Dwelling in Dissonance: Belief and Uncertainty
Janet Bauman
Entering the Season of Lent
This week in our worship service we enter the stories and season of Lent. It doesn’t seem that long ago that we lit the Advent candles, and celebrated the coming of the light to us and to all nations. And we just had such an engaging series Out of the Boat. Into the World, where we heard the call to follow Jesus, and be the bearers of light out into the world around us. And now it is Lent and we wonder, where did the light go?! We are even going to extinguish a candle each week of Lent. What is going on?
Lent is a different kind of journey. Mostly one where we go inward, out of the brightness of the light, to a place where we can be more honest and real with ourselves and with God. Where we can bring our hurts, fears and doubts. Where we face our own mortality and our own shadows. One person said recently, I like the humility of Lent. It gives me the freedom to be imperfect, and to be just fine with that.
Dwelling in Dissonance
Dwelling in Dissonance is the theme we are following for Lent this year, using stories from the second half of the gospel of John. The writing team for these resources noticed that there is dissonance in all of these Lenten texts. There is tension between how things are and how things ought to be.
In music dissonance occurs when two or more notes played together, sound discordant to the listener. The notes clash. There is tension between them.
Invite the pianist to play notes that are dissonant.
Our ear registers the discord. It is uncomfortable, displeasing. We instinctively know the note that we want to hear, that we should hear, the more pleasing interval that we anticipate will resolve to something more pleasing. We want to get to that resolution. To that harmony.
Invite the pianist to play notes that are dissonant, and then resolve to harmonize.
More than just noticing the dissonance, the writers for this year’s Lent resources invite us to dwell in this dissonance for a while. To stay present to the discord and the tension. To linger at the edges of our understanding. But why? They suggest staying in the difficult places with Jesus is a way to practice being open and present to the difficult places in our world and our experiences, and resist the temptation to avoid them. Dwelling in the dissonance also sharpens our longing for resolution, moves us to work toward resolution, because dissonance always longs for, always leans toward resolution.
John’s Gospel is Our Guide
John will be our guide, as we move with Jesus through the stories just prior to and including Holy Week. This is an intense section, in a deep and rich gospel with multiple layers of meaning. It is a gospel that keeps calling us to belief in Jesus. The writer keeps building up the case for faith–offering a growing litany of evidence–signs that point to who Jesus is (7 signs echo back to the 7 days of creation in Genesis. Here we have Jesus, the Word, calling into being a new creation):
- Turning water into wine (John 2)
- Healing the royal official’s son (John 4)
- Healing a lame man (John 5)
- Feeding the multitude (John 6)
- Healing the blind man (John 9)
- Raising Lazarus (John 11). This is the 6th sign, leading of course to Jesus’ own resurrection as the final sign pointing to who he is.
And then there are the 7 “I am” statements Jesus makes in John’s gospel all helping to create a fuller picture of who Jesus is:
- I am the bread of life (John 6)
- I am the light of the world (John 9)
- I am the door/gate for the sheep (John 10)
- I am the good shepherd (John 10)
- I am the resurrection and the life (John 11)
- I am the way, the truth and the life (John 14)
- I am the true vine (John 15)
The story we read this morning has both the “I am” statement–“I am the resurrection–and the raising of Lazarus which is a sign of Jesus’ close connection to the power of God. And then, right in the middle of this story we hear an expression of the faith that John’s gospel calls for. We hear a confession of faith by one of the characters. Here is someone who truly gets who Jesus is. Who grasps what all these signs are pointing to. In John’s gospel Martha says, “Yes Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one who has come into the world” (John 11:27). This is the hinge, the thesis of the whole gospel. Martha believes. Martha gets it.
Now it might be helpful to say a word here about belief. In our time we tend to think of belief as something we affirm intellectually. We come to understand something with our mind, so we say we believe it. But belief or faith in the context of the bible means a whole lot more. It means coming to a fuller, more complete way of understanding. It means comprehending something, knowing something, trusting something with all of one’s being–mind, heart, and body. It is a whole self commitment. It is “all in,” which makes Martha’s confession even more meaningful, especially since it comes before she even sees the sign of Lazarus being raised back to life.
I would like to take a closer look at Martha and Mary of Bethany. There is some fascinating, new research about these women and the role they play in the early church. It has long been thought that Mary of Bethany in the gospel of John may actually be Mary Magdalene–supporter, disciple, companion of Jesus. There are a variety of reasons for suggesting this. For example, there are many parallels between this story about Lazarus and the story in John 20 of Mary Magdalene meeting the risen Jesus in the garden: a death, a tomb. the phrase about where have you laid him, a stone that needs to be rolled away, Mary weeping at the tomb, grave clothes, and of course a resurrection and new life. All of these parallels hint that Mary Magdalene is a key character in both stories.
New research is showing something even more interesting in John chapter 11. Elizabeth Schrader Polczer (professor at Villa Nova, outskirts of Philadelphia; https://www.elizabethschrader.com/ ) has been looking back at the oldest copies of the gospel of John that we have–in Greek, in Latin, and Coptic. She has found textual irregularities in many of them around John 11, and in particular around the character of Martha. Papyrus 66, is the oldest, near complete copy of John’s gospel. The papyrus is kept in a vault in Switzerland, but it has been digitized so it can be read online. Elizabeth Schrader Polczer has noticed editing marks, changes to the text that seem to add Martha into the story. With one letter change in the Greek, Mary becomes Martha in one part of the story. With a simple change from singular to plural, one sister of Lazarus becomes two sisters.
Many of us are familiar with a pair of sisters, Mary and Martha, the one who sits at Jesus’ feet, and the one who serves the meal.They are found in Luke’s gospel, but they are in a totally different geography–in the north in Galilee or Samaria–and there is no mention of them having a brother Lazarus. So it is unlikely that the sisters identified as Martha and Mary here in John are the same as the ones in Luke.
Rather what Elizabeth Schrader Polczer suspects, is that Martha has been borrowed from Luke’s version of the gospel and inserted here in John 11. The big question, of course, is why? Why would later editors of John’s gospel create two sisters where there was only one? If Mary of Bethany is really Mary Magdalene, then adding in Martha (essentially splitting Mary into two women) distracts from the role and significance of Mary Magdalene. And giving Martha, who is a relatively minor character, who only appears in one other story in Luke’s gospel, this major confession of Christ, diminishes the role of Mary Magdalene. Early artwork of this story most often depicts just one woman with Jesus and Lazarus, and at least one of the church fathers discusses this story as if there is only one woman.
So if there is only 1 sister in the story, and she is Mary Magdalene, then she has some of the most important parts to play in the gospel of John. She is the first of the disciples to confess Jesus as the Messiah. She anoints his feet (which is a story we will get to next week in John 12). Anointing his feet is a rich symbol, identifying him as Messiah, recognizing what is about to happen to him, and preparing him for his burial. She witnesses Jesus’ death, standing at the cross (John 19). She is the first to encounter the risen Jesus at the empty tomb (John 20). And she is the first to be sent with the news of the resurrection. That makes her an incredibly important disciple and apostle. Equivalent to Peter as he is described in the synoptic gospels, with his confession of faith in Jesus. Why would anyone want to diminish her role?
And interestingly enough, other ancient texts that date back to the 2nd and 3rd centuries, like the gospel of Thomas and the Gospel of Philip and the Gospel of Mary (texts that were not included in the canon, when the writings that we now have in our bible were chosen), reflect tension and conflict between followers of Peter and followers of Mary Magdalene in the early church. It would seem that there was a stream, a thread of the early church that prioritized Mary Magdalene as key leader and her understanding of Jesus’ teachings, in contrast to the stream that prioritized Peter. And eventually, over time, the orthodox mainstream, interpreted through Peter and Paul, won out, and the stream interpreted and represented by Mary Magdalene was minimized, diminished and mostly silenced.
Talk about dissonance! The way we have always thought of this story, may not be accurate.This research is really exciting to me. Perhaps there is an opportunity to bring Mary Magdalene back to a more significant role in the gospels. To resurrect her story and her contribution to the early church. If the confession of faith found in John 11 is really hers, then she is the one who really “got” who Jesus is, and we ought to pay more attention to what we can learn about her.
John 11:1-45
Long before we get to Martha’s (or Mary Magdalene’s) confession of faith, our story takes us on quite a dramatic and emotional journey. At our bible study on Wednesday evening, many of us were struck with the emotional intensity of Jesus, and how he responds to the emotional intensity of the other characters.
The first thing we notice about Jesus is that he delays going to Bethany when he hears the news that his dear friend Lazarus is sick. This seems strange. This is like getting the phone call that your loved one is dying and you had better get there soon if you want to say good-bye and be there when they pass. So it is strange that he delays. He does make a statement about this happening “for the glory of God” (v 4) and so that “you will really believe” (v. 15). I suspect there is also more going on here.
Jesus needs to face his own fear and dread about what will happen if he heads back to Judea. Not only in dealing with the death of a friend, but in facing his own death. His disciples warn him, “only a few days ago the people in Judea were trying to stone you” (v. 8). He knows what is at stake. He understands the risk. Perhaps he needs time to wrestle once again with his identity and what kind of Messiah he will be, to face the consequences of his choice.
When he gets to Bethany he faces the scolding from both sisters, “Lord, if only you had been here, my brother would not have died” (v. 21, 32). There are also rumblings from the many people who had come to console the sisters. “This man healed a blind man. Couldn’t he have kept Lazarus from dying?” (v. 37).
We can certainly understand their feelings here, and we can hear ourselves in their complaints. We too plead with God, and lament when God doesn’t seem to respond or act in the way we want. Why doesn’t God prevent tragedy? Why doesn’t God protect us and our loved ones from disease and death? If only we had clearer answers from medical teams. If only we had done more, acted sooner, paid more attention. These are the kinds of questions that haunt us, and keep us up at night. And Martha and Mary speak their distress directly to Jesus.
After encountering both sisters and their anguish, and seeing Mary weeping and the others around her wailing, Jesus is deeply moved, and he weeps. The image of Jesus weeping with his friends is a powerful one. He is so very human and relatable. He comes to be with us in our pain. To walk with us through our grief. He embodies so fully the compassionate and caring nature of God.
Now the words here are interesting. Some translations say he was “deeply moved” some say “intensely troubled” or “deeply troubled” but some say “deep anger welled up within him”. And that anger wells up in him again when he approaches the tomb where Lazaraus has been laid (v 38). The Greek word does seem to have an aspect of anger to it.
Why is Jesus angry? Perhaps like most of us, he experiences anger as part of grieving. Arriving at the tomb he is facing this death, this loss for the first time up close. It really hits him, and it makes him angry to lose a beloved friend, and see his friends Martha and Mary suffering. Perhaps he is angry at the bigger picture of trying to help people come to faith and belief but so many do not. Perhaps he is angry at the opposition he has had to endure and the stumbling blocks that those who want to follow him have encountered. Perhaps he is angry with the whole system and structure of power that will soon conspire against him, and lead to his death. Angry that his ministry will be cut short. That he is running out of time. Is it not also a powerful image to picture Jesus angry? Not just weeping, but angry. Where might Jesus weep today, and be moved to anger? That might be a clue to us about where we should pay attention.
There is a lot of emotional intensity for Jesus here. This story can be described as a rehearsal or foreshadowing of what is about to happen to him–his own death and resurrection. The story of Lazarus is John’s version of Jesus’ Gethsemane–where he wrestles with who he is and what he must face. In the midst of facing the grief at his friend’s death he faces his own death, and the reality of suffering that he will experience. There is a journey here for him–letting go, releasing power, and dying to his own ego, in order to face what he needs to face.
The tomb or the cave is a symbol of this entry into darkness. Darkness of course can cause us to stumble, as Jesus says earlier to his disciples. But darkness can also be a place of transformation. It forces us to be still and quiet. And that can be when God is able to do the most important work in us. Just a chapter later we hear Jesus say these words, “unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life” (John 12:24-25).
Barbara Brown Taylor, in her book Learning to Walk in the Dark, talks about the silent and important work that takes place in the darkness. She notes that “whether it is a seed in the ground, a baby in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, [new life] starts in the dark.” When we are in the darkness that is when God can do the inner, hidden work in us that will bring new life and new hope by Easter.
I find Jesus’ command at the end of this story very powerful. Jesus calls Lazarus out of the tomb, but Lazarus is still bound and wrapped in the grave clothes. “Unbind him, and let him go,” Jesus says. In order to be transformed, to be born anew, in order to walk in the newness of life, we need to let go, to untangle ourselves from whatever clings to us, whatever binds us. Assumptions about how things should be. Expectations. Guilt. Shame. Regrets and resentments.
Can doubt and uncertainty be part of that kind of journey into darkness, and part of the work we do to unbind from what entangles us? In the January edition of the Canadian Mennonite, editor Will Braun addresses doubt. In his editorial he says, “I have long felt a need to write about the profound challenge of belief in an age of secular rationality and material seduction” (editorial, Canadian Mennonite, January 2026). And so he also writes, “my colleagues and I have discerned that a focus on belief would be of value for Canadian Mennonite in 2026. We are framing it as “Help My Unbelief” (based on Mark 9:17-27). We plan to acknowledge unbelief, doubt and deconstruction, but not get stuck there. Rather, we wish to nurture the longing that comes in the desert of doubt. The goal is a satisfying belief in a transcendent and transforming God.” This “quest must be one of shared vulnerability” and so later in the edition he goes on to “confess as much of [his] own unbelief and longing as [he] dare” and invites us, the readers, to do the same. In an article he calls, “Let the Dark Come Upon Me” he admits that as a “rational, left-brain-dominant person” it is hard for him to “conjure a feeling of faith” (p. 15). He wishes that we could “make way for the power of the Spirit” but knows that can feel awkward when our focus is mostly on social justice (p. 16). “In a secular society prayer is indeed weird” (p. 16). We have a “modern Western spiritual predicament. The impulse for transcendence tangles with reason. The untangling is [our] modern challenge” (17). And so while he finds himself admiring and being drawn to those who do pray, he finds himself spiritually “headed into the darkness of winter” and it frustrates him. All he has is “glimpses and glimmers” (p. 17) and a thirst and a longing for more. “I share my faltering, underwhelming quest in the hope that honest talk about the guts of belief will, ultimately, make way for greater faith. My goal is God” (p. 17), he writes.
It is risky to be this vulnerable, and ask others to do the same. It appears to have struck a chord, because in the latest March edition, they report having more responses to this topic than on any topic in recent memory. That sounds like good work for the season of Lent. Honesty. Vulnerability. Doubt and belief side by side. Glimmers and glimpses next to big questions. The thirst and the longing even in the dry desert places.
With this story as our guide we see neighbours and friends who join us as companions in our times of struggle. Can we be that for each other? Can we weep with those who weep? Can we be listeners without judgment? Can we be conversation partners? In this story we also see Jesus in compassion and mercy, coming alongside those who grieve and weep and doubt and falter as one who shares their sorrow.
In this story we also see Mary–Mary Magdalene, if this new research that I talked about is correct, confessing faith in Jesus. Was it her confession, her constancy, her faith, that helped to give Jesus the strength to face the journey to the cross? Might he have needed her presence through the passion story? So might she be an important messenger to us as well? Someone who had a deep understanding of who Jesus was. Could she perhaps become one of our guides to faith, toward resolution, toward resurrection? Toward an expression of Christianity that doesn’t diminish the witness of women disciples, that doesn’t generate so much doubt.
I, for one, will continue digging into and reading as much as I can about Mary Magdalene and lingering in the dissonance of a story as I have always thought it to be, and a story as it might have been. And hoping for a more freeing expression of my faith.