The Black Snake
A Reflection on John 11:32-44
READ: John 11:32-44
The Black Snake - By Mary Oliver
When the black snake
flashed onto the morning road,
and the truck could not swerve–
death, that is how it happens.Now he lies looped and useless|
as an old bicycle tire.
I stop the car
and carry him into the bushes…
Why did this happen?
Facing crisis and loss, this question swells to the surface, bursting like a geyser shooting water from a rock.
Why?
Why? is a question with no answer.
Sure, people try, but I’ve heard nothing remotely satisfactory as a response. I listened once as a well-intentioned priest told the father of a two-year-old, “God’s ways are not our own.” He said this to him about 10 minutes after his daughter died. I often hear faithful Christians say, “God has a purpose and a plan for everything.” I’ve made the mistake of saying similar things sometimes. But these responses feel so wrong. I know it as soon as the words hit my lips. What plan could God need to fulfill by directing such an awful tragedy? What plan or purpose does God have that comes at the cost of a life? No. That is so wrong. But my silent responses and my “I don’t know” feel just as inadequate as why.
“Why?” is the worst question, but I always silently ask it alongside those who wonder. Why? Why this? Why now? Why this way? Why is suffering even a thing? Why does life fall apart so quickly? Why is life so fragile? Why does it hurt so much? Why does grief never go away? Why did this happen?! Why? There is rarely an answer to “Why?”
No answer satisfies.
So, the question shifts from broken-hearted wonder to blame.
Where were you, God?
Where are you?!
It’s more of an accusation than a question.
Where were you?
If you had been here…
“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
And Jesus scowled and said to Mary, “Do you know how hard it is to be the son of God? Everyone is always wanting to be healed. They want me to bless, feed, and provide for their every little need. Do you know how needy people are? They want everything their way, and they want it now. So, sorry if I was a little too busy to arrive on time!”
Of course, that’s not what Jesus said to Mary. That’s not how a loving God speaks to someone God loves when they are suffering. That’s not what love sounds like. Instead, Jesus creates and holds space where we don’t have to fear being honest. We don’t have to pretend or say what we assume Jesus wants to hear. If we need to yell, cry, stomp our feet, weep, point fingers, and accuse… it’s OK. And it’s not just that Jesus can take it. He can, but even more, Jesus feels our hurts with us. Jesus accompanies us in our hardships and joins in our suffering.
“When Jesus saw her weeping and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved.”
Sometimes life is hard.
It hurts.
And there is no need to hold back.
We need to feel sadness, confusion, anger, and grief without shame, and Jesus allows us to do just that. But he doesn’t just sit idly by or indifferent. No, our hurts deeply move Jesus, and Jesus joins us in them.
He is as cool and gleaming
as a braided whip,
he is as beautiful and quiet
as a dead brother.
I leave him under the leaves
and drive on, thinking about death:
its suddenness,
its terrible weight, its certain coming…
“Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see. Jesus began to weep.”
Instead of platitudes and pats on the back, Jesus weeps. The God of the universe cares deeply enough for us to hurt when we hurt and reminds us we’re not alone.
But that’s not the end of the story.
Thank God, that’s not the end of the story.
At every funeral I’ve ever led, I say these words,
“In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to almighty God our loved one, and we commit their body to its resting place; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
We proclaim that death doesn’t get the last word, and we do so in the moments when it is the most difficult to believe. “In sure and certain hope of the resurrection…” We don’t let go of our loved ones; we entrust them to the care of the one who knows what to do with our pain.
Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. Jesus said, “Take away the stone.” Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.” Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?” So they took away the stone. And Jesus looked upward and said, “Father, I thank you for having heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.” When he had said this, he cried with a loud voice,
“Lazarus, come out!”
Yet under reason burns a brighter fire,
which the bones have always preferred.
It is the story of endless good fortune.
It says to oblivion: not me!
“Lazarus, come out!”
Yet under reason burns a brighter fire,
which the bones have always preferred.
It is the story of endless good fortune.
It says to oblivion: not me!
“Lazarus, come out!”
Death doesn’t win.
It hurts, and grief travels with us for the rest of our lives.
Death doesn’t get the last word.
“Lazarus, come out!”
Yet under reason burns a brighter fire,
which the bones have always preferred.
It is the story of endless good fortune.
It says to oblivion: not me!
“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.”
As we celebrate the saints—our loved ones who are no longer with us as they once were—may we grieve in sure and certain hope of the resurrection. Death has lost its grip on them. They are unbound and free, once and for all. Grief travels with us throughout this lifetime, but there will come a day when we, too, are unbound and free.
Peace be with you today and always as you remember.
The Black Snake - By Mary Oliver
When the black snake
flashed onto the morning road,
and the truck could not swerve–
death, that is how it happens.Now he lies looped and useless
as an old bicycle tire.
I stop the car
and carry him into the bushes.He is as cool and gleaming
as a braided whip,
he is as beautiful and quiet
as a dead brother.I leave him under the leaves
and drive on, thinking about death: its suddenness,
its terrible weight, its certain coming.Yet under reason burns a brighter fire, which the bones
have always preferred.
It is the story of endless good fortune.
It says to oblivion: not me!It is the light at the center of every cell.
It is what sent the snake coiling and flowing forward
happily all spring through the green leaves before
he came to the road.Oliver, M. (2017). Devotions: the selected poems of Mary Oliver. New York, Penguin Press, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC.
I am a huge fan of Mary Oliver's poetry, Brian. This was a very creative way for you to weave this metaphor into your Gospel reflection today. Well done.