How do we react when someone makes a promise to us? Do we immediately believe that it will come true, or do we hesitate, holding on to the thought that promises are often broken? In our daily lives, we have all trusted words that were never fulfilled. Because of this, we learn to be cautious. We begin to doubt. Promises slowly lose their weight, and trust becomes something we give only with hesitation. And yet, no matter how many times we are disappointed, there remains a quiet longing within us, a desire to believe that some promises are true, that some words are worth holding on to.
On this Fifth Sunday of Lent, we are invited to enter into the story of Lazarus, where Jesus Christ reveals a truth that goes beyond human understanding. What struck me most in this Gospel is the shortest verse in the Bible “Jesus wept.” In those two words, we encounter a God who is not distant, but deeply involved in our pain. A God who does not simply watch from afar, but one who feels, who grieves, and who stays even in moments of loss.
It is easy to believe when everything is going well. But when we are faced with suffering, questions begin to arise. Many would say, “If God truly exists, why has He not acted?” In moments of despair, we look for immediate answers. We measure God based on results when our problems are solved, we say He is good; when our prayers are granted, we say He is merciful. But when silence comes, when nothing seems to change, our faith begins to weaken. We start to ask, “Where is God now?”
When Lazarus died, Martha and Mary both said, “Lord, if you had been here…” These words echo our own hearts. How many times have we said, “If only God had listened… if only He had done something…” In these moments, our trust slowly fades. We begin to question not only God’s actions, but His presence. Yet even in that silence, God is not absent. Even in delay, He is not late.
We often forget what Jesus said to His disciples, “Lazarus is asleep, but I am going to awaken him.” What seemed like an ending was, in truth, a beginning. What appeared as silence was actually a preparation for something greater. Jesus wept not only because of the death of a friend, but because of the fading trust of those He loved. His tears reveal a deeper sorrow, the sorrow of a God whose promises are doubted, even by those closest to Him.
This is where the Gospel gently corrects our understanding. God’s promises are not like human promises that depend on convenience, timing, or emotion. His promises do not fail simply because we do not immediately see their fulfillment. They unfold in ways that go beyond our expectations, often through moments we least understand.
This Fifth Sunday of Lent calls us to move away from trusting human words and to hold on to the promise of Christ. As we say in Tagalog, “Si Jesus ay hindi paasa, si Jesus ay pag-asa.” Jesus does not give empty promises. He is the promise. Even when our faith becomes weak and our trust begins to fade, God remains faithful. What He says is never empty. What He promises, He fulfills. And even if we cannot see it yet, He is already working, quietly and faithfully, bringing His word to life in ways greater than we can understand.
