Sunday, March 22, 2026 – Lent 5
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
John 11:1-45
Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. Mary was the one who anointed the Lord with perfume and wiped his feet with her hair; her brother Lazarus was ill. So the sisters sent a message to Jesus, “Lord, he whom you love is ill.” But when Jesus heard it, he said, “This illness does not lead to death; rather, it is for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” Accordingly, though Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, after having heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was.
Then after this he said to the disciples, “Let us go to Judea again.” The disciples said to him, “Rabbi, the Jews were just now trying to stone you, and are you going there again?” Jesus answered, “Are there not twelve hours of daylight? Those who walk during the day do not stumble because they see the light of this world. But those who walk at night stumble because the light is not in them.” After saying this, he told them, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I am going there to awaken him.” The disciples said to him, “Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will be all right.” Jesus, however, had been speaking about his death, but they thought that he was referring merely to sleep. Then Jesus told them plainly, “Lazarus is dead. For your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.” Thomas, who was called the Twin, said to his fellow disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.”
When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb four days. Now Bethany was near Jerusalem, some two miles away, and many of the Jews had come to Martha and Mary to console them about their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed at home. Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.” Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha said to him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” She said to him, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.”
When she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary and told her privately, “The Teacher is here and is calling for you.” And when she heard it, she got up quickly and went to him. Now Jesus had not yet come to the village but was still at the place where Martha had met him. The Jews who were with her in the house consoling her saw Mary get up quickly and go out. They followed her because they thought that she was going to the tomb to weep there. When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” When Jesus saw her weeping and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” Jesus began to weep. So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”
Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. Jesus said, “Take away the stone.” Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.” Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?” So they took away the stone. And Jesus looked upward and said, “Father, I thank you for having heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.” When he had said this, he cried with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”
Many of the Jews, therefore, who had come with Mary and had seen what Jesus did believed in him.
Jesus said: “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”
These are always the very first words I speak at any funeral service I conduct. And every time I say these words, the people in the pews have different reactions. Some folks just stare. Maybe death has made them numb and they aren’t able to connect to these words at all. Sometimes people scowl. Maybe they are not the church-going kind and all this talk of eternal life seems like so much nonsense to them. But then there are always those who seem to grab hold of these words, like a lifeline. Often, their eyes will lock with mine. Sometimes they will wipe away tears. Or they might smile and nod their heads. It’s as if hope is rising up in them, even in the face of death.
I have always loved these words of Jesus. And I cling to them for myself and all those I love. But these words do not stand alone. They are part of a much more complex story about human pain and loss, doubt and fear.
Mary, Martha, and Lazarus – three adult siblings – apparently all unmarried, lived together in a village called Bethany, that was just two miles from Jerusalem. And John tells us that Jesus was particularly fond of these three siblings. In fact, in the passage that Henry read for us today, we are told three separate times that Jesus loved them.
One day, Lazarus developed an odd cough. That night, his whole body shook with a fever. His sisters their best to cool him down, but to no avail. As his temperature rose, so did their terror, for not only was their beloved brother at death’s door, but so was their livelihood. As the only male of the family in a strictly patriarchal society, Lazarus was responsible for his sisters’ financial well-being. So, this was a potentially devasting predicament in more ways than one.
But Jesus loved them. And Jesus was their friend. And they had seen Jesus heal other people. So, Mary and Martha sent word to him, that he should come right away, and do for Lazarus what he had done for others.
But this is where the story takes an ominous and strange turn. When Jesus received word that his best friend was gravely ill, instead of setting out immediately to get to Bethany, he made an enigmatic statement about this illness not leading to death.
Well, as true as that might have been, the sisters didn’t know that. And then Jesus decided to stay where he was for two more days. And the sisters didn’t know that either. Instead, all they knew was that Jesus wasn’t there and they were desperate.
When Jesus finally did get to Bethany, it was far too late. Not only had he not been by his friend’s side to hold his hand as he died, but Jesus had also missed the funeral. How would you ever forgive a friend who seemed so detached from your suffering?
When Jesus was still a little way off, word came to the house that he had finally come. And Martha, leaving the mourners behind, broke protocol and ran out to meet him on the road. And when she saw him, all her tangled emotions came spilling out with these words: “Lord, if you had only been here, my brother would not have died.” But then, with a hint of hope she said, “But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask.”
Then, Martha ran back home to get Mary, who, we might imagine, was simply too hurt and angry to have gone out to meet Jesus. But now that she knew that the Lord was asking for her, she would tell him exactly how she felt. When she saw him, grief overwhelmed her and she collapsed at his feet and made the same accusation that her sister had: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
And what happens next is one of the most moving scenes of the entire New Testament. Jesus broke down and wept, great copious tears. Jesus wept.
And if we take at all seriously the idea of the Incarnation, the astounding notion that God was in Christ; revealing God’s very face to us, then this reaction to human suffering tells us that God is not some impassive, unmovable deity who looks upon the pain of the world with divine detachment. Instead, God looks at the victims of war and genocide, the scapegoats of oppression, the hungry children, the lonely elders, those who mourn, and God weeps with us over the pain of the world and the pain of our lives.
Then Jesus asked that the stone that covered the tomb be removed. And in a loud voice, he shouted: “Lazarus, come out!” And by God, he did. The man who had been dead for four days came out of that tomb, alive.
And this is where the story ends, on this note of triumphalism and victory. Except that this is not where the story ends. The Gospel of John tells us that it was this very event that finally set into motion the execution of Jesus. And it was this very event that put into motion the plot to kill Lazarus and thus to get rid of the evidence. Some scholars surmise that Lazarus was killed very quickly after this event. And Jesus would go to his cross in a matter of days.
Frankly, I like the triumphal ending better. I want Lazarus raised, restored to his sisters, and all of them living happily ever after. And I want that story for them because I want that story for me. I want Jesus to come and protect me from all those things I am afraid of, and restore all of those things that are broken. But so often, he seems delayed.
As many of you know, my younger sister is gravely ill. And I have asked Jesus to come and to heal her and raise her up. But as the diseased has progressed, I have found that I had less and less words to say about it all. And so, I fell back on this ancient Christian prayer practice, that I have found so helpful over the years when I don’t know how to pray. You hold the person in mind, and then you simply say, “Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.”
So, this was the prayer I was praying for my sister a few weeks ago. But with each repetition, I was more and more desperate. When I finally paused long enough to listen, I heard a voice - not audibly – but in my mind, and as clear as a bell. And the voice asked: “Do you think you are just shouting into a void?” And I replied, “No, Lord. I believe you hear me.”
Likewise, there was something in Mary and Martha that would not let go of the idea that when they sent word to Jesus, that he would hear them and come. They did not know what it would mean when he arrived, but they knew that just his presence would make a difference.
And there is something deep inside each of us that clings to that same hope. And we believe that we are not just shouting into a void when we pray. Instead, we are speaking to the One who stands outside of the tombs of our lives, and weeps with us over those things that break our hearts, and then whispers into our souls: “I am the resurrection and the life.”
Sunday, March 22, 2026 – Lent 5
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
John 11:1-45
Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. Mary was the one who anointed the Lord with perfume and wiped his feet with her hair; her brother Lazarus was ill. So the sisters sent a message to Jesus, “Lord, he whom you love is ill.” But when Jesus heard it, he said, “This illness does not lead to death; rather, it is for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” Accordingly, though Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, after having heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was.
Then after this he said to the disciples, “Let us go to Judea again.” The disciples said to him, “Rabbi, the Jews were just now trying to stone you, and are you going there again?” Jesus answered, “Are there not twelve hours of daylight? Those who walk during the day do not stumble because they see the light of this world. But those who walk at night stumble because the light is not in them.” After saying this, he told them, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I am going there to awaken him.” The disciples said to him, “Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will be all right.” Jesus, however, had been speaking about his death, but they thought that he was referring merely to sleep. Then Jesus told them plainly, “Lazarus is dead. For your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.” Thomas, who was called the Twin, said to his fellow disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.”
When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb four days. Now Bethany was near Jerusalem, some two miles away, and many of the Jews had come to Martha and Mary to console them about their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed at home. Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.” Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha said to him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” She said to him, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.”
When she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary and told her privately, “The Teacher is here and is calling for you.” And when she heard it, she got up quickly and went to him. Now Jesus had not yet come to the village but was still at the place where Martha had met him. The Jews who were with her in the house consoling her saw Mary get up quickly and go out. They followed her because they thought that she was going to the tomb to weep there. When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” When Jesus saw her weeping and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” Jesus began to weep. So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”
Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. Jesus said, “Take away the stone.” Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.” Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?” So they took away the stone. And Jesus looked upward and said, “Father, I thank you for having heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.” When he had said this, he cried with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”
Many of the Jews, therefore, who had come with Mary and had seen what Jesus did believed in him.
Jesus said: “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”
These are always the very first words I speak at any funeral service I conduct. And every time I say these words, the people in the pews have different reactions. Some folks just stare. Maybe death has made them numb and they aren’t able to connect to these words at all. Sometimes people scowl. Maybe they are not the church-going kind and all this talk of eternal life seems like so much nonsense to them. But then there are always those who seem to grab hold of these words, like a lifeline. Often, their eyes will lock with mine. Sometimes they will wipe away tears. Or they might smile and nod their heads. It’s as if hope is rising up in them, even in the face of death.
I have always loved these words of Jesus. And I cling to them for myself and all those I love. But these words do not stand alone. They are part of a much more complex story about human pain and loss, doubt and fear.
Mary, Martha, and Lazarus – three adult siblings – apparently all unmarried, lived together in a village called Bethany, that was just two miles from Jerusalem. And John tells us that Jesus was particularly fond of these three siblings. In fact, in the passage that Henry read for us today, we are told three separate times that Jesus loved them.
One day, Lazarus developed an odd cough. That night, his whole body shook with a fever. His sisters their best to cool him down, but to no avail. As his temperature rose, so did their terror, for not only was their beloved brother at death’s door, but so was their livelihood. As the only male of the family in a strictly patriarchal society, Lazarus was responsible for his sisters’ financial well-being. So, this was a potentially devasting predicament in more ways than one.
But Jesus loved them. And Jesus was their friend. And they had seen Jesus heal other people. So, Mary and Martha sent word to him, that he should come right away, and do for Lazarus what he had done for others.
But this is where the story takes an ominous and strange turn. When Jesus received word that his best friend was gravely ill, instead of setting out immediately to get to Bethany, he made an enigmatic statement about this illness not leading to death.
Well, as true as that might have been, the sisters didn’t know that. And then Jesus decided to stay where he was for two more days. And the sisters didn’t know that either. Instead, all they knew was that Jesus wasn’t there and they were desperate.
When Jesus finally did get to Bethany, it was far too late. Not only had he not been by his friend’s side to hold his hand as he died, but Jesus had also missed the funeral. How would you ever forgive a friend who seemed so detached from your suffering?
When Jesus was still a little way off, word came to the house that he had finally come. And Martha, leaving the mourners behind, broke protocol and ran out to meet him on the road. And when she saw him, all her tangled emotions came spilling out with these words: “Lord, if you had only been here, my brother would not have died.” But then, with a hint of hope she said, “But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask.”
Then, Martha ran back home to get Mary, who, we might imagine, was simply too hurt and angry to have gone out to meet Jesus. But now that she knew that the Lord was asking for her, she would tell him exactly how she felt. When she saw him, grief overwhelmed her and she collapsed at his feet and made the same accusation that her sister had: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
And what happens next is one of the most moving scenes of the entire New Testament. Jesus broke down and wept, great copious tears. Jesus wept.
And if we take at all seriously the idea of the Incarnation, the astounding notion that God was in Christ; revealing God’s very face to us, then this reaction to human suffering tells us that God is not some impassive, unmovable deity who looks upon the pain of the world with divine detachment. Instead, God looks at the victims of war and genocide, the scapegoats of oppression, the hungry children, the lonely elders, those who mourn, and God weeps with us over the pain of the world and the pain of our lives.
Then Jesus asked that the stone that covered the tomb be removed. And in a loud voice, he shouted: “Lazarus, come out!” And by God, he did. The man who had been dead for four days came out of that tomb, alive.
And this is where the story ends, on this note of triumphalism and victory. Except that this is not where the story ends. The Gospel of John tells us that it was this very event that finally set into motion the execution of Jesus. And it was this very event that put into motion the plot to kill Lazarus and thus to get rid of the evidence. Some scholars surmise that Lazarus was killed very quickly after this event. And Jesus would go to his cross in a matter of days.
Frankly, I like the triumphal ending better. I want Lazarus raised, restored to his sisters, and all of them living happily ever after. And I want that story for them because I want that story for me. I want Jesus to come and protect me from all those things I am afraid of, and restore all of those things that are broken. But so often, he seems delayed.
As many of you know, my younger sister is gravely ill. And I have asked Jesus to come and to heal her and raise her up. But as the diseased has progressed, I have found that I had less and less words to say about it all. And so, I fell back on this ancient Christian prayer practice, that I have found so helpful over the years when I don’t know how to pray. You hold the person in mind, and then you simply say, “Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.”
So, this was the prayer I was praying for my sister a few weeks ago. But with each repetition, I was more and more desperate. When I finally paused long enough to listen, I heard a voice - not audibly – but in my mind, and as clear as a bell. And the voice asked: “Do you think you are just shouting into a void?” And I replied, “No, Lord. I believe you hear me.”
Likewise, there was something in Mary and Martha that would not let go of the idea that when they sent word to Jesus, that he would hear them and come. They did not know what it would mean when he arrived, but they knew that just his presence would make a difference.
And there is something deep inside each of us that clings to that same hope. And we believe that we are not just shouting into a void when we pray. Instead, we are speaking to the One who stands outside of the tombs of our lives, and weeps with us over those things that break our hearts, and then whispers into our souls: “I am the resurrection and the life.”
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