By Fr. Benedict Kiely
By marking our forehead, lips, and heart with the Sign of the Cross when the Gospel is solemnly proclaimed at Mass, we indicate, through that prayer performed with the hands, our desire that the living Word of God touch and convert the mind and heart, so that we may become those who proclaim the salvific message we have heard.
It is an acknowledgment that, particularly in that serene liturgical setting, the Gospel is not a dry and dusty volume from past eras, but the voice of the Lord, with his word, as Scripture tells us, «living and effective,» with the power of the «two-edged sword,» to penetrate the very core of our being.
No matter how many times we have heard or read a particular passage from the Gospel, it is always new, with a message for us, if we have ears to hear. Despite the greatest exegesis, the wisdom of the Fathers and preachers—including some who, as we know, can always find a new application of a passage to protect and guide us—there remains an unfathomable mystery when we hear the words of the incarnate God.
One of the saints described Scripture as a spring that never runs dry. That in itself should inspire awe. Just as with the Eucharist and the mystery of the transformation of bread and wine into the Body and Blood, the Soul and Divinity of Christ, the deepest response to the Gospel is worship and adoration. Just as we physically kneel before the Lord in his sacramental presence, so we kneel, metaphorically, when hearing his word.
Our Eastern brethren, by calling the Eucharist the Divine Mysteries, remind us, who rely on the rational mind of the West—so clear, concise, and categorized—of the meaning of the word «mystery.» It is not esoteric knowledge hidden and imparted to a few chosen ones, but the reality of Who it is that speaks when the Word is proclaimed. And that, after all our intellectual efforts, there is much more that we do not know and will never know.
The Gospel chosen for the Fifth Sunday of Lent, the raising of Lazarus, is a perfect example of this amazing mystery that we have the privilege to hear and read. Let us approach it with the bare feet of the Copts when they enter the sanctuary, as Moses approached the Burning Bush, trembling before the divine.
We are told that Jesus «loved» Martha, Mary, and Lazarus. Along with St. John, the Beloved Disciple, we hear of another whom He «loved» in the Gospel: the rich young man. This human love, so profound that it weeps before the human death of his friend, sums up the very mystery we described earlier.
He will perform a miracle, but not for the purpose of exhibition, nor even to convert those who witness it. This miracle, and the Gospel account, is chosen for this Sunday for a reason set forth in the Preface of Holy Week.
We approach, says the Preface, the «days of his saving Passion and of his glorious Resurrection.» This is the moment, the Preface continues, when «the pride of the ancient enemy is conquered and the mystery of our redemption in Christ is celebrated.» This mystery, the Triduum, which occurs in every Mass, from the smallest hut in mission fields to the largest basilica, is the reason we hear this story of the raising of the one whom Jesus loved.
There was a time, the Book of Genesis tells us, when the unity and intimacy between God and man, the «original blessing,» was expressed by the image of God walking in the Garden at the «breeze time.»
Humanity—Adam and Eve, clothed in light—is tempted by the ancient enemy with the original lie: «you will not die.» From that moment until today, those who believe the lie and ignore the truth, eat of that fruit, forge strange fantasies to escape reality—from space travel to freezing their brains—and yet, they die.
The ancient enemy tarnishes the garments of light and creates the nakedness of darkness. This nakedness is the destiny of Lazarus, the destiny of all humanity, no longer in the Garden of peace.
«If you had been here,» Martha says to Jesus, «my brother would not have died.» There is only One who can counter the lie, repair the disunity, and restore the light.
«I am the Resurrection and the Life». No definition, however necessary, no Creed, however true, can surpass the word of truth from Him who is the Truth. Jesus, conqueror and King, overcomes, defeats, subdues, and destroys the lie of the ancient enemy.
Lazarus, who «already stinks»—the effect of the lie—is called forth from the tomb, with a stone removed, as another stone will be removed in the days to come, but that day not by human hands.
They are ordered to unbind him. Without Christ, without the days to come commemorated each year, but truly experienced in a mysterious way in every liturgy, all humanity would remain bound and suffering the stench of death.
All of Lent leads to the renewal of baptismal promises on Easter Day. The triple means to achieve clarity—prayer, fasting, and almsgiving—must prepare us to say, with total conviction and fervor, along with Martha and Mary: «I believe that you are the Christ.»
The devil, the ancient enemy, conquered on the Tree of Life, which is the Cross, is renounced. Everything that has bound us is removed.
It is to be restored, unbound, and returned to life that everything—from the Annunciation to the Ascension and Pentecost—was decreed necessary by the Creator who so loved the world.
We hear, as we can believe Lazarus heard in that moment of being unbound, the ancient Christian hymn sung even in the time of St. Paul (Ephesians 5:14): «Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.»
About the author
Fr. Benedict Kiely is a priest of the Personal Ordinariate of Our Lady of Walsingham. He is the founder of Nasarean.org, which helps persecuted Christians.