Saturday, March 21, 2026

Lent 5


We don’t know what became of Lazarus
after Jesus called him forth from his tomb.
John’s Gospel speaks of him 
immediately afterward
being present at a meal 
given in Jesus’ honor,
and tells us that 
the priests in Jerusalem
had decided to kill not only Jesus
but Lazarus as well,
for his very life now witnessed
to the power of Jesus.
But we don’t know if they succeeded.
After this point, the Scriptures fall silent.

But Christians down the centuries
have tended to imagine him
going on to lead a long life,
and over the centuries have 
filled in those extra years
with legends and traditions.
The Eastern Orthodox have told tales 
of him becoming a bishop in Cyprus; 
Medieval Catholics claimed that he
became a bishop in Marseilles
and was martyred during the reign
of the emperor Domitian.
There is also an odd medieval legend 
that, having seen the unredeemed
during his four days among the dead,
Lazarus never smiled or laughed again.

But, as I say, 
these may be simply 
made-up stories.
We don’t really know 
what became of Lazarus.
But we imagine a life
spent bearing witness, 
even to the point of death, 
to the one who gave that life back to him
by calling him out of his tomb.
For what else would you do
with the gift of such a life?

We try to imagine it,
and we are right to do so,
because in thinking of the life of Lazarus
we are really thinking about our own lives,
for we too are Lazarus:
buried with Christ in baptism
we have been called back into life 
through the Spirit 
who raised Christ from the dead
and now gives life to our mortal bodies.
We are Lazarus,
our graves of sin opened,
the shroud of death unwound,
invited to recline with Christ at his table.
We are Lazarus,
graciously given a measure of days
in which to bear witness 
to the power of Jesus.

Of course, we might not think 
of ourselves this way.
We might think of our baptisms 
as simply benign rituals of belonging
or nice naming ceremonies for a baby,
something that sets us on the course
of an ordinary and respectable life.
We might think this way
because we would prefer to live 
an ordinary life
rather than a Lazarus life.
For a Lazarus life is a life unbound 
from the shroud of death,
a life called forth 
from the tomb of sin. 
A Lazarus life is one that bears
the dangerous memory of Jesus
and gives testimony to his power.

For what do you do 
with a life that has been 
lost and found again?
How do you spend the days 
that have been pulled
free from the tomb
and given back to you as a gift?
Surely you must live those days differently
if you live them not according to the flesh
but according to the spirit of righteousness.
Surely you must live a life 
that can risk compassion and mercy,
a life of peacemaking 
and hungering for justice,
a life not dedicated to anxious grasping 
for security and control and power
but a life lived with open hands.
Surely you must live a life that seeks
to give to others the gift of new life
that you yourself have received.
Surely you must live a life
that weeps with those who weep
even as it bears witness to the one
who is resurrection and life itself.

In a few moments our catechumens 
will undergo the final rite of scrutiny,
in which we pray for and with them
as they examine their lives,
so that God might call them forth
from the tomb of old ways
and unwind from them
the shroud of death.
As they await the Easter cry of Jesus—
“Lazarus, come out!”—
the cry that calls them out of sin
and into the life-giving waters of baptism,
let us join them 
by examining our own lives.
Let us ask ourselves 
whether the lives we live will show them
what it means to live a Lazarus life,
a life that has been raised from death.
And let us pray 
that these catechumens
and all those whom we meet
might see in us a people 
who live out the measure of their days 
as a gift graciously given;
may they see in us what it means 
to live free and unafraid
to the glory and praise of God.
And may God who is merciful
have mercy on us all.