The voice that calls us out of death

The commentary on the Gospel for this Fifth Sunday of Lent, written by Friar Luciano Audisio, OAR, introduces us to the account of Lazarus’ resurrection (John 11), one of the most profound signs in the Gospel of Saint John. In this passage, Jesus reveals himself as the life that conquers death and personally calls us to come out of everything that confines us. In this Lenten season, his voice continues to resonate today, inviting us to walk towards Easter with hope.

The Sign of Lazarus: The Love That Enters Our Fragility

The Gospel for this Fifth Sunday of Lent presents us with one of the most profound accounts in the Gospel of John: the resurrection of Lazarus. This is the last and greatest of the signs that structure the first part of this Gospel. It is not simply a miracle, but a sign that reveals something much deeper about Jesus and also about ourselves. Like the entire Lenten season, this text invites us to confront life’s most essential questions, and among them appears the most unsettling of all: death. What is the meaning of death? What is the meaning, above all, of the death of those we love? In this account, we find a profoundly human Jesus, a Jesus who is moved and weeps before his friend’s tomb. We are not facing a distant God indifferent to human suffering, but a God who fully enters into our experience of pain.

However, it is important to note that what happens with Lazarus is not yet the definitive resurrection like that of Christ. Lazarus returns to life, but he will die again. This sign does not definitively eliminate death; rather, it anticipates something much greater: the definitive victory of life that will be manifested in Jesus’ Easter. That is why this episode prepares the reader to understand the Paschal mystery. The account begins with a deeply moving phrase: “He whom you love is ill” (Ἰδοὺ ὃν φιλεῖς ἀσθενεῖ). The Gospel here unites two realities: love and fragility. The one who is loved also appears vulnerable. The Greek word for “ill,” ἀσθενής, precisely indicates weakness, lack of strength. In a way, this relationship between love and lack reveals something very profound about our own human condition. God has created us as beings who “lack something,” beings in constant search of fullness. In the deepest sense, we lack Him. This inner void is what drives us to seek Him.

The Song of Songs expresses it with an extraordinary phrase: “I am sick with love” (כִּי־חוֹלַת אַהֲבָה אָנִי). We could say that life itself is a kind of “holy illness”: a desire that is never fully satisfied, a search that can only find its fullness in God. And then Jesus says something surprising: “This illness is not unto death” (Αὕτη ἡ ἀσθένεια οὐκ ἔστιν πρὸς θάνατον). That is to say, this fragility we experience, this desire that dwells within us, does not lead us to destruction; on the contrary, it can become the path that leads us to God.

“I Am the Resurrection and the Life”

When Jesus arrives in Bethany, a profoundly human reaction appears. Martha and Mary tell him what all of us would say in a similar situation: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died” (Κύριε, εἰ ἦς ὧδε, οὐκ ἂν ἀπέθανεν ὁ ἀδελφός μου). It is the cry that arises in the human heart in the face of suffering: where was God? The Gospel does not censor this question. On the contrary, it takes it seriously, and precisely from that objection, Jesus reveals something completely new. Martha says: “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day” (Οἶδα ὅτι ἀναστήσεται ἐν τῇ ἀναστάσει ἐν τῇ ἐσχάτῃ ἡμέρᾳ). She expresses the traditional faith of Israel, the hope of a resurrection at the end of time. But then Jesus pronounces one of the most radical statements in the entire Gospel: “I am the resurrection and the life” (ἐγώ εἰμι ἡ ἀνάστασις καὶ ἡ ζωή). Here appears the great novelty of Christianity. Hope is no longer only in the future. In Jesus, the last day has begun. We could then say that Christian faith consists in living now as if we were already in the last day, because in Jesus the definitive life of God has already entered our history. To believe in Christ means to begin to participate from now on in that life that conquers death.

When Jesus arrives at the tomb, something very powerful happens. The evangelist says that he is deeply moved. The Greek verb used is brimáō (βριμάω), which can even express inner indignation. It is God’s wrath in the face of evil and its most terrible consequence: death. But this wrath is not manifested as vengeance. God does not destroy the enemy; he does something much more surprising: he decides to bear the weight of evil himself to overcome it from within. In the logic of John’s Gospel, something impressive happens: by restoring Lazarus to life, Jesus signs his own death warrant. Immediately after this sign, the authorities will decide that Jesus must die. To save his friend, the one he loves, who in reality represents all of us, Jesus gives his own life.

“Lazarus, Come Out!”: The Call That Transforms Life

Finally, the culminating moment of the account arrives. Jesus cries out: “Lazarus, come out!” (Λάζαρε, δεῦρο ἔξω). But this word is not addressed only to Lazarus. It is also a word addressed to us. It is the voice of Christ that today calls us to come out: to come out of everything that keeps us confined in the logic of death, in the logic of fear, in the logic of sin. To come out of everything that still binds us to the old idea that our illness is unto death. Christ calls us to come out of the tomb, because in Him life has already triumphed. And this is the good news that prepares us for Easter: the voice that called Lazarus continues to resonate today and today also calls each of us by name to come out of death and walk towards life.