“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died…” That line is said twice. First by Martha and then Mary over the death of their brother Lazarus to Jesus… to the one they love… to the one they knew their brother loved… to the one they believed loved them.
It’s such an utterly raw moment. And there’s something about it that gives us permission to go there, too.
“Lord if you had been here…” We say it when we’ve prayed; we’ve asked for help; we expected He would show up – and He didn’t – at least not in the way we had in mind…
“God, where were you?” We ask it when that relationship fell apart… when bad news arrives out of nowhere… when something small kept growing and growing until it wasn’t small anymore.
Martha and Mary set the example, telling us it’s okay to feel the feelings that we’ve held back – “God… why didn’t you do something?”
Thank you for taking the time to read this homily for FIFTH SUNDAY OF LENT – MARCH 22, 2026 – Your support means a great deal to me, and I’m deeply grateful for the many who share these messages with their friends, families and social media followers. If you’ve found meaning in these words, I’d be grateful if you’d share them with others who might benefit.
And for those who prefer listening, you can find the audio version on SoundCloud HERE or subscribe to the podcast on iTunes HERE. Your comments, messages, and the way you’ve embraced these homilies continue to inspire me. Sincerely in Christ -Father Jim
The length and intensity of this Gospel reading highlights how deep we’ve gotten into this season of Lent. But before we go into this, let’s zoom out for a second to remember how we got here. Since Advent, before Christmas, when we started this new Church year, we’ve for the most part heard from St. Matthew’s Gospel every Sunday at Mass. Matthew’s style is clear, structured, detailed and pretty straightforward. But these last three Sundays of Lent, the Church pivots and offers us Gospel readings from St. John. And John is very different.
Being the last of the Gospel writers, the last of the Apostles to die -and the only one spared martyrdom but instead died in exile, who took care of the Blessed Virgin Mary after Jesus’ Ascension and until her Assumption into heaven he had more time to reflect, to meditate to remember. So his Gospel is different from the other three. He’s not just telling you what happened – he’s painting something. Every story is a sign. Every detail matters.
Three weeks ago the first Gospel we had from him was the story of the Woman at the Well. A woman who’s life was a wreck… five ex husbands and now she was living with guy number six. She’s one of the earliest cases we have of someone being “canceled” – she lives in total isolation – carrying shame, avoiding everyone, ruminating over her past mistakes… and Jesus meets her, and named the brokenness “You’ve had five husbands…” Not to shame her, but to free her. Which it does. She runs back into town completely changed. One conversation leads to the entire town believing.
Then last week we heard about the man born blind. A man who had never seen light suddenly does. But everyone else around who can see, ends up blind in their own way. The Pharisees interrogate the man, his parents, Jesus. Their need for control, their lust for power blinds them more than his physical eyes ever did. They miss the Messiah right in front of them.
And now St. John ratchets things all the way up. Because this is the biggest sign yet. Jesus doesn’t just have power over thirst. Jesus doesn’t just have power over darkness. Jesus has power over death itself.
Unlike the woman at the well and the man born blind, we know who the sick man is – Lazarus – He’s not just anyone; he’s Jesus’ friend. Lazarus, Martha, and Mary are all close to Jesus. John tells us Martha and Mary sent word: “The one you love is ill.” And John makes sure we know Jesus loves them, too. Which is why his reaction is so strange, and not what you’d expect —he waits. Two full days.
Which brings us back to our question “Lord where were you?”
Mary and Martha are asking exactly that. By the time Jesus arrives, Lazarus has been dead four days. Martha runs out to meet Him “Lord if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Mary says the same thing. Not philosophy. Not theology. Just heartbreak.
And then we get this line that just stuck with me. It’s amazing I don’t know how many times I’ve read this Gospel, and different things hit me every time. This week it was the words: “Jesus became perturbed and deeply troubled.” Perturbed is a strong word. You can just sense the anger – even outrage. So John is painting an image for us – Jesus is not calm here. He’s not distant. He’s not saying “well everything happens for a reason…” He is having an emotional reaction, He is deeply moved. Why?
Because He’s staring straight into the realty of what sin and death does. All the ways they tear people apart. All the ways the leave people empty… All the ways they create grief… and confusion.. And loss.
And then – He weeps.
Jesus Christ, the Son of God… stands at a grave and cries… He’s not play-acting. He knows exactly what’s about to happen. But Jesus looks at the tears streaming down Mary’s face, at the mourners wailing, at this group of friends who’ve lost their friend —and it hits him like a gut punch. Not because he’s surprised. But because He hates what sin has done to his friends. He hates the way death rips people apart. He hates the way it leaves an unfillable hole
The crowd whispers, “See how he loved him.” While some of them sneer, “Couldn’t the guy who healed the blind man have done something?” Same cynicism as last week. Jesus is “perturbed again.” He marches to the tomb: a man on a mission. “Take away the stone.” Now Martha pushes back – “Lord… there will be a stench” or in other words – “it’s too late, this is too far gone, this situation can not change, can not be fixed – don’t open that.”
How many of us have experienced that?
A place that we have decided – That’s dead – it’s not coming back… that part of me, that relationship, that joy I felt, that hope I had – it’s too far gone…
Jesus looks at her and says “Did I not tell you that if you believe you will see the glory of God?” The stone is removed and He cries out “LAZARUS, COME OUT” – And the dead man walks out – still wrapped… still bound… alive but not yet free until Jesus turns to the people around and says “Untie him and let him go.”
This isn’t just a miraculous story from 2,000 years ago. John points to this sign as our story. The same pattern is playing out right now – Not in a tomb in some remote village. But in hearts and lives right in this Church.
Think back to that first reading today from the prophet Ezekiel. Probably because of the length of this Gospel we only get a glimpse of what is an incredible scene. Centuries before Jesus, the prophet has this vision of dry bones – an entire dead army of skeletons and God says “I will open your graves and have you rise from them” as Ezekiel sees the bones regain flesh, regain life and are resurrected before him. Then we heard St. Paul reminding us “if the Spirit of hte one who raised esus from the dead dwells in you… then that same Spirit will give life to your mortal bodies.” That means resurrection, that means new life isn’t just about something that will happen some day – it’s now.
So here’s the question – what tombs are we in?
Maybe it’s depression keeping us locked in wounds from the past.
Maybe its anxiety about the future that’s slowly closing in.
Maybe it’s a habit you thought you could control and now it controls you.
Maybe it’s a grief that lies saying you can’t experience happiness again
Maybe it’s a faith that used to be alive- but now feels distant or even gone.
Maybe its comparison, loneliness, pressure, exhaustion.
Whatever it is – Jesus is not standing far away from that. He’s not disappointed in you. Yes He is perturbed and deeply troubled – but not at you, but at what’s happening to you. And He’s standing at the edge of that tomb calling your name. Not generally, but personally, individually – saying “Come Out.” But here’s the thing. You have to let the stone be moved. You have to listen to Him calling. You have to be willing to step out. Even if it’s slow. Even if it’s messy. Even if you’re still wrapped up.
Because Lazarus comes out of the tomb. But he was still bound. He needed the community to help untie him. That’s why we have the Church & the Sacraments… That’s why Sunday Mass is not a suggestion, it’s a necessity, an obligation. That’s why we have Confession. We need other people, faith isn’t meant to be lived alone.
And that’s what this season of Lent is all about – not to make you feel guilty for forty days, not as some suffering olympics where we think we’re trying to impress Jesus by our sacrifices – but to detach more and more from this world and allowing Jesus into deeper places of our lives, letting Him bring something back to life.
So as we enter into what’s called “Passiontide” this time of these last two weeks of Lent as the cross and Jesus’ Passion grows more in focus, maybe resolve to make some steps – to name your tomb. Be honest about it. Bring it to prayer. Get to confession, even if it’s been years that’s okay…don’t let the devils lies and fear rob you of the most important miracle, to be free of our sins. Start to make a plan for Holy Week, not just for Mass next Palm Sunday but to be a part of Holy Thursday and Good Friday as we enter into the heart of what we believe as Catholic Christians – the Paschal Mystery… Where we will come face to face with Jesus who says “I am the Resurrection and the life” and He asks “Do You Believe this?”
“The one you love is ill…”
That’s you and me.
Jesus loves you.
And He is not content to leave you in the grave.
Lazarus walked out.
And so can you.
