Called Out of the Tomb

When the prophet Ezekiel proclaimed that God would open the graves and raise the dead, it must have sounded astonishing. Israel was not in a position of strength or hope. They were a conquered and subjugated people, far from their homeland, surrounded by foreign customs and foreign gods. Everything that had once grounded their identity seemed lost. It would have been easy to believe that their story was over.

Yet into that situation, God speaks something far greater than political restoration. He does not merely promise to bring them back to their land. He speaks of opening graves. Of raising the dead. Of breathing life where there is none. This is not just a promise of return. It is a promise that even death itself does not have the final word.

And this is what makes the passage even more striking: Israel did not earn this promise. Their exile was the result of their own failure. They had turned away from God. They had failed to love Him and failed to love one another. By any human measure, they had broken the covenant.

Yet God does not respond by abandoning them. He responds by promising restoration.

This reveals something essential about God’s love. It does not depend on our faithfulness. It rests on His own. God is not bound by our failures. He remains faithful to His promises even when we are not.

In the Gospel, we begin to see the first fruits of that promise fulfilled.

The story begins quietly, with a simple message: “Lord, the one you love is ill.” Mary and Martha send word to Jesus, but they do not argue, persuade, or attempt to control the outcome. They do not even mention Lazarus by name. They simply appeal to what they know to be true: Jesus loves him.

That short sentence reveals something profound. The love of Jesus is not abstract. It is not a vague love for humanity in general. It is personal. Concrete. Particular. He loves Lazarus.

And this is where the Gospel becomes deeply personal for us. The love Jesus has for Lazarus is the same love He has for you. Not a distant or generalized love, but a real and particular love. If you had been the only person in the world, He still would have come. He still would have wept. He still would have died and risen.

This is the kind of love that stands at the center of the Christian life.

But love is not something we simply observe. It calls for a response.

Israel failed in that response, and the result was exile. The same principle applies to us. As Saint Paul writes in Romans 8, “those who are in the flesh cannot please God.” To live according to the flesh is not merely to have desires, but to be ruled by them. Life in the flesh is a life turned inward upon the self, where desire becomes the measure of what is good; life in the Spirit is a life opened to God, where the true good is received and embraced.

This is what exile truly is. Not merely a physical displacement, but a spiritual one.

It is important to be clear here: God does not abandon us. He does not turn His back on us. Rather, we turn away from Him. The distance is real, but it is not caused by any lack in God. It is caused by our refusal to receive what He offers.

And yet, even here, God does not cease to act.

Christ stands before the tomb and calls out: “Lazarus, come out.”

He does not force Lazarus out. He calls him.

This is how God works. He does not override our freedom. He speaks, He calls, He invites. The same voice that called Lazarus from the grave now calls to each one of us.

Saint Paul continues: “If the Spirit of Him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you… He will give life to your mortal bodies also.” This is the key. The Christian life is not merely about avoiding sin. It is about receiving life. The Spirit of God is given to us so that we may truly live.

The question is whether we will respond.

Lazarus was raised, but he would die again. His resurrection was a sign, not the final reality.

What Christ promises us is greater. If Christ is in us, then even though the body is subject to death because of sin, “the Spirit is life because of righteousness” (Rom 8:10). The life we receive from God is not fragile or temporary. It is the beginning of something eternal.

This is the fulfillment of what Ezekiel foresaw. God does not merely restore what was lost. He gives something greater: new life, both now through the Spirit and fully in the resurrection of the body.

This is the good news.

God loves you. Not in a distant or abstract way, but personally. He calls you out of the tomb. He gives you His Spirit so that you may live.

And He desires that you live with Him forever.