Fifth Sunday of Lent: John 11:1-45
Following the old maxim “Better late than never”, here is a reflection for today’s readings. It was delayed because of an ‘episode’ I had over the last couple of days. I agreed to do two funerals this week, which I knew was a dangerous thing for me, with Holy Week approaching and my “people energy” already low. Yesterday, after the second funeral, I had what people on the autism spectrum know as a meltdown.
For some, a meltdown is a very obvious experience. They will lose all control, rant, throw things, even hurt themselves or others (unintentionally). For me, a meltdown is all internal. Very little of it reaches the surface. In fact, only a small portion of my emotional world reaches the surface, especially when I am with other people. Here is a reliable rule: if you detect the slightest hint of an emotional reaction in me, or if I ever say something like “I’m tired” or “I feel stressed”, you can always safely move the decimal point at least two places to the right in order to obtain the strength of the emotions I am actually experiencing at the moment.
This phenomenon can also be observed among many introverts – though maybe less pronounced than it is with Aspies. Most of us can agree with Mary Chapin Carpenter’s lyrics:
I have a need
For solitude
I’ll never be
Safe in crowded rooms
I like the sound
Of silence coming on
I come around
When everyone has gone
I have a need
For cool, verdant spaces
Beneath the trees
Secret empty places
Nobody knows
So no one will intrude
I have a need
For solitude.
Meltdowns never happen because of solitude. Solitude is always the best remedy. In fact, as Asperger’s expert Tony Attwood has noted, if you leave an Aspie alone, you will find no symptoms of any disorder in that person. It’s the extreme sensitivity to certain things (like the presence of other people, certain sounds, smells, routine changes) that triggers a reaction like a meltdown.
This particular meltdown was intense enough that I was in no position to celebrate the parish Masses I had this weekend. It was, then, a moment of grace that Fr. Jim Martel was scheduled to be in this parish this weekend to help with confessions. He offered to take my Masses, and I gratefully accepted – though only after a little time and not a little embarrassment. He proved to be a compassionate listener as well, along with a few close friends I have relied on for many years.
When someone is going through it, a meltdown feels like a kind of dying. It is a humbling reminder of our hypersensitivities and weaknesses. It is paralyzing, and for some, even dangerous. It will lower any ego several notches, every time. When it happens, we know it’s happening, we know what it feels like, we know what it looks like, but we are powerless to do anything about it until it is over. The temptation to despair can be intense. Some may even feel like Martha and Mary:
“Lord, if you had been here, this wouldn’t be happening!”
This is, rather, the time to renew one’s faith in the Lord. In today’s psalm we read (or sung):
Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord;
Lord, hear my voice!
Let your ears be attentive
to my voice in supplication.
I trust in the Lord;
my soul trusts in his word.
More than sentinels wait for the dawn,
let Israel wait for the Lord.
So it is, and so it must be, when the meltdown begins. Or when some illness or tragedy unfolds. Or, when life seems to be overwhelming, even life-threatening, for any reason at all. Our hearts trust in the Lord, even resting in him like a child on its mother’s breast (Psalm 131). He will see our plight and will never abandon those who trust in his word. Indeed, it is at those moments when we feel absolutely no sign of peace or light, and yet believe, when we please the Lord the most.
Jesus responds to the questions of Martha by saying:
“I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?”
“Yes, Lord”, she responds, as do we. Yes, Lord. You are the Resurrection and the Life. Yes, Lord, you will never abandon your little ones. Yes, Lord, you have promised that your glory and power are made perfect in human weakness. Yes, Lord, your Word is enough. Let others puzzle over, or ridicule, the “weaknesses” they perceive in us. They cannot accept their own weaknesses, and suffer inwardly because of it. They are the weak ones in Your eyes. If they could only believe…
Jesus then goes to the tomb. Martha has professed her faith in him, yet lingering doubts remain. “You can raise him… now? It’s been too long. What hope can there be?” The meltdown isn’t over yet. The crisis drags on. The child is very ill. One’s marriage teeters on the brink. It’s been too long. Surely it is already dead and rotting?
Jesus keeps on coming to the tomb. He stops, looks at this sign of the one seemingly insurmountable obstacle that we all face, the one seemingly inescapable reality – death – and looks it in the eye.
“Lazarus, come forth!”
Lazarus comes forth, but still bound hand and foot. Jesus tells others to unbind him and let him go. Jesus overcomes death – even death – but he chooses to pass that victory on to us through others – his disciples – his Body – you and me. So, I come forth once again, still bound hand and foot by the exhausting effects of the meltdown, not to mention the embarrassment, the humiliation.
“Unbind him, and let him go”.
This is what we do for one another. We do it by our compassionate care, by listening, as Fr. Jim Martel did for me this weekend; by believing; by not shutting down or humiliating the other in his or her need. We do so when we honor one another’s vocations and encourage one another to be faithful to the tasks we have been given by the Lord – even when they are different from our own. We unbind by showing no envy or prejudice or condescension; no, we joyfully welcome every gift, every calling, that the Lord gives us as He gives it to us. Do we not believe that every calling He gives to us is for the good of us all? Thus do we show forth the glory of God. Thus do we become the Lord’s instruments, through whom He comes to Lazarus in our own day and brings him to new, overflowing life.
