Out of the Tomb
The Fifth Sunday of Lent always feels like standing at the edge of something.
Easter is near—but not yet.
Light is coming—but for now, we are still walking through shadow.
Today’s readings take us into three places of death:
a valley of dry bones,
a mind set on death,
and a sealed tomb.
This is not easy or comfortable faith.
This is God stepping directly into death—and speaking.
When Hope Feels Gone
In Ezekiel, the prophet is carried into a valley filled with bones. Not just bones—but very dry bones.
These are not recent losses. These are long gone. Forgotten. Without hope.
And the people say:
“Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost.”
That line feels real.
Because we all know moments like that:
when prayer feels empty
when faith feels distant
when something inside us feels worn down or gone
Then God asks a question that almost feels impossible:
“Can these bones live?”
Ezekiel answers honestly:
“Lord, you know.”
And maybe that is where faith begins—not with certainty, but with surrender.
Life Comes From God
God tells Ezekiel to speak—to prophesy to the bones.
And as he speaks, something begins to happen:
bones come together
flesh appears
breath enters
What was dead begins to live again.
Not because the bones did anything—but because God gave life. And that matters.
Because we often try to fix ourselves. Try harder. Push through. Hold it all together.
But resurrection is not something we create.
It is something we receive.
A Life Open to the Spirit
Paul says in Romans:
“To set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace.”
You can be alive—and still feel lifeless inside.
A life centered on fear, control, or resentment slowly drains us. But a life open to God begins to shift.
And then Paul says something powerful:
The same Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead is already at work in you.
Not someday. Now.
Resurrection begins quietly, within. When God Feels Late
Then we come to the story of Lazarus. Jesus hears that His friend is sick—but He doesn’t go right away.
He waits.
And Lazarus dies.
That’s hard.
Because sometimes God feels late. Prayers go unanswered. Healing doesn’t come in time.
Things don’t turn out the way we hoped. Martha says what many of us have felt:
“Lord, if you had been here…”
There is faith in that—but also disappointment. In other words they say: "you disappoint us", "where we're you when we needed you most"? "and why didn't you came sooner"? But God is not offended when we ask questions. He Meets Us in Grief Jesus doesn’t explain.
He says:
“I am the resurrection and the life.”
And then—He weeps.
God does not stay distant from our pain. God steps into it. Grief is not a failure of faith. It is part of love.
The Call Out of the Tomb
Jesus goes to the tomb.
It is sealed. Final. Too late.
And He says:
“Take away the stone.”
Martha hesitates. It has been four days. The moment has passed. But Jesus calls out anyway:
“Lazarus, come out.”
And he does.
Still wrapped. Still bound. But alive. And Jesus says:
“Unbind him, and let him go.”
Where This Meets Us
This story is not just about Lazarus. It is about us.
Because we all have places in our lives that feel sealed off: old wounds, buried grief
lost hope, parts of faith that feel gone, Places that feel too far gone. And yet—those are exactly the places Jesus goes.
What Lent Invites
Lent is not about pretending everything is okay. It is about being honest about what isn’t. The dry places.
The heavy places. The places that feel like tombs.
Because only what is opened can be raised.
A Personal Invitation
What if Jesus is standing at your tomb? What if He is calling your name? Not in judgment. Not in frustration. But in love
“Come out.”
You may not feel fully alive yet. That’s okay. Lazarus came out still wrapped in grave clothes. Resurrection often begins before everything is resolved.
It begins with something small: a step, a breath,
a willingness to listen.
And slowly—life returns.
Amen
