Fifth Sunday of Lent (Cycle A)
The Raising of LazarusLectionary: 34
In today’s First Reading the prophet Ezekiel reminds us of the Lord’s promise to not only to bring us back to life but to bring us home.
The background of this passage is the famous "Valley of Dry Bones." The people of Israel were in exile in Babylon. They weren't just sad; they were spiritually and nationally "dead." Their common saying was: "Our bones are dried up, our hope is lost, and we are cut off." They didn't need a pep talk; they needed a miracle.
Into this despair, God speaks a promise that is almost shocking in its boldness:
We all have “graves” in our lives—places we have sealed off, convinced nothing good can come from them.
God promises His Spirit—the same Spirit that hovered over the waters at creation, the same Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead, the same Spirit breathed into the Church at Pentecost.
This means that the restoration God offers is not superficial.
We are revived by the breath of God.
In today’s Second Reading, Paul contrasts two ways of existing: being "in the flesh" versus being "in the Spirit." It’s important to clarify what Paul means by "flesh." He isn't saying that our physical bodies are evil. God made our bodies and declared them to be good. So when Paul speaks of “the flesh,” he is actually talking about a way of living that is closed in on itself—life without God, life driven by fear, pride, self-reliance, or sin. To live “in the flesh” is to live as if everything about that life depends on us.
But Paul says:
The heart of this passage is the word dwell. The Greek word for "dwell" implies more than just visiting from time to time. It means to "make a home." Think about the difference between a houseguest and a resident. A guest sits in the living room and waits to be served; a resident has the keys, knows where the circuit breaker is, and starts remodeling the kitchen. When you were baptized, the Holy Spirit didn't just give you a "blessing." He moved in. He is the "Resident Architect" of your soul, constantly working to align your desires with God’s heart.
With this understanding, Paul then makes a breathtaking claim …
The Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead is the same Spirit living in you.
Paul does not say God will give us this new spirit in the future. He says God gives us this new life now—to our mortal, fragile, imperfect selves. The same power that surged through the tomb on Easter morning—that conquered death and shattered the darkness … is at work in our lives right now … giving us:
Wait. He loved them... so He stayed away?
In our human logic, if you love someone and they are in trouble, you rush to them. But God’s "delay" is never about indifference; it’s about a deeper revelation. Jesus wasn't waiting for Lazarus to die so He could show off; He was waiting so that He could reveal Himself not just as a "healer" of the living, but as the Lord of the Dead.
How many of us feel like God is currently "staying two days longer" in another place while our situation falls apart? This Gospel tells us that the delay isn't a denial. It's the setup for a resurrection you didn't even know was possible.
But what about before? What about Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, who knew Jesus was aware of their plight but did not come?
If we imagine Martha and Mary, surely they hoped and prayed to God that their brother would not die. And yet Lazarus died. They asked for Jesus to come, and in a sense, he did not come.
Lazarus and his sisters had to experience death, dying, and feelings of abandonment. When the cross came to them, Jesus let the cross happen in their lives. He did not take it away. At least, not at first.
What does this mean for us?
As Christians, we should expect to receive the cross as well. Of course, our faith in Christ allows us to carry the crosses of life. Our lives have eternal meaning, and suffering and death do not have the final word. But this does not make the sting of the cross any less harsh.
Traditionally, the saints are known to be the men and women who accept crosses, carry them, embrace them, and help others to do the same.
But perhaps the deepest level of holiness is to realize God does not need our permission to send us the cross ... because, ultimately, the cross always leads to new life. This highest degree of sanctity involves bearing our crosses with grace and love, considering them our own, seeing in them a gift from God.
Discipleship is to take the cross of Jesus and the path He walked as our very own. Our cross is our allotted share and participation in the work of the world’s redemption.
And this is why Jesus waited… to allow us a chance to carry our cross!
He was certainly a changed man … but how was he changed?
In his book Lazarus and His Beloved, Kahlil Gibran explored the experience of Lazarus after he was raised from the dead. Gibran portrayed a Lazarus who no longer fit in this world, who stayed on the fringe of daily life, who longed to return to the experience of the next life. Lazarus was angry that he was brought back to a life that was limited by human experience. Food had no taste for him. Colors seemed drab. Life in this world had no vitality.
Such an existence is not really living though … it is simply waiting for life to start.
This does not seem consistence with the new life in Christ that we have been given … that St Paul believes we start living from the moment of our baptism … so I imagine a Lazarus unencumbered by the stresses of life that normally occupy our minds and preventing us from experiencing vibrancy. The new Lazarus has passed beyond fears and anxieties and experiences life as nothing less than a tremendous gift. Yes, Lazarus dies again. But I believe his second passage to the next life was one of ease because he was able to trustingly move to a new dimension of life’s fullness — one that is greater than our imaginations. In this way, the raising of Lazarus is a story about the fullness of life in the here and now, not just in some kind of life after this life.
Lectionary: 34
Reading 1 - Ezekiel 37:12-14
Responsorial Psalm - Psalm 130:1-8
Reading 2 - Romans 8:8-11
Verse - John 11:25a, 26
Gospel - John 11:1-45
Lazarus, come out!
LESSON: The Power of God Through Those Who Believe
We’re a week away from the start of Holy Week. Our Lord now has his sights set on Jerusalem, and the pace is quickening. In these next two weeks, we’re living just one part of the Gospel passage from today: an encounter with the reality of suffering and death. Jesus is asking us to have faith in him.In today’s First Reading the prophet Ezekiel reminds us of the Lord’s promise to not only to bring us back to life but to bring us home.
The background of this passage is the famous "Valley of Dry Bones." The people of Israel were in exile in Babylon. They weren't just sad; they were spiritually and nationally "dead." Their common saying was: "Our bones are dried up, our hope is lost, and we are cut off." They didn't need a pep talk; they needed a miracle.
Into this despair, God speaks a promise that is almost shocking in its boldness:
- “I will open your graves.”
- “I will bring you back.”
- “I will put my Spirit in you.”
We all have “graves” in our lives—places we have sealed off, convinced nothing good can come from them.
- A relationship that feels beyond repair
- A dream that has withered
- A habit or sin that feels unbreakable
- A heart weighed down by grief or disappointment
- A faith that feels dry, tired, or distant
God promises His Spirit—the same Spirit that hovered over the waters at creation, the same Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead, the same Spirit breathed into the Church at Pentecost.
This means that the restoration God offers is not superficial.
- It is not temporary.
- It is not fragile.
- It is deep, lasting, and rooted in His own divine life
We are revived by the breath of God.
In today’s Second Reading, Paul contrasts two ways of existing: being "in the flesh" versus being "in the Spirit." It’s important to clarify what Paul means by "flesh." He isn't saying that our physical bodies are evil. God made our bodies and declared them to be good. So when Paul speaks of “the flesh,” he is actually talking about a way of living that is closed in on itself—life without God, life driven by fear, pride, self-reliance, or sin. To live “in the flesh” is to live as if everything about that life depends on us.
But Paul says:
- “You are not in the flesh; you are in the Spirit.”
The heart of this passage is the word dwell. The Greek word for "dwell" implies more than just visiting from time to time. It means to "make a home." Think about the difference between a houseguest and a resident. A guest sits in the living room and waits to be served; a resident has the keys, knows where the circuit breaker is, and starts remodeling the kitchen. When you were baptized, the Holy Spirit didn't just give you a "blessing." He moved in. He is the "Resident Architect" of your soul, constantly working to align your desires with God’s heart.
With this understanding, Paul then makes a breathtaking claim …
The Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead is the same Spirit living in you.
Paul does not say God will give us this new spirit in the future. He says God gives us this new life now—to our mortal, fragile, imperfect selves. The same power that surged through the tomb on Easter morning—that conquered death and shattered the darkness … is at work in our lives right now … giving us:
- The strength to forgive when we are exhausted.
- The courage to speak the truth when we are afraid.
- The capacity to love people we find inherently unlovable.
Wait. He loved them... so He stayed away?
In our human logic, if you love someone and they are in trouble, you rush to them. But God’s "delay" is never about indifference; it’s about a deeper revelation. Jesus wasn't waiting for Lazarus to die so He could show off; He was waiting so that He could reveal Himself not just as a "healer" of the living, but as the Lord of the Dead.
How many of us feel like God is currently "staying two days longer" in another place while our situation falls apart? This Gospel tells us that the delay isn't a denial. It's the setup for a resurrection you didn't even know was possible.
But what about before? What about Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, who knew Jesus was aware of their plight but did not come?
If we imagine Martha and Mary, surely they hoped and prayed to God that their brother would not die. And yet Lazarus died. They asked for Jesus to come, and in a sense, he did not come.
Lazarus and his sisters had to experience death, dying, and feelings of abandonment. When the cross came to them, Jesus let the cross happen in their lives. He did not take it away. At least, not at first.
What does this mean for us?
As Christians, we should expect to receive the cross as well. Of course, our faith in Christ allows us to carry the crosses of life. Our lives have eternal meaning, and suffering and death do not have the final word. But this does not make the sting of the cross any less harsh.
Traditionally, the saints are known to be the men and women who accept crosses, carry them, embrace them, and help others to do the same.
But perhaps the deepest level of holiness is to realize God does not need our permission to send us the cross ... because, ultimately, the cross always leads to new life. This highest degree of sanctity involves bearing our crosses with grace and love, considering them our own, seeing in them a gift from God.
Discipleship is to take the cross of Jesus and the path He walked as our very own. Our cross is our allotted share and participation in the work of the world’s redemption.
And this is why Jesus waited… to allow us a chance to carry our cross!
APPLICATION: Adopting the After-Death Perspective
But what about Lazarus? What was Lazarus like after this experience? The same? No.He was certainly a changed man … but how was he changed?
In his book Lazarus and His Beloved, Kahlil Gibran explored the experience of Lazarus after he was raised from the dead. Gibran portrayed a Lazarus who no longer fit in this world, who stayed on the fringe of daily life, who longed to return to the experience of the next life. Lazarus was angry that he was brought back to a life that was limited by human experience. Food had no taste for him. Colors seemed drab. Life in this world had no vitality.
Such an existence is not really living though … it is simply waiting for life to start.
This does not seem consistence with the new life in Christ that we have been given … that St Paul believes we start living from the moment of our baptism … so I imagine a Lazarus unencumbered by the stresses of life that normally occupy our minds and preventing us from experiencing vibrancy. The new Lazarus has passed beyond fears and anxieties and experiences life as nothing less than a tremendous gift. Yes, Lazarus dies again. But I believe his second passage to the next life was one of ease because he was able to trustingly move to a new dimension of life’s fullness — one that is greater than our imaginations. In this way, the raising of Lazarus is a story about the fullness of life in the here and now, not just in some kind of life after this life.
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