Homilies

The road into Jerusalem begins with cheers and ends at Golgotha with mockery, blood, and a dying man. The crowd can welcome a king while they still imagine victory in familiar terms. They can cry, “Hosanna to the Son of David,” while picturing strength and the swift defeat of enemies. But when this king refuses the path of spectacle and force, many hearts turn. The same city that rejoices at his arrival will soon look upon him beaten, condemned, and hanging on a tree, and many will decide that he has failed. They notice his suffering. But they do not recognize his throne.

There is something almost painful in this scene. Jesus is told that his friend is gravely ill. He loves this family. He has power to heal. And still he waits. To Martha and Mary, that delay must have felt like silence. To anyone watching from the outside, it can even look heartless. But the delay belongs to the love.

Had the Lord gone at once, Lazarus would have been healed. Bethany would have rejoiced. Tears would have dried. But Lazarus would not have become what he now becomes: a witness. He would have remained a man restored to health. Instead, he becomes a man carried through death and brought back by the voice of God. He enters the place where every family must one day surrender someone they love, and from there he returns. In Lazarus, the Lord gives more than relief. He gives a sign that death itself has met its Master.

A difficult thing happens, and the human heart begins its familiar work. It starts searching for a cause, a guilty party. Someone must have done something. Someone must deserve this. That instinct appears almost immediately in the Gospel. The disciples see a man blind from birth, and before they see a neighbor, they see a problem to be explained. Before they see suffering, they begin assigning fault.

Jesus refuses that path. He says, “Neither he nor his parents sinned; it is so that the works of God might be made visible through him.” With that sentence, he turns the whole scene. He pulls his disciples away from blame and toward mercy. He teaches them, and he teaches us, that suffering is not an invitation to sit in judgment. It is an invitation to let God act.