Fifth Sunday of Lent (A)
You are a parent who has reached retirement age. You have had several children. Only one or two of them still practice their Catholic faith in any recognizable fashion. You know you made mistakes as a parent – who hasn’t? – but you also know that you did the best you could to raise your children and to pass on your faith. Have all your efforts been in vain, you may wonder? What will become of my children? Will my grandchildren have faith?
You are a priest, or sister, or lay person who has been in parish ministry for years. You see the results of fewer vocations, an aging population, and a decline in the number of young people at Mass. You know that you, as a parish minister, are competing with many well-financed voices for the attention of your people. Is the parish going to shrivel up and die, despite anything you do? Can you see any results from your ministries?
You are someone who has what everyone else calls a disability. You live in a society that tries to be ‘inclusive’ and that seeks to make more things accessible to you. You are part of a Church that proclaims itself to be ‘pro-life’ and that claims to value you for who you are. Nevertheless… you feel as though ‘normal’ people see you as someone to do things for, and not someone who has anything to offer them. When people talk about accessibility, do they bother asking you what would help you? When people speak of themselves as ‘pro-life’, do they still subtly see themselves as superior to you because they can ‘do’ more than you can (from their point of view)? How much of these attitudes have seeped in? Do you find yourself wondering, in your lowest moments, if you would be better off dead than live as no more than a ‘burden’ to others?
If any of these examples resonate with you in any way, then the account of the raising of Lazarus is for you. Something inside you – faith? hope? love? – seems to be weak, even dying. You are tempted to doubt or even despair about the future. Let us, then, look at moments from this story and see how they can be a means of grace, hope, and life for us.
Master, the one you love is ill.
Martha and Mary, the sisters of Lazarus, know that their brother is very sick, and fear the worst. They intercede for him with Jesus, trusting in Jesus’ love and in his power. The same is true for us. Even in our darkest moments, when hope seems to be slipping away and we feel alone and isolated, someone intercedes for us. Someone we know personally, no doubt. Do not forget the communion of saints. There are people interceding for us in this life and in the life of heaven. Angels intercede for us and help us in unseen ways. The Lord Jesus himself is our compassionate high priest, who always intercedes for us with the Father. All who follow Him do the same, in their own way, being members of His body. We are never alone and abandoned, however dark and solitary the night may seem.
(Jesus) remained for two days in the place where he was… “I am glad for you that I was not there, that you may believe.”
When Jesus hears of the illness of his friend Lazarus, he does not leave immediately for Bethany. Nor does he simply pass on the message, as he did for the centurion, that Lazarus will be healed simply through Jesus’ word. No. Jesus lingers.
Delay. Waiting. Can there be a more common, more human spiritual experience? We pray, and nothing seems to be happening right away. We knock until our knuckles bleed, and still no help is on the way. We open doors, but find only empty air. Or so it seems.
Why the wait? Jesus offers us an explanation: “That you may believe”. Lord, don’t we believe already? We surely do, but our belief is still imperfect. We still hedge our bets. We assume that we can – and should – be able to handle most things ourselves, and leave the overwhelming moments to God. No, Jesus waits, to let us see the foolishness of this attitude, as all the efforts we make on our own come up short. We need to feel, in the deepest, most visceral way possible, something that is true every second of our lives – we are dependent on the Lord for everything, including life itself. Beyond that, we depend on so many other people who help sustain our lives in countless ways. Once we feel the vulnerability, the helplessness, the ache of our own utter weakness and fragility, then we are ready to make an act of real faith in the Lord. Then, our hearts are truly open so that He can come and do for us what he has wanted to do for us all along. Then, what he does for us will also be a gift to all who know us – that we, and everyone with us, may believe.
“Take away the stone.” “Lord, by now there will be a stench.”
Jesus arrives at Bethany. Martha and Mary reproach him for his seeming delay. He assures them that, if they believe, they will see the glory of God. Martha professes that Jesus is “the Messiah, the Son of God”. Yet, there is resistance. There is a stone in the way, and even Martha doesn’t want it moved. She expects to encounter only the smell of death and decay, and she would prefer that no one be subjected to it. Let Lazarus rest until the resurrection at the end of time, she thinks. But there is no life here now.
So, too, we can resist the Lord’s offer of new life. Even when we feel our utter, desperate need for the Lord’s gift, we hesitate. What is the stone that we don’t want removed? Where is our spiritual blockage? What is the smell of death and decay that we want to keep hidden? For some, there may be some sin, some destructive behavior, or some addiction that has a deep hold on us. It embarrasses us, but we can’t seem to let go of it. It’s as though the sin or addiction is whispering, “You can’t survive – even one day – without me.” We are ashamed, and don’t want anyone to catch that aroma. For others, it may be a great fear or anxiety. If I open my heart and trust the Lord that much – if I give Him a blank check – what will He ask of me? Will I be up to it? Will I fail Him in the end? The fear paralyzes us, the anxiety daunts us. For still others, it may be scandals in the Church, or the sins – great and small – that believers still commit that are the problem. Can the Lord really be present here – among this people – in this age? Will I acquire the ‘stench’ of scandal in the eyes of others? Can I see that if the Lord welcomes me, with all my sins, into His people, how can I not expect to find Him welcoming others with their sins – while at the same time calling all to repentance and conversion?
“Did I not tell you that if you believe you will see the glory of God?” “Lazarus, come out!”
Martha hesitates, Mary wonders why Jesus didn’t come sooner to heal Lazarus, and everyone else weeps. No one quite dares to expect anything more. Yet Jesus assures them that, here and now, if they believe they will see the glory of God. Jesus then goes to the tomb, calls Lazarus forth, and – to the amazement of all – Lazarus staggers out.
We hesitate. Can we dare to believe that we will see, here and now, the glory of God revealed in our very lives? Far too often, we have been disappointed by the broken promises of others. Far too often, we ourselves have failed to keep our promises and live up to our most cherished commitments. The fear of one more disappointment, the greatest of all, stops us just when we are at the edge and invited to trust the Lord. We try to cushion the blow in many ways. Such wonders might happen for someone else, but not for us – or so we tell ourselves. We keep our expectations low, as one more act of self-defense. Unfortunately, that self-defense also keeps us from becoming more fully open and receptive to the Lord’s limitless gift of life. Our hearts must expand, not contract, in order to be filled with Him. We turn our hearts over to Him with all the openness and vulnerability we can muster. It won’t be complete or perfect – not the first time, or the second, or the hundredth – but it will be enough. The Lord will then call us by name, and bring us out of that pit of seeming hopelessness and despair. We, like Lazarus, will stagger out, as something remarkable has happened to us. We can scarcely name it. Just when all seemed lost, and we seemed abandoned, there was new life and hope. The seed, which seemed to be devoured and dried up in so many ways, found good soil. The mustard seed – so small at first – bears amazing fruit. And it all came from the love and mercy of the Lord, who called (and calls) us back to life, with renewed faith, hope and love. Our renewed life not only strengthens our faith; it blesses the faith of all who know and see us. The glory of God is thus revealed in us. We get a small glimpse of what God is up to. Our fears turn out to be groundless. All shall indeed be well – for those who believe.
And the chief priests plotted to kill Lazarus too, because many of the Jews were turning away and believing in Jesus because of Lazarus.
A little later in his Gospel, John adds this coda to the Lazarus story. It is also a reminder for us, whenever we experience the story of Lazarus in our lives. We will encounter resistance and opposition – not only from within, but also from without. Most people do, of course. But this is a specific kind of opposition. It is opposition because we have been revived by the Lord and are His disciples. Some will try to find some weakness in us as a way to discredit us. Others will try to pass it off as immaturity on our part, a desire to live in the past, an inability to face life “as it is”. In some parts of the world, resistance and opposition are much worse.
Yet, just as the first disciples rejoined that they were found worthy of suffering for the Lord, so, too, we can see it in this way. After all, we know full well that, just as the Lord has given each of us experiences of life and healing already (in other words, just as we have already shared in Lazarus’ story), the Lord will raise us up from any and every trial and bring us to a fullness of life with Him. Besides, just as we would not abandon a friend or family member who is suffering but would rather do our best to be with them and support them, so, too, we choose to be with the Lord in our suffering and also with all other believers who suffer. We believe that the Lord who overcomes death remains with us. We witness to this by how we persevere in our challenges and by how we support one another in all kinds of sufferings and struggles. As Paul reminds us, nothing can separate us from the love of God that comes to us through Christ and in the Spirit.
May all of this enlighten and sustain us, as we face our own trials and seek to support others in theirs.