The Mud of Lent
“The hand of the Lord came upon me, and he brought me out of by the spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones.” It was full of bones – dead bodies everywhere, gray, dark, and mud, so much mud. Gunfire, explosions, gray, dark, and mud, so much mud. It really was a valley of bones, but these bones still had flesh on them, sinews, and blood…so much blood…and these bones –many of them moving gasping for one last breath of air before collapsing. It was a gruesome, horrific battle scene from the Oscar winning movie, “All Quiet on the Western Front.”
The movie brings to the scene the worst of World War I – the western front of 400 square miles of French and Belgium land stretching from the North Sea to Switzerland. At that front each side over four years never advanced more than a couple of hundred meters – back and forth – gaining and losing a couple of hundred meters over four years but killing over three million people.
In this scene on that front is Felix who is German and who is barely a child. As teenagers he and his buddies with boyish enthusiasm and excitement couldn’t wait to fight the enemy – the French. It was 1914 – the beginning of World War I, and by now Felix, in this scene, still a teenager but already war-worn having fought many horrible battles already and survived. Now he was caught in the middle of another battle cut off from his comrades, alone in a pit when he sees an enemy soldier at the edge of the pit aiming a gun right at him. Suddenly the enemy soldier is hit by a bomb and his body flies over near Felix, and what does Felix do? He pulls out his knife and stabs him repeatedly, over and over again, but the enemy soldier just won’t die, and he is groaning and moaning, and Alex yells repeatedly, “Shut-up!” And he stuffs dirt in his mouth to keep him quiet, and finally he gets off him and with complete exhaustion lies next to his enemy in the pit. Both are breathing heavily. The gravely wounded soldier making gruesome noises.
Suddenly Felix sits up and something comes over him. His mouth is wide open. His eyes are wide open. It’s as if he is asking, “Can these bones live? O Lord God, you know…and the Lord says to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you.” And Felix makes a complete about-face. He cleans out the soldiers mouth. He gets water from a puddle and drips it into his mouth. He takes a bandage, opens the soldier’s jacket and presses onto his wounds to stop bleeding. He cleans his face and calls him, “Comrade, comrade!” Desperately he is trying to save this man’s life – his mortal enemy – moments after repeatedly stabbing him.
And as he does his comrade dies. Life goes out of him, and Felix overcome with emotion pleads, “So sorry, so sorry, so sorry.” He then searches in the man’s coat and finds his wallet out of which he finds a picture of what looks like his wife and daughter. “Oh, no. Oh, no” he pleads. And then he cries, “I promise your wife. I promise your wife.” And he stuffs the picture in his own pocket determined to find and give it to his wife. Felix then lays his chest on his comrade, once his enemy and wraps him arm around his neck, and in the bottom of that mud pit he holds him for what seemed like an eternity.
Something happened to Felix in that valley of dry bones – that muddy pit in that horrific battle scene. From Psalm 130, “Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord.” Something, someone opened Felix’s eyes, his heart, his soul to see, to feel, to know his enemy as himself, his enemy as his brother, his enemy as no different from him. It’s as if Jesus shouted his command not to Lazarus, but to Felix, “Felix, come out!” Come out of that tomb of darkness and death and destruction. Come out of that tomb filled with guilt and hate and revenge and violence. Felix come out! And in that valley of dry bones, that muddy pit, Felix, once dead with rage came out, his hands no longer holding a knife and his face caked with gray mud, and Jesus said, “unbind him, and let him go.” Unbind him and let him go, but it was too late for his once mortal enemy, now comrade, but perhaps not too late for Felix.
Is this kind of transformation possible? That one minute Felix his stabbing his enemy to death and the next moment he desperately tries to save his life? From enemy to friend. From violence to healing. From war to peace. From one child of God to another…and another…and another until there are no enemies. Is that kind of change possible? Is such a renewal possible – from death to life?
Martha and Mary certainly doubt whether this kind of complete healing is possible. Word gets to Jesus that her brother, Lazarus is gravely ill, and even though we read that Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, Jesus takes his time getting to Lazarus. He stays where he is for two days until he finally makes a move. He arrives only to discover that Lazarus has been in a tomb for four days. With indignation, Martha who meets Jesus first, doesn’t hold back, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
And then Mary has her turn with Jesus. She kneels at his feet and with conviction and resignation declares to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” And something seems to overcome Jesus just as it did for Felix on that battlefield. “When Jesus say Mary weeping, and the Judeans who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, ‘Where have you laid him?’ They said to him, ‘Lord, come and see.’ And Jesus began to weep.” It’s as if Jesus sat up as Felix did on that battlefield, opened his eyes and his heart and saw Lazarus has his brother – and not dead, but alive. Jesus begins to weep and in those tears of grief something changes, something happens. Is this kind of transformation possible?
Like Mary and Martha, Amanda certainly has doubts about such a radical transformation. Amanda is the woman in last week’s video story at our Lent Soup Supper church service about homelessness. Amanda is a young woman living under a bridge and in her interview she pleads with anyone who will listen for transformation, for change. “We need to end homelessness. It needs to be fixed. We need to get up, show up and try. That’s all we can do. Blame is pointless. Blame will get us nowhere. If we continue to just talk about it that’s all there will be is talk.” And then in tears, she reminds whomever is listening, that people are dying out there every day. Is transformation possible? Is change possible? Is eliminating homelessness possible? Why not?
After yet another school shooting last week – the second one in a week in Denver – a high school student who led gun violence protests before the latest shooting talked in an interview about how she had done all the right things: organized other students; contacted state legislators; led protests; spoke at rallies. “I don’t know what else to do about gun violence.” Is transformation possible? Is change possible? Is eliminating gun violence possible? Why not?
These are huge questions, and there is every reason to be skeptical, to doubt, to question. As we wander through this season of Lent, this season of doubt and guilt and darkness and confession, this season with getting in touch with our humanity – good and bad, it’s OK to get caught in the mud. It’s OK to get stuck in the valley of dry bones. In our very long gospel text it’s easy to miss some keys words from Jesus sandwiched in between the skepticism of Martha and Mary. Jesus declares in verse 25 – for the first time – “I am the resurrection and the life!”
But…is that even possible? Is that kind of transformation, that kind of renewal, that kind of change, is that kind of miracle from death to new life even possible? And what comes to mind? That muddy pit of hell. That valley of dry bones where Felix lies with his comrade – once his mortal enemy – his head on his chest, his arm around his neck – laying there in the mud –brothers, children of God. Is it possible to end war? Yes!
“Jesus cried out with a loud voice, ‘Lazarus, come out!’ The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, ‘Unbind him, and let him go.’”
Dear God, precious Jesus, unbind us and let us go. Amen.