Reflection for 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?