Glimpses of Glory

It seems that Saints have an unfortunate habit of being posthumously misquoted.

Take, for example, St Francis with his famous misquote:

        “Preach the Gospel, use words if you have to”

Or George Herbert’s out of context adaption of the ancient Greek proverb:

        “God helps those who help themselves”

But perhaps one of the greatest saintly misquotes, with the most enduring appeal, is that of Irenaeus:

“The Glory of God is a human being fully alive’

And, it’s easy to see why this paraphrase of an extract from his rather lengthy tome Against Heresies has stuck. It would certainly make a good inspirational quote to overlay on an Instagram of someone on a beach somewhere ‘living their best life’.

However, what Irenaeus actually said was slightly more nuanced and he was saying less about humanity in general, and more about Jesus specifically:

In essence – that it is in Jesus, that we see the glory of God in humanity.

We may only glimpse the glory of God, revealed in Jesus, while we stand this side of the veil, but Francis and George and Irenaeus and all the Saints who have gone before, know this glory face-to-face as they enjoy a fullness of life with Jesus which will never end.

Because even if Irenaeus didn’t actually say it quite like the paraphrase, there is something of truth in the notion that a fully-alive human is one of the most glorious things to witness. And when we do witness someone with a genuine ‘joie de vivre’, they can’t help but prompt us to expand our vision beyond the rather mundane day-to-day realities of life, to ask where that joy and impetus might be coming from.

What have they glimpsed that has inspired them so?

What vision are they holding on to that keeps them going?

Our passage from Revelation – the great vision of the new heaven and new earth – with the new Jerusalem in which there will be no more pain, no more suffering and no more tears, is a vision which has kept Saints going throughout the millennia when times were tough. And it’s no coincidence that this vision has inspired some of the most glorious art and music too.

But it cannot go unnoticed, that on the day we turn our face to the New Jerusalem (with its promise of eternal life lived with God in the company of the Saints) the compilers of the lectionary have also given us John’s account of Jesus turning his face towards Jerusalem by performing a sign that would be so outrageous that he would face his death as a result of it.

The raising of Jesus’ friend Lazarus is the most audacious expression of Jesus’ Messiahship yet. Over the series of previous ‘signs’ in John’s Gospel, those following him have seen Jesus heal people, turn water into wine, walk on water and feed the 5,000. He is certainly a man of miraculous power and a great prophet who has been provoking the authorities with his actions for some time, but ultimately, it is only God who has command over death.

And so Jesus’ decision to wait and arrive unfashionably late, when he hears of Lazarus’ illness, is an intentional decision – not to cause unnecessary suffering Mary and Martha – but to demonstrate God’s glory and leave no-one in any doubt that the glory of God is indeed fully present in Jesus.

What we witness Jesus do in the revival of Lazarus, is only a foretaste of what Jesus will do in his resurrection. ‘I am the resurrection and the life’ declares Jesus to Martha, just a few verses before this passage which we read today.

Miraculous revivification raises Lazarus to his same life.

But Resurrection raises us, with Christ, to new life:

• To life unhindered and unbound.
• To life glorious and radiant.
• To life present with God in eternal worship, numbered among those who have gone before us and who now shine like stars around the throne of God.
• To life in which the stench and pain of death are gone.

The raising of Lazarus is a glimpse of glory and a promise which gives us hope of what is to come.

But for us today, who have been more aware of the presence of death in these last 18 months, than perhaps we have collectively in decades, the promise of future glory can seem rather distant indeed.

And this is where the other – less spoken of - side of Jesus’ glorious fullness of life may be of some comfort.

Because being fully God, did not excuse Jesus from being fully human.

Even though he knew he would raise Lazarus – it did not make him immune to the pain of losing a friend.

We hear how Jesus wept at Lazarus’ tomb; how he was greatly disturbed; and how he acted out of compassion by going to Mary and Martha in their distress.

We might wonder if this is a case of cognitive dissonance on Jesus’ part?

Or an oversight on the part of the Gospel writer?

Or is it simply the reality of living in what has been referred to as the ‘now and not-yet’ of the Kingdom?

Where we have glimpsed the glorious vision of hope which awaits us, but where we also live with the pain and frustration of waiting to experience it fully when Jesus returns.

Being fully alive, for Jesus meant knowing loss as well as joy. He didn’t walk around in a perpetual and intolerable state of ecstasy. In Jesus, God chose to enter into our full human experience: warts and death and all. He didn’t shy away from any of it.

And it is for this reason that we can truly have hope. Because God didn’t circumnavigate death, but turned towards it to show us that however painful it might be for those of us who see life depart from the bodies of those we love, death cannot steal the new life which God gives us in Jesus. Ultimately, God has command over death and he has shown us that it is never the end of the story.

Our challenge now (as we wait to take our place among the Saints) is to find a way to live our lives as fully as possible this side of heaven, and to make our world a place where our siblings in Christ across the globe can live their lives fully too.

When Jesus reached Lazarus’ tomb, we’re told he ordered others to ‘take away the stone’. And when Lazarus comes out, Jesus tells the crowd to ‘unbind him’ from his grave clothes and ‘let him go’.

It may be Jesus doing the raising, but he requires the cooperation us who are witnesses to it, to play our part in making it a lived reality for all humanity.

God calls all of us (whatever age or gender or ethnicity or sexuality or socioeconomic status) to fullness of life but this world rolls heavy, heavy stones in the way of some people experiencing life as fully as they could. And our broken systems continue to bind people in ways that try and deny them the glory of their God-given humanity.

As we conclude Black History month today, those of us who are white, must be especially aware of the part we can play in making sure our Black siblings can flourish too. And, more widely, all of us who have glimpsed the glory of God’s new creation, have a responsibility to take every opportunity to unbind and roll-away all that prevents others from knowing fullness of life.

So, what have you glimpsed that inspires you?

What vision are you holding on to that keeps you going?

Whatever it is, I hazard a guess that you share that vision with a Saint who has preceded you. And, as we join our praises in communion with them in this Eucharist,
let us dare to believe that today we might glimpse the glory of God - and let us pray that we, with Lazarus and all the Saints, might be raised to fullness of life in Christ.

Amen.

“For the glory of God is a living man; but the life of man comes from the vision of God. . . the revelation of the Father which comes through the Word gives life to those who see God.”