Lazarus.

I started reading the story of Lazarus again. (John 11)

Most of what I know of Lazarus is Sunday school stuff. And one of my old foster sisters singing the Carmen version "Lazarus! Come fooooooooooooorth!" (And my mom knows exactly what I'm talking about and is probably laughing at the memory as well...heck, my mom used to have her lipsync it for a show when people came over--it was pretty entertaining. I played Lazarus coming out of the grave...there's a metaphor in there somewhere?)

But recently I haven't been feeling like Lazarus. I feel like his sisters...except cheated. And I always felt like Mary. Probably because I'd rather spend hours and hours praying, reading my Bible, talking and listening to God than clean my apartment or take care of the necessary things in life like food shopping so my husband doesn't starve or washing clothes so he doesn't walk around naked and freeze his cute little tushy off.

so I reread the story and again...Mary. There I was. (before I begin you must know a secret...I have a history of studying characters of the Bible that I particularly feel my life is paralleling. aa few years ago I got really excited because I was studying Daniel and felt like Daniel throughout the whole study...I even wished I'd been given the name Danielle instead of my sister so that I could fulfill my destiny...so I go overboard....whatever, the study was awesome and I learned a lot. Even if I'm not Danielle. And oh yeah, Maura was studying Daniel in her Bible study at the same time and we both thought that was pretty cool and would talk about it.

So, needless to say, I no longer feel like Daniel. Or Joseph. Or David. Or Solomon. I feel like Mary. A woman who loved God with her whole heart. Who forsook helping her sister in the kitchen, but sat with the men at the feet of Jesus listening to him talk. Who the minute her brother got sick, sent word to Jesus (along with her sister), with faith that Jesus would heal him. But guess what? Black on white, it says Jesus got the message and "although Jesus loved Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, he stayed where he was for the next two days." (John 11:5) And in that time, Lazarus died. Of what I don't know...but he died. And I know what that is like. I know what that is like for a sister who called the one who was her Messiah and who she believed loved her and her family and he didn't come and heal in time or any time for that matter and she had to watch him tortured with sickness and see his breath slowly leave his body and live with that sense of emptiness and hopelessness and meaninglessness. and pain beyond any human understanding. A grief that is horrifically and supernaturally oppressive. And worst of all...no more brother, no more hope...but a huge feeling of abandonment.

Not that I think God couldn't have healed Maura. I still believe God is who He is. And not that I think that God doesn't love me...I just feel abandoned and a little let down...like he didn't deliver on his word. Which turns into a sorta "alright I believe, but I'm not important enough, or deserving enough for God to really care about doing anything about my dying sister" I mean, it wasn't like it was one of my selfish requests, like--"please open a door for me in my career" or "please let the train come now so I'm not late for work even though i overslept..."

So Jesus says first "Lazarus' sickness will not end in death. No, it happened for the glory of God so that the Son of God will receive glory from this." (vs. 4) Then later, after Laz dies, he says, okay, time to go wake him up. He's dead. Glad I wasn't there so all you fools will believe. (vs. 11-15) --("fools" obviously in the modern slang context I'm reading into it--not the "i think you're all idiots context)

So here's the good bit. The bit that makes me go, "Yeah, Mary, I get ya. I get it."
"When Martha got word that Jesus was coming, she went to meet him. But Mary stayed in the house." (vs. 20) Well, I woulda too. In fact, I have. Stayed in the house, literally and metaphorically.

I go to church every sunday...and if I'm not crying through the worship music, I'm faking it. I used to LOVE worship. I was on the worship team--technically, I still am...but last worship rehearsal I went to, I cried through the whole prayer bit as something in me started to break and then proceeded to shut down. Its easier to shut down and fake it than really sing praise...or admit that you have no desire to meet with someone you love very much but you feel completely hurt by. Maybe its anger, but I feel anger but not really a lot at God. I don't know what it is. I mean, God is God, right? Who am I? I'm nothing. I'm just someone who has walked her whole life with Him as her best friend, since I was in fifth grade and I had no other friends. This friend promised to never leave me or forsake me and up till now, I never thought He had, or would.

And I don't feel particularly forsaken either. I still know He loves me. I don't know what it is I feel...all the words that come to me are part of it but not it in a whole: disappointed? let down? rejected? betrayed? abandoned? told no? miffed? unimportant? unvaluable? I don't know what the right word is. All of these words and yet none of them at the same time.

And I bet that's how Mary felt. Because when Martha goes back and tells her Jesus wants to see her, she immediately goes. (vs. 28-29). And there's something, that I feel, is kinda cool in the fact that Jesus waits for her outside the village where Martha met him (and Martha pronounces her faith in him so beautifully, in a way that Mary doesn't--so you can't knock her for being in the kitchen...she believed in Jesus just as much as Mary...maybe even understood him better). I like that he didn't go into the village. He waited for Mary to come to him. (vs. 30) I like that He asked specifically for her. "The teacher is here and wants to see you" (vs. 28) And I wonder why He waited outside of the village. The only way I can answer is what I feel.

Like God has been waiting outside my "village" for me to come to Him. Like a perfect gentleman. Knowing that if he barged into my world with words of "Trust me" "follow me" "I love you" I would scream at him and call him a liar to his face and probably make a big scene because I am that dramatic. Because even if He said, "Maura's sickness will not end in death" (and let me tell you I believed that truth with every inch of my being--every scripture I read, every prayer I prayed was a confirmation that My God, My Friend, My Messiah, would deliver my sister and heal her from the evil, wicked cancer--too understand the let-down, you have to know how hard I believed. I never doubted. Not even the day she died. Part of me knew it was coming...even before it happened...I remember praying for healing and hearing Him in my heart say "soon." Only I thought the soon meant she would be cancer free in this world--not that "soon"--in a matter of months He would take her. Even after she died, part of me believed she would come back to life like Lazarus. But she didn't. and when they told us that they had really cremated her body...i almost couldn't believe that God still hadn't stepped in. Oh I believed. It was not because of any doubt that my sister died. And she believed in her healing as well. She was prepared for death, but even on the last days...her kidneys were shut down, the nurses were throwing out piss-pour options to see if they would work and she said, "Sure! Yeah! I mean, I'll try anything." She wasn't giving up on her faith either. So...Mary didn't go meet God. She stayed with the mourners.

I joined a breavement group. I stay home and cry for hours. I get lost in tv series or movies (anything to take my mind off it.)

But when He called her she got up immediately.

Me too. I'm happy to say.

And He's been tugging at me...read some Bible. you love the bible (because the Bible is how me and Him communicate. I like to call it the Holy Spirit Highligher where I read something and it connects to this and that, NT, OT, everything and it begins to make sense as a whole not just bits pulled out for a sermon. And I love that. And He knows that's how we talk. But I wouldn't open my Bible. And I wouldn't sing praises because I didn't want to praise him. i knew I was supposed to. Praise God through the good and the bad...well, its harder than it sounds. So what do I do? I read a little book called the "Power of a Praying Wife" and I pray for my husband in the little prayers that she writes out for me, because that is the easiest thing to do and I do want good for my husband and my marriage. But I'm not gonna bother him with any more requests or heaven forbid talk to him about how I actually feel about him and what's happened and is happening. and I'm okay that I don't have any hope. But what I forgot to consider is that "Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance." (1 Cor. 13:7) God is Love. Not me. I just love Him. So I guess sometimes I am faithful and hopeful and I will endure...just not as gracefully as God. That's why He rules the world and I don't.
So when I went to worship rehearsal and I was forced to be real with God, I was forced to admit I hadn't been really talking to him or singing to him and that the weight of the grief had knocked me to his feet and I wanted to be back praising him and I know how to sing but that my heart is fighting against itself. Because praising is supposed to be joyful and there is not one drop of joy left in this vessel--it had all been squeezed out with Maura's last breath.

But still, it was clear, the call from God. "Lydia, Jesus is here. he wants to talk to you. He's waiting outside the village for you."

"When Mary arrived and saw Jesus, she fell at his feet and said, "Lord, if only you had been here, my brother wouldn't have died." (vs. 32)

I can imagine that picture with perfect clarity. Because that's exactly where I am. Flat on my face at his feet unable to straighten up. The good thing is I'm finally at His feet as opposed to in the house...but I'm still a puddle, barely able to look up at him through blurry tears and say, "Lord, if only you had been here, my sister wouldn't have died."

The next bit though I don't get. Jesus saw her (and the other mourners) crying and He got angry or "a deep anger welled-up within him". (vs. 33) He asks where they buried him, and they tell him to follow and then he cries. Not just cries. He weeps. (vs. 35). And I could be like the people who said, "He's crying! See how much he loved him!" or the others who say, "He healed the blind surely he could have kept Maura from dying?" (vs. 36-37)

But why did Jesus cry for real? He saw them crying and He got angry and he was still angry as he arrived at the tomb! (vs. 38) WHY was he angry? Because they didn't believe in him? That doesn't sound like Jesus. He got angry when people were exploiting His Father's house (famous temple rage scene where he turns over the tables) but not when people didn't believe he would heal...ESPECIALLY Mary who has just seen her brother die! I mean, surely he understands the grief she is going through and cannot expect her to know the future that God is going to raise up her brother from the dead? It makes perfect sense to her that Jesus could have saved her brother, but he didn't. And the hurt is overwhelming. Maybe he was weeping with her, but then I ask again, WHY was he angry?

Was He angry at Death? That causes such pain and heartache in the hearts of people he loves? Was he angry at God for the way that this had to go down and people had to suffer before they could believe? Was he angry at the mourners for not believing or keeping Mary in a state of emotional mourning? Was he weeping out of being so angry? (I do that, I get so mad and frustrated tears start to pour out) But if thats the case, what was frustrating him?

I don't know. I really don't know and it bothers me that I don't know why he was angry because I feel I can't fully understand his weeping until I know why he was angry. He had human emotions...he experienced all that we did. so...I get Mary, but I don't get Jesus' reaction and maybe I want to and need to so I know what He's trying to say to me.

Anyway, Jesus then raises Lazarus from the dead. Yippee for Mary and Martha.

Mary's story doesn't end there because in the next chapter she is the one who pours expensive perfume on Jesus' feet and dries it with her hair while he's chillin with his disciples her now alive brother. I would too if Jesus had brought my sister back from the dead.

But he didn't. So will I ever get to that place like Mary where I'm at his feet giving him my most prized posessions? Not that I have anything to give him that I haven't already. I already gave him my acting, and my writing and my marriage and my family. I mean...he took Maura and I haven't lost faith in Him...I'm just ...in pain, that's all. No big deal. I'll get over it, won't I? Maybe not? I don't know.

I mean, God, you have everything already? what more do you want?
"The sacrifice you desire is a broken spirit. You will not reject a broken and a repentant heart, O God." (Psalm 51:17)

well, I feel broken. I definitely feel repentant. Or maybe just guilty for my whining and pouring out my endless hurt but David did too and you loved him so I think you can take and you understand my heart.

Sunday we were talking about the new year coming up (like in 2 1/2 months) and one of my friends said he doesn't want this year to end. And I said, "I do. I want 2009 to be so far away from me because this has been the worst year of my life. I mean, I thought 2008 was bad, 2009 was worse." and he said, "But you got married in 2009." "True," I said, "And that was definitely a highlight-perhaps the only highlight--making it extremely necessary in such a dark year. But that joy will be much greater when the present pain of 2009 is so much more behind me." And he said, "but you have grown so much through this." (isn't that what the Bible says about 'trials and tribulations and pain' blah blah blah) and I told him honestly, that I don't feel strong or that I've grown. I feel much weaker actually. Like I've taken five giant steps backwards. I don't see myself anymore standing on a mountain in full armor with sword drawn and an army of warriors behind me ready for battle like Wonder Woman, singing praises to my God at the top of my lungs. Instead, I feel like a broken, naked woman, who's been beaten with life and has literally fallen at Jesus' feet from lack of strength to keep her standing and who is a water fountain of tears and blubbering and endless despair. How is this stronger?

And he said, "you'll look back on this and see how much you've grown." well. I'd rather have my sister than some far-away future strength, thank you very much. But nobody asked me, did they? Did He? And once again, that's because I'm not God. Because things would be different. And I can argue with myself the opposite. I can tell myself that on my knees weeping is a good place. We are made strong in our weakness. I know what I'm saying. I know the answers. I read the Book. I know--what doesn't kill ya makes you stronger--etc. but right now...it sucks. IT SUCKS BALLS. and I am not enjoying this process.

Something good is around the corner. I feel it. I don't know what it is. But I do know, it's not my sister coming back to life. Maybe its me coming back to life.