The Gospel of John has only seven signs – what the other three gospels name miracles. Much of the eleventh chapter (John 11:1-44) is taken up with the seventh, final, and greatest sign that Jesus performs, raising his friend, Lazarus, from death. At this point in John’s Gospel, Jesus has had increasingly hostile threats from the leadership of his people in Jerusalem (referred to as “the Jews”). It is clearly not safe for him to go near there. The leaders want to arrest him.

Lazarus is a mysterious character. He lives with his sisters, Martha and Mary, in Martha’s house. In Israelite society, it is the man of the family who owns property. A home would not be handed down to a daughter unless there was no male heir. In the Gospel, Lazarus doesn’t say a word. He is silent and dependent. It has been suggested that Lazarus was a person with intellectual disabilities – perhaps a joy to be with, but needing extra care and attention. 

But a message comes to Jesus from Bethany, which is about 2 miles from Jerusalem, that Lazarus, his dear friend, one he loves, is very ill. What is Jesus to do? He is very close to Martha, Mary and their brother Lazarus. He probably has spent much time with them when he has been in the area. Jesus loves them. Yet, if he chooses to go heal Lazarus, he would be walking into the open arms of those who would be happy to destroy him. Not easy! Jesus delays. Lazarus dies.

In the end, Jesus’ love for his friends prevails and he does go to Bethany. Both Martha and Mary, individually, when they learn that Jesus is coming near, rush out to meet him. The first thing they each say is, “Lord, if only you had been here, our brother would not have died.” This is a stinging complaint straight from the heart. Perhaps they don’t realize how dangerous Jesus’ situation is. Jesus, in his love for them, does not reply with explanation, anger or sarcasm. He understands their broken hearts. He asks, “Where have you put him?”

They lead Jesus to the tomb and he is overcome with grief. He weeps. Even the crowd that had come to sit in mourning with Martha and Mary are aware. “See how much he loved him!” they remark. Then Jesus asks the unthinkable, something completely mad, “Roll the stone away!” Martha, ever the practical one, replies, “Lord, he’s been dead four days. There will be a stench.” The popular belief was that after dying a person’s spirit remained near their body for up to three days. Lazarus is clearly dead and his spirit is gone.

Jesus reminds them that Abba-God cares, and if they trust in God’s loving goodness amazing and wonderful things can happen. They move the stone from the opening of the tomb. Jesus prays aloud a prayer of thanks then cries out, “Lazarus, come out!” At this point, Lazarus could choose to remain in the dark, quiet, peaceful, enclosed place of death, or he could choose to return to the uncertainty and risk of coming out to life both familiar and brand new. Is it the love in Jesus’ voice that draws Lazarus back into the adventure of life in our wonderful, unpredictable world? He will die again, but he knows that journey now, and it no longer holds the same fear.

Lazarus does come out, wrapped from head to foot in cloths permeated with the oils and spices of the recently dead. Jesus tells those around, “Unbind him. Let him go free.” Lazarus cannot free himself. It is the others who need to release him from the previous ideas, biases, and expectations that they have tied him up with so that he can be truly free to live this gift of life that has been so unexpectedly returned to him. Because he is loved, by Martha, Mary, and by Jesus, Lazarus can do this.

It’s Lent. This is a time to reflect on our life, our relationships, our choices, to see how well they align with what is truly good, loving, life-giving for ourselves and for those we interact with – directly and indirectly. The Church has long presented Lent as a type of retreat in preparation to live the High Holy Days of the Christian faith. 

The traditional disciplines associated with Lent – prayer, fasting, almsgiving – are borrowed from our Jewish ancestors. Prayer, as opening our deepest selves to God, and almsgiving, as sharing our resources with those who have greater need, are pretty straightforward. As long as we aren’t doing these actions to enhance our image, or to impress anyone!

Fasting is another matter. Originally, fasting among the Israelites was reserved for the time of mourning following the death of someone near and dear. Over the course of time, fasting became a way to publicly acknowledge that the people had done wrongs against God’s Law, and to demonstrate a desire to change. Even later, fasting was used to “prove” to God that people were sorrowful for wrongs that they had committed.

In the time of Jesus, the Pharisees had taken fasting in another direction. They made fasting a sign of personal devotion, an ascetical practice – a means to show God how serious they were about doing the right thing. Too often, fasting was used to impress others with one’s holiness in some visible way. Jesus warned his followers against any such public displays of religious practice. Personal prayer, fasting, almsgiving were between you and God. Their fruits would show in how you treated God’s gift of creation, your neighbor and your self.

Fasting, and any or all such disciplines, are never about making oneself holy. That’s impossible! We can’t make ourselves holy. Holiness is living as God desires us to live. There is no recipe to guarantee sanctity. What makes us pleasing to God, according to the holy ones, is how we use our gifts with others, for others. 

The prophet Isaiah (Isaiah 58:5-7) cries out against any type of fasting that is a self-inflicted display that results in pain, hunger, weakness, illness, but doesn’t open oneself: to act on behalf of the needs of others, to do the necessary work of building up, restoring, healing, reestablishing justice. We are to fast from anything and everything that closes us in on our own self-perfection project, from whatever shuts us off from the cries of our world. Such fasting empties us of ego, and frees us to work for God’s project.