Lazarus has been on my mind for the past six weeks or so. My spiritual story is a reflection of his. Dead in my sins, buried and tucked away in a dark tomb...Jesus called me by name to life, to come out, to greater glories. Like Lazarus, I exited the tomb still wrapped in the grave clothes of my death. Unlike Lazarus...it took more than a few moments for the community to remove them for me, and so I stumbled around for years like a mummy bound by what had previous enslaved me before my resurrection and rebirth.
Those cloths seem to have a life of their own. Even after my community had removed them, for many years, the cloths would slink back towards me, enchanting me to put them on again. Lying, they would promise warmth and comfort when wrapped around me anew. Several years ago I called them out as the shackles that they are, declaring they had no right to be in my life any longer. I thought I'd burned those grave clothes that day and for many years I didn't see even the smallest evidence of them in my life.
But six weeks ago on Good Friday, a day I've labeled "the dark day," I was astonished to look down and see myself fully wrapped in them again! Somehow, over the past year, those cloths had snuck back in, slithered up to me, and convinced me to put them back on. I've been walking around like a mummy for the past year and didn't even fully realize it.
I could tell I was struggling. I couldn't fully move. I didn't recognize myself. I even tried to tell the community that I felt wrapped up and bound in this one thing and I wanted to be free to fully live as the resurrected reborn woman I knew was still inside. The Enemy snuck out of the grave, slithered up to me, and whispered that the community liked the mummy, but mummies don't talk. So be quiet. Keep wearing the grave clothes, keep stumbling along bound and shackled so tightly. But don't say a word.
On the dark day, some of the community, like so many that day outside of Lazarus' tomb, covered their noses and made it clear they didn't like the stench. They let it be clear that I'd put my grave clothes back on and it was unpleasant. They didn't pray with me. They didn't unbind me. Just pointed out the rot and sent me away. Alone over Easter weekend, I looked in the mirror of my soul...wondering how, as one who hears the Voice of the Shepherd who calls us out of the grave...how had I come to a point where I'd wrapped myself back up?
Just at that moment, someone from the community showed up. He saw past the grave clothes, saw the resurrected reborn, said he even saw blossoms. Everyone else saw the mummy, yet he somehow saw me as well as the little buds trying to push forth into new growth. Jesus used him, perhaps unbeknownst to him, to prune away those old grave clothes and allow me to begin walking freely again.
The dark day had happened while I was in my home-away-from-home in the ME. Right before I'd left to go there, I have a plant in my garden that had fully blossomed with the joy of spring. I was astonished at how fully and happy it looked. I went away for two weeks to the ME, and upon my return was equally astonished to find it withered and dead. Drooped and dried up. It had lived through so much! Snow. Downpours. High winds. Birds. Lack of water. Lack of sun. Plenty of water. Plenty of sun. So sad to see it at least dying, at worst dead, I did what I could. I watered it. I prayed for it. I spoke life to it. Nothing.
I left for another trip telling myself that upon return, I'd dig up the dead plant to bury it. But upon this return, my little plant-that-could had the smallest little buds of new life! I baptized it the Lazarus plant. New gardener that I am, I nervously decided to cut away. Just as Lazarus needed his grave clothes removed, this little Lazarus plant needed some grave branches clipped.
After I pruned the Lazarus plant, new life pushed its way through. New leaves, new growth. While he might not be the fullest plant in my garden, nor the most colorful, he is my favorite. I stare at him in wonder. Sometimes everything in us has to shrivel up and die. Sometimes there is much pruning needed, sometimes only a little. But our Gardener God is one who resurrects, who rebirths, who prunes, who brings new growth.
Tradition says that Lazarus never smiled again after his resurrection, except once when he saw someone stealing a clay pot. I've pondered that thought for weeks. On one hand, Lazarus had seen glory, and so upon returning to this fallen, broken world...I can imagine that he looked around and saw nothing to smile about. He knew this place was not home and surely he longed to return to glory rather than be here. Maybe, like me and my return to my-home-away-from-home, he just saw the shriveled up and the dead all around him. From that view...why smile?
But...he knew Jesus. He had been resurrected, and then he knew Jesus had been too. After the day of Pentecost (which, by the way, is today), every disciple of Jesus had His Holy Spirit in them and they went forth with joy. They spoke. They saw the potential for life. Surely Lazarus, who had come out of the tomb went forth towards Jesus with joy. Those who know Him can't help but know joy. His disciples were a joyful people...we are a joyful people... and I have to assume Lazarus was too. Joyful people smile. Joyful people speak.
My Lazarus plant had been droopy and dismal but now stands renewed and dare I say--rejoicing. His leaves are lifted up in worship of his Gardener God. He speaks in the only way he can: by continuing to grow, unhindered by the grave leaves that once shackled him. He joyfully grows.
My prayer on this day of Pentecost is that so would I. My friend who saw past the grave clothes to the resurrected plant inside urged me to use my words. Joyfully growing, I garden, I prune, I blossom.
I write.
