Planting Hope

This week we planted a seedling in our backyard. Yes, the Weetjellan or Acacia Implexa that I mention in a recent post: the harbinger of Burran, the season we are still in here on Wangal Country, Australia. It seems small, frail, surrounded by suburban grass, and a tall timber fence. I have no idea what the timber fence is made from, but I’m guessing it isn’t made from the Ironbark trees that this little Acacia’s ancestors would have been surrounded by here in these parts. No matter, we do what we can: we plant what we have, we dig, we water, we trust. And, we try and do what makes sense in the land where we live, with the people and community we live among. 

It makes me wonder: what are the new things we should plant in our communities, in our congregations (if we have and practice faith in this way), in our businesses, or even in our relationships? What are the things that will grow? That will feed us, provide shade, or just simply nourish the other people, places and creatures in our lives? Can we stop, reflect, question, imagine and then be intentional as we try to recreate a better way of living in this mad, rushed world?

The gospel reading for this coming Sunday from John 11 reminds me, challenges me even, that even the parts of our lives that seem “dead and buried” can be touched by the ‘Glory of God’, and can be raised again to life. Relationships that feel like they are dying, or have suffered a death, can be restored. In this story of the raising of Lazarus, four days in the tomb, God’s ‘glory’ heals, enlivens. Last week in John’s Gospel we read of a blind beggar being given sight and empowered to use his voice to speak truth, not just beg. We learnt that the human life - body, mind and soul - is made to receive the Creator’s blessing: to be the place where ‘God’s glory’ is manifest. For those of us who inhabit the Christian tradition we have faith that this is somehow the case because Jesus is the manifestation of this in our human story, and - as a beautiful result - his presence, the presence of the Creator Spirit - brings that power of love and grace out in others’ lives. The raising of Lazarus tells us that even when we think all is lost, and at the very point we have no control, the Creator’s glory can touch our lives. This, of course, is a precursor to the story of the Cross and Resurrection; of Jesus’ life as the life and hope of the world. For those of us who are reading along, the revelation of the true depths of that reality is intensifying week by week in these Lenten readings. If even the dead body of Lazarus can be touched by the Creator’s glory, well, then every atom, every soul, every person, every plant or creature can be part of that hope. 

And on another, but not, I think, unrelated note at all, the depth of community displayed in this story is also extraordinary. The pain of loss among family and friends, the love of Jesus for his mate, is named, palpable. The presence of the sisters and their tears brings out of Jesus his own tears and grief. While the Disciples are largely at the centre of the Gospels we must not forget that this family is also central. Jesus was somehow connected to Mary, Martha and Lazarus in a way of intimacy and community that was also key to who he was as a person, to his own humanity. Yes, he was the great teacher, the prophet, the nomad on mission for his Father’s kingdom, but he was also the friend, the ‘brother’ to those he loved and who loved him. Christian community can take inspiration from this depth of love and unity. In fact, I think all efforts at community-making could take inspiration. Even as we weep together we are making community. Even as our tears fall, the seedlings of hope are watered anew. Life emerges from the ground, the tomb is the womb, life eternal rises to a new day.