Lent #1 – Love stronger than death
Series: Lent Love Wins
Preacher: Phil Swain Reading: John 11:1-45
We begin our Lent journey together and our theme for this year is “Love Wins” or Easter through the lens of Love. We will be using John’s Gospel as our key source and in John’s writing we find that love underpins everything – not a simple or sentimental love but rather John present this love as strong, costly, present and deeply relational. John goes so far as to say, “God is love.”
Over the next six weeks we’ll look at the road to Easter through that lens. This week we begin with the story of Lazarus in John 11 – a story where love pauses, love weeps, love stands at the tomb… and love speaks life. As we start this lent journey we will be encouraged to open ourselves up to this kind of love that reflects the heart of God.
Sermon Text
So here we are. Lent begins. Here at TUC, each year for Lent we have chosen a theme or a lens in which we can use as we move through this season of preparation and reflection. You may remember some of them…
- Loosening the chains of injustice
- Parable Perspectives – the cross from different angles
- Re:
- Transformation (Butterflies)
This year we’re travelling toward Easter with a simple theme of love … or Love Wins. Now I know… love is a little bit cliché. Of course, love wins. But I think we are going to find as we move through Lent that Easter and love are profoundly intertwined … and it is very much the lens that John uses when he writes his gospel.
When John talks about love, he is not being sentimental; he is being theological. For John, Love isn’t a side theme, it the foundation of everything.
- “God so loved the world…”
- “As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you…”
- “Greater love has no one than this…”
And then in 1 John 4:7–8, John says it as plainly as he possibly can:
“Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God… Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love.”
Not God is loving. Not God values love. But God is love.
That’s not poetry. That’s theology. So when we approach Easter through the lens of love, we’re not picking a slogan. We’re picking up John’s own lens.
We’re saying: What if the cross is love? What if resurrection is love? It is my hope that when we deeply reflect on John’s story of everything that happens between now and Easter morning that we can see that … love shines brightly; that love does indeed win.
And John 11 is a great place to start this journey. This is a story about Jesus and his good friends – Mary, Martha and Lazarus.
Quick aside … how much do we know about Mary, Martha and Lazarus. They were close friends of Jesus and apparently, they were very hospitable, so much so that Jesus and the disciples often used their home in Bethany as a base whenever he visited Jerusalem. They are mentioned numerous times in the Bible, including the classic Mary/Martha story where Martha was doing all the work and Mary was sitting listen to Jesus.
John sets up the narrative in chapter 11 by explaining 3 key things
- That Lazarus is sick
- That Jesus is currently on the other side of the Jordan River about 30kms from Bethany and the sick Lazarus.
- That Jesus loved Mary, Martha and Lazarus.
I love that it’s that personal. Not “For God so loved the world” Or “Jesus loves everyone” but that Jesus loved them.
And then comes one of the most confronting words in the chapter.
“Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. So, when he heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer…”
That “so” is hard to swallow. Because we expect it to say:
- He loved them — so he ran.
- He loved them — so he healed.
- He loved them — so he fixed it.
But John says: He loved them — so he waited.
That doesn’t make sense. Because deep down most of us assume that love equals immediate intervention. If you love me, stop this. If you love me, don’t let this happen. If you love me, make it better. And John in this narrative challenges that assumption.
Love in this story is not about quick rescue. It is about something deeper. Jesus hints that this love will bring some sort of revelation – that people will see “God’s glory”. That through this people might see who Jesus truly is.
But still … this part of the story where Jesus waits two days is hard. Imagine Martha and Mary watching their brother weaken. Imagine them glancing at the door. Whispering to each other, “He’ll come.” Replaying every story they’ve heard of Jesus healing strangers with a word.
And then Lazarus dies. And Jesus is still not there.
John doesn’t smooth that out. He lets us feel it.
Which is why when Jesus finally arrives, both sisters say the same thing: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Or the crowd in verse 37 who said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”
That is pure honesty. It’s not polished. It’s not tidy. It’s not pretending everything is fine. It’s grief with a question attached.
And notice this about Mary and Martha – they don’t run from Jesus. They don’t avoid him because they’re disappointed. And they don’t protect him from their feelings. They go to him. And they tell him the truth.
There is something about Mary and Martha’s honesty that we might be able to learn from this Lent. It’s ok to be honest to God, it’s ok to tell Jesus how we feel, even if we are angry or sad or confused. We are invited to come to Jesus as we are.
It is interesting that the way that Jesus interacts with Mary and Martha are different. Martha seems to need clarity. She needs something solid to stand on. So, Jesus speaks to her theology. “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die!”
Listen to what Jesus is saying here… Not “I will be one day.”
Not “I can arrange resurrection at a point in the future.”
But “I am, right now, the resurrection and the life.”
Jesus is revealing to Martha that resurrection isn’t just an event at the end of time. It is standing in front of you.
Mary, though, doesn’t debate theology. She falls at his feet and weeps. And then we read those two extraordinary words: “Jesus wept.”
Now let’s slow down there for a moment. Jesus knows what he’s about to do. He knows Lazarus is about to walk out of that tomb. He knows resurrection is minutes away. And he still weeps.
Why?
Because love does not stand above grief. Love stands within it.
Love is presence that refuses abandonment.
Jesus doesn’t say, “Don’t cry, it’ll all work out.”
He doesn’t correct her theology.
He doesn’t minimise the pain.
Jesus enters it.
And the crowd sees it. “See how he loved him.”
Love is visible not because it prevents suffering, but because it embraces those who are suffering.
Are you hearing what John is trying to highlight?
Love does not always rush in.
Love does not always remove the pain.
Love stays.
Love listens.
Love reveals something deeper.
In verse 34, Jesus asks Mary and the crowd, “Where have you laid him?” “Come and see, Lord,” they replied.
Now pause there for a moment. “Come and see.” Where have we heard that phrase before in John’s Gospel? Back in John 1, when people were wondering who Jesus really was, Philip said to Nathanael, “Come and see.” It was an invitation to discover something. To step closer. To see for yourself whether this man might really be the Messiah.
All through John’s Gospel, “come and see” is an invitation to encounter Jesus. But here in chapter 11, something shifts. This time, it is not people being invited to see Jesus. It is Jesus being invited to see them.
To see the grief.
To see the tears.
To see the finality of death.
It’s almost as if the roles are reversed.
The Son of God, the One who invites others to “come and see,” is now being invited into the raw reality of human sorrow.
“Come and see, Lord.”
Come and see what death looks like.
Come and see what loss feels like.
Come and stand at the edge of this tomb with us.
And he does. He doesn’t stay back.
He doesn’t keep a safe distance.
He doesn’t offer a theological explanation from across the road.
He walks toward the tomb.
He allows himself to be drawn into the full weight of it.
And that’s when we read: “Jesus wept.”
Love does not observe suffering from afar.
Love steps close enough to feel it.
When we look at this story through the lens of love, this moment becomes incredibly powerful.
Love waits. Love listens. Love enters the grief.
And only then does love speak life.
Jesus says, “Take away the stone.”
You can almost feel the hesitation. Martha says, “Lord, there will be a smell.” Stones seal tombs for a reason. They keep death contained. But love is stronger than death. Death will not have the victory. Love wins – and the stone is moved. Lazarus comes out still wrapped in grave clothes.
Let’s be clear, this isn’t resurrection. Lazarus has been brought back to mortal life. He will die again. But this is a sign. A preview. Because in a few weeks’ time, another stone will be rolled away. And that time the grave clothes will be left behind. If God is love, then resurrection is not just power over death. It is love refusing to let death have the final word.
And here’s something else we must notice. This miracle doesn’t calm everything down. It escalates the conflict. From this point on, the leaders begin plotting to kill Jesus. Why? Because love that brings life is dangerous. When death and fear are tools of control, someone who calls life out of the grave is a threat. The path from Lazarus’ tomb leads straight to the cross.
Love wins – but it doesn’t win cheaply.
So what does all this mean for us as we begin Lent?
It means Lent is not just a season on the church calendar. It’s not about giving something up just because that’s what we do. Lent is an invitation to lean into love.
To trust that even when God feels late, he is not absent.
To bring our honest grief to Jesus instead of hiding it.
To stay present with others in their sorrow.
To move stones that fear has kept in place.
If we lean into love this Lent – really lean in – then Easter won’t just be a story we’ve heard before. I suspect that we may experience Easter differently.
Because we will have walked with love toward the cross and tomb.
We will have seen love weep.
We will have watched love refuse to back away.
And then when the stone rolls away on Easter morning,
we will celebrate that … Love wins.
And whole we might know the outcome as the journey is starting, that doesn’t minimise the suffering or make the grief imaginary.
To get to the empty tomb, we still have to walk there.
Easter morning is coming but we don’t get to skip the road nor the cross.
Mary and Martha still had to stand at the tomb.
Jesus still had to weep.
The stone still had to be moved.
And we are invited to walk that road honestly.
Lent is not about pretending we don’t know the outcome. It’s about allowing the journey to shape us. It’s about slowing down long enough to see what love really looks like. So if we want to get the most out of Lent and Easter, we lean into love.
We commit ourselves to prayer — honest prayer.
We reflect on Scripture — not just to gather information, but to encounter Jesus.
We practice kindness — because love is not an idea, it is lived.
We stay present with people who are hurting — because love does not abandon, love never gives up.
And when we finally arrive at Easter morning, and the stone is rolled away, we won’t just celebrate a miracle we already knew was coming. We will celebrate a love we have already been walking with. A love that has been at work — even in the dark.
That’s the way John wants us to see it.
God, who loved the world so much…
God, who is love… stepped into our darkness and would not let death have the last word.
Love is stronger than death. Love wins. Amen.
Prayers for Others
Loving and gracious God, You are the God of peace, the One whose heart is turned toward life and reconciliation.
We lift up Your worldwide Church as we walk together toward Easter. In this season of Lent, may Your people not only proclaim the good news in word, but reflect Your love in every act of compassion, justice and humility.
We pray for courage and wisdom for Your Church around the world — for hearts attuned to Your Spirit, hands ready to serve, and voices that point to Your mercy. In a time of rising tensions and conflict, may Your Church be a people of peace.
We bring before You the recent attacks on Iran involving the United States and Israel, and the escalating violence and retaliation that has followed. We pray for all nations caught in fear, threat and the risk of wider war. Teach leaders to step back from the brink. Grant strength to those calling for restraint and diplomacy, and inspire wise paths toward peaceful resolution rather than deeper conflict.
We pray for all who are affected by this violence — for families who have lost loved ones, for communities living in fear,
for children who know only the sounds of explosions and sirens.
We ask that Your Spirit would comfort the grieving, protect the vulnerable, and plant seeds of dialogue and mercy where there is hostility.
God of peace, where fear hardens hearts, soften them.
Where anger ignites retaliation, replace it with patience.
Where violence threatens life, awaken a yearning for peace.
We remember those around the world who are experiencing loss, grief and uncertainty.
For those locally and globally whose hearts are heavy,
may they feel Your presence in their suffering.
May they cling to the promise of resurrection and life —
that even in the darkest places Your love does not abandon,
and death does not have the final word.
We pray for those who stand with the grieving —
the companions, the carers, the neighbours and friends.
Give them courage to remain present, strength to bear witness,
and compassion that reflects Your love made visible.
Lord, as we lean into love this Lent, shape us into instruments of Your peace and agents of Your healing.
Help us to walk with honesty, to pray with perseverance,
and to love as You have first loved us.
In Jesus’ name we pray,
Amen.