Article
Creed
Death & life
Weirdness
3 min read

Why we project ourselves on Lazarus

Lean into the weird around the ‘unreveal'd’.

Jamie is Vicar of St Michael's Chester Square, London.

A Vincen Van Gogh painting of Lazarus rising from his bed as his astonished sisters lean toward him.
The Raising of Lazarus (after Rembrandt).
Vincent van Gogh, CC BY 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Tennyson's poem In Memoriam contains a section about the man Jesus famously raised from the dead, Lazarus, and in it he writes: 

Behold a man raised up by Christ! 

The rest remaineth unreveal'd 

He told it not; or something seal'd 

The lips of that Evangelist 

That evangelist, St John, writes precious little about Lazarus himself. Lazarus is supposedly the main character in the story, but we see far more about his sisters Mary, and Martha, and most of all, Jesus himself. But because Lazarus is a largely anonymous figure, intriguing all sorts of people like Tennyson, we can project ourselves onto him. He emerges from the tomb with graveclothes, and it seems we don't fully see him, but we see ourselves on those graveclothes. His endless capacity to capture something of the human condition is evidenced by appearing in Moby Dick, Crime and Punishment, and Mark Twain writes about him, right through to Nick Cave and David Bowie, with a song written when he was terminally ill. 

It's definitely an account that falls into the 'weird' category. Not only does Jesus raise someone from the grave, but at first his response to Lazarus' grieving sisters seems inexplicable. Regardless, Lazarus is perhaps a good match for us because of our own fears of death. 

It's also why the words of comfort that Jesus offers Martha after Lazarus' death are used in Christian funerals. As a priest, as I process in with the coffin, I read: 

'I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die.’ 

Just as these words were a great comfort to Martha, these words are a huge comfort to people as they come to the funerals of their loved ones. 

But just like Lazarus isn't actually the main character in this story, at someone's funeral, they are also not the main character in the story. They've died. Funerals aren't just for dead people. Funerals are for the people coming to the funeral. Because Jesus doesn't just say, 'whoever lives by believing in me will never die.' He doesn't just leave that there hanging in the air. He explicitly asks Martha the question: 'Do you believe this?' We are confronted with the same question, non-rhetorically. 

Jesus is asking us to believe something quite extraordinary about the nature of life that is worth considering in the assisted dying debate: that resurrection is not pie-in-the-sky, but a quality and quantity of spiritual life that can begin today, only interrupted by physical death and the bodily resurrection. As someone who lives with disability said to me recently about the debate on assisted dying, 'I'm interested in assisted living'. We could all do with a little assistance. 

Bizarrely, Jesus identifies himself as the resurrection and the life. And so even more intriguing than placing ourselves in the tomb of Lazarus, can be placing ourselves in the death and resurrection of Jesus. The anguish, desperation, exasperation of the sisters toward Jesus (helpful for us to recognise our own ability, and need, to grieve honestly) is met with not only grand declarations about Jesus' divinity, but demonstration of his humanity. Twice in this sequence we see Jesus deeply moved and troubled, most pithily and famously encapsulated in the shortest verse in the Bible: 'Jesus wept.'  

His emotion here, much more raw in the Greek, is appropriate not only to Lazarus' death, but also his own death that is about to come on the cross. Amidst the compassion that drives people to different conclusions in ethical debates, it is worth us considering an even deeper compassion that drove Jesus to raise Lazarus and to go to the cross. 

Although there is much in our lives and in faith which is mystery and 'unreveal'd' as Tennyson would say, our own inability to control our own lives and deaths is met by Jesus in all his humanity and divinity. 

All great artists lean into - rather than avoid - the weird. They also seek to honestly address the human condition in all its suffering, mortality and hope. No wonder so many over the centuries have projected themselves and their characters onto Lazarus as his grave clothes unravel. 

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Review
Awe and wonder
Culture
Death & life
Music
4 min read

Natalie Bergman brings grief and joy to Union Chapel

A soul-soaked set turned personal tragedy into communal celebration

Jonathan is Team Rector for Wickford and Runwell. He is co-author of The Secret Chord, and writes on the arts.

A musician wearing black sits on a chair in a desert holding her guitar.
Natalie Bergman.
Natalie Bergman.

In any other context, they would call this revival! A wild belle singing songs of worship and wonder in a chapel packed to the rafters with a diverse crowd of beautiful people in rapture at songs such as ‘Talk To The Lord’ and ‘I Will Praise You’. This is Natalie Bergman at Union Chapel. 

Who? If you don’t already know, you need to know. Following three albums with Wild Belle, her debut solo album, Mercy, was a Gospel album written and recorded in response to the tragic death of her father and stepmother in a road traffic accident. Begun on retreat at a monastery, its lithe, light, luscious rhythms lift the listener from the valley of the shadow of death to the goodness and mercy found in the house of the Lord forever.    

If Mercy equates to the direct songs of praise and witness found on Bob Dylan’s Gospel albums, then her latest release, My Home Is Not In This World, equates to those later Dylan albums (like Infidels, Oh Mercy, Time Out of Mind and Rough and Rowdy Ways) where faith infuses songs exploring life and love. Bergman has quoted T Bone Burnett’s distinction between songs about the light and songs about what you can see from the light. Mercy is the former and My Home Is Not In This World, the latter. 

As a result, tonight, she takes us down paths of sorrow into the wilderness to find the light of God shining on us. At Union Chapel, a series of subtly lit arches ascend behind her and her band guiding our eyes upward until they reach the central back-lit rose window. The beauty of that light is where she takes us through the soulful spirituality of her songs. By the end, the joint is jumping with joy as we sing and dance to ‘Keep Those Teardrops From Falling’. 

Why? Her super-melodic songs draw inspiration from the deep sources of sixties soul, including Motown, while being infused also with the rhythms of reggae and highlife. Her voice ranges from childlike wonder floating on a sea of sound to smoky sultry spirituality. In common with Nick Cave on Wild God, the source of her spirituality is a vulnerability and openness occasioned by the grief she has endured, an experience common to all of us, whether now or in the future.  

She has explained simply and clearly how it happened: “When I began writing, I had already lost the greatest love I’ve ever had, so I had nothing else to lose. I went for it. I sang from the depths of my sorrow and I witnessed a little light while doing so.” As she concludes, “How could anyone have a problem with someone processing grief in a harmless way?” At Union Chapel, it’s clear that they don’t. Instead, what resonated with Bergman in her loss, also resonates with us.  

‘Talk To The Lord’ quotes Psalm 23 – ‘Though I walk in shadows, I won't be afraid / I will fear no evil / For You walk with me’ – in order to state that: 

‘When you are scared, reach out your hand 

Talk to the Lord, talk to the Lord 

If you are sad, He'll dry your tears 

Talk to the Lord, talk to the Lord’ 

In ‘I Will Praise You’, she says ‘When I'm broken, I will sing Your name’, while ‘Shine Your Light On Me’ also quotes Psalm 23 in a prayer for light as she cries like a ‘mourning dove’ for her ‘greatest love’. ‘Paint The Rain’ documents difficult days but discovers that: 

‘In this pain, you make me sing 

When I am blue, you take me in 

My little ways, they feel strange 

You give me a little bit, and you take it away 

You paint the rain’ 

In these ways, she has been enabled to live again and to find joy in family life, with My Home Is Not In This World finding its inspiration in the birth of her son, Arthur. When not lamenting lost loves, My Home Is Not In This World is grounded in the realities of home and natural life. The song ‘My Home Is Not In This World’ contrasts a prior life of glitzy glamour – her home no longer being there - with the life she has now found: 

‘My home 

My home is not in this world 

My home 

My home is not in this world  

 

I want to go outside 

Tell the trees that I love them 

Open my eyes 

See the children in the garden 

Dancing underneath the sunshine 

Swinging underneath the moonlight 

Sing away your sorrow my little one’ 

It’s been said that her ‘greatest achievement is choosing to go against the grain’, a decision that includes her spiritual focus and proves the value of going counter to the culture. It’s also been said that her universal music ‘lives in the hearts and minds and souls of her fellow travelers; born again believers in love, joy, and music’s role as guiding light and lightning rod’. That was certainly the case at Union Chapel where she ‘let the sunshine in’ and we all experienced the everlasting light of love shining on us. 

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