February 22, 2026 John 11:30-44 Jesus calls “Lazarus, Come Out.”

There are two Lazaruses in the Gospels.

The one John describes lived in Bethany, brother of Mary and Martha, beloved friend of Jesus. He died. He is mourned. And in one of the most intimate and unsettling stories in scripture, Jesus calls him back to life.

The other Lazarus appears only in a parable, a poor, unnamed-in-history but named-in-story man in Gospel of Luke 16:19–31. He lies at the gate of a wealthy man, hungry and covered in sores. He dies and is carried to Abraham’s side. The rich man, in torment, begs that Lazarus be sent back to warn his brothers.

Abraham replies:

“If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.”

Then, in Gospel of John 11, someone named Lazarus does rise from the dead.

And many still do not believe. They do not repent. The authorities plot and organize, even planning to kill Lazarus. They are not convinced.  

The resonance is difficult to ignore. Most scholars believe these stories developed independently. Luke never mentions Lazarus of Bethany. John never references Luke’s parable. Historically, they are almost certainly separate figures.

But literarily? Theologically? Spiritually? The echo is striking. In Luke, Lazarus exposes economic blindness. In John, Lazarus exposes religious blindness.

In Luke, a rich man cannot see suffering at his own gate. In John, religious leaders cannot see resurrection standing in their midst. In both stories, death is real, and a reversal is dramatic. In each, Divine justice is revealed while still many refuse to see.

Before the miracle, before the command, before all the drama, Jesus weeps. This is not triumphal resurrection theology. This is embodied grief. And that matters deeply. Jesus does not bypass death. He does not make suffering spiritual. He stands before the tomb and feels it.

The story refuses easy answers. It does not say, “Everything happens for a reason,” but rather that Love stands before death and trembles. And then Love speaks.

When Lazarus comes out of the tomb, he is still bound. “Unbind him,” Jesus says. “Let him go.” Resurrection is not merely resuscitation. It is communal liberation. The miracle intensified the opposition because resurrection always threatens systems built on fear and control. A dead man is manageable. A living witness is dangerous.

In John’s Gospel, Lazarus becomes a sign and a problem. Which raises the unsettling connection to Luke’s parable: Even when someone rises from the dead, some will not believe. Why? Because resurrection is not just about whether miracles are possible. It is about whether we are willing to change. 

The name “Lazarus” means God has helped. In Luke, God helps the poor man beyond death. In John: God helps the beloved friend through death. In both, God’s help reveals uncomfortable truths. The poor are seen. The grieving are accompanied. The tomb is not ultimate. and systems of blindness are exposed. 

This is a scripture for this moment in our collective history. We live in a time of economic disparity and religious exhaustion. We step over suffering at our gates. We defend institutions rather than embody love. We say we want resurrection,  but resist its implications.

John’s Lazarus walks out of the tomb, and still hearts harden. In Luke’s, Lazarus cannot return, yet the warning remains. Together, they whisper, the problem is not lack of evidence. The problem is an unwillingness to see. 

What does “Come Out” mean today? Perhaps the command is not only for Lazarus. “Come out.” Come out of denial. Come out of systems that entomb others. Come out of theological certainty that leaves no room for tears. Come out of fear. 

And then, “Unbind him.” Since resurrection is communal work and liberation requires participation. The story does not end with belief spreading everywhere. It ends with tension rising. The raising of Lazarus sets the stage for the cross. Resurrection is always costly. But here is the deeper promise: Death does not get the last word. Grief is honored. Love is embodied. Systems of blindness are exposed, and even in resistance, Life keeps speaking.

“Lazarus, come out.” The question is not whether someone has risen.

The question is,:Will we listen?

Pastor Emillie's sermon.  

April 2, 2017 - Fifth Sunday in Lent - Resurrection Now!

I look forward to the Sunday worship discussions I frequently have with my wife. Her insights range from practical to profound, and are often both. We have not had our discussion yet on worship today but this week she helped me keep a balanced reading on stories of Jesus as recorded in John, which is an extremely practical and profound gospel.

I emphasize the word extremely. John is, of course, the odd gospel out from the synoptic gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke. The synoptic gospels all relate the teachings and stories of Jesus in relative agreement. Not so with John. For example, the gospel lessons of the past three weeks, Nicodemus, Woman the Well and the Blind Man's healing provide many odd specifics that can lead to thinking this is something beyond a simple account of what happened when these people encountered Jesus.

At the same time each of these accounts emphasize that  neither the practical nor profound aspects of what is told can stand alone, or is even useful, if the other aspect is ignored. Mary, my wife, reminded me of this. She said "Keep in mind these are all events in Jesus' life.".

During the last year or so I’ve come to know and understand more and more the profound this-worldliness of Christianity. The Christian is not a homo religiosus, but simply a man, as Jesus was a man. - Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Yes. It is too easy to lose the events in Jesus' life while contemplating his divinity in John's language that is so extraordinarily rich in meaning. It is not an accident that last Sunday's blog entry delved into music and poetry. If it is not poetry, the speech in John's gospel is certainly elevated and churchy. The words become charged, with something unexpected often tossed in the middle of the action.

Today's Gospel, John 11:1-45, is a case in point. The story builds in suspense to a clearly climatic, profound moment Jesus where he says "Take away the stone". Martha, in a just-a-minute moment, interrupts with a practical concern "Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead for four days".

Is this a bathetic moment of comedy? Or perhaps this is a terrible, beware-of-what-is-wished-for reminder of consequences. For me, this is an unvarnished, truly predictable reaction to a totally unprecedented event. Something is happening and you don't know what it is. People's responses will not be thought out or appropriately timed.

If not in relative agreement with the other gospels, this account agrees in structure with the past three weeks of gospel readings in John. People, particularly Jesus, talk past one another. Here Jesus says to Martha, “Your brother will rise again.”  Martha replies, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.”  Jesus says, “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 says yes, but notice what she says she believes: “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.” Jesus' words and actions are ambivalent as well. He confirms he has the power to raise Lazarus to life but he also stops to mourn, “Jesus began to weep.” (John 11:35). Even he, “the resurrection and the life” (John 11:25), acts from the profound loss death brings. Death works against life. Death works against God’s deepest will for God’s people.

So Jesus weeps.

I love Jesus throughout scripture. When I read John's account though, particularly here, I am not sure I would choose to be his traveling companion, nor am I drawn to what we have to focus on. Jesus displays an arrogance that is rarely shown in the gospels except in John. He does not respond to the sisters' message about Lazarus' illness. He talks to the disciples about the glory of God and the Son of God with no apparent concern for the pain the sisters will suffer while he stays where he is for two days.

He also is pushy. He says to the disciples "Let us go to Judea again" He speaks in riddles about light, instead of giving them reassurances or a practical reasons why they must go. Jesus also disregards their concerns about his and their safety.

Now, speaking to the writer of the account, this is what really stinks on the surface for many readers - Lazarus does not say a word in the story. One who can speak to the question of life after physical death, to a miracle of being brought back and nothing is recorded. What is there to say?

In her sermon Pastor Michelle asked who we identified with in the story both as individuals and as a congregation:

"So, I wonder: Are you in a place of grief,  having lost someone or something dear?… Like Lazarus’s family and friends,  has your heartache been deepened by a feeling of distance from God— by a cry from the depths of your soul, “Lord, if you’d been here, this wouldn’t have happened!?…”

Or, are you perhaps perched on the threshold of a miracle,  trembling with joy and fear,  because you’ve glimpsed a vision that holds the potential to change your life and the lives of everyone around you?…

Or, are you standing in stunned and silent awe on the other side of that miracle,  basking in the glow of resurrection possibility?  Are you ready to receive Christ’s invitation to play your part  in unbinding others and setting them free?…"

I'm tempted to include the whole sermon, even though you can follow the link. Instead I will include her perspective on the Creator community at this time:

"It seems to me that in one sense  you, the people of Creator Lutheran Church, are standing on the threshold of a miracle: You’re getting ready to call a new pastor, and the prospect is both exciting and scary - in much the same way that the resurrection of Lazarus must’ve been both exciting and scary for those who witnessed it!

Like the people who watched Lazarus or like Lazarus himself,  stumbling out of the cave,  you may be thinking,“Whoa! What on earth is happening?!  And where is this going?… How will life be different for us, as we unbind the trappings of our past  and find ourselves set free for an exciting, yet unsettling future?…”

In another sense it seems to me that  you, the people of Creator Lutheran Church,  are already standing on the other side of God’s miracle of resurrection life, ready to accept Christ’s invitation to play your part in unbinding others and setting them free.

As I look back over the past few months, I can see how the Spirit of God has been at work  stirring you up to new life and a renewed sense of vision and identity.  For example, signs of new life have been springing up in your creative ministry with youth and young adults…. Creator members are also working with the local Sanctuary Cohort cultivating caring relationships and gathering resources  to help us unbind and set free neighbors who fear for their lives and their children’s lives….

And yet for me the real epiphany moment came during the recent town hall meeting,  where we were discussing the relatively simple question of whether to list Creator as part the Convergence network of progressive congregations. Someone said, “Why don’t we just go all in and join the network? Isn’t that who we are?!” Everyone sat up a little straighter and said, “Yeah! Let’s do this!” And I shook my head, grinned, and said to myself, “Wow! What just happened here?!…”"

Pastor Michelle wasn't the only one grinning. That was an epiphany for Creator propelled by our community, rather than individuals, and now it is time to be getting on and playing our part in God's messy miracles.