At the Grave of Lazarus: A Pivotal Moment of Life and Faith

SCRIPTURES & ART: This is the amazing Good News that God offers to every person: life and life eternal.

Carl Bloch, “The Raising of Lazarus,” ca. 1875
Carl Bloch, “The Raising of Lazarus,” ca. 1875 (photo: Public Domain)

On this Fifth Sunday of Lent (as was the case on the last two), the Church offers us two options for the Gospel reading. The Year B reading for use this year is John 12:20-33, where Jesus once more predicts his Passion, the “grain of wheat that must fall to the earth and die,” but whom the Voice from Heaven promises to “glorify and glorify again.” The Baptismal Scrutiny reading which can be used every year for the Fifth Sunday of Lent is John 11:1-45, the raising of Lazarus. It is that text on which we will comment.

Jesus’ friend Lazarus was ill and, thanks to Jesus’ tarrying, now dead. Jesus’ delay — like the handicap of the man born blind which is not a question of “whose sin” was responsible for it — is “for the glory of God” (John 11:4, cf. 9:3). Two realities are strongly at play in today’s Gospel: life and faith.

We are one week away from Passion (Palm) Sunday. Jesus’ miracles in our readings this year, both prior to and within Lent, have repeatedly demonstrated God’s will to heal and save fallen humanity. Spiritual and physical healing has attested to God’s desire to redeem the whole person. 

All of Jesus’ saving work comes, in some sense, to an apex today, a week away from Holy Week. Jesus has repeatedly shown his will that “man have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10). He can’t prove it any better than to restore life to a man dead and rotting for several days.

But today’s Gospel is also about faith. Outspoken Martha welcomes Jesus, but with the pretense that “if you had been here, my brother would not have died” (v. 21). But she still puts her faith in him: “But even now I know God will give you whatever you ask” (v. 22). She’s willing to believe in Lazarus’ resurrection on the Last Day (v. 24), but Jesus presses her to believe not in a Resurrection “when” but a Resurrection “who” (vv. 25-26). She probably does not know what she is assenting to (how often do we know when we assent, e.g., to be married or ordained?) but she does (v. 27). 

Mary also shares Martha’s pretense (v. 32) but intuitively needs far less talking and has far more faith in Jesus. The Jews who have gathered to mourn with Martha and Mary also exhibit contradictory emotions: “how much he loved him!” “Well, he helped out that blind guy, so what about his friend here?”

Jesus then calls Lazarus forth from the grave. He is raised.

Today’s Gospel reading stops, however, at the results of that act. One would think that there could be no more act demonstrative of Jesus’ identity and mission than raising a man from the dead. One would think it would “speak” for itself. But, as we see in John (which is why Mark’s Jesus is constantly enjoining the silence of the Messianic Secret), the reaction to the raising of Lazarus is split. 

“Many … believed in him” (11:45). The Sanhedrin’s reaction is not, however, to reconsider their views of the “Teacher,” but to resolve ever more firmly that he is a threat that must be eliminated. Caiaphas even announces a “principle” that underlies so much of modern ethics: better for one man to die than the whole nation (v. 50). So they resolve not to believe in Jesus but to kill him (v. 53), circumscribing his movement (v. 54), and even plotting to get rid of Lazarus, too (12:10-11).

Are we really surprised? Consider our own analogous experience. When one lets one’s ideological guard down, it’s hard to deny the basic biological fact that an unborn child is a human being. Our plain ordinary language confirms it. People say, “We’re having a baby!” They don’t say, “We’re having a product of conception!” They say, “Come to our baby shower!” They don’t say, “Come to our clump of tissue shower!” It’s only when our preference is to deny what’s right in front of our noses do we resort to those euphemisms and excuses. So did Caiaphas and colleagues.

In the parable of the rich man and Lazarus (not the Lazarus of today’s Gospel), the former asks Abraham to send him to his brothers to warn them of his fate. Abraham demurs, noting “they have the Law and the Prophets.” The rich man replies that a word from beyond the grave would be convincing. Abraham’s answer is “If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead” (Luke 16:31). With the raising of today’s Lazarus, Q.E.D.

Carl Bloch captures what we are getting at well. His “Raising of Lazarus” positions us right at the pivotal moment of life and faith. As Jesus requested, a man is removing the slab over the grave hewn in the rock face. A curious lad, standing at his leg, peers around the stone at Lazarus’s dimly visible, shrouded corpse. Everybody’s tension is palpable … everyone’s except Jesus. Jesus is calm and serene. Their faces all stare forth in curiosity, even confusion. A little child is hiding behind the Jewish dignitary with the staff, probably afraid of seeing a dead man. Perhaps this crowd has seen themselves or at least heard the reports of his curing the blind, deaf, mute, lepers, and otherwise ill. Perhaps they’ve seen themselves or at least heard reports of his driving out devils. Perhaps they’ve even heard about his raising the daughter of Jairus or the son of the widow of Naim, but — push come to shove — human might falls flat in the silent face of death that they’re all looking at.   

It is — and should be — Jesus’s “make or break” moment — except that there may very well be those who have their minds made up that it’s a “break” moment … and don’t bother me with the evidence or the facts. 

The one sign of faith is presumably Mary. She crouches close to Jesus, so dependent upon and united to him that her white robes blend into his. Theologically, that makes sense because “apart from me, you can do nothing” (John 15:5). Death entered the human scene, not simply as a divine punishment for sin but also as the inevitable consequence of the false autonomy of being apart from God: cut off from him, we can do nothing. Unlike the others in the scene, proudly standing and waiting to be convinced, faithful Mary is the only one who humbles herself, her eyes leading us to the test of her (and our) faith. Jesus himself will pray in a moment, not for the power to raise Lazarus but so that “they may believe” (v. 42) as a result of what they will see.

Carl Bloch was a 19th-century Danish painter. This work is one of a set of 23 on “the Life of Christ” that Bloch painted from 1865-79, on commission for the Royal Chapel of Frederiksborg Palace in Copenhagen. That success led to his being commissioned for religious altarpieces through Scandinavia. His popular and realist historical style quickly led to his works being produced as illustrations. (People are probably most familiar with his “Sermon on the Mount”). For some reason, he has become particularly popular with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (the Mormons), who frequently employ his artwork in their literature.

Two weeks from Easter we hear the Good News of Life, a message the Church already hinted at three weeks ago in the Gospel of the Transfiguration. It’s the amazing Good News that God offers to every person: life and life eternal. What perhaps is even more amazing is that anyone turns that offer of a lifetime down.