The parish of my childhood, like many parishes founded two centuries ago, had its cemetery on the same grounds as the Church. This practice was an innovation of the Christian era. In Roman times and in many ancient cultures, cemeteries were considered “impure” places and by law and custom kept outside the city limits. For Christians, however, the Resurrection was the overwhelming reality. As the deceased awaited the Resurrection of the dead, it was only appropriate that they do so near the church in which they had received the Sacraments.
Our Lord is making His way up to Jerusalem for the Feast of Passover. As He nears Bethany where His friends, Lazarus, Martha and Mary, live, He learns that Lazarus is near death but delays His visit. Some greater purpose is at work here. “Our friend Lazarus is asleep, but I am going to awaken him” (John 11:11), Jesus says. Indeed, Jesus is going up to Jerusalem Himself to die, but on His way, He will raise Lazarus from the dead, as a sign of hope, as testimony to His victory over death.
The horror of death is real. Even our Lord will weep (John 11:35). The terror of opening the tomb, the stench of death (John 11:39), and the murmuring of disbelievers (John 11:37) perturb our Lord (John 11:38). But He commands the tomb be opened. He summons Lazarus to return to the land of the living (John 11:43). And, so, it happens. Lazarus arises. Death is vanquished. Disbelief confounded. And Easter foreshadowed in the graveyard of Bethany.
In that same church of my childhood was a stained-glass window depicting Lazarus rising from the tomb, a haunting image to capture the imagination of a child but an overwhelming victory and a promise, nonetheless.