“Come and see”

We remember Jesus saying these words in the beginning of John’s gospel. Two of the disciples of John the Baptist had asked Jesus “Where do you live?”, because they wanted to get to know him. Jesus answered “come and see”, thus giving them an opportunity to experience his life. It was an invitation to enter into a new, fuller kind of life which he alone could give. Now, towards the end of John’s gospel, we have the same phrase, this time uttered by the sisters of the dead Lazarus. Rather than an invitation to experience life, Lazarus’ sisters are inviting Jesus to visit a cold tomb, the place of the dead. Little did they know what was in store for them!

Visiting the tomb of a loved one is never easy, especially if the person’s death was very recent. Lazarus had only been dead four days. The sisters were grieving. They expressed anger. Why did Jesus take so long to come to them? Why did he waste two whole days when the news came to him that Lazarus was gravely ill? Jesus feels their pain. And Jesus cries. Contrary to what some think, Jesus did not cry because Lazarus had died. The story clearly tells us that he knew that he was going to raise him up. Jesus’ tears are tears of compassion. He feels and shares the pain of Mary and Martha, and he accompanies them to where the tomb was, feeling “greatly disturbed” the gospel tells us, along the way. The two disciples of the first story accepted Jesus’ invitation to go and see, to share with and experience his life, and they are changed by that experience which opens for them true life. Now, Jesus accepts the sisters’ invitation to go and see, to share with them that moment of pain. Lazarus had been dead four days, and as Martha rightly tells Jesus, there is already a stench. Had Jesus arrived earlier, there could have been some hope for a cure, a miracle. But now there is definitely no hope. Jesus accompanies Mary and Martha in their suffering, in their hopelessness, in their pain.

From then on we know what happened. Jesus orders Lazarus to come out, and tells the people to unbind him, to set him free.

As we continue with our journey towards the celebration of Easter, we realize that in our lives we often share Mary’s and Martha’s experience. We find ourselves in situations where hope seems to be lost, when we feel the need to express anger at the Lord: Where have you been when I needed you? What took you so long? During this time of pandemic I’ve heard it said, “Where is God in all this?” In our sorrowful, desperate prayer Jesus enters. Like he did with the two sisters, he journeys with us. He is not indifferent. He shares with us the pain, the sorrow, the struggle, the fears and the tears. But not to stay there. Once more, he invites us to come out of our misery, giving us power to be set free, free from our fears, from our guilts, from our past, to experience new life.

Never has such a message been as appropriate for us as it is this year. Covid-19 invites us to lose hope, to see only darkness, to think there is no way out. Many of us might be suffering due to loss of a job, due to fear (or, rather, terror!) at the first sign of a cough or sore throat, or due to the death of a loved one. The celebration of Easter which we are soon to celebrate invites us to remember that yes, all this is real. Jesus did experience death. But he proved to be more powerful than that.

​With him, life is possible again.

This is not a normal weekend.

Suddenly, though maybe not entirely unexpectedly, we have been instructed not to gather to celebrate the Lord’s Supper on His Day. Far too often we have taken it for granted, without thinking too much about it. Maybe, sometimes we have even looked at it as a burden. Now, thanks to a minute, unseen virus, we are being robbed of it. Will it be a case where absence will make the heart grow fonder? Maybe. Surely this should be a moment of great reflection for all of us. Do I thirst for what truly nourishes me?

Thirst is the underlying theme of today’s gospel. Through dialogue, with love, and with great patience, Jesus helps the woman at the well to shift her focus from the natural water taken from that well to the supernatural one which only the Master could give her. It wasn’t an easy shift. At first it is obvious that she was not understanding him. They were at two different levels. There was even a time during their conversation when she was almost making fun of him. Eventually, we believe that somehow she started to understand. Maybe it was still a beginning. “He cannot be the Messiah, can he?”, she asked her friends. But she was definitely embarking on a journey which could only lead her to beautiful places.

Every time we celebrate Eucharist, may we truly understand what - or, rather, who - we are celebrating. May we always thirst for that which truly nourishes us, which truly quenches our thirst.

​And may the Lenten journey lead us to a rediscovery of the person of the risen Jesus, the only one who can fulfil our deepest desires. 

“It is good for us to be here”. This was Peter’s spontaneous response on Mount Tabor as he witnessed the transfiguration of Jesus. Peter, the most spontaneous of them all. Peter, the one who always spoke what came out of his heart, before processing it through his mind. It is good, it is beautiful, it is wonderful. He could not help express his desire to keep enjoying the experience, as Jesus reveals Himself for who He really is.

This is faith. This is faith, at least, as it is supposed to be. How often have we thought that faith is a matter of do’s and don’ts? How often have we been made to believe that faith is a burden, rather than joy? In Jesus’ presence, Peter discovers that it is good, faith is beautiful.

A very short time before this experience, Jesus had told his friends that he was going to suffer passion, death, and then experience resurrection. Surely the disciples could not understand the meaning of all that. And yet, the little they could have understood – the passion and death bit; resurrection was something unheard of for them – they found very hard to accept. Moe than anyone else, Peter strongly protested against such horrendous possibility, for which he earned the title os “Satan” by Jesus!

Moreover, we can also say that, through this experience, Jesus wanted to equip Peter, James and John for the passion-experience which was soon to come. In his foretelling, Jesus could not speak of death without making reference to the resurrection. And his oncoming death would not have made any sense without the resurrection. It is one whole event, and in the moment of darkness the disciple of Christ has to remember that there is always light and life waiting. And yet, talk of resurrection does not in any way deny the reality of suffering.

There are always moments of darkness to be lived in our lives, moments that challenge our faith which is very often taken for granted. As I write these reflections, I share the pain of many people who, in different ways, are going through darkness and suffering. I constantly witness stories of people who are going through darkness in their own lives: violence, failed marriages, death in the family, unexpected illnesses, etc. It is very easy to get disheartened in moments like this. It is very normal to start asking questions and, where faith had previously seemed so solid, now might feel all very shaky.

The story of the resurrection which we are about to celebrate at the end of this Lenten season, as does today’s story of Jesus’ transfiguration, helps us keep things in perspective. Moses and Elijah speaking with Jesus about his “exodus” which was about to happen on another hill in Jerusalem, emphasize the fact that he really had to suffer the consequences of evil. But these stories tell us that evil does not have the last word. The voice of evil is never the loudest voice.

As we journey through our own desert during this lent, let us really listen to that voice saying: “This is my Son ... listen to him!” And as we listen we start experiencing what Peter did in that short moment: it is good to be here. Let us really enjoy the beauty of his presence, of his word.

​Because without beauty, our soul dies.