Download Sermon TextLent 5, Mark Olson, March 22 2026
Lent 5, Mark Olson, March 22 2026
Lent 5 March 22, 2026
The Reverend Mark Olson
Tom Long: There is a couple in Arkansas who have given their six-year-old son strict instructions to come home from playing every afternoon no later than 5 p.m.
He was allowed to play with his friends, but his parents were quite serious about his curfew. If he was not home by 5 p.m., they would begin to worry and call around the neighborhood to find out where he was. The boy knows this, though, and was careful to arrive every day on time.
One Monday, however, the day after Daylight Saving Time went into effect, the boy was late coming home. When he finally arrived, a few minutes before 6 p.m., his mother scolded him for being late. “You know you are to be home by five,” she said, “and here it is nearly six.”
Puzzled, the little boy pointed out the window. “But the light,” he protested, “the light; it’s the light that tells me when to come home.”
Realizing what had happened, his mother smiled and gently explained that the day before the time had been changed, that everyone had reset their clocks and, now, the daylight lasted longer. The boy’s eyes narrowed. “Does God know about this?” he asked suspiciously.
In a childlike way, this little boy saw what Jesus sees. Jesus wants us to know that with God, daylight lasts longer than death.
Jesus does something to our future. Jesus changes time.
Of course, we don’t know that yet. Death is still death. We are like Martha and Mary, Lazarus’ grieving sisters, and Jesus’ dear friends. Mary and Martha wanted Jesus to change their brother’s present, and future. And they wanted Jesus to do it on their time. On Lazarus’ time. Not God’s time.
“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
First Martha, then Mary, confront Jesus with these words of regret and accusation…
“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
In this story, the brother is Lazarus. In countless other situations and circumstances, we could change the name or gender…
Lord if you had been here, Renee Good would not have died. Lord, if you had been here, Alex Pretti, or Philando Castille, or George Floyd would not have died. It’s enough to drive even Jesus to tears.
Those names command our public attention—but in our private lives—in our families, and friend groups, our church groups, we have more. More names. We bring our prayer concerns every Sunday morning in church, or in the privacy of our bedtime prayers.
Lord, If you were here right now, my mother, my child, my spouse, my friend… would not be dying…, would not have died.
To Martha, Jesus speaks words that she doesn’t yet understand. We may not understand. And yet they are the cornerstone of our faith.
Jesus reassures her by saying, “Your brother will rise again.”
Martha believes him. She believes this to be true. She has her theology straight. She responds. “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.”
But Jesus isn’t thinking about eternity. His mind is on here-and-now. He speaks words that are a cornerstone for our faith:
“I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.
Jesus is the Son of God here. He doesn’t say “I will be the resurrection and the life.” I will be your Savior, and Lazarus’ too. Just give me a few minutes to change my clothes and slip into my Superman suit.” Jesus is the resurrection now.
We don’t say, “I will be saved.” We are bold enough in our faith, confident enough in what Jesus has done to say, “I have been saved. Jesus has saved me.” This is Jesus’ action for us. This is the Jesus who jumps into the pool, snatches out from underneath the water. Pumps the bad air out, and breathes new life in. I have been saved. The Lifeguard has already saved me. He doesn’t hang around the pool, waiting for me to get right with him. Jesus takes the initiative. Jesus takes action. Jesus is the Resurrection and the Life. Now. Not someday. Now.
It takes a story like this to remind ourselves that Jesus is Lord of both the living, and the dead. It takes a church, a community that reminds us how God changes time.
Jesus does something to our future. Jesus changes time.
At the end of our gospel story for today, Jesus gives the community something to do. When Lazarus appears from the tomb, he is still wrapped in his grave clothes. So, Jesus involves the community in his unfolding miracle. He says to the graveyard crowd,
Unbind him, and let him go.
Jesus gives them something to do.
Laura Homes, a Professor of the New Testament at Wesley Theological Seminary writes, “The focus here is on the community gathered. Jesus gives them work to do to welcome Lazarus. Resurrected life needs a community; Jesus restores Lazarus to his, and Lazarus will provide them an opportunity to grow in their trust in God.”
Our community work continues. Our unbinding of injustice. Our unbinding of poverty, division, hatred, scorn.
That’s why I’m here today, to remind you of our common work on the White Earth Reservation, where we share a troubled history of racial division, and deep enduring social inequity. The shared history of forced resettlement and relocation is always with us.
Our work of unbinding—here on the streets of Minneapolis, and up North on the White Earth Reservation—our work of unbinding continues.
We share a resurrection story of how Jesus changes time. It takes a church, a community to reminds us how God changes time. How Jesus invited the community into the work of unbinding of division, hatred, and scorn.
That’s why, up on White Earth, we are building a place, a learning community, where Episcopalians and Lutherans can learn about Jesus together, across reservation boundaries that have divided us.
Jesus does this.
Jesus does something to our future. Jesus changes time.
Jesus declares: “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.
