Last Sunday, the Gospel told us that when we encounter Christ, our eyes are opened. We begin to see differently—life, people, relationships, even suffering. But today a deeper question emerges, perhaps the most human of all: Where is my life going? What is my final destiny?
If life were only a short journey toward the grave, is it worth loving, building, giving life to others? This is why our world tries to silence the question of death and postpone thinking about it. We often reduce faith to asking God to help us survive a little longer, to solve our problems, to protect our fragile life, and when our prayers are not answered, we wonder: what is the use of faith?
But today, Jesus stands before the tomb of his friend Lazarus and gives us an answer. Let us be clear: this Gospel is not simply the story of a miracle. It is a revelation. It does not speak first about bringing someone back to biological life. It speaks about the victory of life over death.
When Jesus says, “I am the resurrection and the life,” he is not pointing to the future, but he is speaking about now. Eternal life is not something that begins after death; it begins the moment we encounter Jesus. Whoever believes in him already lives a life that death cannot destroy.
For a child in the womb, leaving the womb would seem like losing everything. And yet, it is not the end—it is the beginning of a fuller life. So it is with us. What we call death is, in God’s eyes, a passage into a greater life, a life we cannot yet imagine.
Jesus does not prevent Lazarus’ death and prolong his biological life. Instead, he comes to reveal that life does not end with death. Martha struggles to understand. She believes in a resurrection at the end of time. But Jesus brings her further: “I am the resurrection.” Not tomorrow; not later, but Now.
And then comes one of the most moving moments in the Gospel: Jesus weeps. Not the desperate cry of someone without hope, but the silent tears of love. Even with faith, death remains painful. Love makes us weep. But for the believer, tears are not without hope.
At the tomb, Jesus commands: “Take away the stone.” This stone is not only the one that closes the grave of Lazarus. It is the stone in our hearts—the belief that death has the final word, that our loved ones are lost, that everything ends in silence.
Finally, Jesus says something very important: “Untie him and let him go.” We must not hold back those we love. True love does not cling; it entrusts. It allows the other to go toward God.
In Christ, death is no longer the end. It is a beginning. What seems like the conclusion becomes the doorway into fullness. This is our hope. This is our faith. And this is the light that no darkness can overcome.
Father Josekutty Mathew CMF
