5th Sunday of Lent
Cycle A
Will Jesus Cry When I Die?
I attended the funeral of Deacon Ricardo Arias on
Friday. Ricardo and I were ordained in the same class, and he is the fifth of
my class that has died. He had suffered from cancer for a long time. The
funeral Mass was held at the cathedral, and the bishop presided, along with
dozens of priest and deacons, and the cathedral was filled with people who came
to pay their last respects.
The bishop spoke of Ricardo’s quiet, unfailing love
for and service to the church. He spoke of his dedication to God’s people. He
had been a good and faithful deacon. Ricardo had obviously touched a great many
people. Many wept.
I preside at a lot of funerals. Many of them are for
people I have never met or known. Many times the only Catholics in the church
are myself and the person in the casket. I hear a lot of stories about the
deceased, how he or she has touched the lives of their friends and family. Some
are good and some not so much so. Some are pretty vacuous. Most people don’t live
heroic lives. Many lives are defined by the activities they contained rather
than how they affected the lives of others.
Funerals often make me think about what my own funeral
will be like. What will I be remembered for? What will people say about me? How
many people will be there out of respect for me or my family, and how many will
be so perturbed at losing me that they will weep? How many lives will I have
touched and influenced? How many have I led to Christ?
Like Lazarus, will my life, and death, be for the
glory of the Son of God?
This was not the first time Jesus had raised someone
from the dead. He had raised Jairus’ young daughter, and the son of the Widow
of Nain. He had done so out of compassion for the grieving parents, and he did
so in privacy. Lazarus was different. Jesus didn’t cry when those young people
died, but here we hear those famous words written for the first and only time
in the gospels – “And Jesus wept.”
For Jesus, Lazarus’ death was personal. Outside of his
apostles, Mary, Martha and Lazarus are the only people named as his friends. I
imagine that Jesus often went to their home just outside of Jerusalem to rest
and get away from the crowds. Jesus had a special place in his heart for them. He
was very close to them, and so it is understandable that Jesus would be upset
when his friend died.
Jesus weeps for his friends. Jesus weeps for them
because they are not just some people he meets on his way. Jesus happened upon
Jairus and the Widow. Jesus had a personal relationship with Lazarus. Jesus
wept for Lazarus because he was his friend. He was his family. He loved him
because he was loved by him.
Will Jesus cry when I die?
Will I just be another disciple among the crowd, or
will he consider me his friend? His close friend? His family? Will I have
invited him into my home? Will we have broken bread together often? Will I have
sat at his feet while he taught me? Will I have thrown myself down before him
in shame and have asked for his forgiveness? Will Jesus know me so well that he
will be perturbed when I suffer?
Today’s gospel is the promise. This is what it is all
about. This is why we believe and this is what we hope for. Without Jesus’
promise of the resurrection from the dead why should we bother? Jesus’
resurrection really means nothing for us unless it points to our own destiny.
Why should you change your life, why should you become His disciple if it were
not for the reward of everlasting life?
Those are the fundamental
questions we ask ourselves sooner or later. We all want to believe that there’s
something after this life. We all want the promise. That’s why Lazarus’ story
is our story, because we all have that promise.
Jesus didn’t just say he
was the resurrection and the life, he proved it. He rose again to a new kind of
life, a glorious life, and he promised that we would have that same life, too.
That’s why this story is for all of us, because Jesus came so that all may have
everlasting life. The promise he gave to Martha is the promise he gives to us.
May we all live as
children of the promise.
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