I, Lazarus, am dead; but Christ calls me to life. It seems like it should be an easy choice; who wouldn't choose life over death? Well, I've known a couple who didn't; but for the rest of us, it seems clear; yes, of course, I choose life; sign me up. But that life that Christ calls us to is big and powerful and engaged and, frankly, scary; and I don't know about you, but sometimes it's a bit too much and I turn away from it. But turning away from life is turning towards death, and if we are not growing we are dying; and that is why I am standing here in front of you to tell you that I, Lazarus, am dead and in the tomb.

My tomb is routine, that makes every day a copy of the last day.

My tomb is safety, that teaches me never to take a risk so that I will never be hurt.

My tomb is vanity, that makes me hold people at a distance so they do not see my imperfections.

My tomb is conformity, that makes me talk and act as my neighbor talks and acts.

My tomb, in short, is fear; fear that makes draw a line around my feet and say, Look, here is the border of my life; here I have built the walls, here I have sealed the door; Master, I, Lazarus am dead, and out of my tomb I will not go.

The tomb can be a comfortable place. But in the 22nd chapter of Matthew, Christ, debating with the Sadducees, reminds us that God is the God of the living, and not the dead. God is not in the tomb. God will come into the tomb, if I need it, if I ask it, if I pray for it; God will enter the tomb with me — but only to break it open. God will not stay in the tomb; God will not live in it. If I choose to stay within my tomb, within the borders that I have carefully built to cage in my life, then God will not stay with me. God is the God of the living, and only when I am choosing life can I be choosing God. God could not be held in the tomb on Easter, and God will not be held in the tomb I have built for myself.

I, Lazarus, am dead; but Christ calls me to a life that cannot be held in a box.

We like to make our lives so small. We say, "Oh, I can't do this; what will the neighbors think. I can't do that; I'm not good enough. I can't take that chance; I might look stupid." We are strong people, you and I. We have gifts, we have powers, we are mighty. If we try hard enough, and we mostly do, we can put all that strength in a cage; keep it locked up, for fear that we might actually touch someone else's life, for fear that we might accidentally change the world.

But that strength is our life, and if we chain it, if we cram it into a box, then we are choosing to make our lives less than they could be; turning away from life; choosing death; choosing the tomb.

Jesus had the choice; he could have been a carpenter's son in Nazareth until the day he died. God told him that life was too little to hold him, and Jesus answered the call and the world has never been the same. If we answer Christ's call to life, then we have to accept that we will be powerful. Christ did not break the back of death so that we could live small lives.

I, Lazarus, am dead; but Christ calls me to a life in the world.

The spiritual journey can go in two directions: you can be still, and go into the quiet places of your soul and search for God in the solitude of your own heart; or you can go walkabout into the world, into the clamor and the press, and look for God there. There is much to be said for both paths; but if we take Jesus' life as a model, then Jesus went into the desert for forty days, and then came out to heal and preach among the people. We have to follow both paths from time to time, the inward and the outward; but we cannot sacrifice engagement with the world for the sake of a life in the cloister. Christ calls us to be present in the world; to hold and be held, the heal and be healed, to use our strength and our presence to make a difference in the world. As Christ told the Pharisees, there's no reason to be afraid of getting your hands dirty.

I, Lazarus, am dead; but Christ calls me to a life that crosses borders.

Jesus had little patience with boundaries. He sat at table with extortionists and thieves as well as with the rich and the landowners. He preached to Jews and to Gentiles. He spoke to women with equality. He touched the lepers. He violated the cumbersome web of restrictions that the Law of Moses had become in his time. He defied the expectations of social rank and roles; he said to the rich, "Be poor;" he said to the poor, "Be leaders of people." He said to the prostitute, "Walk tall with dignity;" he said to the priest, "Walk low with humility."

The life that Christ calls us to is a life that makes nothing of borders, of boundaries, of walls and divisions. Whether we are rich or poor, male or female, black or white, privileged or oppressed, Christ calls us to reach across the borders separating us and find the human being on the other side. And for those of us who are rich and privileged — and who built a lot of those borders in the first place — Christ calls us to tear them down. Not only are those borders unjust, not only do they increase suffering, but they make all our lives, on both sides, smaller than they could be. And that smallness, that cutting off of possibility, that diminishment of life, is death; it is the tomb.

Jesus says to us, "If you believe in me, if you trust in me, if you have faith in me... roll away the stone. Come out of the tomb. Choose life."

We, Lazarus, are dead; but Christ calls us to life. What will our answer be?