"A Lot Going On in Wichita"

Pastor Nagle
03/13/2005

“A Lot Going On in Wichita” John 11:1-45 The Fifth Sunday in Lent March 13, 2005
Can you recall the moment when you were informed of someone’s death? Someone entirely too young, entirely too fit, entirely too unlikely. And at that news, did you say something like this: “I can’t believe it. That can’t be so. I just saw him. Are you sure? There’s got to be some mistake. Not him. I’m shocked. I don’t know what to say.” And might you suppose that was the reaction of the pastor of Christ Lutheran Church in Wichita, Kansas, when the police told him that a member of his church, the president of the congregation council, had been arrested as a notorious serial killer? Do you suppose the pastor said, “I can’t believe it. That can’t be so. Not him. Are you sure? There’s got to be some mistake. I just saw him. I’m shocked. I don’t know what to say.” But not knowing what to say is part of the grieving process. Was part of the grieving process in this morning’s gospel reading.
The Bible tells us that a certain man who lived in Bethany, just outside Jerusalem, was ill. Apparently was so ill, that he died. You can imagine the sadness of his sisters, Mary and Martha. Maybe they weren’t shocked or dumbfounded. But they surely were at loose ends, trying to decide what to do next, what had to happen next. This was their brother who died. Was he also their financial support? Surely their emotional support. But things happen quickly when there’s been a death; they have to. People need to be notified, the story has to be told, the body has to be prepared, folks stop by the house, everyone expresses their condolences, and share their shock and regret. But then, according to tradition, within 24 hours, Lazarus’ body was laid to rest in a cave, a tomb, with a protective stone guarding the entrance. He was gone, though not forgotten. And the story could have ended there.
But then Jesus showed up. Four days after Lazarus’ death, Jesus showed up. After some of the grieving was finished, after the entombment was accomplished, Jesus showed up. Showed up late, said Mary and Martha accusingly. Too late to be helpful to the sisters, and way too late to do anything for Lazarus. Whom he had often claimed as his loving friend. And the story could have ended there too. But something amazing happened. Jesus stood outside Lazarus’ tomb and called out his name, and said to the dead man, “Lazarus, come out!” And he did come out. Much to the shock of the sisters, much to the horror of the crowd, much to the amazement of the disciples, much to the delight of Lazarus, Jesus turned everything around and brought the dead back to life.
And here’s a question: if Jesus could and did turn everything around and bring Lazarus of Bethany back to life, do you think Jesus can and will turn everything around and bring life to Dennis Rader, that pillar of the Lutheran Church in Wichita who is charged as a brutal serial killer?
Oh, maybe you didn’t see that question coming. Maybe I caught you by surprise—but then Jesus caught Mary and Martha by surprise too. What was dead was made alive. Who in her right mind would ever have expected something like that to happen? Though the question in Wichita is, who would want something like that to happen? Am I stretching too far to inquire what Jesus would do with Dennis Rader? Or have you already worked it out in your own mind? Probably worked it out in your own mind, after considering that Dennis Rader killed someone, killed many people, tortured and killed people, bound and tortured and killed people seemingly without remorse. People like Dennis Rader disgust us, don’t they, even if they do go to the same church we do. How could we ever expect Jesus to have anything to do with someone so disgusting, so dirty, so rotten, so smelly. But then, if you remember the gospel story, after four days, Lazarus was that disgusting, dirty, rotten and smelly too. And was that the point? Along with Mary and Martha, Bible students have wondered forever—why did Jesus wait so long to go to Lazarus? One answer is that by waiting so long, so terribly terribly long, Jesus’ gift of new life was more than anyone would ever expect. And to show that there was no sleight of hand trick to Jesus’ miracle. And to say that nothing ever disgusts Jesus.
Though it’s true that lots of things disgust us. Serial killers, for instance. And maybe preachers who try to convince people that God cares about serial killers. While it’s true that Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, why should we ever believe that Jesus would hold out a gift of newness to Dennis Rader? After all, Dennis Rader didn’t ask for God’s love to be shown through Jesus. But then, neither did Lazarus ask for God’s love to be shown through Jesus. Lazarus was dead. And presumably, Dennis Rader is guilty.
So what do you think? For awhile, pretend that you’re not a member of Christ the King Lutheran Church in Cary, but that you’re a member of Christ Lutheran Church in Wichita. What do you think? Do you think we should fire Dennis as the president of our congregation? Do you think we should kick Dennis out of the church? Do you base your answer on the constitution or on common sense or on emotionalism or on scripture? Do you make your decision on the way I read scripture or the way lots of other people read scripture? For there is a difference, you see. There is and always has been a difference in how we read scripture. There is and always has been a difference in how we regard grace.
Oh, I recognize that some of this discussion could be highly intellectual. But that’s why I asked you to imagine that you’re part of Christ Lutheran in Wichita. All of a sudden, sin and death and grace and forgiveness and heaven and hell are no longer Sunday terms. They’re every-day reality. So much so that the question will not go away. How shall we deal with Dennis Rader? How would God want us to deal with Dennis Rader? Should we pray for him or about him? And someone rightly says, Before we pray for or about Dennis Rader, can we spend at least a few moments in prayer for his victims and for their families, for the church in Wichita and for Dennis Rader’s own family? Why should we pray for him if we don’t pray for them? And I agree—but are we limited in prayer? Can we not pray for both, for all?
We could pray for Dennis Rader, I guess, but we might not want to pray for Dennis Rader because instead we want to scream—if the charges hold, we have to say that he was a sinner. A really really bad sinner. A sick and savage sinner. And likely, that’s so. But from our childhood, what have we learned in church? What do we sing in our hymns and read in our Bibles? Didn’t Jesus die for sinners? Yes—but (we protest) surely he didn’t die for that kind of sinner! But what does that mean—that we believe Jesus died only for the nice sinners? The little sinners? The clean and undisgusting sinners? It sounds as if what we say we believe and what we really believe are two different things. But that was the case for Martha too, when she said, Lord, I believe you can raise my brother from the dead. But Lord, I wish you wouldn’t roll away the stone because it’s already been four long hot days. For her and for us, on the one hand, there’s belief. On the other hand, there’s practicality. On the one hand, there’s the church. On the other hand, there’s the world. On the one hand, we know God can. On the other hand, we don’t think God should.
So, Martha—do you or do you not believe? Do you and I believe or do we not believe? Two weeks before Good Friday, do we or do we not understand the cross? Isn’t grace defined as God’s steadfast unchangeable love? And does it come only when we ask for it? Or does it come best when God sees what we need most. It’s a basic question—who needs God’s grace, and who needs it more, you or Dennis Rader? And this question too—when does Dennis Rader need the church more, last month or right now?
Today’s gospel reading said that, standing by the tomb, Jesus began to weep. Why did he cry? Surely because he was sad. But sad about what? Sad that someone died, or sad that someone didn’t understand? Sad about Lazarus, or sad about Mary and Martha and their uncertainty about belief and trust and hope? Or was he sad about the future? Does Jesus still cry? I’ll bet he does, and is it so because he’s disappointed at the way we’ve lived, or because he sees us so close to death, or because he didn’t want it to come to this, or because we haven’t figured it all out yet? Maybe because we haven’t figured it out yet, though this morning we have read all about it. And this is what we read: that Jesus comes to the smelliest most disgusting dead parts of life and says, We’re going to start all over again. Is that how you read the story? And if it is how you read the story, if you believe that Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead and gave him new and renewed life, is there any chance Jesus will bring new and renewed life to Dennis Rader, and to his family and to his victims and their families, and to his church? And if all that comes to them, do you suppose it might, just might, come to you and me too?
Today’s second lesson said this: “If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you.”
And isn’t that what Easter is all about? That he brings us life? That when we are faced with death, any kind of death, Jesus helps us deal with it, even get us out of it? In this world, we cannot escape death (or anything else awful). But how we handle nasty things, how we deal with smelly things, how we feel about disgusting things is an indication of how we regard Jesus. We know that he stands with us during normal death, holy and peaceful death, expected and contented death. But if the death is something sad and shocking and inexplicable, something vile and contemptible, do we still think he’s with us?
No, we don’t believe that at all. The thought of violence—sickening, depraved, unremorseful, continual violence—is just too much for us to handle. And it’s hard for us to imagine that Jesus would want to handle that either. It’s simply part of our nature that we love justice, and that we feel more for those who are hurt, than for those who do the hurting. The concept of grace or any free and undeserved gift is simply too difficult to comprehend, and we don’t apologize for wanting Dennis Rader to rot in hell. We’re simply too human to see it any other way. And we have to hope that God will excuse us, forgive us, for that. And he will. Grace given is grace given, not grace earned. Nor is grace apportioned to the size of the sin. But let’s be aware that Jesus’ weeping isn’t an isolated thing. Jesus wept for Lazarus, and for his sisters; we can agree on that. I say that Jesus weeps for Dennis Rader, and for all his victims; we may sort of agree on that. But more than that, I’m convinced that Jesus weeps for you and me too.
There’s a lot going on in Wichita these days. In the city, in the church, in homes and hearts, there’s a lot going on in Wichita. A lot of dealing with grief. With the loss of life and the loss of innocence and the loss of hope. A lot of people asking, Are you sure it’s so? I just can’t believe it. At the time of death, it is our initial human response. It’s what we say. But in the days still ahead, standing by every tomb at every death every day, may we be also led to say, Lord, call us all out and raise us all up and increase our faith, through your most gracious gift.