Do you remember Scarlett O'Hara in the movie Gone With the Wind? It is during the reconstruction of the South after the Civil War, and southerners are realizing that the way they are being reconstructed ensures that the ante-bellum life will not rise again. Scarlett's personal world has crashed and Rhett Butler exits. As the reality of that loss dawns, Scarlett gazes into the camera and utters her immortal lines for coping. "I'll think about that tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day." I mention this, not because Scarlett's reliance on her ability to cope with tomorrow is a faith testimony, but because as Christians, we believe in the One who calls us to tomorrow and hope.

The Israelites exiled in Babylon had lost hope. They were so far from home, so separated from who they were as covenant people, that they believed God had abandoned them. Just as Mary and Martha separately met Jesus on the road into Bethany with the same accusatory, hopeless words: "If you had been here, my brother would not have died." If you loved me, I'd still have my job. The test results would be better. If you cared for me, my mother would not have died.

My former pastor used to be puzzled because he'd discovered that the first thing to go when people experience tragedy, is worship. The irony of this, he said, is that the one thing people in the midst of tragedy need-the one thing that will keep them connected to hope, the thing that will give them life-is corporate worship. That people drop out of the faith community precisely when they most need it puzzled him. Maybe hanging around with the community is hard because a person feels ashamed of loss, he wondered. You know, as if it's your fault that a family member has died or your marriage has gone under or your have cancer. He finally decided that shame was not the reason people leave the worshipping community when the going gets tough. What seems to happen is the loss of one's vision of God. If God is so powerful, how come Annie died? If God is the Great Physician, how come cancer is gripping our family? God doesn't care about my problems. This death-the loss of one's vision of God-is the worst death. When we lose our vision of God, when God is no longer the object of our longing or the partner of our daily conversations, we die spiritually. We're in Babylon.

When we are stuck in Babylon, we do the Scarlett O'Hara thing-we cope. We put down roots, get a job, climb the corporate ladder, buy a McMansion in the 'burbs, put a hot tub on the deck, take up hobbies, drive cool cars, volunteer at the hospital, take some classes. In the midst of the spiritual pain of losing God, the coping numbs us. But in the end, it's only "decorating Babylon." What we really long for is to go home.

Paul reminds us in Romans that to bank on the present is as dangerous as Scarlett O'Hara's "tomorrow is another day." The present can unravel at any moment, and the vaguely optimistic "tomorrow" is not hope. As long as we believe "we do pretty well on our own" we are in turning our backs on hope and life. If I can just figure out a strategy for dealing with this kid. A management plan for the tension at work. A pill to control the symptoms so I won't have to give up addictions. All I need is will power. People will take me seriously if I dress well.

Lazarus was dead. There was nothing he could do to cope, no more "tomorrows." He couldn't will himself out of the tomb, but he could come out in response to a call from Jesus. We can't raise ourselves any more than Lazarus could, but your name is on the lips of the Savior. And that's the good news. What a silly picture of Lazarus coming out of the tomb-still wrapped in grave clothes, shuffling out like a horror movie Mummy. But what a statement! Years ago, on one of the Juarez work camp trips, the Lazarus story took us a whole week of daily group devotions. Friday morning, my friend Ruth heard Jesus tell the crowd to unbind Lazarus and it hit her like a ton of bricks. Lazarus needed the community to be set free. Jesus told the assembled crowd to unbind him. And if Lazarus needed the community in order to be set free, so do we.

We dare not leave the worship community when the going gets tough. Our hope is not in Scarlett's tomorrow or our ability to manage on our own. Nor is our hope in the comfort we give each other during hard times. We are Christians, and our hope is in the One who brings life and hope from death. Who could pull dry, dead bones together and breathe life into them? Who could take the post-September 11 USA and transform us into world citizens who give back more than we take?

Why do we keep visiting homebound people, week after week bringing them sermon tapes and telling them about what is happening in our faith community, even when they will never be able to sit with us in the pews again? Why do we continue to pray for peace in the Middle East when the situation is hopelessly mired in centuries of hatred? Why do we, even on St. Patrick's day, cheer when troops pull out of Northern Ireland and Britain grants home rule? Why do we keep up the alternating chemotherapy and radiation, when it is terminal cancer? Why do we send the ADHD delinquent child to yet another foster home, when that was her parents' cycle, too? Because we believe that God is not done. This is not about believing "tomorrow is another day." God has spoken to the bones even before the bones are pulled together, even before the breath is blown into them. Everyone knows dead bones can't hear. Everyone knows it is pointless to say to dead bones, "Hear the word of the Lord." But the word of the Lord is so powerful that the bones come together and the Lord God breathes even into these dead bones of ours.

The vague "tomorrows" and the frantic coping skills we cling to have to die before we can hear the invitation to come out of the tomb. If you are identifying with Lazarus, there is good news today. If you think you have spent too long in Babylon, there is good news for you today, too. If you are doing well enough on your own, if you are managing your life OK and your sights are just a little below the horizon, this is not of interest to you. But if your hope is lost, this is for you. You will hear the call to life from the pile of dry bones that are your life. This community of hope-even here in beautiful rural Estacada-this prophet in Oregon calls to you, "Arise!" Give up the dead dreams. Give up the discarded hopes. Arise! Discover that the Holy Spirit is breathing new life into you. It's a matter of life and death! Your life. And a world that is dying for you to believe that God is not done yet.