By the Fifth Sunday of Lent, we are no longer dabbling in spiritual housekeeping.
We are standing outside a tomb.
The Gospel often gives us Lazarus at this point in the season. Which is to say, things have become unmistakably serious. There is grief. There is delay. There is a stone firmly lodged in place. And there is Jesus, arriving four days later than anyone would have preferred.
It is a scene that tests faith.
Mary and Martha are not subtle about it. “Lord, if you had been here…” Which is the polite biblical way of saying, “We had a timeline.”
The Fifth Sunday of Lent is about resurrection, yes. But before it is about resurrection, it is about waiting. It is about standing before what feels immovable and discovering that hope is not tidy.
There is something profoundly human in this story.
We are quite comfortable with minor inconveniences. Lent has already asked us to examine our thirst, practice patience, forgive generously, and remain steady. All admirable spiritual exercises.
But now we are confronted with something that feels final.
A sealed tomb.
The Christian life does not avoid such moments. It names them.
We all have stones in our lives — griefs we did not choose, disappointments we did not anticipate, situations that seem immovable despite our prayers.
And here is where the humour must tread gently.
Because if you have ever attempted to move a large stone — or even rearrange a modest piece of furniture without assistance — you will know that optimism alone is insufficient.
Jesus stands before the tomb and says, “Take away the stone.”
Martha, ever practical, objects. “Lord, there is a stench.”
The Gospel is refreshingly honest about the odour.
Resurrection does not bypass decay. It confronts it.
The Fifth Sunday of Lent reminds us that hope is not denial. It is trust in the presence of God even when the stone is still very much in place.
Jesus does not scold Martha for her realism. He invites her to trust beyond it.
“Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?”
Notice the order. Belief precedes sight.
Which is inconvenient for those of us who prefer proof before commitment.
Lazarus is called out of the tomb not because the sisters have mastered optimism, but because Jesus is life.
And perhaps this Sunday asks us not whether we can move the stone ourselves, but whether we are willing to let Christ speak into the place that feels sealed.
Resurrection may not yet be visible. The stone may still appear heavy. The circumstances may not have shifted.
But Jesus stands there nonetheless.
And that changes everything.
By the Fifth Sunday of Lent, the Church is already leaning toward Holy Week. The shadow of the cross is longer. The air is heavier.
And yet this Gospel insists: death does not have the final word.
Not then.
Not now.
Not ever.
If you are standing before something that feels immovable this Lent, take heart.
The One who weeps at the tomb also calls life out of it.
And stones, however stubborn, are not eternal.
Companion Prayer
Lord of Life,
You stand beside our sealed places
and do not turn away.
When grief feels heavy
and hope feels distant,
remain with us.
Give us courage
to trust beyond what we see,
and faith to believe
that your voice is stronger than death.
Roll away what binds us.
Call us into new life.
And hold us steady
as we wait for resurrection.
Amen.