Homily - I've seen people rise
Fifth Sunday of Lent
Saint John the Baptist Parish, Newburgh, and UE & USI, Evansville, Indiana - April 2, 2017
Ezekiel 37, Romans 8, John 11
Audio of this homily



We profess that we believe in the new life Jesus offers, but we walk around without hope, like we’re dead. What is it going to take for us to live like we believe in the Resurrection? Because I have seen people rise.


The Gospel this weekend is a powerful—though long—account of some of the closest of Jesus’ friends, of Jesus’ disciples. “Master,” says Martha and Mary—who are Lazarus’ siblings—they say to Jesus, “the one you love is dead.” The one you love. Two witnesses testify of our Lord’s love for this special disciple.

But if that wasn’t enough testimony, the Evangelist John himself proclaims Jesus’ love for the three, “Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister (Mary) and Lazarus.” In fact, in verse 36 of this 11th chapter of John’s Gospel, we read that even the Gospel’s often portrayed ‘bad guys’—the Jews—tell us of Jesus’ love for this man: “See how he loved him.” How often we have heard of or read or seen the miracles of Jesus, the Son of God, but this one is different – these people are so close to him that, for them, Our Lord even cries.

Do you feel that very love of Christ? Have you ever felt like you were especially loved by Jesus? By God incarnate?

• Perhaps in the warm or strong embrace of a family member when you lost the big game as a kid
• Perhaps in the kind word from a mentor or co-worker when you were, when you really were at your wit’s end
• Perhaps in the naïve and hopeful and unstained and truly devoted look of your spouse gazing into your eyes as your stood up here on your wedding day
• Perhaps in the grace of a miracle worked when the doctors and nurses said it was over, or when the weathermen and contractors  or whomever got it wrong, or when the lawyers or politicians or friends or strangers had given up—

Have you felt Christ’s special love for you in a miracle? Have you felt God’s love? Have you?

We profess that we believe in Christ Jesus’ new life, but we walk around like we’re dead. What is it going to take for us to believe in the Resurrection?

Martha and Mary had felt it. Clearly. So had Lazarus before being bestowed his burial bands.
And they knew to send for the Lord when times were hard—indeed very hard. And yet when the Lord arrives now, in the midst of their pain, in the midst of an actual death, what happens to their faith?

Let’s read:

When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went to meet him; but Mary sat at home. Martha said to Jesus, "Lord, if you had been here,my brother would not have died. But even now I know that whatever you ask of God,God will give you." [And] Jesus said to her, "Your brother will rise."

We profess that we believe, too, don’t we? That we’ll rise?

Martha said,
"I know he will rise,
in the resurrection on the last day."
Jesus told her,
"I am the resurrection and the life;
whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live,
and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.
Do you believe this?"

Maybe this question is not just for Martha: “Do you believe this?”

She said to him, "Yes, Lord.
I have come to believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God,
the one who is coming into the world."

Have you ever had the faith of Martha—faith that is strong, faith that you feel, that you can maybe even share?

Have you ever been on the mountaintop of missionary zeal? Have you ever crescendoed after the almost certain concomitant climax of a Cursillo weekend? Have you flown high after fasting, reveled in the rays of a White House retreat or a Source & Summit weekend, or maybe peacefully paced yourself amidst perplexing helplessness, pushed the Evil Ones’ powers to the poles of your places in life, beyond the perils of your personality, past the parts you willingly or unwittingly play in your parish, your world your community? Have you felt the resurrection? Do you still believe now?

Martha believed. She needed a little correction, but she believed. But Mary? She stayed home. When she enters the scene, there is no profession of faith from her, there is no utterance of life upon her lips—not true life, full life. There is no proclamation of the Resurrection. Mary simply weeps. And that’s when Jesus weeps. Out of sadness? Maybe. Indeed Jesus loved Lazarus, like he loves us all. But maybe also out of longing—longing that the words of the prophet that Mary would have certainly known—that these words would have been believed centuries before Jesus had to show the truth himself at Lazarus’ tomb:

Thus says the Lord GOD:
O my people, I will open your graves
and have you rise from them,
and bring you back to the land of Israel.
Then you shall know that I am the LORD, [and he says it a second time!]
when I open your graves and have you rise from them, 
O my people!
I will put my spirit in you that you may live, 
and I will settle you upon your land; 
thus you shall know that I am the LORD.
I have promised, and I will do it (Ezekiel 37)

We profess that we believe in Christ Jesus’ new life, but we walk around like we’re dead. We face the terrors of life that are before us as if there is no hope. We have prayed, and we’ve prayed hard, but we don’t see our answer. Our answer. Our plan. We don’t see anything in this particular struggle in life—or maybe even of the whole of life—that could be redeeming. Yet, whatever your struggle today

“This… is not to end in death,” Jesus says, “but is for the glory of God, that the Son of God may be glorified through it.”

So what is it going to take for us to believe?


Because I have seen people rise.

I have seen mothers of a half-dozen children corral all of them at once with their arms that do not seem to have a limit in their ability to reach nor their minds the capacity to give up—and with their bangs that are too long—because there has simply been no time for a haircut—covering their eyes, yes even amidst that exhaustion there is still enough light in their faces that the rest of the world knows without doubt that the Spirit of God dwells in them (Romans 8)

I have seen fathers come home from jobs, long jobs, hard and some days desolate jobs to sit down and know that what they just did, all day, and every day for decades has finally put their children through college, college they never had—and then rise once more tomorrow to do it all again
I have seen 70 year olds fight to stay alive in hospital beds because—because I don’t know their reasons—but I bet some of them just can’t imagine their husband or wife having to make it on his own or on her own without them, and then when the right word is finally whispered or the right touch from that one last family member arriving almost too late—I’ve seen them let go in peace. And rise.

I have seen teenagers and college students make really poor decisions—minor ones and major ones, huge ones—after ignoring great advice they’ve heard so many times and then I’ve seen them end up in the Confessional—their lives tied in knots—broken, but then healed—rejoining the circle of hundreds of others kneeling in the dark around the burning bush of community and salvation—and ready to rise on Monday morning and try to not mess it all up once again

I have seen men and women, old and young, fight their addictions and come out full of new life, risen life, fully alive, and if you have seen these people, if you have seen them you know. You just know.


We profess that we believe in the new life Jesus offers, but we walk around without hope, like we’re dead. What is it going to take for us to live like we believe in the Resurrection?

Because I dont' know about you....

but I have seen people rise.







Image source: The Raising of Lazarus by Sebastiano del Piombo, 16th century, National Gallery of London, England