We Will Arise: a Reflection for the Fifth Sunday of Lent, 2026

by Sister Therese Carson

What powerful scripture readings we hear this Sunday! They speak of our greatest fear: our own mortality, and offer us the consolation of our faith.

In the first reading, during the Babylonian captivity, Ezekiel has seen a vision of a field of bones reassembling into living multitudes. He tells his despairing people that God has not forgotten them; that God will open the grave of their captivity, give them new life, and bring them home to their own lands.

In the second reading from Romans, Paul goes a step further than Ezekiel. He promises those living in fear of execution that, “The One who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also, because his Spirit lives in you.” We may see death as the end, but in Christ, death does not have the last word. There is life beyond it.

Then John’s Gospel story of Lazarus describes the real, excruciating pain of loss. Listening to it, we re-live our own traumatic encounters with death. Mary and Martha have sent Jesus a message that their brother Lazarus is dying: “Please, come and heal him.”

How did you feel when you received similar news? I remember my grief when I was called to my mother’s bedside. A clot had stopped blood flow to her spinal cord; the tissue was dying and she was in unbearable pain. Narcotics eased the pain but not her fear. I stayed with her, helpless to save her, praying all night for an end to her suffering until God took her as the sun rose. I have never before or since felt so helpless. Her death left a wound that will never heal. But being human means we will go through many deaths before Sister Death comes for us, too.

What about Jesus? He is God but also human, has already loved and lost many people, loves Lazarus like a brother, and knows this illness will be fatal. He arrives in Bethany to find the funeral over, Lazarus in his tomb, and the two sisters deep in grief. But Martha still trusts Jesus. She tells him, “I know that whatever you ask of God, God will give you.” Jesus tells her, “I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live.” And Martha says, “Yes, Lord. I have come to believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God.”

They go to the sealed tomb and, overcome with loss, Jesus weeps, deep tearing sobs for the person he has loved. Grief for their loss, grief for Lazarus, grief for two women left without support. Death and loss are real, the raw wound in the heart is real, and grief shakes even the Son of God. Then he calls Lazarus back from the dead and returns him to his family, an ecstatic reunion that forever transforms our relationship with Death. In faith we know that Death is not permanent, that we will meet again beyond the veil. But the grief – that is obligatory. As we heard in a reflection at Morning Prayer this past week, grief is the human, holy, blessed, necessary pause before moving forward in joy.

Theologian Henri J. Nouwen said that God calls us to participate in his divine love, and since that embraces all of life, it also embraces death. He said, “In the house of love, even death is celebrated, not because death is desirable or attractive, but because in the face of death, life can be proclaimed as victorious. … God says to you, ‘I have called you from all eternity and you are engraved in the palms of my hands. You are mine. You belong to me, and I love you with an everlasting love.’”

We will go through death, but we do not need to fear it. For today, we embrace life, attend to its unfolding, and find joy everywhere. While we are here, we are, as Bishop Daniel Felton called it, “the beating heart of Christ in this world.” Don’t stop living before the end and waste the best years of your life. Take the promise of eternal life and run with it joyfully into the dawning light of Easter.