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Imagine what it would have been like to be Lazarus in the days following our Sunday Gospel reading, wherein Jesus raised you from the dead. It’s one of my favorite things to ponder.

The whole town attended your bedside to pay their respects as you drew near to death’s door. Then the doctor came and pronounced you dead, and the town again gathered for your funeral and burial on a Thursday afternoon. They put you in a box and then put that box in the ground. So far, all was typical, not that you remember any of it. Then came Sunday and Jesus, and you came back. Not back as a zombie or with special powers. Just back like normal. Alive and healthy. How then do you proceed to live?

Do you go back to work on Monday? Take the week off? When you head to the local Dunkin’ Donuts for your morning joe, what is the barista’s reaction since, you know, you died last week? She’s heard a good cup of coffee can wake the dead, but never seen it happen before.

Picture then the weeks passing and curiosity deepening as Lazarus continues life mostly as normal (apart from fame). People are astounded at the ordinariness of it. “But he was totally dead. We buried him.” They might wonder if resurrected limbs or hearts and lungs come with a shelf-life or warranty. Would it only last for a time and then come undone, like Cinderella’s pumpkin carriage? Yet, Lazarus continues living, taking his bumps and bruises like the rest of us while showing no signs of turning back into a gourd or ghoul at midnight.

Suffice it to say that life was never the same for Lazarus. It would have touched every single relationship in his life profoundly. He would have quite the story to tell, quite the good news to share. Most would hear it and wonder; a few would hear it and fear. All would want to know more about this Jesus. Lazarus would be forever changed and marked by it; his whole existence kindled in hope. His life had become Gospel.

Then came the moment of Christ’s own crucifixion and death — arguably the worst day in history. What would it be like to be in Lazarus’ company on that day? One might wonder: would Lazarus die again in that instant; his new life snuffed with that of the one who raised him? Or would a deeper trust and faith be present at Christ’s execution, a joy that still pervaded the deepest sadness of the world? A notion that in Jesus, a deeper life unquenchable by death might be at work. Sitting with Mary, Martha, and a still-living Lazarus on Holy Saturday, we might join the Blessed Mother in trusting that the crown of thorns would still yet yield a rose, the cross of death might yet be the tree of life.

Traditionally in the Gospel, when we meet Mary and Martha, they are associated with the active and contemplative life of Christian believers. Martha runs to the works of mercy; Mary sits at the feet of the Lord. They still fulfill those roles in our Gospel today, Martha running to find Jesus, Mary waiting in faith. Both profess faith in Christ. Both are necessary and good, though Mary and the contemplative life take pride of place. All Christians are called to nurture both vocations, to create a home for Christ by being both Mary and Martha in our soul.

Yet, Christians need a bit of Lazarus, too. We’re all Lazarus. When we were Baptized, we rose from spiritual death to life in Christ. Every time we enter the wooden box of the confessional dead in mortal sin, Christ commands us: “rise.” Do we realize we’ve been raised from the dead? That our spiritual death was a peril worse than biological death, death to life with God rather than to the world? Our spirituality could use a lot more Lazarus, too. A Christian living in the example of Lazarus is so soaked in the Good News that they can’t help but share it. Their very existence is a testament to hope because they know what gifts they’ve received. That’s a light that shines even on the darkest days.

Mary gives us a heart for the Lord in prayer. She keeps our priorities straight and puts first things first: Love of God above all things. Martha reminds us to serve Christ by serving our neighbor and the poor: Love your neighbor as yourself. But Lazarus - he puts a heart of fire in that love. He reminds us of the Spirit, joy and hope that is ours as Christians. We’re not just followers and friends of Jesus. We’ve been dead and now live. The question is: Are we willing to let the rest of the world know it?