March 22, 2026 (Fifth Sunday of Lent) - Dr. Marian Thompson

You can listen along while you read by pressing “Play” on the player above.

Lord, speak to me and through me. Amen.

(You may be seated.)

If my mother were alive today, she would tell you that I came out of the womb praising the Lord. And honestly, she wouldn’t be exaggerating. Because no matter where I’ve been, no matter what church I’ve walked into or out of, one thing has always been true: I love the Lord.

Now, the churches — they’ve been different. Growing up in Las Vegas, Nevada, finding a progressive, inclusive church was hard. But let me tell you something, it wasn’t nearly as hard as when I came to Central New York. I spent ten years trying church after church. And y’all, they said they loved everybody, but the truth — the truth showed up in the way they practiced. The truth showed up in who was really welcome. The truth showed up in who had to shrink themselves to fit in.

And I was disappointed over and over and over again until finally I gave up. I thought maybe, just maybe, who I am is too much for Middle New York to believe that I could love God and God could love me back. And I was done. I cried. I felt lost. I felt like this time God wasn’t going to answer me.

But one thing you all should know about me is that God don’t play about me.

I was at home watching my old church in Vegas on Facebook, trying to stay connected somehow, when a friend said to me, “You should come to my church. We love everybody.” And I said, “Um, sure you do.” I ignored her for weeks, but she kept asking. So finally I showed up in downtown Utica. Beautiful church. Beautiful in a way that made me feel like, oh no, this is definitely not the place for me. I had on jeans, a T-shirt, and rainbow-colored hair, and I walked in, and the pastor herself greeted me and walked me to a pew.

And the rest? The rest is history. Because here I am, still loving Jesus and fully Episcopalian.

And as my mother used to always say, God’s time is not your time.

That brings me to today’s Gospel, because in John we meet people who are also waiting on God — waiting and hurting. Lazarus is sick. Mary and Martha send word to Jesus: “Lord, the one you love is ill.” And Jesus doesn’t come right away. He waits two days.

Let’s be real. If we were Mary and Martha, we would have been checking our phones. Like, did he get the message? Does he have read receipts on? Is he coming or not? Because when someone you love is suffering, you don’t want theology. You want immediacy.

But Jesus delays, and Lazarus dies.

So when Jesus finally shows up, Martha meets him with that mix of faith and frustration we all know too well: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Translation: Jesus, where were you?

And if we’re honest, that’s a question we’ve all asked. Where were you when I was crying? Where were you when I felt rejected? Where were you when I was ready to give up? Where were you when I stopped believing you would show up for me?

And Jesus doesn’t give her an explanation. He gives her a revelation: “I am the resurrection and the life.” Not “I will be.” Not “one day.” I am — right here, right now, in the middle of your grief.

Then Mary comes and says the exact same thing: “Lord, if you had been here…” And what does Jesus do? He doesn’t correct her. He doesn’t preach at her. He weeps.

Jesus weeps because our God is not distant from our pain. Our God is not standing far off saying everything happens for a reason. No. Our God stands at the tomb with us and cries.

But then Jesus moves. He goes to the tomb and he says, “Take away the stone.” And poor Martha, bless her heart, she says, “Lord, by now there’s a stench.” In other words, Jesus, it’s too late. It’s too far gone. The situation is dead. Dead.

And isn’t that the way we say it? The relationship is too far gone. The grief is too deep. This rejection changed me too much. This part of my life is buried.

But Jesus says, “Move the stone anyway.”

And then he calls out, “Lazarus, come out!” And the man who was dead walks out — still wrapped, still bound, alive but not yet free.

And Jesus says something that I think we don’t talk about enough: “Unbind him and let him go.” Because resurrection is not just about coming back to life. It’s about being set free.

Now let me rewind a bit, because when I walked into that church in Utica, I thought something in me had already died. Hope had died. Trust had died. Belonging had died. I had already rolled the stone over that part of my life, and I was expecting Jesus not to show up.

But God don’t play about me.

And just when I thought it was over, God called me out. Out of disappointment. Out of rejection. Out of believing I was too much. And not only did God call me out, God placed me in community — and that helped unbind me.

And that’s the Gospel today. Not just that Jesus raises the dead, but that Jesus calls us out of the places we thought were finished — out of identities we buried, out of the grief we sealed off, out of the lies we started believing about ourselves.

So the question today is not, do you believe in resurrection someday? The question is, what in your life is still in the tomb that Jesus is calling out today?

And maybe even more importantly, who around you needs help being unbound? Because Jesus does the calling, but we — we do the unbinding.

Church, there are people walking around alive but still wrapped up, still bound by shame, by exclusion, still bound by the message that they don’t belong. And we are called to be the kind of church that doesn’t just say we love everyone, but actually lives it in a way that sets people free.

Because let me tell you something: when Jesus calls you out, he calls out all of you. Not a cleaned-up version, not a smaller version. All of you. Rainbow hair and all.

So if you’ve been waiting, if you’ve been hurting, if you’ve been wondering where God is — hear this: this delay is not denial. God is still moving. God is still calling, and God is still showing up right on time, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

Because like my mother said, God’s time is not your time, but it’s always right.

Amen.