Sermon: All Saints Sunday, John 11:32-44

November 3, 2024 
Faith-La Fe Lutheran Church
Pastor Jonathan Linman

“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” These words of Mary, who fell at Jesus’ feet in her grief at the death of her brother Lazarus, could be our words, too. “Lord, if you had been here, my husband, my wife, my lover, my partner, my mother, my father, son, daughter, sister, my loved one would not have died.” 

There are those occasions in our lives when we run into the specter of death like a brick wall. All Saints Sunday is one of those occasions when the reality of mortality is front and center, when long held grief can become present and visceral again as we remember those who have died among us, especially in the past year. 

In Johns’ telling of the story of raising Lazarus, the gospel writer wants us to realize the reality of death in graphic terms. John makes the point of recalling that Martha said that Lazarus had been dead already for several days and that his body would reek of decomposition when Jesus entered the tomb with him. “Lord,” Martha said, “already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.” 

In short, today’s gospel narrative reminds us in graphic terms that we humans cannot escape the reality of death. It catches up with us periodically and then finally claims each one of us. And we spend a great deal of time and energy seeking to keep the reality of death at bay. Clamoring after fame and fortune and power all serve to deny the inevitability of death. But sooner or later, the grave awaits us all.

The Jesus of John’s gospel was not particularly afraid of death, even though he was present to and felt the anguish of grief. “When Jesus saw Mary weeping and the Judeans who came with her also weeping, [Jesus] was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved.” (The Greek puts it more strongly – they were lamenting and wailing and Jesus thundered in his disturbance.) Jesus himself also shed some tears as we heard in the shortest verse in the bible: “Jesus wept” which prompted others around Jesus to say, “See how Jesus loved Lazarus!”

But Jesus was not going to let death have the last word. We get a palpable sense of the drama and energy in this passage about overcoming death. “Then Jesus, again, greatly disturbed, came to the tomb” ordering others to roll back the stone. Then after offering a prayer to the Father, “Jesus cried with a loud voice, ‘Lazarus, come out!’”

Do you feel the dramatic energy? Raising someone from the dead is hard work!

All of this, of course, calls attention to and foreshadows Jesus’ own death and resurrection which were about to take place in John’s telling of the story. And it is Jesus’ death and resurrection which seal the deal to pave the way for our own resurrection to new life after our own deaths. The story of Lazarus, thus, becomes our story, the story of our lost loved ones, the story of all the saints. 

This good news that in Jesus Christ death does not have the last word is a comfort to us always, but especially on All Saints Sunday when we have a longing to be connected again, reunited with those who have gone before us. 

Because of Christ, him dead, him raised, we can take to heart the words of assurance in today’s reading from the Wisdom of Solomon: “The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and no torment will ever touch them. In the eyes of the foolish they seemed to have died, and their departure was thought to be a disaster and their going from us to be their destruction, but they are at peace.” (Wisdom 3:1-3)

In Christ Jesus, they are at peace. We can be at peace.

Think of it this way: emerging alive again from his own grave, it’s as if Jesus has cried out to our loved ones, “David, James, Madaline, Bryan, Rick, Rosalie, come out!

Indeed, Jesus does call each of us by name at the waters of baptism when our living, loving Lord cries out to us, “Come out!” And like Lazarus we come out of the womb of the tomb of the baptismal font in a second birth, and with the Spirit working through the water and the word we likewise hear the command of our Lord, “Unbind them, and let them go.” Unbind us and let us go.

Then we’re bid to come and eat, even as Mary and Martha threw a dinner party to honor Jesus in the verses that comes next in John’s Gospel. Lazarus, with a new lease on life, joined his sisters and Jesus at the dinner table. 

And so, too, all of our sainted loved ones join us at this table as well, where we honor Jesus both as host and guest. Listen for their saintly voices with your ears of faith as we sing the “Holy, Holy, Holy” at the Thanksgiving at the Table joining our voices “with all the saints, with the choirs of angels and the hosts of heaven, as we together praise [Christ’s] name and join the unending hymn….” For it’s not just Christ who presents himself to us in the meal, but all the saints in one great, cosmic, mystic, sweet communion.

And because these means of grace make known to us Christ’s living presence and victory over death, we, too, conclude and proclaim along with the visionary poet of the Book of Revelation: 

“See, the home of God is among mortals. God will dwell with them; they will be God’s peoples, and that very God will be with them and be their God; God will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.” (Revelation 21:3b-4) God in Christ in the power of the Spirit makes a home with us and dwells with us right here, right now.

Of course, all of this joyous, tearless, fearless feasting happens amidst the ongoing penultimate claims of our mortality on us. Even during their celebratory meal, the authorities were waiting outside the door of Mary and Martha’s house seeking to arrest Jesus and put him to death. And God only knows what our lives will be like in this nation come this Tuesday and in the time after…. The authorities and religious leaders may be coming after us, too….

But none of this can stop God in Christ. Again, death in all of its forms does not have the last word. Alleluia. 

So, we emerge from the baptismal waters and from the Eucharistic table fed, our thirst quenched; we’re renewed, given courage and faith and trust to do the work that God has given us to do on our earthly pilgrimage and journey. 

And what is that work? You know the answer: with our words and deeds of loving mercy and in seeking God’s justice, our divine calling is to do our own versions of calling people out of their sundry tombs – God’s chosen, beloved people, come out! And then we cry out to the oppressors and wheelers and dealers of death, echoing Jesus’ own command: “Unbind them, and let them go!”

Folks, we are indeed surrounded by a great crowd of witnesses, in all the saints, the ones we have known personally and the ones maybe known only to God. During the singing of the Hymn of the Day, you are invited to come forward to light a candle in memory and celebration of those who have gone before us, those most dear to you. In that act of devotion, may you palpably feel their presence, their encouragement to you, their prayers for you, that you may have still greater boldness to seek to fulfill our missionary calling to do justice, love, kindness, and walking humbly with God. 

Rejoicing in the mystic, sweet communion of all the saints, Amen.