Lazarus Come Out

On Monday, we gathered at the church for Part 2 of my contemplative photography workshop.  I will always miss my days of walking the property Hope Episcopal Church in Florida and how there was truly something amazing to see every day from bobcats to hawks to herons to otters to osprey.  I was spoiled.

But what I have loved in leading this contemplative photography workshop at my new church in Ohio is that even though it doesn’t have the wild, untamed woods like Hope, there is always something to see, both inside and outside of the church.

Even on a busy road in a busy area of an otherwise bucolic, small town, there is wildlife, primarily deer.  Deer are everywhere in Ohio.  They are Florida’s version of Sandhill Cranes.  If you are driving down a side street and traffic suddenly comes to a stop, chances are, there are deer crossing the road up ahead.

The grounds of St. Barnabas are filled with wildflowers, even now as the summer season is winding down and leaves are beginning to fall. 

Out behind the church is an enormous rose stalk.  The stalk has reached nearly nine feet and at its pinnacle is a perfectly formed, deep-red rose blossom.

So, on Monday at the contemplative photography workshop, I made sure to head out back to check on the rose.  I was carrying my camera.  It was not turned on.  I didn’t anticipate having to take any quick shots like I would if I was taking pictures of bees.  There was a little wind, so I knew the rose might be swaying, but I wasn’t worried about getting a good picture.

As soon as I turned the corner, a tiny hummingbird flew through the air in front of me, alighting on the rose bloom.  I blinked and it was gone again, not to return.

I looked up at the sky and groaned very loudly.  “Gah!” I said.  You see, the hummingbird is on my bird bucket list.  It’s not that I don’t see hummingbirds.  I do.  It’s that I’ve never gotten a picture of one before.  Same with the goldfinch.  Plenty of them around, but I have no pictures of anything other than a yellow blob.

I groaned again.  A hummingbird on top of an enormous, almost record-breaking rose would have been the ultimate picture and I had missed it.

Today’s reading is the story of Jesus telling the disciples that they must go and attend to Lazarus who has died.  We all know the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead, but I love in today’s reading, we get to see the disciples acting like the disciples, confused as to what Jesus is talking about and taking him far too literally.

Jesus tells them that Lazarus is asleep and he is going there to wake him up.

The disciples are like well, if he’s asleep, we’re sure he’ll be okay.

To which I imagine Jesus closing his eyes briefly and letting out a long sigh, like any middle school teacher, before reframing his statement explaining that Lazarus is dead.

Today’s reading ends with Thomas saying, “Yeah, let’s go.”

We all know the story of Lazarus.  We know about Mary and Martha.  We know that verse 35 “Jesus wept,” in multiple translations is the shortest verse in the Bible.  We know that when Jesus tells them to remove the stone in front of the tomb that Martha protests because of the smell.  We know they remove the stone anyway and Jesus says these words, “Lazarus come out!”

There is a pause, a dramatic pause.

And then, a man appears, still wrapped in his grave clothes—linen strips we are told, so if you need to picture an Egyptian mummy here, go ahead.  But the mummy is Lazarus.  He is no monster.  He is alive.

There is rejoicing.  The crowd gathers around Lazarus, removing his grave clothes, presumably hugging him and kissing him.  Mary and Martha are most likely in tears.  They are all praising God.  Someone slaps Jesus on the shoulder.  “Yeah,” they say, “we knew you could do it!”  The party lasts for days.

Or at least that’s what I imagine, because in the Bible the story of Lazarus being raised from the dead ends with Jesus commanding that they unbind him and let him go.

But I also got to thinking about my missed opportunity with the hummingbird and rose the other day and I thought what if you were the person who missed the moment Lazarus walks out of the tomb by a minute?  What if you were Thomas—and I use Thomas as an example here because he is the disciple who misses the first appearance of the risen Jesus in the upper room—what if you are Thomas and you’re running a little behind the group.  Maybe you got a stone in your sandal and stopped to dislodge it.  What if you needed to work out a cramp in your hamstring?  What if you just needed a drink of water?  I’ll catch up, you say to yourself.

And then you miss seeing a miracle.

“What’s going on?” you ask as you come up on the crowd gathered outside the tomb.

Peter grabs your shoulders and shakes you.  “I can’t believe you missed it!”

“What did I miss?” you ask.

Peter points to the man in the center of the crowd with linen strips hanging off of him.  “Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead?”

“I thought he was just sleeping,” you say.

“No, man,” Peter explains.  “He was dead, like dead-dead, like you can still smell the death coming from that tomb.  And now he’s alive.”

“He wants something to eat!” someone shouts from the crowd.

Martha races past you, shoving you to one side so she can get some figs and bread from inside the house.

And then you begin to see just what you missed, perhaps the greatest of miracles.

And much like me, you raise your fists to the sky and groan, “Gah!”

The point of contemplative photography to me is to train yourself to pay attention, to not miss the miracles that are happening in your world every day—not on the other side of the world—not on the other side of state, closer to you than the other side of the street, right there in front of you as you move throughout your day.

Be more discerning.

Walk slower.

Hurry less.

Prayer is about intention.

Make finding God your intention every day.

Amen.