Fifth Sunday of Lent: What God Can Raise Back to Life
- Fiach OBroin-Molloy
- Mar 22
- 4 min read
Today, the Church keeps the Fifth Sunday of Lent, and the readings turn our hearts very directly toward life, death, hope, and the nearness of Easter. Palm Sunday falls next Sunday, 29 March, and Easter Sunday is 5 April 2026, so this is one of those sacred thresholds in the liturgical year: Lent is no longer only about beginning again, but about following Christ more closely toward the Cross and the empty tomb.
The first reading gives us one of the most arresting promises in Scripture: “O my people, I will open your graves and have you rise from them.” And in today’s Gospel, we hear the great account of the raising of Lazarus. Jesus says to Martha, “I am the resurrection and the life,” and then stands before the tomb and cries out, “Lazarus, come out!”
That is why this Sunday feels so powerful.
It speaks not only to physical death, but to all the places in life that feel sealed shut. The parts of the heart that feel exhausted. The hopes that seem buried. The prayer that has gone quiet. The relationship that feels wounded beyond repair. The grief that has settled so deeply that it seems part of the landscape now.
Lent brings us here on purpose.
Not to discourage us, but to ask us a holy question: what in us needs Christ to call forth into life again?
Sometimes we think holiness is mainly about trying harder, being more disciplined, or proving something to God. Lent certainly calls us to repentance, prayer, fasting, and self-denial. But the Fifth Sunday of Lent reminds us that the Christian life is not only about what we lay down. It is also about what Christ restores.
Lazarus could not raise himself.
And often neither can we.
There are seasons when the soul feels wrapped up, hemmed in, and unable to move freely. We may still believe, but only weakly. We may still pray, but only with effort. We may still hope, but only in fragments. Yet the beauty of today’s Gospel is that Christ does not stand far away from the tomb. He comes near. He is moved. He weeps. He calls. He gives life.
That matters.
Because many of us know what it is to pray from a place that feels more like a grave than a garden.
And still, Christ comes.
He comes to the person who has grown spiritually tired.He comes to the one carrying private sorrow.He comes to the one who feels ashamed of how far they have drifted.He comes to the one who has prayed for something good, and waited, and waited, and still not seen it.
Martha says what so many hearts have said in one form or another: “Lord, if you had been here…” It is the cry of disappointed faith. The cry of grief. The cry of all who know that God could have acted sooner, differently, more clearly. Yet Jesus does not reject her honesty. He leads her deeper. He draws her from regret into trust.
That, too, is part of Lent.
Lent is not about pretending we are not wounded. It is about bringing even our woundedness into the presence of the Lord.
There is something especially tender in the shortest line of the Gospel: “Jesus wept.” He is not cold before human sorrow. He is not impatient with mourning. He is not embarrassed by tears. Before He raises Lazarus, He enters into the grief around him.
This is such a comfort for prayer.
When we pray with beads, we do not come to Christ as those who have everything neatly arranged. We come bead by bead, word by word, breath by breath. Sometimes our prayer is fervent and full of light. Sometimes it is little more than a reaching out in the dark. But devotional prayer has this quiet strength: it keeps us near the voice that calls us by name.
A rosary, chaplet, or set of prayer beads can become a way of standing before the tomb with Christ.
Each bead can hold something that feels lifeless:a fear, a grief, a sin we are struggling to leave behind, a love that has grown cold, a hope we are almost afraid to name again.
And each prayer can become an act of trust:Lord, speak life here.Lord, roll back the stone.Lord, call me out.
This is one reason the final weeks of Lent are so precious. They are not merely sombre. They are expectant.
The Church is preparing us for Easter, but today’s Gospel shows that resurrection hope is not only for one Sunday a year. It is the very heart of who Christ is. He does not simply teach about life. He is life. He does not merely sympathise with death. He conquers it.
So today may be a good day to pray very simply and very honestly.
Ask:What in me has gone quiet?What have I given up on too soon?Where have I become resigned instead of hopeful?What have I placed in the tomb and assumed will never change?
Then bring that to prayer.
Bring it to Christ.Bring it to the beads.Bring it without polishing it first.
Because the Fifth Sunday of Lent is a reminder that God is not finished with what looks finished to us.
He still speaks into sealed places.He still calls the beloved by name.He still brings life where we only see endings.
And perhaps that is the grace to ask for today:
Not that life be easy.Not that sorrow vanish at once.But that we may hear, even in our weakness, the voice of Christ calling us into freedom.
Lazarus, come out.
May that voice reach every weary corner of the heart this Lent.And may our prayer, bead by bead, help us answer it.
A short prayer for today
Lord Jesus Christ,You are the resurrection and the life.Come to the places in our hearts that feel sealed, weary, or without hope.Call forth what has grown cold.Strengthen what is weak.Console what is grieving.And as we walk these final weeks of Lent, draw us closer to Your Cross,s o that we may also share in the joy of Your Resurrection.Amen.
Comments