The Trappings of Death

In Spiritual Direction class Monday night, Pam opened us in prayer from John 11 -- the raising of Lazarus. I guess I should say this is not your typical evangelical read-the-scripture, pray-something-relevant-and-off-we-go type of opening. The scripture is read twice, slowly, and then we spend about 15 minutes in silence, connecting our hearts with God around the scripture. It's always powerful and revealing.

That day, I had started a new class at school -- Christian Discipleship, a freshman level required course on basic doctrines, worldview and lifestyle of the Christian. I walked in anticipating seven weeks of boredom. You see, I thought I was past that point in my spiritual journey. We spent the class period defining discipleship, and I left class oddly excited.

So as we moved into silence that night at church, I was caught by something I'd always totally missed in the story of Lazarus. At the end, when he walks out of the tomb, Jesus tells the crowd to unwrap him, to set him free and let him go.

Why? Why didn't Jesus unwrap him? Why didn't He cause the bindings to fall away on their own when He raised him? I thought of the Easter story, how the visitors to the tomb found a pile of cloth left within, the facecloth neatly folded. Why was this different?

It occurred to me that, in a sense, this was a picture of discipleship. Jesus gave the community the task of coming around a person God has raised -- given life -- and removing the trappings of death. All that mental crap and lies and patterns of thought and behavior that are hallmarks of dependence on ourselves and the world need to be stripped away. We are to help one another be free.

Judy also pointed out to me that Lazarus would have been buck naked under his wrappings and needed the crowd to cover him. I think that relates to discipleship, too. As we come around each other and help remove the trappings of death, we need to protect the vulnerabilities of those we minister to. We are to screen them from shame as they move into greater and freer life.

Too often I think we unwittingly use shame as a cattle prod to produce the illusion of life, rather than slowly and tenderly lifting the bindings. We get it backwards.

All of this makes me wonder about the dry and cracked strips of bandage that are still dangling from my own soul. Only One rose from the dead who was capable of thoroughly freeing Himself. Only One was ever truly and fully Alive. As we move into Holy Week, I'm so mindful of that... thankful that He has raised me... grateful for the community that shields me and peels away the funeral clothes that still stick and trip me up... hungry to be even freer and more alive than I am.

Come, Lord Jesus. Holy Spirit, come.