Gospel: John 12:1-8
I think today’s reading from John ended one verse too early, and so in addition to what we just heard I’m going to go a bit further and add verse nine: When the great crowd of the Jews learned that he was there, they came not only because of Jesus but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead.[1] Why am I doing this? It’s because this added verse includes something that draws my attention: the crowd.
Let’s start by looking at the first eight verses and who’s present in the scene. We have Lazarus, a man raised from the dead, hosting a dinner for Jesus, the honored guest who had been the one to call him out of the tomb. We have Lazarus’ two sisters, Mary and Martha, working to make sure the event is a success … with one of them, Mary, going so far as to lovingly anoint the feet of Jesus with an oil so expensive very few could have ever afforded it. Seated around the room were the disciples, with all but one – Judas – silent and unnamed.
As if a house full of guests wasn’t enough, we now learn in verse nine there was a crowd of folks gathered outside, waiting for a glimpse of Jesus and the man who was the beneficiary of perhaps his greatest miracle. This wasn’t simply a small group standing around; we’re told this was a great crowd clamoring for a view. So here we have commotion outside the house and conversation and activity inside.
There are at least 16 people at the dinner and dozens or perhaps even hundreds hanging out in Lazarus’ front yard. With all the invited guests and the many, many others who crashed the event, it was becoming quite a party. Amid this gathering, among the many named and unnamed people at this one place at this one moment, I’m not drawn to one of the major figures. It’s not Jesus, Mary, or even Judas who seize my attention in this reading. For me it’s the crowd, the many not even involved in the events unfolding within the house, that pulls at me.
I always find myself drawn to the anonymous men and women found throughout the Old and New Testaments. For people apparently so unremarkable in their world that they weren’t even named, they were often the ones who witnessed – and many times, were directly involved in – the most remarkable occurrences. The unnamed blind man on the side of the road. The centurion’s daughter. Peter’s mother. People not known by their names, but only by characteristics or relationships. But their names were known to God, and to Jesus, and because of that – in those remarkable moments – their ordinary lives were made extraordinary.
That’s why I’m so fascinated by the group in this reading. They were only after one thing: to look upon the face of the Messiah, to see the presence of God in the world – their world. To us, perhaps, it doesn’t seem they’re asking for much; for those gathered in front of the house, however, they were asking for everything.
What does this say about the many unnamed, unknown people in our world clamoring to see a sign of God in their lives: refugees; prisoners; addicts; the homeless; the abused; the abandoned; the lonely? What are our roles and responsibilities as leaders in the Church and as members of the same family of God to seek and serve these people where they are, offering them love and hope? How should we care for these people when we ourselves are part of the crowd clamoring for hope, strength, and a vision of God in our own lives?
As I often say, the Church doesn’t just exist within the four walls of a building. The world is the Church, and it is into the world we must go. Frankly, we simply cannot avoid going into the world. What does that look like, and what does it look like for us to live the gospel once we get there?
We can’t just open the door of this place and wait for the crowd to come to us. We must instead leave our sanctuary, go to the crowds, and invite them. The sanctuary should be the launching point for each one of the ministries to which we’re called, not just their home.
We shouldn’t simply notice the crowd gathered near us. We should join the crowd; in many instances, we may find we’re already part of it. As much as we may want to give others a voice and invitation and a place of honor in the Church, the crowd may in fact be trying to do the same for us. We shouldn’t simply invite; we must be open to the invitations we may be receiving. We shouldn’t just look for ways to bring others to God; we must be open to the fact that God may be looking for us in the crowd and offering new ways to draw us in.
We can be drawn into new and deep encounters with Christ by not only hearing, but listening to, the stories of others. While many people we’ve seen in the Bible and many more we’ll meet in the world today have no name – or at least not a name known to us – they each have a story. Amid the stresses and busyness of our own lives, we must take time to listen to their stories.
For all those people outside of Lazarus’ house clamoring to see Jesus, I firmly believe that as a people used to being overlooked and ignored, they were desperate to be heard as much as seen. Jesus gave an important voice to those in the kingdom who had been silenced. We can and should do likewise, and our own stories will be richer for the effort.
There are many in the world today being silenced. Perhaps there are some among us who at one time or another have been silenced. Because of those struggles and the difficulty which many of our sisters and brothers have experienced in being seen, heard, and respected, it’s even more important that we be the ones to give others in the world a place to make their voices heard … the space to dream dreams of what the kingdom may look like for them … a chance to share their stories.
It’s a wonderful thing indeed to be invited to a banquet, to join with friends and family around a table and experience love, companionship, and hospitality. But let’s not forget that the banquet might not always be at the table. The true banquet – the true love, companionship, and hospitality we all desire – may in fact be found among the nameless, great crowd gathered just outside.
Amen.
[1] John 1:9 (NRSV).