Lazarus and I AM

A Lenten Poem after John 11:1-45

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Each week, I write a poem alongside the readings from the Revised Common Lectionary. My goal isn’t to explain the passage or summarize it, but simply to listen—to sit with the text and notice what rises within and lands on the page.

This week, I found myself considering John 11 from Jesus’ perspective. Typically, my poetry is on the shorter side, but this account in John is lengthy. I numbered the stanzas to make it more readable. As you will see, my desire in this poem is for you to peer into the complicated nature of Jesus’ experience—as both fully God and fully man.

As always, you don’t need to follow the lectionary to read along. These poems are simply an invitation to pause and allow your imagination to consider the creative reality of a God who meets us.

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Lazarus and I AM
After John 11:1-45

1.

Things are so slow around here.
I’m so slow. I’m filthy—my feet
swish in the dust of the earth. I’m also clean.

2.

A message arrives:

“Lazarus is ill, we
inform you because
how much you adore each other.”

I’m not too worried. He’s healthy—
I wish I knew what will happen.
I do, but I also don’t.
I’ll stay put for now.

3.

I’ve rested.
Time to see about
Lazarus. Judea is a frightening place.

4.

Her voice knows sorrow, “You’re too late.
You might as well go.
I thought I could depend on You—
we all did.
Still, if anyone can turn it all back,
it’s You.
But it’s okay—
my faith today is gone,
it will return, maybe.”

5.

Now I’m weeping.
My being is 
a web of contradictions—
I know everything and nothing all at once.
Still, I AM.

6. 

Walking to the tomb.
Everyone thinks it’s
the end. Why, in their eyes,
is everything always ending?

7.

I shout above
the wailing crowd,
“Lazarus—out!”

8.

The air becomes
thick with disbelief.
Smiles return,
tears dissolve—
a few come close, others retreat.
I’ve raised the dead before—
even dry bones.
I AM.