Saturday of the Fifth Week of Lent
Immediately preceding today’s Gospel, John recounts the preeminent sign in Jesus’ public ministry, the raising of Lazarus. As the story unfolds here, we find ourselves at a fork in the road, a critical juncture for Jesus and for us. Will we believe and follow or deny and condemn? Will we embrace life or choose death? Confronted with our Lord, the religious leaders and the people of Jesus’ day had to choose. So do we. Lord, today and always, please give us the grace to believe you, to love you, and to die and rise in you.
Many Jews flocked to Bethany, to comfort Martha and Mary when their brother Lazarus died (John 11:19). These people witnessed the greatest of Jesus’ signs, his most extraordinary miracle. They all beheld the same outpouring of divine love and power, yet each one interpreted it differently. John tells us, “Many of the Jews who had come to Mary and seen what Jesus had done began to believe in him. But some of them went to the Pharisees and told them what Jesus had done.” Some began to believe; the outcome Jesus prayed for (11:42). Others were scandalized and reported to the Pharisees what Jesus had done, tattling, as it were, to the religious authorities. The irony cannot be missed – Jesus’ giving life to Lazarus ultimately leads to his own death.
We, too, face choices every day. We are free to believe in Jesus and to seek to follow him closely. In our free will, we can also turn away from him, trusting in something other than him, and effectively deny him by our attitudes or actions. The former constitutes a participation in life, the latter in death.
Belief in Jesus does contain a requisite dying. The rhythm of our discipleship ebbs and flows in putting to death our egos and selfish pride and rising with Christ in the new life he won for us. We effectively live out our Baptism day-by-day as we die to self, take up our cross, and follow our Lord. We emulate Christ’s passion and death as we put to death our own sinfulness and selfishness and seek to become generous, compassionate servants. We demonstrate our belief in Christ by cooperating with him in bringing life to others. We do that by announcing the Gospel by our lives and participating in works of mercy.
Tragically, because we are broken, wounded, and sinful humans, we also, at times usher death into the world. Jesus tells us that we do not have to be murderers to effectively kill (Matthew 5:21-23). We kill other people’s spirits and wound their hearts by our harsh, demeaning, vulgar, or critical words. In many ways, we can harm one another physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. We hate, seek revenge, withhold forgiveness, judge, and condemn. All these behaviors foster death, not life. Sins of omission often leave people trapped in systems and structures of suffering and death. The people of Jesus’ day literally put him to death, but we too put him to death when we fail to recognize Christ in our neighbor, mistreating him by our unkindness to them. In Jesus’ own words, “‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did . . . did not do for one of the least of these, you did . . . did not do for me’” (Matthew 25:40, 45).
Believing in Jesus translates into action. Choosing life, choosing love, flow naturally and effusively from a heart that believes. We experience the abundant life that Christ brings as we die to self and live for him. It’s such a marvelous paradox! In dying to our selfish ways, we truly do come alive in freedom and joy. Selfishness births death. We harm not only others, but ourselves, too when we choose death instead of life.
As we near the end of our Lenten journey, we have a great opportunity to look back over these (almost) 40 days. How have our spiritual disciplines brought us to a deeper conversion? Can we recognize change and growth in ourselves? Are we more alive now than we were on Ash Wednesday, freer to choose life for ourselves and to desire to bring life to others? It’s not too late for change! Let’s press in hard to these last days of Lent and rise with Christ on Easter in a newness of life like never before!
I’ll see you in the Eucharist,
Elizabeth Wells