About two weeks ago, I started looking ahead to see what Gospel lesson I would be preaching on for Sunday, April 10^th.  As an intern, I preach about once a month and I wanted to start thinking about how the text might impact me.  My first reaction upon reading it was, you gotta be kidding me?  I have to preach on a text that is talking about death.  It’s the story of Lazarus, whose sisters get upset with Jesus for not coming sooner to save him.  And he dies before Jesus gets there.  Of all the things that I want to talk about, right now, in my life, death is the topic that I want to put off as long as possible.

I’ve been thinking about the topic of death a lot more than usual lately.  Not from a pastoral care role.  Not from presiding over funerals.  But very personally.  Two weeks ago, we put my son Oliver, on hospice.  The questions of mortality are never easy, but when it’s your own child—confronting this reality and being able to talk about it is not easy.

Oliver is disabled and has a myriad of medical mysteries which include missing part of his brain, blindness, requiring a g-tube for eating, a trach for assistance in breathing, and now a IV Port for medication since his stomach is not functioning properly.  Oliver will turn 3 on May 1^st, we pray.  Life has not been easy for our little guy and he was in tremendous pain after spending a week in the hospital in March.

We brought him home and are trying to keep him as comfortable as possible.  There are a lot of ups and downs, but at least he’s home with us and our daughters.

And I think about what happens in the encounter between Martha and Jesus.

“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”  This is the plea of a grieving sister—although she doesn’t outright say it, in her statement, it is implied that she wants to know “Why Jesus, why didn’t you do something?  What took you so long?  You’ve healed others, why didn’t you come here and save Lazarus, the one you love?”

My 4 ½ year old daughter Adina tries to bargain in much the same way, when we explain to her that her brother may pass away, she says “If only we could get Oliver to the hospital, he won’t die.”

A few weeks ago in the Sunday comics, there was a clip by Scott Stantis in “Prickly City” in which the character is standing on a tall pillar, close to heaven.  He looks up to God and says “Just one question… why?”  Then, he looks around and when he doesn’t get an immediate answer, responds “Take your time.”

Like this character and like Martha, I have found myself asking “Why?”  Why does my son suffer, why does he have to go through this—he’s so young.  I found myself begging, pleading for mercy as I prayed.

Well, the answer to why isn’t always what we want to hear.  The answer doesn’t always come.  The answer often is shrouded with more uncertainty.

As I write this for State of Formation, I think about Oliver’s struggles from an interfaith perspective.  Each of us has our own way to cope, our own way to process mortality and death.  I think about how my Facebook page gets flooded with prayers, but thoughts as well.  For me, my faith is what is helping lift me up.  I am clinging to the promise embedded in what Jesus says.  “I am the resurrection and the life.”

In the last few weeks, the thing that has stuck with me is the fact that, no matter what, Oliver will live forever with Christ.  A few people have said, “How else do you get through this without faith?”  It’s that faith that makes you strong when you don’t know, when you don’t see, when you have doubt.

As I reflected on faith in my sermon, I observed that because of our Christian faith, because we believe in Christ, we are given a promise of eternal life.  But that doesn’t mean it makes our suffering, our brokenness, our pain any easier to bear.  It still hurts when we are bullied, when we see people persecuted, when we can’t get along with a parent or a child—just because we’re Christian doesn’t make us immune to the realities of life.  It doesn’t mean that we, like Martha, can’t ask God “why?”

Believe me, faith hasn’t been easy for me to grasp my whole life.  Faith—I don’t feel like I ever fully get it.  I understand the reasoning of those in the interfaith conversation who are atheists.  But as I can attest, even those without faith in God are part of the relationships here on earth that bring comfort and hope.  Hurt, pain, and suffering are shared feelings.

What is at stake are those relationships, here on earth.  What appeals to me most in an interfaith movement is that we can each strive to strengthen our families, nurture our neighbors, help those we know that are suffering and provide to those we don’t know through our mission and community support. We can be there for each other even if we don’t believe the same way.

It’s with this spirit in mind, that I can honestly reflect on how much this love has been outpouring from my congregation, from Luther Seminary, from this community and from people across the country and world that have heard about Oliver and want me to know they’re thinking of him.  I can’t begin to express my gratitude and appreciation for all of the prayers, the meals, the cookies, the Facebook posts, the questions of concern for Oliver.  Oliver thanks you.  This is part of my faith walk.  Oliver is teaching me so much.

I don’t know what will happen to Oliver.  He has had some good days, he may recover and his life here on earth could be much longer than we can imagine.

God answers in God’s time.  God doesn’t always give us the answer we want, but my faith tells me that God is with us, God puts us in relationship—those relationships have been so supportive and uplifting to me now and will be in the future.