Hoping Beyond Hope

We were hiking up a sand dune near the shore of Lake Michigan. My dad, my brother-in-law Richard and l were hiking up a sand dune on a warm summer day. Actually, it was a series of sand dunes, each one higher than the one before. It looked as if you were almost at the top, and then you’d get there, only to see that you had an even higher sand dune to climb. And after we did that a few times we began to despair that we were ever going to reach the top of the highest dune. Now Richard and I were a little concerned about my dad; I mean, he was 76 years old at this point. That was back when I thought that 76 was old. Amazing how the definition of old keeps getting pushed back further and further the older that you get! We were concerned about my dad, but he just kept plugging along. He’d stop every once and a while to catch his breath, but then he’d moved on. And each time we’d reach what seemed like the top of the highest dune, only to see that we still had a long way to go, Dad would say, “You know, the top is not always the top.” Dad was the most experienced hiker among us. He knew not to get too excited when it looks as if you’ve almost reached your goal, ‘cause when you’re hiking up a sand dune or a mountain, the goal keeps moving. He knew that feeling of disappointment. But he’d learned from that disappointment. He’d leaned that when it seems like you’re never going to reach your destination, you just keep plugging along. The top is not always the top, but eventually you do reach the top. When it seems like you’re never going to reach the end of the trail, when it seems like all hope is gone, you have to hope beyond hope.

Hoping beyond hope. That’s what I take to be the theme of this story in which Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead. I mean, Lazarus was dead! Jesus makes that very clear. His friend Lazarus was no more. No hope there. I mean, when someone is sick you can pray for healing. Even when someone is gravely ill you can hope for a miracle. But once they’re dead, they’re dead. The only hope then is the hope for the resurrection of all the dead at the end of time, when the trumpet will sound and we’ll all be raised and we’ll be reunited with our loved ones and with the saints from every age and place (see 1 Corinthians 15:51-58). Once Lazarus had died, that was the only hope; and that was all that Martha, Lazarus’ sister, was clinging to (John 11:23-24). Once Lazarus had died, there was no hope for renewed life in this world. But Jesus was hoping beyond hope. Jesus figured, “When all hope is gone, hope some more. When all hope is gone, when there’s no reason to move forward, when you might as well sit down and give up; you move forward anyway: as if there is hope.”

But I’m getting ahead of the story. Let’s review it for a moment. There were these three siblings: Mary, Martha and Lazarus. They all lived together. Maybe they’d never married; or maybe one or more of them had lost a spouse and they’d all moved back to the family home. In any event, they were followers of Jesus, there were friends of Jesus, they were very special friends of Jesus. And their home was a safe house for him. It was a place where he could escape from his enemies in Jerusalem and escape from all of the pressures of his ministry and just relax and be taken care of. So for Jesus, Mary, Martha and Lazarus were very special people indeed. But toward the end of Jesus’ ministry, things became so dangerous for him in and around Jerusalem that even this safe house in Bethany, two miles from Jerusalem, wasn’t safe any more. So Jesus and his disciples crossed the mountains and the Jordan valley to a hideout in the wilderness, near where Jesus had been baptized.

It was there that word reached them that Jesus’ dear friend Lazarus was very sick. Very sick. Like he might die. Now Jesus is on the horns of a dilemma. If he goes back to Bethany to take care of Lazarus, he’s probably going to be arrested and killed. But his best friend might be dying and the sisters whom Jesus also loves are hurting; he can’t just stay out in the desert where he’s safe and do nothing! Turns out, though, that Jesus isn’t concerned about the danger. His concern is that whatever he does, he needs to glorify God. It’s not about his own safety or the sisters’ comfort or even about Lazarus’ health; it’s about what can I do in this situation which will give glory to God? And he decides that what he needs to do is wait. I’ve never really understood this part of the story. I mean, time is of the essence here. It’s already been two days since the messenger left Bethany, it’s going to be two more days before Jesus can get back there, and he decides to wait? It seems as if he wants Lazarus to die. It’s like he’s saying, “If I cure Lazarus, that would be kind of neat, but if I raise him from the dead people will really be impressed! I mean, if God is glorified by a mere healing, how much more will God be glorified by a resurrection?! I’m going to show these folks what God can really do.”

I can’t get my brain around this. You don’t just let your best friend die if there’s something you can do about it! Maybe Jesus’ decision has less to do with what the historical Jesus actually did, and more to do with the theological agenda of the storyteller. We know that in John’s gospel especially we have layer upon layer of tradition. Within John’s church (that is, within the community for whom this gospel is written), stories about Jesus have been told and retold over the years. With each retelling, the concern about what really happened in Jesus’ life takes a back seat to discerning what the Risen Christ is doing in this early Christian community 40 or 50 or 60 years later. One clue that we’re dealing more with theological discourse than with historical account is the fact that in John 11:2 we’re told that Mary was the one who anointed Jesus with perfume and wiped his feet with her hair. But in John’s gospel, that hasn’t happened yet. Mary doesn’t do the perfume and hair bit until chapter 12. But here we are in chapter 11 being told about it as if it has already happened. Clearly the people in John’s community already knew that story. So maybe in chapter 11 as we have it, the familiar story of Mary and Martha and Lazarus is being reworked, the story is being retold, and we’re getting a little further from what actually happened. And maybe we should be less concerned about why Jesus waits two days and lets his friend die – something that perhaps the historical Jesus never did – and more concerned about the point that the storyteller is trying to make.

And the point, I think, is this: despair is not necessarily the enemy of hope; sometimes it’s despair that spawns hope. Sometimes things have to get really bad before you’re willing to throw all caution to the wind and try the seemingly impossible. Maybe in order to truly hope, you have to first run out of hope. Jesus waits for Lazarus to die before he goes to help him. Jesus creates a situation of despair, that hope might triumph. Sometimes hope is created out of despair.

It’s like the Allied victory at Passchendaele in World War I. The horror that was the Battle of Passchendaele lasted 3 months, as wave upon wave of British, French and Canadian troops marched through mud and artillery attacks and blizzard-like volleys of bullets in order to advance the Allied lines several miles to the east and take the strategic high ground of Passchendaele Ridge. The attack began on July 31, 1917, and finally, on November 6, Canadian troops stood on top of that ridge. It was said of those heroic Canadian soldiers, “They assumed that they were going to die, so they had the courage of death pushing them.” The courage of death. If they’d thought they had any chance of getting off that battlefield alive, maybe they would’ve been too afraid to leave their trenches. But they figured that they were going to die anyway, so with nothing to lose they went over the top and they took that ridge.

When all hope is gone, you have nothing left to lose; so you go for broke, and you succeed where less desperate men and women would not have even tried. It is out of despair that hope is created. And people who engage in acts of hope when there is no hope, people who have nothing to lose and therefore nothing to prove, these are sometimes the folks in whom the power of God is most able to take hold. It is sometimes in the midst of despair that God is glorified. Like when dead men win an impossible victory. Like when a dead man is raised to new life.

So maybe it’s good that Senator Obama’s campaign has made a potentially fatal mistake. Presidential contender Barak Obama, of course, is the man who talks so much about hope. Obama has said that the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) must be amended in order to build in environmental and labour safeguards. He has said that if Canada and Mexico are not willing to make such amendments, then he would be prepared as President to pull the United States out of NAFTA. But apparently Obama’s economic advisor told a Canadian diplomat that the Senator doesn’t really mean it; that it’s just political posturing; that Canada doesn’t have to worry about the U.S. under a President Obama pulling out of NAFTA. Wink, wink; nudge, nudge. So maybe the saintly Senator Obama has gotten caught in a lie. Maybe the would-be saint from the south side of Chicago is no better than any other politician. And maybe a lot of people who are inclined to support him precisely because he seems to be above politics as usual are rethinking their position. Maybe that’s why he got killed in the popular vote in Ohio.

But perhaps this potentially fatal dilemma is the very thing that Obama needs to put him back on the high ground. You see, the problem with NAFTA isn’t that it lowers trade barriers. That’s a good thing. It brings the world community closer together. No, the problem with NAFTA is that it allows Canadian and U.S. manufacturers to move some of their production to Mexico, where the labour and environmental regulations are not as stringent, and they can exploit cheap labour and exploit the environment and thereby increase their profits at the expense of God’s children and God’s Creation. The right-wing advocates of the global economy say that we have no choice but to do this; we have no choice but to accept the lowering of government regulations and the shipping of jobs offshore. But we do have a choice. If we can negotiate international agreements which lower trade barriers, then we can negotiate international agreements which create a level playing field in terms of environmental and labour laws. Agreements which set that bar at a high level. Agreements that might return some jobs to places like Ohio and Ontario that we thought we’d lost forever. And maybe Mr. Obama, if he gets desperate enough, will decide that he really is in favour of this. Maybe Mr. Obama, in despair about winning back his base, will say unequivocally that he really is in favour of that high level playing field. And maybe a President Obama will do what other politicians have deemed to be impossible and negotiate that high level of international environmental and labour laws. Maybe the man needs to get a little desperate in order to live in hope and not just talk about it.

Sometimes desperate people do desperate things and turn into heroes. Sometimes you have to plumb the depths of despair in order to hope again. Like a time fairly early in my ministry when I felt hopeless about my vocation and my relationships and even my life. Well sometimes, when you get desperate, you also get down on your knees. And so there I was, on my knees, in front of the communion table at Hillcrest Christian Church one morning, praying in the Sanctuary where I was the young and very inexperienced pastor, and I was praying with the help of Psalm 130, which we read just a few minutes ago. “Out of the depths have I called to you, O Lord. God, hear my cry!” It maybe wasn’t the first time that I’d cried out to God, but maybe it was the first time that I’d cried out without really expecting anyone to answer me. But when you’re desperate you not only do things that you might not otherwise do, you also hear things that you might not otherwise hear. And what I heard that day through this Psalm is that even when you feel like a total failure who has made huge mistakes, there is forgiveness for you. And even when God seems totally absent, one can find the resolve to wait upon the Lord, and find renewed strength, and mount up like an eagle on the wings of hope. With God, there is forgiveness for you. With God, there is hope for you. But sometimes you have to wait through the despair before that grace will touch your heart and that hope will lift you up.

When all hope was gone, Lazarus was lifted up from the dead. When there was no reason to hope, no evidence for hope, Jesus waited for a bit, and then he acted as if there was hope. Paul says, “Hope that is seen is not hope” (Romans 8:24). It’s like hiking up a sand dune when you can’t see the top. You wait to catch your breath, and then you keep plugging along. Amen.


Text: John 11:21-23

Preached by Bruce D. Ervin

9 March 2008