By Thursday of the Fifth Week of Lent, the air in the Gospel story has shifted.
The perfume has been poured.
Lazarus has walked out of the tomb.
The authorities have begun to panic.
And somewhere in the background, a meeting is called.
There is something almost comical about it — in the driest possible biblical way. Lazarus is raised from the dead, and instead of applause, there is strategy. Instead of celebration, there is calculation.
“What are we to do?” they ask.
It is a fair question.
Because resurrection is inconvenient.
It disrupts tidy systems. It unsettles established arrangements. It makes people reconsider assumptions. It draws crowds. It threatens control.
The chief priests and Pharisees are not caricatures of villainy. They are anxious leaders trying to manage a situation spiralling beyond their influence.
Which, if we are honest, is a fairly universal human experience.
By Thursday of Lent 5, the cross is no longer theoretical. The tension is building. Jesus is no longer merely teaching; he is unsettling.
And here is the uncomfortable truth: we prefer a manageable Messiah.
We like our faith inspiring but not destabilizing. Encouraging but not disruptive. Devotional but not world-altering.
But when death loses its grip — when tombs open — systems tremble.
The religious leaders worry about Rome. They worry about public reaction. They worry about losing their place and their nation.
Anxiety, it seems, can dress itself in very pious clothing.
And so they decide something must be done.
There is a peculiar irony here. In attempting to preserve stability, they set in motion the very events that will reveal God’s deepest purpose.
Human fear meets divine intention.
Lent often exposes our quieter anxieties. What feels threatened? What feels unstable? What are we trying to preserve at all costs?
The Gospel suggests that sometimes what we are trying to preserve is precisely what needs to be surrendered.
Caiaphas, with a certain grim efficiency, remarks that it is better for one man to die than for the nation to perish.
He speaks more truth than he realises.
God’s purposes often unfold through the very calculations meant to prevent them.
By Thursday of this week, the path to Jerusalem is unmistakable. The whispers have grown louder. Decisions are being made.
And yet Jesus continues walking.
There is something deeply reassuring about that.
The crowd may whisper. The leaders may scheme. The tension may rise.
But Christ is not hurried.
He is not surprised by opposition. He is not deterred by anxiety.
He walks steadily toward love’s completion.
If this Lent has stirred unease in you — if resurrection has unsettled something you thought stable — do not panic.
The Gospel does not promise comfort without cost.
It promises that even when fear gathers in council, grace remains sovereign.
And sometimes, when the crowd begins to whisper, God is already writing redemption into the margins.
Companion Prayer
Sovereign God,
When fear gathers
and anxiety whispers,
steady us.
Where we cling to control,
teach us trust.
Where we resist change,
open us to your purpose.
Give us courage
to follow Christ
even when the path is costly.
And remind us
that no scheme,
no fear,
no council of worry
can thwart your redeeming love.
Amen.