The community gathering together is one of the most powerful forms of consolation and truest witnesses to God's care, comfort, and power in the face of death and destruction.

This scene at Bethany is familiar to pastors and deacons: the mourners have gathered, the family is grieving, and the sisters have only held it together because they've stayed busy making arrangements and food. But now that Jesus has arrived, they expect something to happen. Martha says it: "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him" (John 11:21, 22).

Clergy know this as we have, many times, made our way to the front doors of the funeral home, walking through the crowd that chooses to stand outside until they must go in. As our eyes adjust to the darkened spaces, we find the family members huddling in their support groups by picture boards filled with memories. They’re greeting friends, coworkers, neighbors, and distant relatives, but once they see that you are there, you can sense their relief. With your arrival, something can finally happen, even if that something is just another funeral service.

Not to shirk the responsibility of preparing a sermon, or to downplay its important role in the funeral liturgy, but I have become more and more aware that whatever I preach in the face of death will go mostly unheard and unremembered. What the Mary and Marthas will remember, though — as many people have shared following the funeral of a loved one — is not what was said, but who was there.

Had Jesus only gone to Bethany and not raised Lazarus from the dead, he would still be the Resurrection and the Life. That he showed up in the midst of their pain and sadness and that he entered into it, weeping along with them in the face of death, made that resurrection and life possible for Lazarus.

At a funeral a few years ago, the brother of the deceased gave a eulogy that has since remained with me. He talked about his developmentally disabled brother as the gift of God that he had been for him, his family, and the community. He went on to name people who, in his words, "showed up” for his brother: the ones who took him out to eat, stopped by the group home just to watch the baseball game with him, who remembered his birthday with a card or a call — little things by all standards. But they were things they didn't have to do, and they did any way. When others gave up, or forgot, or didn't care, they showed up and it meant the world to his brother, and, therefore, to his family.

I think about showing up as a proclamation — with or without words — of the resurrection and life that Jesus brought to Bethany. Sometimes that proclamation is a little thing that could have gone undone, even unnoticed in the moment, but has the potential to make the biggest difference in the long run.

I think about the power of this gospel when we show up to protest the illegal and immoral actions of a government against its own citizens and those we are called to welcome and protect. I think about the people who have shared with me their commitment to caring for their neighbors in hiding by bringing them groceries and diapers, watching with whistles and cell phones at the ready.

Resurrection and life comes with us when we show up at the polls to vote for change to broken systems and to elect leaders who are committed to the common good; it comes with us to the recycling center as we separate our cardboard and plastics from the aluminum and paper.

When we insist on washing the old glass Communion cups instead of using the throw-away alternative and when we decide what and what not to purchase and where and where not to shop based on principle rather than convenience, we preach the good news that even in death God can gather God’s people to bring about life.

We proclaim this resurrection and life when we do what we can where we’re at, even if it’s as small a thing as showing up.

We know how powerful it can be by the reaction of those who oppose resurrection and life, but who rather benefit from death and leverage influence with destruction. The religious leaders respond to the raising of Lazarus with alarm — recognizing the great popularity Jesus will enjoy once news of this good news begins to spread. Not only must they put an end to this Resurrection and Life, but they plan to kill Lazarus so as to remove the proof of his power.

From what used to be called “Passion Sunday,” this Fifth Sunday of Lent, we now move with Jesus from Bethany to Gethsemane to Golgotha, and from there to the empty tomb of Easter — because Jesus went to mourn for his friend Lazarus, and to join his sisters Mary and Martha in their sadness. Because he showed up then, we now live in the power of the resurrection and in the promised life of God.