Lent 5 – The Raising of Lazarus
Sermon Preached by Reverend Tracey Gracey on Sunday, 22 March 2026
I would like to offer our congratulations to Sandy Facy, who turned ninety yesterday, and extend a warm welcome to family and friends who have come to celebrate this significant milestone.
While Sandy is not the oldest parishioner at St Andrew’s, he is certainly one of the longest-connected members of our church family.
He was baptised here as a child.
He worshipped here with his family.
And apart from a few times when life took him elsewhere, this parish has remained his spiritual home.
During his ninety years, Sandy has contributed to the life of this community — including St Andrew’s School — in many quiet, sometimes vocal, and always faithful ways, which you will hear more about later at morning tea.
Sandy has been an inspiration in the way he has lived his faith.
Not loudly or dramatically.
But humbly. Thoughtfully.
With a deep trust in God.
It is lives like Sandy’s that help us interpret today’s Gospel story.
The man at the centre of this story is called Lazarus.
And his name tells us something important.
It means, “God helps.”
This story is not only about one extraordinary event,
but about the faithful help of God who can sustain us through the seasons of life.
Before Lazarus became part of a dramatic miracle story,
he too had an ordinary life.
He had a home.
He had family.
He had friendships.
He was known.
He was loved.
He lived his faith in the everyday rhythms of life.
This Gospel story does not rush from ordinary life to miracle,
it first walks us through loss and challenge.
Lazarus becomes ill.
A message is sent to Jesus.
And then something surprising happens.
Jesus waits.
And that delay can make us feel uncomfortable.
For it touches one of the deepest struggles of faith.
Because in our lives there are seasons when God can seem late.
When prayers feel unanswered.
When healing does not come as we hoped.
When life does not turn out the way we imagined.
Across his ninety years, Sandy would have known moments like this.
For faith does not remove those experiences.
But it can lead us into a deeper trust —
that God is still present in times of uncertainty.
And this is what happens as the Lazurus story unfolds.
By the time Jesus arrives, Lazarus is already in the tomb.
The stone is in place.
Hope appears finished.
And this is where the story becomes more than a miracle story.
It becomes a window into our own spiritual journey.
Because most people, at some point in life, know what it is
to feel surrounded by darkness.
to feel confined by grief.
to feel as though hope itself has been sealed away.
The tomb becomes an image of these moments.
Yet even here, something important is said about Lazarus.
He is not described by achievements.
Not by status.
Not by reputation.
He is simply described as someone loved.
And that reminds us that our deepest identity
is not found in what we accomplish
but in being known and loved by God —
even when life feels at its most fragile.
Jesus does not stand at a distance from that reality.
He shares the sorrow of those who mourn.
He is deeply moved.
He weeps.
And this is one of the most powerful moments in this story.
Because it shows us that God is not untouched by suffering.
God is not cold or distant.
In Jesus, God enters human grief.
God stands beside the tomb.
God shares our tears.
It is only after the tears that Jesus says,
“Take away the stone.”
It is a simple instruction, but it is full of meaning
for it can suggest that new life often begins
when we allow ourselves to believe that something new is still possible.
Because new life in this story begins with a call:
“Lazarus, come out.”
And when Lazarus emerges, he is alive —
but still wrapped in grave clothes.
New life has begun.
But it is not yet fully lived.
So Jesus turns to the community and says,
“Unbind him, and let him go.”
God has given new life.
But the community is needed to help that new life unfold.
For faith is never a solo journey.
We need people who encourage us,
who walk beside us,
who gently help loosen the fears and burdens that may keep us in darkness.
And this is one of the beautiful gifts of belonging to a parish community over many years, for we are shaped, supported, and sometimes gently unbound by one another.
And this is where Sandy’s life quietly reflects the Gospel.
Ninety years is not just a milestone.
It is a long journey of continuing to trust.
Continuing to begin again.
Continuing to live faithfully through changing seasons.
Because resurrection is not only a Christian promise at the end of life. It is something experienced again and again in small, steady acts of love and hope.
And perhaps that is where moments of resurrection is most often found, in the quiet faithfulness of everyday life.
So today, as we celebrate Sandy’s ninety years,
we also give thanks for the help of God that can sustain us all.
Even when we feel encased in darkness.
Even when life feels sealed behind a stone.
Even when hope feels buried.
Even when we feel bound.
New life is always possible with God.
Amen.