5th Sunday of Lent (A)
John 11:1-45
O my people, I will open your graves
and have you rise from them,
and bring you back to the land of Israel. (Ezekiel 37:12-14)
If the Spirit of the one who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you,
the one who raised Christ from the dead
will give life to your mortal bodies also (Romans 8:8-11)
“I am the resurrection and the life;
whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live,
and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.
Do you believe this? (John 11:1-45)
Background on the Gospel Reading
Our Gospel on this day, the fifth Sunday of Lent, is again taken from the Gospel according to John. The reading from John continues the break from Cycle A’s focus on the Gospel of Matthew. Today’s Gospel reading recounts another sign, or miracle, found in John’s Gospel, the raising of Lazarus. As our catechumens move closer to the celebration of their Baptisms at the Triduum, today’s reading invites us to reflect upon what it means to call Jesus the Resurrection and the life.
The context for the story of the raising of Lazarus is the Jewish leaders’ growing animosity toward Jesus. Jesus has been in Jerusalem, taking part in the feast of the Dedication, which we have come to know as Hanukkah. The people have been pressing him to declare plainly whether he is the Messiah. Jesus tells them to look to his works, which testify to his coming from God. Many do not believe Jesus, however, and some try to stone him for blasphemy.
Into this scene of confrontation, Mary and Martha, the sisters of Lazarus, send word to Jesus that his friend is ill. Jesus is said to love Mary, Martha, and Lazarus, but he delays his journey for two days. The delay heightens the drama and shows Jesus’ obedience to God, who is to be glorified through Lazarus’s resurrection. When Jesus finally declares that he will journey to Bethany, his disciples fear for his life. Thomas declares that he and the other disciples should prepare to die with Jesus.
The scene described at Bethany is a sad one. Martha meets Jesus weeping and saying that if Jesus had been there, Lazarus would not have died. Yet she remains confident that God will do whatever Jesus asks. Martha affirms her belief that there will be a resurrection of the dead in the last days. Then Martha’s sister, Mary, comes to Jesus with the same confidence, saying that Jesus could have cured Lazarus. Jesus asks to be brought to Lazarus’s tomb where he prays and calls Lazarus out from the tomb. At this sign, many come to believe in Jesus, but others take word of the miracle to the Jewish authorities, who begin their plans for Jesus’ death.
Set against the backdrop of Jesus’ impending death, many elements of the raising of Lazarus foreshadow the good news of Jesus’ own Resurrection. Jesus, facing the conflict with the Jewish authorities, acts in complete obedience to God. In raising Lazarus, Jesus shows his power over death so that when Jesus dies, those who believe in him might remember that and take hope. Just as Jesus calls for the stone to be rolled away from Lazarus’s tomb, so too will the disciples find the stone rolled away from Jesus’ tomb.
With our catechumens preparing for their Baptism at Easter, the Gospel today calls us to reflect on Baptism as a dying and rising with Jesus. In Baptism we die to sin’s power over us, rising as children of God. In Baptism we join ourselves with Christ, who conquered death once and for all so that we who believe in him may have eternal life. With Martha and Mary, we are called to profess our belief that Jesus is indeed the Resurrection and the life.
Jesus gives life even when it seems that all hope has gone
Pope Francis
Today, the fifth Sunday of Lent, the Gospel presents to us the resurrection of Lazarus (cf. Jn 11:1-45). It is the last of Jesus’ miracles narrated before Easter: the resurrection of his friend Lazarus. Jesus knows that his dear friend Lazarus is about to die. He sets out on his journey, but arrives at his house four days after the burial, when by then all hope had been lost. His presence, however, rekindles a little confidence in the hearts of the sisters Martha and Mary (cf. vv. 22, 27). They cling to this light, to this small hope, despite their suffering. Jesus invites them to have faith and asks for the tomb to be opened. He then prays to the Father and shouts to Lazarus: “Come out!” (v. 43). And the latter comes back to life and comes out. This is the miracle, just like that, simple.
The message is clear: Jesus gives life even when it seems that all hope has gone. It happens, at times, to feel hopeless — this has happened to us all — or to meet people who have given up hope; embittered by bad experiences, the wounded heart cannot hope. Because of a painful loss, an illness, a bitter disappointment, a wrong or a betrayal suffered, a grave error committed… they have given up hope. At times we hear some say that “there is nothing more to be done!”, and they close the door to all hope. They are moments when life seems to be a sealed tomb: everything is dark, and we can see only sorrow and despair around us. Today’s miracle tells us that it is not like that, this is not the end, that in these moments we are not alone. On the contrary, it is precisely in these moments that He comes closer than ever to restore life to us. Jesus weeps: the Gospel tells us that Jesus wept in front of Lazarus’ tomb, and today Jesus weeps with us, as he was able to weep for Lazarus: the Gospel repeats twice that he is moved (cf. vv. 33, 38), emphasizing that he burst into tears (cf. v. 35). And at the same time Jesus invites us not to stop believing and hoping, not to let ourselves be crushed by the negative feelings that take away our tears. He approaches our tombs and says to us, as then: “Take away the stone” (v. 39). In these moments, it is as though we have a stone inside, and the only one capable of removing it is Jesus, with his words: “Take away the stone”.
Jesus says this to us too. Take away the stone : the pain, the mistakes, even the failures. Do not hide them inside you, in a dark, lonely, closed room. Take away the stone : draw out everything that is inside. “Ah, but I am ashamed”. Throw it to me with confidence, says the Lord; I will not be scandalized. Throw it to me without fear because I am with you, I care about you and I want you to start living again. And, as he did with Lazarus, he repeats to each one of us: Come out ! Rise again, get back on the path, regain your confidence! How many times, in life, did we find ourselves like this, in this situation of not having the strength to get up again. And Jesus: “Go, go on! I am with you”. I will take you by the hand, says Jesus, like when you were a child learning to take your first steps. Dear brother, dear sister, take off the bandages that bind you (cf. v. 45); please, do not give in to the pessimism that depresses, do not give in to the fear that isolates, do not give in to the discouragement caused by the memory of bad experiences, do not give in to the fear that paralyses. Jesus tells us, “I want you to be free. I want you alive, I will not abandon you and I am with you! Everything is dark, but I am with you! Do not let yourself be imprisoned by pain, do not let hope die. Brother, sister, come back to life!”. “And how can I do this?”. “Take my hand”, and he takes us by the hand. Let yourself be pulled out — and he is capable of doing it — in these bad moments that happen to us all.
Dear brothers and sisters, this passage in chapter 11 of the Gospel of John which does a great deal of good to read, is a hymn to life, and it is proclaimed when Easter is near. Perhaps we too in this moment carry in our heart some burden or some suffering that seems to crush us; something bad, some old sin we cannot bring out, some youthful mistake, you never know. These bad things need to come out. And Jesus says, “Come out!”. So, it is the moment to take away the stone and to go out towards Jesus, who is close. Can we open our hearts to him and entrust our worries to him? Do we do it? Are we able to open the tomb of problems — are we capable — and look over the threshold, towards his light, or are we afraid of this? And in turn, as small mirrors of God’s love, do we manage to illuminate the surroundings in which we live with words and gestures of life? Do we bear witness to the hope and joy of Jesus — we, sinners, all of us? And also, I would like to say some words to confessors: dear brothers, do not forget that you too are sinners, and you are in the confessional not to torture but to forgive, and to forgive everything, just as the Lord forgives everything. May Mary, Mother of Hope, renew in us the joy of not feeling alone and the call to bring light into the darkness that surrounds us.
Angelus 26/03/2023
The Tomb: A Womb, No Longer A Grave
Fernando Armellini
Introduction
“When the gods formed mankind, they attributed death to humanity and withhold life in their hands.” These are the words that—in the famous Mesopotamian epic—the tavern-keeper Siduri addressed to Gilgamesh who is in desperate search of the tree of life. Dejected, the hero realizes that he has to resign himself: to die is to leave for the “land of no return.” Darkness, silence, oblivion wrap the abode of the dead according to the Jewish conception. It is hard to find in the Old Testament some hints of the soul’s immortality and the resurrection of the dead. Those few texts, of course, were not written before the second century B.C.
Job said: “There is hope for a tree: if cut down it will sprout again; its new shoots will still appear. But when man is cut down, he comes undone: he breathes his last—where will he be? The waters of the sea may disappear, rivers drain away, but the one who lies down will not rise again; the heavens will vanish before he wakes, before he rises from his sleep” (Job 14:7-12). This dejection flowed in an elegy on the mouth of the Psalmist: “You allow me to live but short span; before you, all my years are nothing. Human existence is a mere whiff of breath. Turn from me a while, that I may find relief, before I depart and be no more” (Ps 39:6,14).
So the more enlightened spirit of antiquity expressed their bewilderment, anguish, and loss in front of the transience of life. The Bible has preserved the memory of their disorientation and concerns to remind us how dense were the darkness of the tomb, before the light of Easter shine on the world.
First Reading: Ezekiel 37:12-14
Among the Israelites deported to Babylon in 597 B.C. is a priest named Ezekiel. He is destined to become the prophet of the people in exile. “On the fifth day of the tenth month in the eleventh year of our exile, a fugitive arrived from Jerusalem to tell me: The city has fallen.” (Ezk 33:21). Four months before, the soldiers of Nebuchadnezzar had taken and set it on fire. They captured a new group of prisoners, more numerous than the last, destined to swell the ranks of what already was in Mesopotamia. Ezekiel carries on his activity as a prophet among these defeated and dejected deportees who kept repeating: “Our bones are dry, hope has gone, it is the end of us” (Ezk 37:11). They feel like lifeless corpses, even worse, withered, corroded skeletons, worn by many years in the tomb of exile.
Is it all over then? Have the blessings made to Abraham been rendered useless by the sins of the people? Certainly, no one can give life back to Israel. It is reduced to a vast expanse of dry bones scattered in the plains and valleys of the country of the two rivers (Ezk 37:1-3).
In this historical context, Ezekiel announces the unprecedented miracle the Lord is about to do: God will restore life to those dry bones. The Israelites will rise again to new life. The Lord will open the graves in which they were placed, will make them come out of their graves and lead them back to their land (vv. 12-13).
This prophecy did not refer to the resurrection of the dead, as we understand it, but to the return to the homeland of the deportees. However, in subsequent centuries, it was the object of study and reflection on the part of the rabbis. They acquired great importance and contributed to the blooming of the idea that, in the coming of the Messiah, all the righteous would come back to life to share in the joy of the new kingdom.
The spirit of the Lord enters everywhere and there, life arrives. It happened at the beginning of the world when God, having formed man from the dust of the earth, breathed into his nostrils the breath of life and man became a living being (Gen 2:7). This spirit of life still continues to operate in any situation of death: that of hatred, uncivilized resentments among people, misunderstandings and family disagreements, divisions in the community. There is nothing irrecuperable for the spirit of the Lord. He can rebuild and restore life also to dry bones.
Second Reading: Romans 8:8-11
All people die. The biological life they have in common with animals does not last forever. Even Jesus, being a man like us, is dead, had to die. But he is risen. Why does this happen? What made him rise?
In today’s reading, Paul responds. He possessed the fullness of the Spirit of God, that is, he had in himself the life of God that cannot die.
Human life has a beginning and an end, but God has none. He is not born and he does not die. Jesus had in himself this divine life. When one day this material life of his ends, the spirit of God will raise him and bring him in the glory of the Father.
Paul continues: even we, who have received baptism in his own Spirit, his own life, can no longer die. Our life in this world will end but it will not be the end of everything. The Spirit who raised Jesus and who lives in us will give eternal life to our mortal bodies.
Gospel: John 11:1-45
The story of Lazarus’ resuscitation is very long but the part dedicated to the miracle is very short, only two verses (vv. 43-44). The rest consists of a series of dialogues that aims to lead the reader into a deeper level of the text where the true meaning of the sign performed by Jesus can be captured.
I mentioned the resuscitation of Lazarus, not his resurrection because to return to this world, to restore this material life, is still marked by death. To leave this life definitively, as it happened to Jesus on Easter, to be introduced in the world of God where death, any kind of death, has no more access, is another thing. Going back to this material world is to resuscitate but to go beyond this material world, into the world of God, is to resurrect.
Having clarified this, let us approach the passage. If Lazarus’ death appeared in a newspaper where fidelity to facts is strict, we can detect some inconsistencies and some unlikely details because this is not a historical fact but a page of theology. In the Gospel of John, there constitutes precious indexes that guide us toward the theological message of the story. I will try to enumerate them:
– In the first verses (1-3), a rather strange family appears. There are no parents, no mention of husbands, wives, children, but only a brother with two sisters.
– In verse 6 an inexplicable behavior of Jesus is reported: He is aware that Lazarus is sick, and instead of healing him immediately, he stays for two more days. It seems that he wants him to die. Why doesn’t he intervene?
– Shortly after making a puzzling statement: “Lazarus is dead and I’m glad I was not there” (v. 15), how can he rejoice of not having prevented the death of his friend?
– Another difficulty: at that time there were no telephones; how did Martha hear that Jesus was coming (v. 17)? And, while she goes to call Mary (v. 28) what does Jesus do while still on the road? Why wait for Mary to come out from Bethany, and go to him? We would not have behaved in this way: we would have proceeded directly to the house of the deceased to give our condolences.
In vv. 25-26, we are faced with a statement of Jesus which is difficult to interpret: “Whoever believes in me, though he dies, shall live. Whoever lives and believes in me will never die.” How can he promise that his disciple will never die when we realize that Christians die like everyone else? What does he mean?
In verse 35, it is said that Jesus weeps over the death of his friend. How could he when he already knows that he will resurrect him? Is he pretending?
– Finally, the family of Bethany disappears without leaving any trace in the Gospel of John and does not appear anymore throughout the New Testament. What happened to these three people so dear to Jesus?
It’s strange that such a striking miracle is not mentioned by the other evangelists. These details are certainly signs that John wanted to offer his readers not a cold account of facts but a dense piece of theology. Taking a cue from a healing that had aroused quite an impression because the sick was presumed dead, the evangelist has addressed the central theme of the Christian message: Jesus, the Risen One, is the Lord of life.
Let’s start with the meaning that John intends to give to the family of Bethany, consisting only of a brother and sisters. It represents the Christian community where there are no superiors and inferiors but only brothers and sisters. An intense affective atmosphere unites these people to Jesus. The evangelist places considerable emphasis on the friendship between the Master and Lazarus (vv. 3,5,11,36). It’s the symbol of the deep bond between Jesus and every disciple: “I do not call you servants—he will tell at the Last Supper—but I have called you friends” (Jn 15:15).
In this community, a case that rattles happens. It confronts an insoluble enigma: the death of a brother. What is Jesus’ answer to the disciple who asked him if this tragic event may have a meaning? Whoever loves a good friend will not let him die. If he was a friend of Lazarus and ours, why doesn’t he prevent death?
Like Mary and Martha, we also do not understand why he “let two days go by.” As a sign of affection for the friend, we would have expected him to intervene immediately. The veiled complaint made by the two sisters could also be ours: “If you had been here, Lord, our brother would not have died” (vv. 21,32). The death of a loved one, our death, puts faith to a test. It gives rise to the suspicion that he is “not here,” that he does not accompany us with his love.
By allowing Lazarus to die, Jesus responds to these questions: it is not his intention to prevent biological death. He does not want to interfere in the natural course of life. He has not come to make this form of life eternal but to introduce us to that which has no end. The life in this world is destined to end, and it is good that it should be so.
In this perspective, we should reconsider the validity of the relationship that many Christians have established with Christ and religion. When this is reduced to the pressing demands of miracles, it inevitably results in a crisis of faith and the doubt that “he is not here” where we would expect him to be, where we need him most, in sickness, sorrow, and misfortune.
The dialogue with the disciples (vv. 7-16) aids the evangelist to express our uncertainties and fears in the face of death. It is the reaction of humans who fear that death marks the end of everything.
Fear is the most insidious enemy of the disciple. Whoever fears death cannot live as a Christian. To be a disciple means to accept losing one’s life, to give it for love, dying like the grain of wheat that falls to the earth and produces much fruit (Jn 12:24-28).
In the words of Jesus, death is presented in its proper perspective. He claims to be happy not to have prevented his friend Lazarus from dying (v. 15) because for him death is not a destructive, irreparable event but marks the beginning of a condition infinitely better than the last.
We thus come to the central part of the passage, the dialogue with Martha (vv. 17-27).
Lazarus has already been in the tomb for four days. At that time, it was believed that during the first three days the person was not yet completely dead. Life would permanently leave him only on the fourth day. John does not want to inform us of the exact date of Lazarus’ death. He only wants us to know that Lazarus was dead and nothing more. It is the necessary premise to the question he wants to answer: What can Jesus do for one who is completely dead?
In the dialogue that follows, Jesus leads Martha to understand what the significance of the death of a disciple (a brother or a sister of the Christian community) has.
“If you had been here” is a human proclamation of surrender in front of an event that surpasses him, which makes a mockery of his efforts to dismiss it. Death also leads us to doubt God’s presence. If God exists, why is there death?
Martha belongs to the group of those who, unlike the Sadducees, believe in the resurrection of the dead. She is convinced that, at the end of the world, her brother Lazarus will return to life together with all the righteous and will take part in the Kingdom of God.
This is her way of understanding the resurrection (perhaps similar to that of many Christians today) that does not console anyone. It’s too far away and does not make any sense. Why would God let one die only to bring him back to life again? Why make one wait that long? How can the soul be without the body? Finally, a similar resurrection is less credible. If a person dies, God can certainly recreate him, but, in such a case, it would be a clone, not the same person as before.
The Christian does not believe in a death and a resurrection that will take place at the end of the world. He believes that the person redeemed by Christ does not die.
Let us try to understand this new and extraordinary message that Jesus announces to Martha. He says: “Whoever believes in me will never die” (v. 26). What does this mean? How can a person that we see expire and becomes a corpse not die? To explain this there is a need to resort to comparisons.
Our whole existence is characterized by exits and entrances. We go out from nowhere and enter into the womb of our mother. Once gestation is completed, we leave to enter this world characterized by many signs of death. Loneliness, abandonment, distance, betrayal, ignorance, disease, and pain are forms of death. Our life here is never complete. It is always subject to limitations. This cannot be the final world, our ultimate destiny. To live fully and without death, we must get out of it.
Let us suppose that in the womb of a mother there are twins. They can see, understand, and speak to each other during the nine months of gestation. They only know their own little world and cannot imagine what life is like outside. They do not know that people marry, work, and travel. They have no idea that there are animals, plants, flowers, beaches. The only thing they know is the kind of life they have inside the womb.
After nine months, the twins are born by turn. And the one who was born a few seconds later and remained, even for a short time, in the womb of the mother, would certainly think: “My brother is dead. He’s not here anymore. He disappeared and left me …” and he cries. But the brother is not dead. He only left a restricted, short, limited life and went into another form of life.
The disciple—Jesus says to Martha—does not experience death at all but is born to a new form of life. He enters the world of God, takes part in a life that is no longer subject to limits and death, as it happens on earth. It is a life without end. We cannot say more because, if we describe it, we would just be projecting the forms of this life. It remains a surprise and God keeps it to himself: “Eye has not seen, ear has not heard, nor has it dawned on the mind what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor 2:9).
In the Christian perspective, therefore, life in this world is a gestation, and death is verified by one who remains, not by one who dies.
At this point, we can understand why Jesus is pleased with not having prevented the death of Lazarus. He sees it in God’s sight: as the most important and the happiest moment for a human being. Rightly, the early Christians called it the “day of birth” what other people called the fateful day in which they plunge into nothingness.
The judgment of Lao-Tze is known: “That which for the caterpillar is the end of the world, for the rest of the world is a butterfly.” The caterpillar does not die; it disappears as a caterpillar but continues to live as a butterfly. It’s another image that helps us to understand the victory of Christ over death.
After listening to the words of Jesus, Martha pronounces a significant profession of faith. She acknowledges that Jesus is the one who gives this life: “Yes, Lord, I have come to believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, he who is coming into the world” (v. 27).
We will not dwell on the dialogue between Jesus and Mary (vv. 28-33) because it adds nothing to what has already been said. We only note that Jesus does not enter into Bethany, where the Jews went to console the sisters. He does not go to extend condolences but to give life. He wants also that Mary leaves the house where everyone is crying. His quiver— “he was moved and troubled”—also shows how he feels deeply, like any person, the drama of death.
The final scene is important (vv. 34-42).
It opens with the weeping of Jesus. The Christian cannot say so if he does not believe that death is none other than a birth. However, he is not insensitive and sheds tears when a friend leaves him. He knows that he is not dead and is happy that he is living with God. However, he is sad because, for a time, he will have to be separated from him.
There are but two ways of weeping. One that is inconsolable and undignified of someone who is convinced that, with death, it’s all over. The other is that of Jesus who, in front of the tomb, cannot hold back the tears. These two forms of crying are expressed in the Greek text with two different verbs. For Mary, Martha, and the Jews klaiein (v. 33) is used. It indicates that the crying is accompanied by gestures of despair. With Jesus, it is edakrusen, which means “tears began trickling from his eyes” (v. 35). Only this serene and dignified weeping is Christian.
Weeping is followed by an order: “Take away the stone!” It is addressed to the Christian community and all those who still think the world of the dead is separated and has no communication with that of the living. Anyone who believes in the Risen Lord knows that all are alive, even though they are partakers of two different forms of life. All barriers have been torn down; all the stones have been removed on the day of Easter; now one goes from one world to another without dying.
The prayer that Jesus addressed to the Father (vv. 41-42) is not a request for a miracle, but a light for the people around him. He asks that everyone may understand the deep meaning of the sign that he is going to do and that they come to believe in him, the Lord of life.
The cry, “Lazarus, come out!” is the fulfillment of his prophecy: “Truly, the hour is coming when the dead will hear the voice of the Son of God and on hearing it, will live. All those lying in the tomb will hear his voice and come out” (Jn 5:25-29). In fact, “the dead,” with all the signs that characterize his condition, “his hands and feet were bound with linen strips, and his face wrapped in a cloth” (v. 44), comes out. “The Dead”—says the text. Yes, because it is with the dead, with one who remains definitely dead (four days in the tomb) that Jesus shows his vivifying power: not bringing him back to life on earth (this would be a short-lived victory, not definitely to death), but bringing it with him in the glory of God.
Untie him and let him go” (v. 44)—he finally orders. The invitation is addressed to the brothers and sisters of the community who mourn the loss of a loved one. Let the “dead” live happily in his new condition. The seer of Revelation describes it with striking images: “God will wipe away every tear from their eyes. There shall be no more death or mourning, crying out in pain for the world that was, has passed away” (Rev 21:4).
There are many ways to try to retain the deceased: obsessive visits to the cemetery (which is like searching the living among the dead), the morbid attachment to personal effects, and recourse to mediums for establishing contacts. It is painful to be left by a friend, but it is selfish to want to hold on to him. It would be like preventing a child to be born. “Untie, let him go”—Jesus sweetly repeats today to every disciple who does not resign himself to the death of a brother or a sister.
Fernando Armellini
Italian missionary and biblical scholar
https://sundaycommentaries.wordpress.com
