Here’s a public service announcement:
Tax day’s 25 days away.
I know, sorry, but let’s face it: April 15th has a way of showing up whether we’re ready or not.
It’s something in life we eventually have to face.
It’s one of those things in life we might try to delay… Things we know’re coming.
Like the moment your teenager says, “Can I drive?”
But there’s one reality every human being’ll face—one we don’t talk about much, one we try to push aside as long as we can.
Death.
Each of us will face it one day in our own life, if not sooner in the loss of a loved one.
And it raises a deeper question — not just that we’ll face death…
…but where’s God when we do?
That’s the question sitting at the heart of everything we’re about to celebrate in the next two weeks.
Because next Sunday, Palm Sunday, we’ll hear the Passion.
We’ll hear of betrayal… suffering… death on a Cross.
Today, before all that, the Church places us in front of a tomb.
A man’s been dead four days. The stone’s sealed. The grieving’s begun. Everything about the scene says: this is over.
And like Martha and Mary, when we’re facing grief and suffering, the question arises: “Where’s God?”
In the Gospel, in Martha and Mary’s suffering, Jesus arrives and we learn the answer:
When God seems absent, He’s often closest.
Long before this moment in the Gospel, God had already spoken about that reality.
In the first reading, from the prophet Ezekiel, God speaks to the Jewish people forced to live in a foreign land who feel as good as dead — exiled, defeated, without hope — and He says:
“I will open your graves and have you rise from them.”
Not maybe… not in theory…
He says, “I will bring you back. I will give you life.”
That’s God’s promise not only for exiled Jews, but for us in the face of death.
St. Paul, in the second reading, takes that promise one step further.
He tells us this new life isn’t only something we wait for at the end.
He says that new life’s already begun in us.
“If the Spirit of the One who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you…”
In other words, if you belong to Christ — if His Spirit lives in you — resurrection isn’t just your future.
It’s already at work in you now.
And that brings us back to the Gospel.
Because standing in front of that tomb, Jesus doesn’t just talk about life.
He doesn’t just promise it.
He reveals where life comes from. And it’s Him.
“I am the resurrection and the life.”
The answer to death isn’t an idea.
It’s a person.
And that’s exactly what the Church is preparing us to understand as we approach Holy Week.
Because in just a few days, we’ll watch Jesus walk toward Jerusalem.
Toward suffering.
Toward death.
Toward a sealed tomb of His own.
And if we only look at Good Friday…it’ll seem like the same story as today’s Gospel.
Too late. Too final. Too silent.
Good Friday, the Martha’s thoughts will echo again:
“God where are you…”
That’s what the disciples will feel.
“God where are you…”
When Martha says, “Lord, if you had been here…”
That’s such a human statement for it’s what every human heart says when faced with suffering.
From Martha’s perspective, Jesus is too late.
The damage was done. Lazarus’ tomb’s sealed. The story’s over.
And yet, remember our lesson — when God seems absent, He’s often closest.
For Martha and Mary, he was standing right there.
And in the middle of this moment, when asked if she believes who Jesus says he is, Martha makes a profession of faith:
“Yes, Lord. I believe.”
That matters, because we’ve met Martha before.
She’s the one: busy, distracted, anxious — caught up in doing things for Jesus during an earlier visit, she missed simply being with Him.
Look at her now.
She’s the first one to go out and meet Him, first one to speak to Him, the first one to recognize who He truly is.
Something’s changed Martha.
And that something… was suffering.
Because sometimes the moments we would never choose—
the moments of struggle, confusion, disappointment —
are the very moments where something deeper’s happening.
Think about a parent teaching a child to ride a bike.
The child’s wobbling, nervous, falling a few times.
And every instinct in the parent says, “Let me fix this. Let me make it easier.”
But sometimes the loving thing isn’t to immediately remove the struggle.
Sometimes the loving thing is to stay close… to run alongside… to encourage… to be right there —
while the child learns, grows, and becomes stronger.
Because what the child experiences as struggle…the parent knows is actually growth.
That’s the way God views our struggling as well.
What Martha experienced as absence… wasn’t absence at all.
It was the moment right before something greater than she could ever imagine.
And that’s exactly what the disciples will experience in the coming days.
They’ll watch Jesus be arrested, watch Him suffer, and die.
And it’ll feel like God’s too late or isn’t even there at all.
But today’s readings are given to us today so we understand something before we ever get to Good Friday:
God’s promise is real.
His life is already at work.
And it’s God Himself standing before Lazurus’ tomb.
The One who speaks in Ezekiel…
The One whose Spirit Paul describes…
is the same One standing here in our Gospel — about to call life out of death.
“Lazarus, come out.” And a dead man walks out alive.
This Gospel isn’t just about Lazarus.
It’s the Church teaching us how to face suffering and the Cross.
What looks like silence…
what looks like defeat…
what looks like the end…
isn’t silence, defeat or the end.
Because when God seems absent, He’s often closest.
This isn’t just Lazarus’ story.
It’s our story too.
We spend so much of our lives trying to manage, fix, and delay the things we fear.
But there’s one moment we can’t control and that’s our death
And yet, for those who belong to Christ, it isn’t a moment to fear.
Because when that day comes… we won’t face silence.
We’ll hear a voice.
The same voice that, in just a few moments, will call us forward in the Eucharist.
The same voice that stood before a sealed tomb and called a man back to life.
The same voice that next week will cry out from the Cross…
And whether you realize it or not, it’s the voice you’ve been waiting your entire life to hear.
For on that day, the day that God calls you home…
That voice’ll call you by your name.
And like Lazarus—
that voice will make all the difference.