Fifth Sunday of Lent
22 March 2026
When Life Calls You Out of the Tomb
The Fifth Sunday of Lent marks a clear turning point in the season. Up to this point, Lent has been leading us gradually deeper—through temptation, trust, sight, and conversion. But beginning today, the Church’s focus turns more directly toward the Passion of Christ. The readings begin to point unmistakably toward Jerusalem, toward the cross, and toward the mystery of death and life that will unfold during Holy Week.
Even the visible signs in the church reflect this shift. Beginning today, the Church traditionally veils images and statues. The beauty of sacred art is temporarily hidden. The crosses are covered. It is not because the Church rejects beauty. It is because she is preparing us to see something deeper. Just as Lent strips away distractions in our lives, the liturgy now strips away visual comforts so that our attention can be fixed more clearly on the mystery of Christ’s suffering and victory.
And the Gospel today prepares us for that mystery with one of the most powerful signs Jesus performs: the raising of Lazarus. It is the final and greatest of the signs in John’s Gospel before the Passion begins. And it reveals something essential about who Jesus is and what He has come to do.
But the story begins in an unexpected way. We are told that Lazarus, a close friend of Jesus, becomes seriously ill. Mary and Martha send word to Jesus, hoping He will come quickly. But He doesn’t. Jesus delays. He stays where He is for two more days.
At first this feels confusing—even troubling. If Jesus loves Lazarus, why does He wait? Why does He allow the situation to grow worse?
The answer appears in Jesus’ own words. “This illness is not to end in death, but is for the glory of God.” In other words, something deeper is unfolding. Jesus is not simply about to prevent a death. He is about to reveal something about life itself.
By the time Jesus arrives in Bethany, Lazarus has already been dead for four days. The mourning has begun. The burial is complete. The tomb has been sealed. From every human perspective, the situation is final.
And that is precisely where Jesus enters.
Martha meets Him first, and her words carry both faith and sorrow: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” She believes in Jesus. She knows He can heal. But like many of us, she still thinks within the limits of what seems possible.
Jesus responds with a promise: “Your brother will rise.” Martha assumes He means the resurrection at the end of time, something faithful Jews already believed. But Jesus reveals something far greater. “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live.”
Notice what Jesus does not say. He does not say merely that He can bring resurrection someday. He says that resurrection is present in Him. Life itself stands before her.
Then comes the moment that may be the most striking in the entire Gospel: Jesus approaches the tomb and we are told simply, “Jesus wept.” These two words reveal something profound about God. Jesus knows what He is about to do. He knows Lazarus will walk out of the tomb. And yet He still enters fully into the grief of those who mourn. God does not stand at a distance from human suffering. In Christ, He steps into it.
This matters because the raising of Lazarus is not only about Lazarus. It is about every human life that experiences loss, grief, and death.
Jesus stands before the tomb and commands that the stone be removed. Martha hesitates. “Lord, by now there will be a stench.” The realism of that moment is important. Death is not romantic in Scripture. It is not sentimental. It is the ultimate sign that something in the world has gone terribly wrong.
But Jesus insists. The stone is taken away. He calls out with a loud voice: “Lazarus, come out.” And the dead man emerges. Still bound in burial cloths, still wrapped in the signs of death but alive. Then Jesus gives a simple instruction: “Untie him and let him go.”
This miracle reveals several things at once. First, it shows Jesus’ authority over death itself. No prophet in Israel had ever done something like this. The power to call a man out of the tomb belongs to God alone.
Second, it reveals the deeper purpose of Jesus’ mission. He did not come simply to improve human life or solve temporary problems. He came to defeat the greatest enemy humanity faces death itself.
And third, it prepares the disciples—and us—for what is about to happen next. Because the raising of Lazarus sets the stage for the Passion. Immediately after this miracle, shockingly, the religious leaders decide that Jesus must die. The Gospel even tells us that from that moment on they begin planning His death.
In other words, the act that gives life to Lazarus leads directly to the death of Jesus.
And that is not an accident.
Jesus gives life to Lazarus by walking steadily toward His own cross.
The Church places this Gospel here, just before Holy Week, because it reveals what the Passion is truly about. The cross is not simply a tragic ending to Jesus’ ministry. It is the moment when the One who is “the resurrection and the life” enters fully into death in order to break its power from within.
That is why the first reading speaks in such powerful imagery. Through the prophet Ezekiel, God says: “I will open your graves and have you rise from them.” Originally, that promise spoke to Israel in exile—people who felt as though their nation, their hope, and their future had died. But the promise reaches beyond that moment. God’s plan has always been to bring life where there is death.
Saint Paul expresses the same truth in the second reading. “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.” Christian faith is not simply about moral improvement. It is not simply about making this life better. It is about resurrection and the life to come. The power that raised Jesus from the tomb is already at work in the lives of those who belong to Him.
Which brings us back to the command Jesus speaks outside Lazarus’ tomb: “Come out.”
In a sense, that command echoes through every generation.
Because there are many ways human beings live inside tombs. Sometimes the tomb is sin—habits or patterns that seem impossible to escape. Sometimes it is resentment or bitterness that hardens the heart. Sometimes it is fear, shame, or despair that convinces us nothing can change. From the outside, those tombs can feel sealed and final.
But the Gospel tells us something remarkable. Christ does not stand at a distance from those places. He approaches them. He calls into them. And His voice still carries the same power: “Come out.”
That is the invitation as Lent enters its final phase. The veiled crosses, the solemn readings, the approaching days of Holy Week—all of it prepares us to see what Christ has come to do. Not simply to teach. Not simply to inspire. But to bring life where death once ruled.
Because the voice that called Lazarus by name still calls each of us.