5th Sunday of Lent

March 22, 2026

We all have the chance for a new life in Christ.

John 11:3-7, 17, 20-27, 33-45 

So the sisters sent a message to Jesus, “Lord, he whom you love is ill.” But when Jesus heard it, he said, “This illness does not lead to death; rather it is for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” Accordingly, though Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, after having heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was. Then after this he said to the disciples, “Let us go to Judea again.” When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed at home. Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.” Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha said to him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” She said to him, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.” When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” Jesus began to weep. So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. Jesus said, “Take away the stone.” Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead for four days.” Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” So they took away the stone. And Jesus looked upwards and said, “Father, I thank you for having heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.” When he had said this, he cried with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.” Many of the Jews therefore, who had come with Mary and had seen what Jesus did, believed in him.

REFLECTIONS ON THE GOSPEL

Fr. Brendan McGuire Homily

“I am the resurrection and the life.”

At first pass, this gospel reading presents several parts that are quite difficult to hear, if not confusing. For example, when Jesus first hears of Lazarus being ill, it says that he stays another two days; this is the same Jesus, who with the Centurion’s servant heals him from a distance with not even a second thought: “Go home, your servant is healed.” Why would he not have done this for his own friend? His friend who he was obviously deeply close with. Then he stays an extra two days and he says then that this is so that the glory of God can be known. Some people reflect on this passage and say the reason for that is because God has destined some of us for suffering and some of us for an early death, which is an awful thing to conclude. I am not sure where in that scripture passage they hear this but it is often said of this very passage. This is where God, in a sense, intends us to suffer and through the suffering will shine the glory of God. Not a very comforting thought! There is a deeper way to look at this. It is worth parsing it open so that we can understand what Jesus is saying here. Jesus is saying that he is the resurrection and the life; and that there is nothing to stop that from coming to bear. Suffering and pain is a reality, yes, and does God allow it, yes. That part is the mystery of life, which I think none of us will fully understand until we get to heaven. And that is something that sort of bothers a lot of us. If God is so good, then why does he allow good people to suffer; and the example today is with his friend Lazarus. Why does he allow Lazarus to suffer when he can stop it but he chooses not to for the glory of God? But it is what Jesus does that is important to look at; not at what he does not do! What Jesus does is he shows up. He goes anyway. He goes in the midst of the pain and suffering of Lazarus’ family. And he accompanies them in the middle of all of it. He goes and he shows up. We might say that we can show up but then we do not have the power to heal. We do not have the power to raise up our friends from the dead. We are left with a gap ourselves and that can be frustrating for us. What are we to do? We can show up. That is the very message that we are called to do. We are called to show up and to accompany; and we are called to be there. Until you have suffered and been in a position of pain, we do not quite know what it is like but presence makes the world of difference. Do not underestimate how hard it is to be present to somebody who is suffering. Because when you show up, the first thing you want to do is to take away the pain; take away the suffering because that is what we try to do. We try to solve things but there are times when we cannot do that. There are times when we are helpless and therein lies our role, to still show up; to still be present to those suffering. It sounds so easy but let me tell you it is harder than you think because what we have to do first is quiet our own soul. We have to put all our needs aside to be in control in that moment and to put it aside and say “I will just be here. I will be just present to this person in the midst of their pain and suffering.” And that, we can do. And when we do it, it is powerfully healing whether that be for somebody who is just going through a difficult spot in life, maybe through a difficult marriage; or through a painful loss in their own family; or whether they themselves are in fact dying. It is powerful to the point of transformation. Let me give you an example to break this open: You know my, my brother Paul, who I spoke of often last year in that dying process. It was hard to constantly show up to watch him suffer because pancreatic cancer is an awful, awful disease. Absolutely awful disease. And you’ve got to keep showing up because you’ve got to keep accompanying him because he needs somebody to walk with him to the end. I remember it was the last night he lived. My Spiritual Director, Fr. Dave died of pancreatic cancer the night before so I had to break that news to Paul because they made a pact together that whoever died first would come back and get the other one. It was sort of powerful pact. I just didn’t think it was going to happen. But it did really happen. Fr. Dave died on the 29th and Dave came back to take Paul on the 30th that very next day. It was very real. Back when we were at Stanford in the middle of the COVID protocols and all the nurses asked the family to leave but because I was wearing my clerical clothes, I called the chaplain card and got to stay. I said, “Oh, I’m the Chaplain. I need to stay as a minister.” I didn’t say I was also related but that didn’t matter. Paul leaned in as best he could and said, “You know, I am ready to go. I’ve done what I can. Will you just hold my hand?” So, I did! For nearly 7 hours, I held his hand and that was his last night. Showing up. Accompanying somebody. Beautiful but painful. Healing and transformative. Death and resurrection. What can we do to live this gospel? We can show up. We can show up when somebody is suffering whether it be physical or emotional or mental; or whether they are in fact are dying themselves. We can be there and accompany them and assure them of our love by our presence and by our silence; but also that we believe that God’s silence can be trusted because Jesus is the resurrection and new life. And that in the end, we will be joined together in the heavenly kingdom. We will be together again. We give them the assurance that the resurrection is real and we’ll give them the courage to take that last step into eternal life, which we will all need. So, what can we do? We can show up and accompany them for he is the resurrection and the new life.

Commentary on John 11:1-45 by Karoline Lewis

It is significant that the story of Lazarus, unique to the Gospel of John, is the Gospel reading for the last Sunday in Lent, the Sunday immediately preceding Palm/Passion Sunday. For the Synoptic Gospels, the cleansing of the temple is the impetus for the plot to kill Jesus (Mark 11:18; Luke 19:47-48). In the Gospel of John, the temple scene is moved to the beginning of the Gospel, immediately following the Wedding at Cana, and it is the raising of Lazarus to life that incites the plot for Jesus’ arrest and death (11:53, 57). In John 11:46-57, the chief priests and the Pharisees are told what Jesus did and “from that day on they planned to put him to death.” Moreover, the chief priests want to get rid of the evidence as well, and plan to put Lazarus to death “since it was on account of him that many of the Jews were deserting and were believing in Jesus” (12:9-11). It is Jesus’ very claim, “I am the resurrection and the life” (11:25) that provokes his death in the Fourth Gospel. The repercussions of the raising of Lazarus are not included in the lectionary reading, or any time in the three-year lectionary cycle (12:1-11 only on Holy Monday), and should either be read or referenced in preaching on this text. The raising of Lazarus is the last of Jesus’ “signs” in the Gospel of John. Chapter 12 functions as a bridge chapter before the narrative halts in time for Jesus’ last meal and words to his disciples (chapters 13-17). The actual raising of Lazarus is narrated in only two verses (11:43-44). The events, discussion, and details prior to the main event receive the bulk of the narrative space. Previously in the Gospel, Jesus performs a sign, which is typically followed by dialogue and a discourse by Jesus that interprets the sign (5:1-47; 9:1-10:21). Why does Jesus comment on the sign before actually raising Lazarus from the dead? On one level, it seems that what precedes the miracle is just as important. In other words, Jesus’ interpretation of the meaning of the sign is perhaps as, or more, critical than the sign itself. Why is the structure changed for this last sign and what does it suggest for the preaching on the raising of Lazarus? How do these details in the story leading up to Lazarus finally walking out of the tomb contribute to our understanding of the meaning of this sign? This is not to say that the raising of Lazarus is not important. The narrative elements that set up Lazarus coming out of the tomb are significant. They contribute both to the narrative suspense and to the extraordinary final scene of Lazarus, dead man walking. We are told that the tomb was a cave and that there was a stone against it. Lazarus has been dead four days (see also 11:17). Since Jewish belief held that the soul left the body after three days, just in case we are wondering, Lazarus is really dead. And, he is going to smell. Jesus then pauses to pray and this prayer is more than demonstrative. Note what Jesus highlights in his prayer–hearing (11:41-42). Jesus thanks God for hearing him, and how is Lazarus raised? By hearing Jesus. Like the sheep that recognize the voice of the shepherd who calls them by name (10:3), Lazarus hears his name being called, he recognizes the voice of the shepherd, and the dead man comes out, because only the shepherd can lead his sheep out. Again we should ask, why does Jesus need to talk about the raising of Lazarus prior to doing it? Is it because that the sign would be easily misunderstood, even by us? When we think about the raising of Lazarus, do we place our focus on “I am the resurrection” and not remember that Jesus also says “I am the life?” Indeed, this is exactly what Martha thinks. Notice her dialogue with Jesus in 11:21-27. When Jesus says to her, “your brother will rise again,” she hears only the promise of a future resurrection, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day” (11:24). And Jesus seems to correct this misunderstanding, “I am the resurrection and the life.” But Jesus, we might ask, what is the difference? In fact, this is a question that has puzzled others as well. Other ancient manuscripts omit “and the life,” with the assumption that this phrase is a redundancy on the part of Jesus. Our first impressions may be the same. We tend to focus on the resurrection that we situate for ourselves as a distant promise, our guarantee of salvation, our eternal life with God and Jesus in heaven. But what might it mean that Jesus is the resurrection and the life? That we are raised to life, not as future salvific existence, but to life right now, right here, with Jesus? For Lazarus, the Gospel does not describe his future with Jesus, but his present. In chapter 12, the anointing of Jesus takes place at the home of Mary and Martha in Bethany. We are told that Martha served, Mary anoints Jesus, and Lazarus, whom Jesus had raised from the dead (12:1, 9, 17) “was one of those at the table with him.” The raising of Lazarus also gives him new life with Jesus. This new life is leaning on the breast of Jesus (13:23), reclining at the table with him, sharing food and fellowship (13:28). New life in Jesus is this intimacy, this closeness, this dwelling, lying on the chest of Jesus. It is here and now, because for the Gospel of John, it is not just the death of Jesus but the life of Jesus that brings about salvation. For the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, through which “we have all received grace upon grace” (1:16).

First Impressions by Jude Siciliano, OP

Ezekiel 37: 12-14; Romans 8: 8-11; John 11: 1-45

God is standing outside the tomb--- this is the strong image that touches me in today’s readings. The tomb – our last stop on our journey to God. And what a terrible stopping-off-place it is! At American cemeteries the undertakers and grave diggers do their jobs well. The hole is dug, the excavated soil placed off to the side and the area surrounding the grave is covered with artificial green turf. (It looks like the astro-turf of indoor football stadiums.) Over the grave is a metal framed contraption and thick straps are hung from it to support the coffin. Family and friends remain in their cars until the workers ready the site with flowers. If the weather is foul, there is an awning to protect the mourners and the casket from rain or snow. When all is neatly arranged the mourners are invited to come to the grave site. The coffin is suspended over the grave, supported by that frame and straps. The grave diggers take their break off to the side, some grabbing a smoke during their idle moments. Soon they will be needed again but not till after everyone has left. The final prayers are said, each mourner takes a flower from the nearby floral arrangements, bids farewell to the deceased and places it on the coffin before they leave. But no matter how antiseptic the grave site and how orderly the process, we know what we are looking at – it’s a grave to which we are assigning one we have loved, perhaps all of our lives. Those nearby grave diggers will soon be placing our loved one into the earth and we will see them no more. Of course, I know I am describing American first-world funeral practices. In the poorest lands the body is wrapped in a simple cloth or placed in a wooden coffin made by a family member, a grave is scratched out of rocky soil by friends, and perhaps a flower or two is left on the earth that has been scrapped back into the grave. But in our culture, most of us leave before we get to see the casket lowered into the earth. We can’t watch the final triumph of the grave as it claims our beloved dead. We also have our ways of camouflaging death with cosmetics and euphemisms. But no matter where and how we bury the dead, the grave finds us at our most vulnerable and seems to have its triumphant moments over us. Hold this burial scene, the one you are most familiar with, in your imagination. Then look at the scriptures for today and see the graves in the first and third readings and hear the life-assuring words of the Romans passage. The scriptures assure us we are not alone at our most desolate moments. They don’t avoid recognizing our pain and voicing our questions and even our disappointment in God. “If you had only been here....” But while they acknowledge our grief and feelings of impotency, as we stare at death’s handiwork, the grave – they also tell us something unimaginable. The scriptures say that, in our most vulnerable moments, God stands with us at the grave and makes a promise of life that seems to mock the evidence before us. Death, by all logical conclusions, has defeated us. But God says, “NO!!!!”–in capital letters with a few exclamation points. As Ezekiel puts it, “Then you shall know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves and have you rise from them, O my people!” (Check out the text, it has an exclamation point and should have a few more to emphasize the impact of those words!) Only God can speak with such authority and certainty, for we are in no place to make such a promise on our own. Ezekiel is not writing to console a family or a few friends over the death of a loved one. Ezekiel is writing for an entire people over the death of their nation and the destruction of their religious holy places. The prophet is speaking to the Jewish exiles in Babylon who have seen their beloved Jerusalem destroyed and their Temple desecrated. (587 B.C.E.) Using the vivid dead-bones vision (37: 1-10) Ezekiel evokes the hope that God can raise these people, these “dry bones,” by means of God’s Spirit and Word. The prophet is God’s instrument for proclaiming this promise. Ezekiel’s vision isn’t addressing a final resurrection, but today’s reading suggests God will raise up the people who feel cut off, not only from their homeland, but also from God, as they languish in foreign captivity. Can God do the impossible and restore Israel, take the people home to Jerusalem and help them rebuild the Temple? Yes—God is that powerful, promises Ezekiel. “I will put my spirit in you that you may live, and I will settle you upon your land.” Hearing Ezekiel address the people we wonder: can people leaving a loved one behind for burial rebuild their lives? Can a family hold together as a family when its mother or father dies young? When a sibling is tragically killed in a random act of violence or an overdose? When a war causes civilian upheaval and displacement? Death has so many co-workers dealing out death in so many forms. What will happen to the survivors? Hear what God has to say: “I will settle you upon you land; thus, you will know that I am God.” Let’s see how else the promise is made and to whom. We turn to the gospel. The story gets more personal in the gospel for in it we get: a sick person who dies, a reprimand, an expression of faith in the impossible, weeping, disbelief, seeing the impossible and then coming to belief. In addition, Jesus will have to pay personally and dearly for this miracle, for it will intensify opposition to him and begin the scheming that leads to his own grave. While God doesn’t stand helplessly by Lazarus’ grave; this miracle of life will cost God dearly as well. Lazarus is Jesus’ friend and as we hear this story we are encouraged to believe that we are friends as well. As Jesus said earlier in John, “...an hour is coming in which all those in their tombs shall hear his [the Son of Man’s] voice and come forth.” (5: 28) We friends of Jesus trust these words as we stand by the open graves of so many loved ones and anticipate that a similar grave awaits us as well. Jesus is very much in charge here. No one can rush him, not even the urgent pleas of the dying Lazarus’ sisters. He risks the appearance of not being their true friend, of seeming unconcerned. Why does he wait so long? (And why are we also left with questions and doubts when a word from him could raise us from our death beds?) One thing is for sure--- after the delay we know Lazarus is really dead! Practical Martha names the reality, “Lord, by now there will be a stench, he has been dead four days.” What a scene; the dead man emerging from the dark, dank tomb with his burial cloths dangling from his resuscitated body! Soon Jesus will suffer a violent death. They will also wrap him, as was their custom, in burial cloths and place him in a tomb. Another group of family and friends will stand by yet one more grave and peer into its coldness. They too will feel helpless as they huddle to comfort one another. But all is not totally lost. God will visit this grave and speak a word of life over Jesus and God’s Spirit will raise him up to a completely new life. Who could have imagined? With his resurrection all of us who suffer death will be given the gift of hope and respond, “We too will rise.” As we interpret this passage, note this about John’s gospel. For John, the life God promises in Jesus is already present to the baptized. Our new life does not begin after we have breathed our last breath or when our bodies are surrendered to the grave—it begins now. To call upon another verse from John, “I solemnly assure you, an hour is coming, has indeed come, when the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God, and those who have heeded it shall live. (5:25) We have new life in us even as we stare at the many grave sites in the course of our lives. There are the deaths of family and friends, of course. But we also face death if we; lose our jobs; flunk out of college; get a crippling disease; lose our physical or mental strengths in old age; give up plans of being married and having children; have our last child go off to school or get married; etc. Is new life possible beyond these and other graves? In this life? The believer, hearing today’s scriptures, is encouraged to believe that God has not abandoned us at our graves and will call out our names, utter a life-giving Word and breathe into us a resurrecting Spirit. “I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he/she dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believers in me will never die. Do you believe this?” And we respond with Martha, “Yes, Lord, I have come to believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, the one who is coming into the world.”

Justice Bulletin Board by Barbara Molinari Quinby, MPS, Director Office of Human Life, Dignity, and Justice Ministries Holy Name of Jesus Cathedral, Raleigh, NC

I will put my spirit in you that you may live… -Ezekiel 37:14

I recently re-read the following from Pope Benedict XVI and quoted by Pope Francis in his encyclical letter, Laudato Si: “The external deserts in the world are growing, because the internal deserts have become so vast” (217). Pope Francis uses the quote to call for a profound interior conversion regarding the environment, but I wonder if the metaphor does not also call us to a profound interior awareness that God’s spirit resides in each of us. What does that mean to my life if I take Ezekiel’s words (37:14) to heart? If the spirit of love, humility, merciful forgiveness, peace, and joy became truly manifest through everyone into our world, would not the dryness of the world disappear? There is no doubt that Pope Francis saw everything as connected. Mahatma Gandhi also believed in this inward-outward connection: “We but mirror the world. All the tendencies present in the outer world are to be found in the world of our body. If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him. This is the divine mystery supreme. A wonderful thing it is and the source of our happiness. We need not wait to see what others do.” Lent is the time for introspection through prayer, fasting and almsgiving. But if all we do is go through the motions of unexamined prayer, required fasting, and dutiful almsgiving, we will not experience the interior, life-altering conversion that these wise men extol. Lent is a journey. Where are we going if not to our innermost being? If you find this journey difficult to begin, I offer this suggestion. What has God placed on your heart as something that needs your attention? What plight in the world speaks to you? Take a look at the works of mercy ministries listed on the Cathedral webpage and see if any of them could be a place to start. Almsgiving traditionally means giving money but giving time and talent and walking with people who are other than you opens “new lenses of thoughts and emotions” as Gandhi states. God changed the trajectory of my life when I opened myself to the situation of so many people who lack decent, affordable housing. Not only did my worldview change but so did my interior life. I wish this for you, also, my fellow travelers.

LENTEN POETRY COMPANION WEEK 5: AN INVITATION TO LIVE IN FAITH

SUNDAY — And If I Did, What Then? by George Gascoigne
“And if I did, what then?
Are you aggriev’d therefore?
The sea hath fish for every man,
And what would you have more?”
Thus did my mistress once,
Amaze my mind with doubt;
And popp’d a question for the nonce
To beat my brains about.
Whereto I thus replied:
“Each fisherman can wish
That all the seas at every tide
Were his alone to fish.
“And so did I (in vain)
But since it may not be,
Let such fish there as find the gain,
And leave the loss for me.
“And with such luck and loss
I will content myself,
Till tides of turning time may toss
Such fishers on the shelf.
“And when they stick on sands,
That every man may see,
Then will I laugh and clap my hands,
As they do now at me.”
Source: “And If I Did, What Then?” from The Wadsworth Anthology of Poetry by Jay Parini. Boston: Thomson Wadsworth, 2006.

MONDAY — Annunciation by Denise Levertov
‘Hail, space for the uncontained God’ From the Agathistos Hymn,
Greece, VI
We know the scene: the room, variously furnished,
almost always a lectern, a book;
always the tall lily.
Arrived on solemn grandeur of great wings,
the angelic ambassador, standing or hovering,
whom she acknowledges, a guest.
But we are told of meek obedience. No one mentions
courage.
The engendering Spirit
did not enter her without consent.
God waited.
She was free
to accept or to refuse, choice
integral to humanness.
Aren’t there annunciations
of one sort or another
in most lives?
Some unwillingly
undertake great destinies,
enact them in sullen pride,
uncomprehending.
More often
those moments
when roads of light and storm
open from darkness in a man or woman,
are turned away from
in dread, in a wave of weakness, in despair
and with relief.
Ordinary lives continue.
God does not smite them.
But the gates close, the pathway vanishes.
She had been a child who played, ate, slept
like any other child – but unlike others,
wept only for pity, laughed
in joy not triumph.
Compassion and intelligence
fused in her, indivisible.
Called to a destiny more momentous
than any in all of Time,
she did not quail,
only asked
a simple, ‘How can this be?’
and gravely, courteously,
took to heart the angel’s reply,
perceiving instantly
the astounding ministry she was offered:
to bear in her womb
Infinite weight and lightness; to carry in hidden, finite inwardness,
nine months of Eternity; to contain
in slender vase of being,
the sum of power –
in narrow flesh,
the sum of light.
Then bring to birth,
push out into air, a Man-child
needing, like any other,
milk and love –
but who was God.
Source: “Annunciation” from The Stream and the Sapphire, by Denise Levertov. New York: New Directions Publishing, 1997.

TUESDAY — The Ledge of Light by Jessica Powers
I have climbed up out of a narrow darkness
on to a ledge of light.
I am of God; I was not made for night.
Here there is room to lift my arms and sing.
Oh, God is vast! With Him all space can come
to hole or corner or cubiculum.
Though once I prayed, “O closed Hand holding me…”
I know Love, not a vise. I see aright,
set free in morning on this ledge of light.
Yet not all truth I see. Since I am not
yet one of God’s partakers,
I visualize Him now: a thousand acres.
God is a thousand acres to me now
of high sweet-smelling April and the flow
of windy light across a wide plateau.
Ah, but when love grows unitive I know
joy will upsoar, my heart sing, far more free,
having come home to God’s infinity.
Source: “The Ledge of Light” from The Selected Poetry of Jessica Powers, edited by Regina Siegfried and Robert F. Morneau. Kansas City, MO: Sheed & Ward, 1989.

WEDNESDAY — Psalm 25:6–10
Show me your ways, O Lord,
teach me your paths;
guide me in your truth and teach me,
for you are God my Savior,
and my hope is in you all day long.
Remember, O Lord, your great mercy and love,
for they are from of old.
Remember not the sins of my youth
and my rebellious ways;
according to your love remember me,
for you are good, O Lord.

THURSDAY — Messenger by Mary Oliver
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird –
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
And these body-clothes,
A mouth with which to give shouts of joy
To the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
Telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.
Source: “Messenger” from Thirst, by Mary Oliver. Boston: Beacon Press, 2006.

FRIDAY — The Observer by Rainer Maria Rilke
I can tell a storm by the way the trees
are whipping, compared to when quiet,
against my trembling windows, and
I hear from afar things whispering
I couldn’t bear hearing without a friend
or love without a sister close by.
There moves the storm, the transforming one,
and runs through the woods and through the age,
changing it all to look ageless and young:
the landscape appears like the verse of a psalm,
so earnest, eternal, and strong.
How small is what we contend with and fight;
how great what contends with us;
if only we mirrored the moves of the things
and acquiesced to the force of the storm,
we, too, could be ageless and strong.
For what we can conquer is only the small,
and winning itself turns us into dwarfs;
but the everlasting and truly important
will never be conquered by us.
It is the angel who made himself known
to the wrestlers of the Old Testament:
for whenever he saw his opponents propose
to test their iron-clad muscle strength,
he touched them like strings of an instrument
and played their low-sounding chords.
Whoever submits to this angel,
whoever refuses to fight the fight,
comes out walking straight and great and upright,
and the hand once rigid and hard
shapes around as a gently curved guard.
No longer is winning a tempting bait.
One’s progress is to be conquered, instead,
by the ever mightier one.
Source: “The Observer” from Pictures of God; Rilke’s Religious Poetry, translated by Annemarie Kidder. Livonia, MI: First Page Publications, 2005.

SATURDAY — The Avowal by Denise Levertov
As swimmers dare
to lie face to the sky
and water bears them,
as hawks rest upon air
and air sustains them,
so would I learn to attain
freefall, and float
into Creator Spirit’s deep embrace,
knowing no effort earns
that all-surrounding grace.
Source: “The Avowal” from The Stream and the Sapphire, by Denise Levertov. New York: New Directions Publishing, 1997.

PREPARATION FOR THE SESSION

Adapted from Sacred Space: The Prayer Book 2025

Presence of God: Jesus, As I come to you today, fill my heart, my whole being, with the wonder of your sacred presence. Help me to become more aware of your presence in my life, and more receptive to that presence. I desire to love you as you love me. May nothing ever separate me from you. ( 1-2 minutes of silence)

Freedom: Jesus, Grant me the grace to have freedom of spirit. Keep me from being bound by desires and actions that are not good for me or others. Cleanse my heart and soul that I may live joyously in your love. ( 1-2 minutes of silence)

Consciousness: Where am I with God? With others in my life? What am I grateful for? Is there something I am sorry for, words or actions that have hurt others, and which I now regret? I take a moment to ask forgiveness of God and of those whom I have hurt. God, I give you thanks for your constant love and care for me. Keep me always aware of your presence in my life. (2-3 minutes of silence)

OPENING PRAYER

I know what you want from me, Lord: perfect trust in your goodness. But it is hard, Lord, when so many people and institutions, in one way or another, have let me down in the past. When I am entombed in hopelessness, grant that I may hear. Your voice calling me back to you. Teach me, through scriptures like these, to let go of my fears and apprehensions and learn to rely on your goodness and care.

COMPANIONS FOR THE JOURNEY

A little exegesis: Belief in the resurrection of the dead was introduced to the Jewish tradition in the book of Daniel. This belief was espoused by the Pharisees, but not the Sadducees. However, the belief in life after death was widely accepted by the common people of Jesus time (Father Raymond Brown. S.S.)

From “First Impressions”, a service of the Southern Dominican Province: God is standing outside the tomb—this is the strong image that touches me in today’s readings. The tomb—our last stop on our journey to God. And what a terrible stopping-off-place it is! At American cemeteries the undertakers and grave diggers do their jobs well. The hole is dug, the excavated soil placed off to the side and the area surrounding the grave is covered with artificial green turf. (It looks like the astro-turf of indoor football stadiums.) Over the grave is a metal framed contraption and thick straps are hung from it to support the coffin. Family and friends remain in their cars until the workers ready the site with flowers. If the weather is foul, there is an awning to protect the mourners and the casket from rain or snow. When all is neatly arranged the mourners are invited to come to the grave site. The coffin is suspended over the grave, supported by that frame and straps. The grave diggers take their break off to the side, some grabbing a smoke during their idle moments. Soon they will be needed again, but not till after everyone has left. The final prayers are said, each mourner takes a flower from the nearby floral arrangements, bids farewell to the deceased and places it on the coffin before they leave. But no matter how antiseptic the grave site and how orderly the process, we know what we are looking at—it’s a grave to which we are assigning one we have loved, perhaps all of our lives. Those nearby grave diggers will soon be placing our loved one into the earth and we will see them no more. Of course, I know I describing American first-world funeral practices. In the poorest lands the body is wrapped in a simple cloth or placed in a wooden coffin made by a family member, a grave is scratched out of rocky soil by friends, and perhaps a flower or two is left on the earth that has been scrapped back into the grave. But in our culture, most of us leave before we get to see the casket lowered into the earth. We can’t watch the final triumph of the grave as it claims our beloved dead. We also have our ways of camouflaging death with cosmetics and euphemisms. But no matter where and how we bury the dead, the grave finds us at our most vulnerable and seems to have its triumphant moments over us. Death has so many co-workers dealing out death in so many forms. What will happen to the survivors? Hear what God has to say: “I will settle you upon your land; thus you will know that I am God.” Let’s see how else the promise is made and to whom. We turn to the gospel. The story gets more personal in the gospel for in it we get: a sick person who dies, a reprimand, an expression of faith in the impossible, weeping, disbelief, seeing the impossible and then coming to belief. In addition, Jesus will have to pay personally and dearly for this miracle, for it will intensify opposition to him and begin the scheming that leads to his own grave. While God doesn’t stand helplessly by Lazarus’ grave; this miracle of life will cost God dearly as well. Lazarus is Jesus’ friend and as we hear this story we are encouraged to believe that we are friends as well. As Jesus said earlier in John, “...an hour is coming in which all those in their tombs shall hear his [the Son of Man’s] voice and come forth.” (5:28) We friends of Jesus trust these words as we stand by the open graves of so many loved ones and anticipate that a similar grave awaits us as well. Jesus is very much in charge here. No one can rush him, not even the urgent pleas of the dying Lazarus’ sisters. He risks the appearance of not being their true friend, of seeming unconcerned. Why does he wait so long? (And why are we also left with questions and doubts when a word from him could raise us from our death beds?) One thing is for sure--- after the delay we know Lazarus is really dead! Practical Martha names the reality, “Lord, by now there will be a stench, he has been dead four days.” What a scene; the dead man emerging from the dark, dank tomb with his burial cloths dangling from his resuscitated body! Soon Jesus will suffer a violent death. They will also wrap him, as was their custom, in burial cloths and place him in a tomb. Another group of family and friends will stand by yet one more grave and peer into its coldness. They too will feel helpless as they huddle to comfort one another. But all is not totally lost. God will visit this grave and speak a word of life over Jesus and God’s Spirit will raise him up to a completely new life. Who could have imagined? With his resurrection all of us who suffer death will be given the gift of hope and respond, “We too will rise.” As we interpret this passage, note this about John’s gospel. For John, the life God promises in Jesus is already present to the baptized. Our new life does not begin after we have breathed our last breath or when our bodies are surrendered to the grave—it begins now. To call upon another verse from John, “I solemnly assure you, an hour is coming, has indeed come, when the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God, and those who have heeded it shall live. (5:25) We have new life in us even as we stare at the many grave sites in the course of our lives. There are the deaths of family and friends, of course. But we also face death if we; lose our jobs; flunk out of college; get a crippling disease; lose our physical or mental strengths in old age; give up plans of being married and having children; have our last child go off to school or get married; etc. Is new life possible beyond these and other graves? In this life? The believer, hearing today’s scriptures, is encouraged to believe that God has not abandoned us at our graves and will call out our names, utter a life-giving Word and breathe into us a resurrecting Spirit. “I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he/she dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believers in me will never die. Do you believe this?” And we respond with Martha, “Yes, Lord, I have come to believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, the one who is coming into the world.”

LIVING THE GOOD NEWS

What action can you take in the next week as a response to today’s reading and discussion? Keep a private journal of your prayer/actions responses this week. Feel free to use the personal reflection questions which follow.

Reflection Questions
Lazarus represents all of us, each of whom Jesus loves. Do I feel loved by Jesus?

What does it mean to me that Jesus is the resurrection and the life?

Jesus’ act of raising Lazarus from the death actually speeds his own death. There was a cost. Has there eve ben a cost for you of doing something good?
Did you do it anyway, or was the cost too high?

Which of the characters in the story do you most identify with? Why?

Lack of forgiveness is something that may keep us “stuck” in a sort of death.
Is there someone or something about which I am refusing to offer forgiveness?
Is there anything for which I refuse to forgive myself?

Is there someone who refuses to forgive me?
What sort of “death” has this caused?

What are some of the little "deaths" in our lives? (illness, loss of a job, rejection by a loved one, etc.)

What are some of the "stones" that keep us entombed in a sort of death? (Fear, shame, envy, anger, and sadness are examples)

Walter Burghardt, in his homily on the fifth Sunday of Lent many years ago, said: “Eternal life does not begin with death. It begins now, because through Jesus, God and I are already one.” How do we live out or fail to live out that understanding?

Do we believe that those who have died are linked to us through the communion of saints? Do we have an examples to relate?

Have you ever done something for a friend that caused you severe discomfort or pain? Was it worth it?

What parts of my life need healing, mercy, resurrection?

Where is my interior necrosis?
Where is the dead part of my soul?

Do I reflect the joy of Christ, or am I like a mourner at a funeral?

CLOSING PRAYER

Don’t forget to provide some prayer time at the beginning and at the end of the session (or both), allowing time to offer prayers for anyone you wish to pray for.

You call me to come out, Lord, from all that keeps me bound and facing death of one sort or another—insecurity, anger, hopelessness, fear, disappointment in myself and others. The trappings of this life, like accomplishment, money, unhealthy dependence on others are wrappings that keep me from freely experiencing your gift of life and love. Set me free Lord. If I do not hear your call, call me again. And again.

FOR THE WEEK AHEAD

Weekly Memorization
Taken from the gospel for today’s session….Lazarus, Come out!

Meditations
A meditation in the Ignatian style: Read John 11: 1-44 again. Imagine the various scenes in this story. Try to picture Mary and Martha coping with the desperate illness of their brother. Imagine the scene on the far side of the Jordan where Jesus is hiding out to avoid arrest. What is Jesus actually doing when he receives the message about Lazarus? Try to put yourself in Mary and Martha’s shoes as they see Jesus after Lazarus has died. Would you react the same way? How does Jesus react? What does that tell you about his feelings for Lazarus and for Mary and Martha? Have you ever felt that God was a little too slow in reacting to a crisis in your life? Reflect on the final outcome and see if you can detect the presence of God in good times and in bad times. Imagine a dialogue with the risen Lazarus. What do you think he would say to you? by Anne Greenfield from Songs of Life: Psalm Meditations from the Catholic Community at Stanford

A Meditation in the Ignatian Style/ Imagination: There is a section of John’s gospel which we do not hear on any Sunday. It is John 12:1-11. Read it. In that passage we have the story of a dinner Jesus attended at the home of Martha and Mary, and Lazarus was present! Imagione you are there—as a guest , a servant, or one of Jesus disciples….What does Lazarus loook like? Is he robust or still a little weak? What does he say to Jesus when Jesus arrives at their home? Imagine the conversation that tale place around the table among the family of Lazarus and the disciples. What do you think some of the questions are? What do you want to ask Lazarus or Jesus? Are you a little uncomfortable at this table? How do you feel when Mary began anointing Jesus with oil? Are you uncomfortable at witnessing this personal gesture? Are you a little fllummoxed? Or ae you a little irritated that such money is being wasted then it could. Go to the poor? How do you react to Judas’ objections? (remember here, that at this time you have no notion about the events of a week later, about Judas betrayal, the agony in the garden, Peter’s denial or Jesus death an burial). Find your own voice and speak to Lazarus about what you have witnessed. Speak to Jesus about his promise to all of us of eternal life. What do you say?

A Meditation in the Franciscan Style/Action: Is it hard to know what to say to someone who is in the throes of grief? Can one simply acknowledge that we do not know how to help, but that we are concerned about them and are available if needed? Do you know of anyone who is grieving the loss of a loved one, or a job, or health? What one gesture of sympathy and solidarity can you make this week to comfort this person?

A Meditation in the Dominican Style/Asking Questions: (A homily of Pope Francis on April 6, 2014) Today I invite you to think for a moment, in silence here: where is my interior necrosis? Where is the dead part of my soul? Where is my tomb? Think, for a short moment….What part of the heart can be corrupted because of my attachment to sin, one sin or another? And to remove the stone, to take away the stone of shame and allow the Lord to say to us as he said to Lazarus: “Come out!" that all our souls might be healed, might be raised by the love f Jesus. He is capable of forgiving us. We all need it! All of us. We are all sinners, but we must be careful not to become corrupt. Sinners we may be, but He forgives us. Reflection: Consider Pope Francis’ questions above. What parts of your life need healing, mercy, resurrection? Trust in the power of Jesus to transform you. (From A Year of Mercy with Pope Francis)

LITERARY REFLECTIONS

I wonder if this is how Mary and Martha felt when they lost their brother.

Cue Lazarus
Start this with the invocation:
a seventy-seven Pinto,
an eastbound freeway, two boys
a few months from their driver’s license.

It happens again because you’ve
said it. You sit in the back seat,
a ghost of red vinyl, to listen
to these boys—one of whom was you,

the one along for the ride—talk
brave about cheerleaders
and socket wrenches as they pass
a stolen cigarette between them.

They don’t know you’re there,
wouldn’t believe in you should
they look backstage, backseat.
The boys are driving back from an October

orchard where they’d gone to see leaves
change. You remember: orange, brown,
as though you’d just seen those leaves,
because in this proximity

to yourself—the boy in the passenger
seat—you are thinking the
same thing, and each of your in-
carnations feels like they’ve thought this

before. Your ghost, your present tense
thinks that maybe this isn’t right.
Now you’re along for the ride.
These boys haven’t cuffed up against

their own mortality yet, though one
of them is sick. The other one,
driving and picking at the thin
hair falling from his scalp, will die

soon, because what lurks in his dark
blood can be cured by medical
science. And that cure is what will
kill him, as it leaves him weak,

unable to fight off infection
in his lungs. But that comes later.
You are here with them now to find
out what you owe to whom—your life,

mortgaged to one of these boys
and you’ve never been able to
rectify that debt. You are the
stage direction, a ghost backstage,

wanting a spotlight, a soapbox
a soliloquy. Dissolve
back into your life, like sugar
in tea—exit this scene now, stage left.

*You are the apparition again
in your mother’s house. You follow
yourself down the yellow hallway
to the ringing phone in the kitchen.

You already know who’s calling,
the way you knew then—when you were
the self you’re haunting. Your friend
is dead. You know this even before

his sister tells you—but because your
ghost is too close, the boy can feel
your grief, but can’t feel his own.
And you did know then, didn’t you?

You knew that morning, that the earth
awakes closest to the sun—four
days into every new year.
And Lazarus, dead now, four days.

Roll away the stone. Believe
in something besides the past.
Awaken from this dream like
a man called out from a cave.

It happens this way each time:
a bourbon breakdown in January
rain—weeping an invocation,
cursing corollary.

Can you go to Tom’s grave today
and mandate him back to this life?
Should you cue him from the wing
like a stage direction? Would he

damn you—a sadness, a gravestone
on your chest, for calling him
into this mortal suffering?
If you had been in Houston that day

he’d have died anyway. You’re a fool
to think you can bargain across the river.
Haunting the past won’t stop
it from happening each time, exactly

the same way. Won’t stop your heart
from breaking like a glass decanter,
brown whisky sliding
mercury across the tile.
—Carl Marcum

Sit with this poem for a while and see of it says anything to you about hope. Birago Diop, A Muslim poet from Senegal, sums up our convictions about those who have gone before us.

Those who are dead have never gone away,
They are in the shadows darkening around,
They are in the shadows fading into day,
The dead are not under the ground.
They are in the trees that quiver,
They are in the woods that weep,
They are in the waters of the rivers,
They are in the waters that sleep.
They are in the crowds, they are in the homestead.
The dead are never dead