We stand today at the tomb. We stand with Mary and Martha. We stand with all the people who came with them to mourn. We stand with Jesus. And Jesus stands with us.

The Lord saw and shared their grief for Lazarus. Just so, he sees and shares the depths of our lives—all our losses and all our griefs. Jesus stands with us as we cry “out of the depths.”

On this last Sunday in Lent, before we enter into the drama of Holy Week, we stand once again in the place where we began on Ash Wednesday. A smudge of palm ash reminded us then that we are dust. Today we come full circle, to hear what the Lord can do with a pile of bones and dust—we can live and be part of the Lord’s vast multitude. We can live to know the God who says “I am the Lord,” and that knowledge will sustain us in our journey.

The sign of ashes reminded us of who we are and what we are, acknowledging our human reality. We know that we can’t get out of the depths on our own—a spiritual version of the saying “You can’t get there from here.” But as another saying goes, “You can’t get anywhere if you don’t start from here.” So we are called to remember who we are, what we are, and where we are: we are dust of the earth—dust imaging God.

Remembering that are we dust reminds us also that there are times in life when everything we have worked for, everything we have held important, indeed everything we have, seems only to be dust. The psalmist acknowledges that despair which can and does come to every human life. Yet even from the depths we call out, “Lord, hear my voice,” seeking a sign of God’s purpose, a token of hope.

John calls the raising of Lazarus a “sign,” an action which reveals God’s glory. God acts through Jesus, as Jesus calls the dead man from the tomb. But note this: Jesus may act on God’s behalf and with divine power, but he does so from the very depths of human emotion:

When Jesus saw (Mary) weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved.

There is no play-acting here. There is no suggestion that Jesus is putting on a show. There is no playing with people’s emotions. No—Jesus shows us the depths and reality of his own humanity. Was it his love for Lazarus and his sisters? What is his anger at the power of death? Was it perhaps his frustration at the inadequate faith of his friends and disciples? Was it all of these or none? It really doesn’t matter. The Jesus we see here is a real person, one of us, a man feeling all the mixed and complex emotions felt by any person standing before the tomb of one they loved.

…he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved.

What disturbs our spirits? What moves us deeply? Each of us knows things in this life that trouble us, that move us to tears of anger, or frustration, or grief. It may be—it often is—the death of a loved one. It might also be righteous indignation over social injustice, or shock from a natural disaster, or perhaps horror after a brutal crime. Many things have the power to disturb us in spirit, as Jesus was at Lazarus’ tomb.

When our spirits are disturbed and we are deeply moved, we cry out with the psalmist—and place our hope in God.

A woman once came to see me in great distress over her father’s death. As she wept for her father, the floodgates started to open, and she poured out the story of her very troubled earlier life, long before I had come to know her. In the midst of it, she looked at me and said, “Well, this probably doesn’t shock you. You probably hear this sort of thing all the time.” All I could reply was that if such a story failed to shock me I would know that I had lost any ability I might have had to minister to God’s people. When we lose our capacity to feel we lose our humanity.

When we hear another person’s story of loss, when we see the suffering of the world, when we know the dry bones of human existence, God is there, as Jesus was there at the tomb of Lazarus. The power of God, focused through the humanity of Jesus, brought Lazarus from the grave. And the power of God, focused through our humanity and our devotion, can continue to bring new life to this world, breathing the spirit into the dry bones of desolated lives.

Jesus brought all of his humanity, and all of his divinity, to that grave, and Lazarus came forth.

Jesus brings all of his humanity, and all of his divinity, to us, and calls us forth as God’s people of resurrection, to live the new life, the life we never dared hope for, the life that only God can give.

What stirs you? What moves you deeply? What disturbs your spirit? Let us look within ourselves, and let what we see be the sign that God is moving in our lives—and let God work through us to bring new life to this yearning world.