Scripture Reflection, March 9: The Raising of Lazarus

Scripture Readings:
Ezekiel 37: 12-14
Psalm 130
Romans 8: 8-11
John 11: 1-45

Click here to listen to the podcast of this scripture reflection.

On this Fifth Sunday of Lent we pray with the compelling account of the raising of Lazarus from the gospel of John.  This story makes it clear to us that Jesus knew very well the fragile nature of human life. I was speaking this week with the mother of a student at Northern Illinois University, where the community is struggling to deal with the tragic shooting of a number of students in a classroom. She mentioned that there is a kind of uneasy quiet around the campus these days. This university community, and all of those affected by those shootings, has come face to face with the fragility of human life.

After being informed of the death of his friend, Jesus goes to that place of death that has entombed Lazarus. He goes there as the divine Son of God, the one who lives in abiding communion with the Father. He is the one in whom the very presence and power of God are alive and active. As we hear in this gospel, he himself is “the resurrection and the life.” But Jesus also goes to this place as one who was truly human, like us in all things but sin. The gospel tells us that he loved Martha, Mary and Lazarus very much. When Martha and Mary meet Jesus they speak to him as a close friend, someone in whom they have confidence and who understands their grief.  And we learn that Jesus is deeply disturbed by the harsh reality of death that has taken the life of his friend. He is profoundly troubled by it. There may be no more powerful line in all of the gospels than the three-word sentence given to us by John the evangelist: “And Jesus wept.” “And Jesus wept. So the Jews said, ‘See how much he loved him.’” Jesus’ raising of Lazarus is an act of divine power, the power of God over death. But it is also an act of love, an act of friendship for someone Jesus cared about who was held in the frightening grip of death.

As we move closer to the celebration of the Easter Triduum, we are invited this Sunday to reaffirm our belief in Jesus as the resurrection and the life. We are called to renew our trust that our bond with Christ and the bonds of faith and love that we forge with others will not be severed by death. Life is indeed fragile, and the experience of death and loss can be so harsh. But we believe in the crucified and risen Christ, the one who has power over death. As Saint Paul reminds us in the second reading, we have been given the Spirit of Christ, the Spirit who dwells within us and who fills us with hope in the resurrection of the dead.

I believe that this gospel account contains another invitation for us as well. It invites us to reflect on our lives in the here and now and to ask if we find ourselves imprisoned in the darkness of some tomb. That tomb may well have different names and shapes for each of us. It may be the tomb of some destructive pattern in our lives: a habit or way of relating that burdens us and alienates us from others.  Like the people in this gospel story, we may fear that it is too late to get out of this tomb. We are simply caught in that unhealthy or destructive pattern. Yet Jesus stands there before us in fidelity and abiding compassion, as he did for his friend Lazarus. He says, “Take away that stone.”  Take away the stone of despair, of destructive actions and attitudes, and allow me to offer you freedom and new life.

The tomb in which we find ourselves may consist of gripping worry and anxiety. Worry and fear over difficult circumstances or pressing responsibilities in our lives – mid-term examinations, our GPA, difficult relationships, concerns about job and career, family challenges. We may find ourselves trapped in worry about matters over which we have absolutely no control. That kind of anxiety can leave us trapped in a darkened and sealed-off existence, bound hand and foot like Lazarus. The Lord Jesus comes to us in that tomb, moved by the deepest emotion, just as he was over Lazarus. He commands that the stone be taken away, so that he can speak his word of peace to us.

The tomb in which we find ourselves may be the dark prison of negativity. We may find it difficult to see ourselves and our lives as worthwhile. Perhaps experiences of failure and disappointment, or the lack of appreciation and encouragement from others, have reinforced in us feelings of inadequacy or failure. Jesus comes to us in that tomb, too, commanding that the stone be removed.  And if we could only see him standing before us, as the crowd in the gospel witnessed Jesus approaching the tomb of Lazarus, we would marvel at how much he loves us. In his steadfast love for us, he calls us out of the darkness of negativity and self-hatred, to live in the light of his love – to live in the recognition of our own worth and dignity in his eyes.

“And when he had said this, Jesus cried out in a loud voice, ‘Lazarus, come out!’ The dead man came out, tied hand and foot … So Jesus said to them, ‘Untie him and let him go.’” At the celebration of the Eucharist, we profess this Jesus to be the Son of God, mighty in his divinity, with power to bring life to the dead. We also know him to be compassionate in his humanity – the one who wept at the death of his friend. He is the one in whom we place our hopes for the future, indeed our very hope for eternal life. And he is the one who comes to us in the present, with the same depth of concern and compassion, to call us out of whatever tomb we may be living in. He leads us out of the darkness of those tombs and sets us free to live in the light of his love.

Fr. Robin Ryan, cp