Fifth Sunday of Lent 2025 (Year A Readings)

 

If you’ve ever seen Star Wars, you might remember one of the most dramatic cliffhangers in movie history. 

At the end of The Empire Strikes Back, one of the main characters—Han Solo—is captured and frozen in a block of carbonite. 

He’s alive, but completely stuck. Trapped. He can’t speak, can’t move. He’s frozen in darkness. 

And for the next three years, fans were left wondering: Is that it for Han? Will he ever come back?

Even if you’ve never seen the movie, you can picture the scene: someone suspended between life and death. 

That image—of being stuck, frozen, unable to move—can hit close to home for any of us who have ever felt spiritually or emotionally buried.

Now imagine Lazarus. Four days in the tomb. Wrapped in burial cloths. His sisters are heartbroken. The crowd is confused. It looks like the end.

And then… Jesus comes. And everything begins to change.

Before He works the miracle, Jesus does something surprising.

He weeps.

He sees Mary and Martha crying, surrounded by mourners, and He breaks down. He doesn’t try to explain things away or give a theological answer. He enters into their pain.

Jesus wept.

That’s not just the shortest verse in the Bible—it might be one of the most important. Because it shows us the heart of Christ. 

We have a Savior who doesn’t keep His distance from our suffering. He steps right into it with us.

Maybe you’ve been in that place lately—grieving a loss, feeling weighed down by something that hasn’t changed. Maybe you’ve found yourself saying what both sisters say: 

“Lord, if you had been here…”

“If you had been here, my mom wouldn’t have died.”

“If you had been here, my marriage wouldn’t have crumbled.”

“If you had been here, this depression, this cancer, this fear wouldn't be swallowing me whole.” 

Jesus doesn’t scold them. He doesn’t shut them down. He weeps. And He weeps with us too—whatever grief or struggle we’re carrying. He is there, beside us, with tears on His face.

But He doesn’t stop there.

Jesus walks to the tomb, and with a loud voice, He cries out, “Lazarus, come out!”

He doesn’t whisper. He doesn’t wait. He speaks into death with the voice of life.

That same voice speaks to us.

Come out of fear.
Come out of shame.
Come out of guilt, regret, sin, discouragement.
Come out of whatever tomb you’ve been trapped in.

Jesus doesn’t want us to stay frozen. He doesn’t want us stuck in spiritual carbonite. He wants us free. And Lent is the season when we let Him call us into the light again.

But the story doesn’t end there.

Lazarus comes out of the tomb—he’s alive! But he’s still wrapped up in burial cloths. Still bound. He’s breathing, but not yet free.

And so Jesus says to the people around him: “Untie him and let him go.”

Jesus could have done it Himself. But He didn’t. He invited others to be part of the healing.

That moment reminded me of what eventually happens to Han Solo. In Return of the Jedi, Han doesn’t free himself. He’s rescued. 

Princess Leia—someone who loves him—sneaks into Jabba the Hutt’s palace, risks everything, and breaks him out of the carbonite. 

When he falls out of it, weak and disoriented, she catches him. And when he asks who she is, she says, “Someone who loves you.”

That’s what Jesus is asking of us.
To be that kind of presence in each other’s lives.
To help unbind what keeps people trapped.
To speak mercy where there’s been shame.
To walk with someone who’s coming back to life but still wrapped in fear or sin or sorrow.
To say—not with words but with actions—“I’m someone who loves you.”

That’s what the Church is called to be. That’s what we’re called to do, especially as we prepare for Holy Week. We don’t just celebrate resurrection—we help each other live it.

So, let me ask you today:

What’s binding you?
What tomb have you been stuck in?
What’s kept you frozen, buried, or silent?

Because Jesus is here.
He sees you. He weeps with you.
He calls you by name.
And He wants to set you free.

“Lazarus, come out.”