And this morning, though the larger gospel story for the day is traditionally called “The raising of Lazarus,” and the dead man exiting the tomb in his burial clothes is absolutely miraculous and dramatic, that moment is not the most important element of the story and should not distract us from what really is: the exchange between Martha and Jesus that make up the verses of the morning lesson. When Jesus brings back Lazarus from the dead, it is the concrete confirmation of the theological truth he shares with Martha. A dead man brought back to life is the visible proof that Jesus is who he says he is and can do what he says he can, but—though it sounds strange to say—it’s only that. What happens to Lazarus in the story is NOT what happens to those we love who die. They don’t come back four days later and pick up where they left off. But that moment is intended to make us take the truth of what Jesus says leading up to it VERY seriously.

Martha is distraught that her brother has died, and pleads with Jesus to do something about it. Jesus reassures her that Lazarus will be raised, and Martha believes Jesus is talking about a final resurrection in the distant future, which was a Jewish belief. To which Jesus says these pivotal words: “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” Now, in truth, there are two conversations going on simultaneously. At one level—the level Martha is most interested in—Jesus is talking about what happens to those who die. He’s not saying that Martha is wrong about some sort of final resurrection, but he’s not only talking about the future, and he’s not only talking about those who are literally dead.

When Jesus says, “I am the resurrection and the life,” he’s saying that is the situation now. In him, God is at work making the dead to live—dead like Lazarus, yes, but also, and more importantly for the story and, at this moment, for you and me, dead like Martha was dead, spiritually dead in her grief. In other words, Jesus isn’t merely saying, “Believe in me and go to heaven when you die,” he’s saying, “Believe in me and you will live, really live, right now. There’s a huge difference, and one that often gets overlooked as the culture tries to cubbyhole the Christian disciple as one essentially trying to buy a ticket to heaven.

Some 200 years ago, give or take a few months, our spiritual ancestors of the Stepney section of Wethersfield, later to be Rocky Hill, were in the midst of a building project to put up this meetinghouse, and you can be sure that they were following the progress of that project with the same eagle eyes we’re watching the activity pick up with the Chapin Hall renovation. And toward the end of the construction back in 1808, as the interior was being finished, someone or some group, were inspired, in addition to putting in rows of pews and a high center pulpit, to adorn this back wall with words of Scripture. The smaller tablets to the sides are Psalms of general good feeling, but what they chose for the centerpiece of the panel, for the focal point of the pulpit, and so essentially for the ultimate purpose of this entire meetinghouse itself, were the words from verses 25 and 26 of our gospel lesson for today. Of all the verses of the Bible, even from all the ones we might think to use from the four gospels, the RHCC membership of 1808—and maybe it was Calvin Chapin himself—chose “I am the resurrection and the life.” And I am certain that they didn’t only choose it as a way of saying, “Be good and go to heaven.” Those words are for us, the living, and they hold nothing less than the full power and grace of the God of Jesus Christ.

And so on this 5th Sunday of Lent in 2008, hearing those words again in the scripture lesson, seeing them once more, perhaps with fresh eyes, written boldly before us, Jesus asks you, Jesus asks me, the very same question that he asked of Martha immediately after saying them the first time: “Do you believe this?” The power of those words to change our lives hinges on our response.

Now, clearly, that’s all a lot to take in, and it certainly seemed to be so for Martha. She doesn’t quite say directly that she believes what Jesus says about being the resurrection and the life, but confesses her trust in Jesus, as if to say, “Well, I guess, if you say so, I’ll go along.” These words, though so familiar, describe an identity of Jesus that can be hard to grasp, and they speak of a promise that can be hard to really appreciate. When we read or hear these words it’s hard not to see them in the context of the literally dead, and not so much applying to us now, but meaning something for us later on.

But here comes the hard part, and I think the reason this lesson appears during Lent. To truly know Jesus as “the resurrection and the life,” to fully receive the good news that his statement embodies, we have to do two things. We have to let go of those words as having only to do with the literally dead, and, then, we have to consider the possibility that, in one way or another, you and I are dead even as we live. That sounds way too strong, I know, depressing and not helpful. And yet maybe it isn’t such a reach when you and I begin to consider all the ways in which the word “dead” has worked its way into our thinking and our vocabulary. Think of this as word association game with a decidedly somber Lenten theme.

We are the living, and the end of those lives seems likely to be at a distance from the here and now, but these words are still for us. Certainly you and I have found ourselves dead wrong on occasion, so wrong that we agonize and regret the hurt we have caused ourselves and others; perhaps we have to work so hard to just stay afloat, and so are really going through each day dead tired, with a weariness that no amount of sleep will take away; perhaps we’re consumed with a relationship or circumstance that is deadlocked, that just drains our energy and goes nowhere; perhaps we worry about the same old things over and over, as if to say we beat a dead horse but just can’t stop; perhaps there are deadbeats in our lives, hungry ghosts and dysfunctional personalities who take advantage and keep us off balance; perhaps there are just moments—more frequent than we’d like—when you and I feel as if we have reached a dead end, a point where there seem no options other than to just exist and endure, and when that dead end persists, we or those we love become depressed, hopeless, essentially dead to the world.

“Those who believe in me,” says Jesus, “even though they die, will live.” To follow Christ, to trust that what he says is true even though we may not intellectually understand it all, is to be brought back to life from those places where we feel dead right now. Do you believe this?

Last week a student at Rocky Hill High took his own life, and I was asked to officiate at his funeral service. And as I watched the long line stretching out the door during calling hours, and stood and saw the faces of the many who stayed for the service, they were the picture of the living dead: devastated, some barely functional, overcome by sadness and regret and hopelessness. When Jesus says, “I am the resurrection and the life,” part of that promise is for Geoff, the young man who died, a promise which says that though physically dead he has now been drawn into the loving embrace of the God who loved him all along. But at that funeral service, the promise was more immediately for those who gathered, the living who were feeling dead. To trust Christ in such a moment is open oneself to that peace which passes all rational understanding, to receive strength of body and of heart to endure through to the next day, to know in some indescribable way that what seems so final to human eyes isn’t in God’s world.

And that is the challenge of this passage for more everyday, ordinary discipleship, too, the kind that isn’t about literal life and death: Jesus’ words, these words, ask us, again and again, to make a decision about how we believe the world is ordered. Is God in charge, or are we? Is what we see and know all there is, or is God’s view larger? And if our answers to those questions are that God is in charge, and the world is bigger than we think, then how is that belief going to make us live differently? If our answer to Jesus’ question, “Do you believe this?” is “Yes!” than how are you and I living differently? Do we feel less dead and more alive each day? Are we less afraid? Are we less insistent on having things our way? Are we more able to deal with disappointment and loss? Are we more willing to risk for the sake of others because we know that whatever death we encounter it can’t undo us?

“I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?”