"Lazarus, Come Out!"

“None are so poor that they have nothing to give, and none are so rich that they have nothing to receive.” Bl. JPII

I have desired to write a Lenten reflection for the past weeks. However, with increased responsibilities, general difficulties, and some sorrowful loses at work; avoiding that transcription of thought into word, came quite easily.  The more I thought of it though, I realized that this period where I find it difficult to move forward, was perhaps the greatest of starting points to begin writing a sincere reflection of the intimacy one finds with God throughout the Lenten season.

So pausing for a bit, I hope to share a brief reflection on the raising of Lazarus.

In anticipation of Palm Sunday, I find this to be fitting as it took place similarly only a few days before Christ’s arrival to Jerusalem.  What I have always loved about this gospel, is that we’re able to recognize our own resurrection in our identification with Lazarus. Pope Benedict XVI spoke on this last year and described such a resurrection as not simply Lazarus’ return to a previous life (“a normalcy”), but rather an opening of a new reality- a “new life”.  He declared that arriving at this resurrection should be understood as the authentic and definitive meaning of our human history, as it reveals our true reconciliation with God.

The imagery of the gospel brings this statement to life in that without the resurrection, we are simply shut in a tomb- devoid of light, hope, and life. (It makes me think of all the times when we in a way prepare our own tomb) Because of the all-consuming nature of personal sorrows, difficulties, or self-inflicted blindness, we may mistakenly find false comfort in these isolated voids. How easy it is to sometimes simply just ‘give up’, or ‘give in’.  In this moment of darkness, however, Christ prescribes an ethic of mercy and compassion. Rather than remaining in the tomb Lazarus goes from the cold, dark, lonely confines of a tomb, to the warmth, light, and truest of unity. Such a reconciliation occurs each time we witness the image of God in the people we interact with on a daily basis, turn from sin, in humility seek forgiveness, and align ourselves with God’s will. In each of these moments, we are in a way like Lazarus, being called by name and asked to come out into the light.One of the most beautiful examples of hearing the call of God in such a way came from a new friend who described to me the experience of becoming homeless and losing his eyesight shortly after. A truly poignant moment in his experience was when he described lying in fetal position on a busy sidewalk of the city. Even though he could hear and feel the movement of the chaos around, he experienced a piercing feeling of darkness, isolation, and solitude. In this, the only word he was able to cry out was “Help!”. In that utter brokenness, he said “it was as if a fire was lit in my heart”. He said the warmth spread throughout his entire body and having been overcome by a new life, he found himself crawling to his knees. Lifting his hands. And finally feeling his feet touch the floor. In that simple motion he had unknowingly stood up. The physicality of responding to an inner light of faith, allowed him to realize that rock-bottom had become the strongest foundation in his life.

This weekend, I was reminded by a local priest that one of the shortest of the gospel proclamations is the phrase: “Jesus wept” [John 11:35]. How telling this is of God’s response to our cries for help. What a reminder that in both His divinity and humanity, Christ bears the desire to return us, the children, to the Father who is awaiting our loving embrace.

May this therefore, be a time to listen for your name which is always being called by Christ who has experienced the weight of your heart and has responded with the following words:

"Father, I thank you for hearing me. I know that you always hear me; but because of the crowd here I have said this, that they may believe that you sent me."

"Lazarus, come out!"

The dead man came out, tied hand and foot with burial bands, and his face was wrapped in a cloth.

"Untie him and let him go."