural way) who – also like Lagerkvist’s Barabbas – wanders the earth confused and perplexed by the mystery of God.

If I were to write a story about Lazarus, I would also complicate him like Lagerkvist, but not in the same way (indeed, my modern rendition of Barabbas bared little resemblance to his novel). The moment Lazarus dies, he immediately finds himself in the tomb, hearing Jesus’ voice commanding him to emerge. He has absolutely no recollection of the afterlife, something that festers with him for the remainder of his life. He wonders why he was not afforded a peak into the great beyond, but figures it was to prevent giving away its secret. But impulsively, with very little control, he continues to worry. In his second life afforded to him by the miracle of Jesus Christ, he has confidence in Jesus as a prophet and savior. But in his mysterious death he is filled with doubt – did he cease to exist? Maybe there is nothing in death, just vast nothingness.

Of course, this is all just imagination and speculation. There is no way to know what truly happened to Lazarus. So what’s the point of even thinking about it? The power of creativity in religious life and practice should never be underestimated. These stories, although fictional, can contain spiritual truth and teach us about our human condition. Looking back on the Lazarus story, the reason why I find him a fascinating figure – and why a fictional story line of him in doubt about not having any answers about death – resonates with me is because of my own doubts and anxieties about death. Inner contemplation or listening to someone else’s stories around death are two ways to learn and gain understanding, but I think that creating your own stories is a unique and powerful way of gaining spiritual insight.

So, what sort of life do you think Lazarus lived?