Not the God of the Dead

Only through Christ’s resurrection — the one that death can no longer undo — can we face every loss with a different kind of hope.
— Julián Carrón
Not the God of the dead, but of the living.
Julián Carrón.

Julián Carrón - Not the God of the Dead, But of the Living

The Lenten journey has one great purpose, as the liturgy has told us from the very beginning: to deepen our knowledge of the Mystery of Christ. On these Sundays we have followed him step by step — contemplating him in the light of the Transfiguration, watching him quench the Samaritan woman's thirst, seeing him restore sight to the man born blind.

Today, this journey reaches its climax in the sign of Lazarus' resurrection. Here the Mystery is revealed in all its power: God is not the God of the dead, but of the living. The prophet Ezekiel had already prepared us for this proclamation, as we heard in the first reading: God promises to open our tombs and fill them with his Spirit of life — and the reason, finally, is this: "I am the Lord."

In today's Gospel, the contrast between the reaction of the crowd and that of Jesus is striking. The disciples, the sisters Martha and Mary, the friends — everyone is overwhelmed by grief and a sense of loss. Jesus, on the other hand, says something that seems almost scandalous: "I am glad I was not there."

But this is not indifference. Jesus is not insensitive: we see him deeply moved, even to tears, before his friend's tomb. So why is he glad? Because that illness and that death are not the final word. Jesus wants to persuade his friends — and us today — that what is happening is an opportunity for The Mystery of his person to reveal itself, and for us to be drawn even more deeply into it.

To the disciples who try to minimize the situation — "If he has fallen asleep, he will recover" — Jesus speaks plainly: "No, Lazarus is dead… so that you may believe." To the sisters, who mourn his apparent delay ("If you had been here, he would not have died"), Jesus opens an eternal horizon: "I am the resurrection and the life." Only now does the full depth of his Mystery come into the open.

We too, like Lazarus, are made of flesh — and therefore subject to death. But St. Paul confronts us with a startling truth: "You are not under the dominion of the flesh, but of the Spirit." If the Spirit of the One who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in us, then death no longer has the final say over our mortal bodies.

Lazarus' resurrection is a sign — but the real news that Easter will bring is that Christ himself is risen. Lazarus, after some years, had to die again. His resurrection had not solved the problem of death, which would resurface before long. Only through Christ's resurrection — the one that death can no longer undo — can Lazarus and we face every loss with a different kind of hope.

Before the tomb, Jesus prays to the Father: "I knew that you always hear me, but I said this for the sake of the people standing here, so that they may believe." His prayer is not an attempt to persuade God. It is a living testimony for us. Jesus wants to show us that God is capable of overturning situations that are humanly impossible.

Whoever lives immersed in this Presence is no longer afraid. Not afraid of enemies — unlike the disciples who hesitate to go to Jerusalem for fear of ending up like Jesus. Not afraid of failure. Not afraid of death. Every difficulty becomes, for Jesus, an occasion to live his relationship with the Father more fully. A Presence that does not flee from reality, but enters it.

Jesus shows us a path within reach for all of us. He teaches us that friendship and affection — like those he shared with Lazarus and his sisters — if they do not open toward a greater relationship with the Father, will not hold up when life gets hard. With his Presence, however, we can face any circumstance: adversity, the loss of loved ones, even the tunnel of death itself.

Everything becomes an opportunity — as today's Gospel makes luminously clear — to see the glory of God: that splendor of his truth that dispels all fear, and allows us, finally, to entrust ourselves to the hands of a Father who wants us to live.

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Lazarus, the Dizziness of Coming Out into the Open