Today’s gospel reminds me of a story I heard from one of the priests who were our teachers at St. Augustine’s Seminary, back when I was going through my formation training to become a deacon.  There is a long hallway in the seminary that goes down the side of the chapel from the front foyer to the dining room in behind.  All along the hallways are class pictures of all the priests who have been trained and ordained from St. Augustine’s, right back to the beginning of last century.  There’s even one there of Father Neil, looking quite dapper with a big bushy moustache. 

 

Anyway, each class has a motto on the photograph, something that is supposed to represent something of the essence of that group, a representative phrase, and it always comes from the scriptures.

 

Well, the priest told me that when his class was in their last year, they started to prepare for all the little things that must be done and so they started to ask themselves what the phrase on their class picture should be.  There was a lot of debate and finally this priest suggested that they ask one of the older priests who lived at the seminary, and who acted as the advisor for many of the candidates. 

 

As the main group waited downstairs, a member of the class went up to see the old priest and explained their predicament – they just couldn’t decide on the best verse of scripture to capture the key to this class – so perhaps, since he knew them so well, he could suggest one.  The wise old priest was silent for a moment and then said quietly, “I think John 11:35” would do it.

Excited, they ran downstairs to their classmates and not being scholars who had memorized every verse, they scrambled for the nearest Bible and gathered around while they feverishly thumbed through the pages to find this descriptive verse.  Our teacher told us they followed his finger down the page until they hit verse 35 and it said, “Jesus began to weep!”

 

We hear today that Jesus weeps for his friend Lazarus.  In this season of the year and as we prepare for Palm Sunday next weekend, it is easy for us to be focussed on the physical suffering of Jesus in the crucifixion and so we might forget about the mental and emotional anguish that he also suffered on our account.  When Jesus weeps, do you imagine him standing stoically, staring at the grave, with silent tears flowing down his face, or can you hear his sobs, his heartfelt sorrow, the quick breaths, see him shaking as he holds his arm around Mary and Martha’s shoulders. 

 

In Lent, we are called to change, to put aside the behaviour that alienates us or separates us from God, the things we have done which make Jesus weep.  We are called to conversion, which means to turn away from the sinful path we may be on.

 

There is an interesting contrast in the looking at conversion between last week’s gospel and this week’s.  Last week we heard the story of the prodigal son, whose conversion came, as it often does for many of us, when his life was at it’s lowest and he came to his senses and came back himself to ask for forgiveness.  His father says, “My son was dead, but has come back to life”.   

 

We often treat people who have hurt us as if they have died!  Remember the line in the old Godfather movie when Al Pacino says, “My brother Fredo is dead to me!” because he betrayed the family, but unlike a mobster, the Father in the gospel story forgives.

 

Jesus brings the dead Lazarus back to life in today’s gospel and when he shouts out, “Lazarus! Come out!”  He might well have shouted “Lazarus, come back!”  What the difference is in today’s story is that Lazarus doesn’t decide to come back by himself, he is beyond help.  It is Jesus who calls him back.

 

Jesus calls to each one of us in turn.  What part of our life have we hidden away in a cave so no one can see?  What part of our life in the spirit has grown cold and nothing we do can seem to revive it.  It is then, even when we can’t find the courage ourselves to change that Jesus calls to us in a loud voice – “Come out!  Come back to me!”

 

Have we shut out the love of our parents and refused to listen to them because they hurt us or failed us.  Have we let that part of us die?  Listen to Jesus calling, “Come out, come back!”

 

Have we let our lifestyle blind us with selfishness to the responsibilities we have to others and let our willingness to help others be hidden away behind a large stone, a stone of judgmentalism where we try to mask our greed by protesting that others don’t deserve to be helped!  Before our hearts grow too cold - listen to Jesus when he calls to us, “Come out!  Come back!”

 

In the code of the Alcoholics Anonymous, one of their principles is that once you have the disease of alcoholism, you cannot beat it alone.  You have to have God’s help.  As depressing as it may seem to have to admit that you are not in total control, at the same time how wonderful it is to know that God can and will help!  Just as Lazarus lay helpless behind the stone, we are helpless to save ourselves.  We are helpless, but we are not hopeless, because we know that Jesus weeps for us, he weeps for our sins, weeps for our unfaithfulness, and yet he calls out to us, “Come out!  Come back!”

 

Our conversion may come during Lent as a result of us coming to our senses and returning on our own as the prodigal son did, or it may come when we can’t move by ourselves but still the power of Jesus calls!  Jesus lives in each one of us, and so each one of us also has the responsibility to call out to others who may be lost, to tell them to come back!  It may take courage to forget that favourite old line of the devil’s “It’s none of my business!” and to speak up when others need to know that you care and you want them back!  You can find that courage here in the Eucharist.  Jesus comes to us today, on the altar, and he invites us to come and receive him, to come out from behind our sins and our failing and come back to a true life.