Reading the Gospels, I get the feeling that Jesus worked a great program. He did not chase people around fixing them. He gave them the dignity of holding onto their problems as long as they wanted.

When a blind man cried out for mercy, Jesus asked, “What do you want Me to do for you?” To the disabled man lying beside the pool at Bethesda, He said, “Do you want to get well?” *

Um, what? Isn’t it obvious? But He made no assumptions. He waited for the ask, as they say.

One of the most interesting of these healing stories to me is the story of Lazarus. You can read the whole thing here, but the CliffNotes summary is: Jesus’ friend Lazarus gets sick, but Jesus takes no action until he dies. Then He goes to Lazarus’ grave and raises him from the dead.

I grew up hearing this story as far back as I can remember, and the emphasis was always on the miracle–on what Jesus did. What I never noticed, until recently, is how much Jesus didn’t do.

Here’s the center of the story:

“Roll the stone aside,” Jesus told them.

But Martha, the dead man’s sister, protested, “Lord, he has been dead for four days. The smell will be terrible.”

Jesus responded, “Didn’t I tell you that you would see God’s glory if you believe?” So they rolled the stone aside…

Then Jesus shouted, “Lazarus, come out!” And the dead man came out, his hands and feet bound in graveclothes, his face wrapped in a headcloth. Jesus told them, “Unwrap him and let him go!” (John 11:39-41, 43-45, NLT)

First, He tells the gathered mourners, “Roll the stone aside.” Jesus had walked on water and calmed storms…couldn’t He have opened the tomb Himself? It’s a Step 2 moment of sorts; they come to believe that a Higher Power can do something in this irretrievable situation, and He lets them demonstrate their willingness.

Then, He shouts to Lazarus, “Come out!” He doesn’t even go in after him. It’s up to Lazarus, tangled up in graveclothes (think: mummy) to crawl out of the tomb on his own. This has to be way harder than getting yourself to a meeting on a bad day. This guy has had the ultimate bad day: he died! And yet Jesus gives him the responsibility of getting himself out of his grave and back into the daylight.

Last, He tells Lazarus’ family and friends: “Unwrap him and let him go!” He doesn’t even help untangle him; He leaves the cleanup to others.

How different that story would sound if Jesus was an untreated Al Anon. It might run something like this:

Jesus arrived at the tomb and insisted on rolling the stone aside all by Himself, refusing all offers of help from the family and friends gathered around. He crawled through the narrow entrance to the tomb and pulled Lazarus out unassisted, throwing His back out and scraping His knees in the process, but insisting that He was ‘fine.’

He gave the word and brought Lazarus back to life. Then He shooed away all the people who wanted to help unwrap the graveclothes. He unwrapped Lazarus, carried him home, and hovered over him every minute to make sure nothing else bad happened to him. He did Lazarus’ laundry, called his boss to explain why he had missed work, cleaned his house…

You get the drift.

It’s hard to picture Jesus doing all that, even though it’s what a “nice,” “compassionate,” “kind” person would probably do. This irreverent picture of a codependent Jesus makes it clear: He only did the part that only He could do.

In this whole process, Jesus does only the impossible part. Everything else, He outsources. And to me, this is a beautiful picture of how recovery works.

My Higher Power does for me what I can’t do for myself: He restores me to sanity, removes my character defects, makes me someone who can be of service. But so much of that process depends on two things: my willingness to do my part, however weak and imperfect my effort, and my willingness to accept the help of others.

Like Lazarus, I need others to roll away the stone and introduce me to the program. I need my Higher Power to break through and call me back to life: the moment of clarity when I surrender my will and my life to His care. I have to make the messy, unbeautiful effort to crawl out of my isolation and towards the people waiting to offer their help.

The most touching part of this story, to me, is Jesus’ last command to those gathered around: “Unwrap him and let him go!” Lazarus is alive again; that’s the miraculous part. But he’s still entangled in the graveclothes, and he can’t get free by himself.

He’s not dead, but he’s still stuck in the trappings of death, so to speak. He’s alive, but he’s definitely not all better. And he’s probably not smelling too fresh.

Jesus knows that Lazarus can’t untangle himself. Who does He give that responsibility to? Lazarus’ community. The circle of people who loved him and had gathered around to show their support, even in the seemingly hopeless context of a funeral. Jesus entrusts them to finish the miracle He started.

That’s what my Higher Power does too. He knows I can’t untangle myself from the effects of alcoholism alone. And He doesn’t directly do it for me, either. Instead, He surrounds me with a fellowship who offer their experience, strength and hope. And my recovery depends on humbly accepting their help.

Like Lazarus, I crawl forward with my hands and feet bound: I can’t take effective action to help myself. My face is covered: I’m blind, and my true identity is obscured by the disease. That community of friends gently, lovingly help me take off the graveclothes: the sick thinking, the outgrown defenses, the distorted view of reality, the old behaviors that keep me tangled up in the dark.

The lesson of the story of Lazarus is that I can’t get well by myself. I need divine help, plus the support of the whole fellowship. My Higher Power supplies the miracles. But if in my pride and ego I refuse to humbly accept human help, I will experience far less than His full deliverance. I’ll stay stuck in the graveclothes.

So many times, my ‘counting on God’ for help masks an unwillingness to receive help from the very source He’s given me: other human beings on the same journey. I want to stay safely hidden from sight until I’m all fixed and perfect, thanks. Like Lazarus, I don’t smell so great. If only I could hide until I’m all cleaned up! It doesn’t work that way.

Revealing my wounds and flaws to others sometimes feels impossibly scary. Getting free of those old behaviors is the heart of recovery. But I can’t take off my own graveclothes, and God won’t. It’s only as I let others help untangle me that I will truly be free of the effects of alcoholism.

That’s how I start to become someone He can use. Then I can participate in the next miracle by helping unwrap someone else.

Keep coming back!

*Mark 10:47-51, John 5:5-6