Readings

Ezekiel 37.1–14 – The hand of the Lord came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. He led me all round them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry. He said to me, ‘Mortal, can these bones live?’ I answered, ‘O Lord God, you know.’ Then he said to me, ‘Prophesy to these bones, and say to them: O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. Thus says the Lord God to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live. I will lay sinews on you, and will cause flesh to come upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and you shall live; and you shall know that I am the Lord.’ So I prophesied as I had been commanded; and as I prophesied, suddenly there was a noise, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone. I looked, and there were sinews on them, and flesh had come upon them, and skin had covered them; but there was no breath in them. Then he said to me, ‘Prophesy to the breath, prophesy, mortal, and say to the breath: Thus says the Lord God: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.’ I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood on their feet, a vast multitude. Then he said to me, ‘Mortal, these bones are the whole house of Israel. They say, “Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.” Therefore prophesy, and say to them, Thus says the Lord God: I am going to open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people; and I will bring you back to the land of Israel. And you shall know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people. I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act, says the Lord.’

Romans 8.6–11 – To set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace. For this reason the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law—indeed it cannot, and those who are in the flesh cannot please God. But you are not in the flesh; you are in the Spirit, since the Spirit of God dwells in you. Anyone who does not have the Spirit of Christ does not belong to him. But if Christ is in you, though the body is dead because of sin, the Spirit is life because of righteousness. If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you.

John 11.1–45 – Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. Mary was the one who anointed the Lord with perfume and wiped his feet with her hair; her brother Lazarus was ill. 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.’ The disciples said to him, ‘Rabbi, the Jews were just now trying to stone you, and are you going there again?’ Jesus answered, ‘Are there not twelve hours of daylight? Those who walk during the day do not stumble, because they see the light of this world. But those who walk at night stumble, because the light is not in them.’ After saying this, he told them, ‘Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I am going there to awaken him.’ The disciples said to him, ‘Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will be all right.’ Jesus, however, had been speaking about his death, but they thought that he was referring merely to sleep. Then Jesus told them plainly, ‘Lazarus is dead. For your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.’ Thomas, who was called the Twin, said to his fellow-disciples, ‘Let us also go, that we may die with him.’When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. Now Bethany was near Jerusalem, some two miles away, and many of the Jews had come to Martha and Mary to console them about their brother. 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 she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary, and told her privately, ‘The Teacher is here and is calling for you.’ And when she heard it, she got up quickly and went to him. Now Jesus had not yet come to the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met him. The Jews who were with her in the house, consoling her, saw Mary get up quickly and go out. They followed her because they thought that she was going to the tomb to weep there. When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, ‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.’ 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.

Sermon

“Lazarus, come out.”

Those three words sit at the very heart of today’s Gospel; and, in many ways, at the heart of this season as we begin to turn decisively toward the cross. But before Jesus speaks those words, something else happens; something quieter, more human, and perhaps more unsettling.

“Jesus began to weep.”

This is a remarkable moment. Jesus knows what he is about to do. He knows that Lazarus will be raised. He has already told the disciples that this illness will not end in death. And yet, when he stands before the tomb, he does not rush to the miracle. He pauses. He sees Mary weeping, and the crowd with her. He sees grief in all its rawness; confusion, loss, anger, heartbreak. And instead of standing apart from it, instead of correcting it or explaining it away, he enters into it. He weeps.

This is not a distant God, unmoved by suffering. This is God who stands at the graveside and shares in human sorrow. And that matters. Because sometimes we imagine that faith should protect us from grief — or at least tidy it up. We might feel that if we trusted more, we would be less shaken by loss, less affected by fear, less burdened by sorrow.

But this Gospel tells a different story. Even in the presence of resurrection, there is still weeping. Even in the presence of hope, grief is real. And even the Son of God does not stand apart from it.

But the story does not end there.

After the tears, after the silence, after the stone is rolled away, Jesus cries out:

“Lazarus, come out.” And Lazarus does come out; still bound in grave clothes, still marked by death, but alive. This is not just a miracle story. It is a sign, as John calls it, pointing us toward something deeper. Because Lazarus will, in time, die again. This is not the final victory over death, but a glimpse of it. A foretaste. A promise.

And that promise is not only about what happens at the end of our lives. It speaks into the present. “Come out.” These are words not only for Lazarus, but for all who are bound; by fear, by despair, by sin, by anything that diminishes life. “Unbind him, and let him go.” The work of resurrection is not only God’s. The community is drawn into it too; called to help unbind, to release, to restore.

And when we place this Gospel alongside our other readings, the picture deepens. In Ezekiel, we are taken into the valley of dry bones; a place of utter lifelessness, where hope has long since faded. “Our bones are dried up,” the people say. “Our hope is lost.”

And yet, God breathes life into what seemed beyond recovery. Bones come together. Flesh returns. Breath enters. Life where there was none.

And in Romans, Paul speaks of that same Spirit; the Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead, now dwelling within us. Not just a future promise, but a present reality. “The Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you.” This is extraordinary. The power of resurrection is not only something we wait for. It is something already at work within us; often quietly, often gradually, but truly.

And yet — and this is where Passion Sunday speaks most clearly — this story of Lazarus also sets something else in motion.

Immediately after this miracle, the tension around Jesus reaches its breaking point. The raising of Lazarus is the moment that leads directly to the decision to put Jesus to death. In giving life to Lazarus, Jesus sets his own path toward the cross. Life and death are now intertwined. And so as we hear “Lazarus, come out,” we must also hear the echo of what lies ahead. Because the one who calls Lazarus out of the tomb will soon enter a tomb himself. The one who stands before death with authority will soon submit to it. And the one who brings life will do so at great cost.

So where does this leave us?

Perhaps with three things to hold onto as we continue our journey through Lent.

First: that God meets us in our grief. Whatever burdens we carry, be they personal losses, quiet fears, the weight of the world’s suffering, we do not face them alone. Christ stands with us, not at a distance, but alongside us, sharing in our sorrow.

Second: that God calls us into life. Even now, there are places in our lives that feel closed, sealed, perhaps even beyond hope. And into those places, Christ speaks: “Come out.” Not all at once, perhaps. Not dramatically, perhaps. But persistently, faithfully, calling us toward life.

And third: that we are part of one another’s unbinding. “Unbind him, and let him go.” We are called to be a community that helps release one another from whatever holds us fast; through kindness, through forgiveness, through patience, through love.

As we approach Holy Week, the raising of Lazarus stands as both promise and sign. It reminds us that death does not have the final word. But it also prepares us to walk with Christ into the shadow of the cross, where that promise will be tested, deepened, and ultimately fulfilled.

For now, we stand at the tomb with Mary and Martha. We hear the weeping. We hear the call. And we begin to glimpse the life that is to come.

Amen.