“Jesus wept.”
“Jesus wept.” A homily delivered by Fr Mamert Manus, SJ | Anticipated Sunday Mass Fifth Week of Lent 2026 There is a very short verse in the Gospel that we often pass over quickly, but today it stands at the center of everything: “Jesus wept.” Before the miracle, before the command, before Lazarus walks out of the tomb—Jesus weeps. In the story from the Gospel of John, Jesus does not rush to fix the situation. He first enters into it. He stands before the grief of Martha and Mary, before the confusion, the loss, the silence of death—and He allows Himself to feel it. This tells us something deeply consoling: God is not distant from our pain. He does not wait for us to be strong before coming near. He meets us exactly where we are—in our grief, in our disappointment, even in the quiet places we try to hide from others. For many of us, that is where Lent truly begins. Because Lent is not only about what we give up. It is about what we finally allow ourselves to face: the parts of our lives that feel lifeless, relationships that have grown cold, or the burdens we carry quietly, like stones sealed over a tomb. And it is precisely there that Jesus comes—not with immediate answers, but with presence. He weeps with us. He stays with us. He meets us where we are. Exactly where we are. But the Gospel account does not end there. Standing before the tomb, Jesus cries out: “Lazarus, come out!” And the dead man comes out—still wrapped, still bound, still needing help. And then Jesus says: “Untie him and let him go.” Jesus raises Lazarus—but others are called to unbind him. And this is where the Gospel turns toward us. For our lay sisters and brothers here—families, professionals, young people—this is your daily mission. You are called to notice where people are still bound: by fear, by failure or by loneliness or doubt. Sometimes, the most life-giving thing we can do is not dramatic. It is simply to help “unbind” another person: by listening without judgment; by forgiving when it is difficult; or staying when it is easier to walk away, when it is easier to turn away. And for the religious amongst us here, this mission takes on an even deeper meaning. Our vocation is a living witness that the resurrection is real—that a life given to God becomes a life given for others. In our communities, in our ministries, in our quiet fidelity, we are called to be signs of this unbinding: helping others experience the freedom and dignity that come only from God. But here is the humility that the Gospel also invites us to: all of us are both Lazarus, still bound, still unfree; at the same time, we are also the ones called to unbind and free others. There are parts of our lives where we are still in the tomb. And there are moments when God invites us to help others step out of theirs. This is the journey of Lent. It is a journey from death to life—but not in one dramatic moment, not in one fell swoop. It happens slowly: each time we allow Christ to enter our wounds; each time we hear His voice calling out to us and we respond; each time we help another person breathe a little more freely. And so perhaps today we can ask: Where is the place in my life where Jesus is weeping with me? And who is the person He is asking me to help unbind? Because the same voice that called Lazarus from the tomb is still speaking, still calling. And when we allow ourselves to hear it—and when we help others respond to it— then even now, even here, we begin to see what Lent has been leading us to all along: that no tomb is final, no life is beyond reach, and that in Christ, we are always being called—gently, patiently—from death into life. Into fullness of life.
