Feasts of All Saints & All Souls (John 11:32-44)

​The miracle of Jesus bringing Lazarus back to life foreshadows the mystery of the resurrection. Its focus is not Jesus’ ability to revive the dead though it’s the main storyline. The story as a whole rather serves to manifest Jesus’ role as a medium to connect the dead with the living. Imagine Jesus standing in between birth and death or in the very center of the life of which death is a part. For this reason, the story of Lazarus would be the most appropriate passage to celebrate the feast of All Saints by which we’re reminded of our communion with saints and those who died. Jesus’ dramatic sayings in particular seem to highlight his function of linking the dead and the living: “Lazarus, come out! Unbind him, and let him go.” 

These sayings of Jesus to the dead Lazarus may be used as a mantra for contemplation: Come out, unbind yourself, and let yourself go. What stands out the most out of these words for me is to unbind. Lazarus’s entire body is wrapped with strips of cloth to delay decomposition and protect the corpse from insects. Shrouds symbolize death, and Lazarus is bound with death. Let’s remind ourselves that this symbol of shrouds as death is contrasted with the image of the empty tomb of Jesus where “the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself.” (John 20: 6-7) 

In the case of Lazarus, death binds him whereas in Jesus’s case, death is set aside, newly interpreted as that which is no longer a barrier between the living and the dead. Jesus’ command of unbinding Lazarus from the strips of cloth captures a sense of liberation from our preconceived notion of death that it can set us apart from the dead. To unbind Lazarus is to unbind us from fear of death we have for others and ourselves as if it’s the last verdict. The resurrection unbinds us from whatever might seem like an end of all. 

As we celebrate two feasts of All Saints and All Souls, I would like us to ponder on the following poems. Stardust by Lang Leav beautifully expresses our hope and desire for our loved ones who have gone before us and are now nearer to God’s presence. Because of love, we would still know even if they come to us with faces we have not seen, with names we have never heard, even if centuries separate us.

Stardust by Lang Leav

If you came to me
with a face
I have not seen,
with a name
I have never heard,
I would still know you.
Even if centuries separated us,
I would still feel you.
Somewhere
between the sand and the stardust,
through every collapse and creation,
there is a pulse
that echoes of you and I.

When we leave this world,
we give up all our possessions
and our memories.
Love is the only thing
we take with us.
It is all we carry
from one life to the next.

Our call to unbind ourselves from the sting of death with the help of the Holy Spirit then calls us to live out our lives as the resurrected ones whose bodies are wrapped in baptism and fed and communed with all saints and all the faithful departed through Christ’s body and blood. The line from Julio Noboa Polaco’s poem, “Identity” so powerfully depicts this breaking the bondage of death: “To have broken through the surface of stone…” 

Identity by Julio Noboa Polanco

Let them be as flowers,
always watered, fed, guarded, admired, 
but harnessed to a pot of dirt.

I'd rather be a tall, ugly weed,
clinging on cliffs, like an eagle 
wind-wavering above high, jagged rocks.

To have broken through the surface of stone,
to live, to feel exposed to the madness
of the vast, eternal sky.
To be swayed by the breezes of an ancient sea, 
carrying my soul, my seed,
beyond the mountains of time or into the abyss of the bizarre.

I'd rather be unseen, and if
then shunned by everyone,
than to be a pleasant-smelling flower, 
growing in clusters in the fertile valley, 
where they're praised, handled, and plucked 
by greedy, human hands.

I'd rather smell of musty, green stench 
than of sweet, fragrant lilac.
If I could stand alone, strong and free, 
I'd rather be a tall, ugly weed.

To live a resurrected life is very much like becoming a “tall, ugly weed” that is not harnessed to a pot of dirt but clinging on cliffs where our neighbors struggle. Like a tall, ugly weed we are to have broken through the surface of the stone as the stone of the empty tomb rolled away, to be swayed by the breezes of an ancient sea as we’re moved by the wind of the Holy Spirit. We might smell like a musty, green stench but can stand alone but together in Christ, strong and free. Amen.