Soapbox

Divine Intervention

    We all know the story of Lazarus, how Jesus rolled away the stone and called to him, “Lazarus, come out!” and raised him from the dead.  But suppose  Lazarus had decided not to come out?
    What if he preferred to stay dead?

     Lazarus had no doubt had a life of toil, and probably a painful illness and death. After 4 days of peace and quiet in the tomb, death was probably getting pretty comfortable. Suppose Lazarus had thought about it, and realized that he was going to die again, after all, and Jesus probably wouldn't be there to fix things.
    Hey, it could be even worse the next time! I could be eaten by a lion!
    Thanks JC, but… I’m cool.

     I believe that many of us grow to like being dead, after a while. Oh sure, it isn’t our first choice in life, but given time,  after a few years or decades, we get pretty cozy there.
     We know our way around.
     We’re used to the drama of it all, and the sympathy, and all the people speaking in hushed tones about us because of our, you know, condition.
   And so when someone tries to lift us up, to resurrect our hope and self-confidence- to give us back our lives by helping us to kick a habit, leave an abusive relationship or whatever has us entombed- to make a new start and go in a new direction, we say,
    “Thanks but… I’m gonna pass.  I’m good with being dead, actually.”
     I’ve grown quite comfortable with my addiction, with my anger. The winding shroud of my victimhood fits me pretty well, don’t you think? This may not be the best gig out there, but I know how to do it.
    I’ve figured out how to do “dead”.
    I don’t know how to be healed. I don’t remember  how to be clean or sober, to forgive my tormentors, to love myself, or to look at each new day as an opportunity.

     Sometimes, being dead is easier than being alive. It can be quite frightening to step out of the tomb  that poverty, abuse, disease or rejection has created, with that stone rolled oh-so safely in front of the door, and all our excuses ready-made.

   Sure, we ask for healing, but when we realize what it takes, it scares the crap out of us. Well, “The devil you know” as they say.
     For every story of someone who was lifted up and given a new life by the kindness and love of another, there must be many more who were afraid to answer the call, afraid to come forth and blink their once-dead eyes at the now unfamiliar light of day.
     What if I do it wrong? What if I drag myself out into the sunlight and no one likes the new me? What if I don’t like the new me?

     Sometimes its just safer to stay dead. People can be cruel, and life can be very, very hard to live with courage and grace.
     And you know, we all have a comfort zone, a quiet little cave that we may be loathe to step out of, even though we know we probably should.
     Our friends tell us it’s not a pleasant place to be.
     It’s damp and  full of rocks, and there are big-ass spiders in the corners!
     But if we leave this place, leave our co-dependency, our martyrdom or our self-hatred,  then where are we gonna hide when the rain starts to fall? Because you know, sooner or later, the rain is gonna fall.  It's no wonder we sometimes just put our fingers in our ears and hum very loudly when one of the imperfect but oh so precious little saints that surround us all starts calling,
     “Lazarus, Come out! Come out and live again"

    It's not easy to be someone's savior, but it's no walk in the park to be saved. We are all impressed with the miracle of Jesus calling Lazarus to come forth, but few of us give Lazarus enough credit for the courage it took to be willing to get up and enter this crazy world one more time.